The Grapes of Wrath Page #44

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MULEY:

But we couldn't *do* on any less'n

what our share is now.

(Looking around)

The chillun ain't gettin' enough to

eat as it is, and they're so ragged

we'd be shamed if ever'body else's

chillun wasn't the same way.

THE MAN:

(irritably)

I can't help that. All I know is I

got my orders. They told me to tell

you you got to get off, and that's

what I'm telling you.

Muley stands in anger. The two younger men pattern after

him.

MULEY:

You mean get off my own land?

THE MAN:

Now don't go blaming me. It ain't

*my* fault.

SON:

Whose fault is it?

THE MAN:

You know who owns the land--the

Shawnee Land and Cattle Company.

MULEY:

Who's the Shawnee Land and Cattle

Comp'ny?

THE MAN:

It ain't nobody. It's a company.

SON:

They got a pres'dent, ain't they?

They got somebody that knows what a

shotgun's for, ain't they?

THE MAN:

But it ain't *his* fault, because

the *bank* tells him what to do.

SON:

(angrily)

All right. Where's the bank?

THE MAN:

(fretfully)

Tulsa. But what's the use of picking

on him? He ain't anything but the

manager, and half crazy hisself,

trying to keep up with his orders

from the east!

MULEY:

(bewildered)

Then who *do* we shoot?

THE MAN:

(stepping on the

starter)

Brother, I don't know. If I did I'd

tell you. But I just don't know

*who's* to blame!

MULEY:

(angrily)

Well, I'm right here to tell you,

mister, ain't *nobody* going to push

me off *my* land! Grampa took up

this land seventy years ago. My pa

was born here. We was *all* born on

it, and some of us got killed on it,

and some died on it. And that's what

makes it ourn--bein' born on it, and

workin' it, and dyin' on it--and not

no piece of paper with writin' on

it! So just come on and try to push

me off!

The scene dissolves to the BACK ROOM. The sound of the storm

is heard again as Tom and Casy watch Muley.

TOM:

(angrily)

Well?

MULEY:

(without emotion)

They come. They come and pushed me

off.

We see MULEY at close range.

MULEY:

They come with the cats.

TOM'S VOICE

The what?

MULEY:

The cats--the caterpillar tractors.

The scene dissolves to a MONTAGE OF TRACTORS: tractors looming

over hillocks, flattening fences, through gullies, their

drivers looking like robots, with goggles, dust masks over

mouth and nose--one after the other, crossing and recrossing

as if to convey the impression that this was an invasion of

machine-men from some other world.

MULEY'S VOICE

And for ever' one of 'em ten-fifteen

families gets throwed outa their

homes--one hundred folks with no

place to live but on the road. The

Rances, the Perrys, the Peterses,

the Joadses--one after another they

got throwed out. Half the folks you

and me know--throwed right out into

the road. The one that got me come a

month ago.

The scene dissolves to MULEY'S FARM. We see the backs of

Muley and the two younger men standing shoulder to shoulder

watching a lumbering tractor headed straight toward them. It

is at some distance. Muley holds a shotgun. His son has a

baling hook. The son-in-law has a two-by-four. Behind them

is their cabin. Frightened and huddled together are the women

and children. The roar of the tractor comes closer.

MULEY:

(shouting)

You come any closer and I'm gonna

blow you right outa that cat!

(He lifts his shotgun)

The TRACTOR continues to lumber along, its driver goggled

and black of face where his dust mask doesn't cover. MULEY

lifts his shotgun to his shoulder, and aims.

MULEY:

I *tol'* you!

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