The Grapes of Wrath Page #65

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TOM:

Well--

(then in a servile

whine)

--we're strangers here. We heard

about they's work in a place called

Tulare.

LEADER:

Well, you're goin' the wrong way,

an' what's more, we don't want no

more Okies in this town. We ain't

got work enough for them that are

already here.

Tom's arm trembles as he tries to pull it away, but Ma holds

on tight.

TOM:

Which way is it at, mister?

LEADER:

You turn right aroun' and head north.

An' don't come back till the cotton's

ready.

TOM:

Yes, sir.

The TRUCK turns around. In the FRONT SEAT Tom is almost

sobbing with anger as he maneuvers the truck around.

MA:

(whispering)

Don't you min', Tommy. You done good.

You done jus' good.

The TRUCK is going back down the road as the scene fades

out.

A MONTAGE fades in: superimposed on growing fields hand-made

signs flash by:
NO HELP WANTED, KEEP OUT--THIS MEANS U, NO

WORK, NO HELP WANTED.

Then we see the JOAD TRUCK pulled up off the paved highway,

and jacked up while Tom and Al fix a puncture. Ma is seated

in the front seat with Rosasharn. Pa and Uncle John are

puttering about worriedly.

MA:

(thoughtfully)

Sump'n got to happen soon. We got

one day's more grease, two day's

flour, an' ten potatoes. After that...

(Looking at Rosasharn)

An' Rosasharn, we got to remember

she's gonna be due soon.

PA:

(shaking his head)

It sure is hell jus' tryin' to get

enough to eat.

TOM:

Fella tells me they's three hunerd

thousan' aroun' here like us, a-

scrabblin' for work an' livin' like

hogs. Can't figger what it is, but

*sump'n's* wrong.

A BUICK ROADMASTER which has been speeding toward them stops

suddenly. Driving it is a husky man, named Spencer, whose

manner is amiable and disarming.

SPENCER:

Morning.

TOM:

Morning.

SPENCER:

You people looking for work?

TOM:

Mister, we're lookin' even under

boards for work.

SPENCER:

Can you pick peaches?

TOM:

We can pick anything.

SPENCER:

Well, there's plenty of work for you

about forty miles north, this road

just outside Pixley. Turn east on 32

and look for Hooper's ranch. Tell

'em Spencer sent you.

This is electrifying news, as their faces show.

TOM:

Mister, we sure that ya!

As they snap into action to get under way again the scene

dissolves to the FRONT SEAT, Al driving, with Ma and Tom

beside him. They are all smiles, their faces glowing with

excitement.

MA:

(excitedly)

Fust thing I'll get is coffee, cause

ever'body been wantin' that, an'

then some flour an' bakin' powder

an' meat. Better not get no side-

meat right off. Save that for later.

Maybe Sat'dy. Got to get some soap

too. An' milk. Rosasharn's got to

have some milk.

TOM:

Get some sugar too, for the coffee.

MA:

You know, I jus' can't remember when

I felt so good before!

AL:

Know what I'm a-gonna do? I'm a-gonna

save up an' go in town an' get me a

job in a garage. Live in a room an'

eat in restaurants. Go to the movin'

pitchers *ever'* night. Cowboy

pitchers.

The scene dissolves to the ENTRANCE OF THE HOOPER RANCH in

daylight. A gravel road leads from the paved highway to the

big wire gates, which are enclosed. Along the side of the

paved highway are parked a dozen jalopies, the migrants

sitting soberly in them. Fifty or sixty other migrants line

the gravel road and the junction with the paved highway.

Five jalopies are in line waiting to enter the gates. And

the scene is overwhelmingly policed. There must be ten

motorcycle cops around. Six are dismounted and strolling to

keep order among the migrants along the road. Three, their

motorcycles roaring, flank the line of five jalopies. As the

Joad truck drives up, we see the FRONT SEAT. Tom, Al, and Ma

are beholding the scene with bewilderment.

AL:

What is it, a wreck?

COP:

(on motorcycle)

Where you think you're going?

TOM:

Fella named Spencer sent us--said

they was work pickin' peaches.

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