The Grapes of Wrath Page #66

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COP:

Want to work, do you?

TOM:

Sure do.

COP:

Pull up behind that car.

(Calling)

Okay for this one. Take 'em through.

TOM:

(the truck moving)

What's the matter? What's happened?

COP:

Little trouble up ahead, but you'll

get through. Just follow the line.

The motorcycle escort forms around the line of six cars and

a deafening din is raised, of motorcycles, sirens, and an

inexplicable blowing of horns on the jalopies. At the same

time, as the gates open and the six cars start through,

flanked by the motorcycle cops, the migrants begin spasmodic

shouts, but what they say cannot be understood. As the cars

move slowly, Tom and Al in the FRONT SEAT are puzzled and

worried at the demonstration.

AL:

Maybe the road's out.

TOM:

I don't know what these cops got to

do with it but I don't like it.

(Looking out)

An' these here are our own people,

all of 'em. I don't like this.

AT THE GATES the heckling from the bystanders is spasmodic,

not continuous, as the six jalopies in line pass through the

gate into the Hooper ranch. Two men stand beside the gates

with shotguns. They keep calling.

MEN:

Go on, go on! Keep movin'!

The Joad truck passes through the gates. IN THE HOOPER RANCH

the six jalopies are halted at the end of a camp street. The

houses are small, square blocks, set in line. One, a little

larger, is a grocery store. Casually about are men in pairs

with metal stars on their shirts and shotguns in their hands.

Two bookkeepers are already passing down the cars and jotting

down information.

BOOKKEEPER:

Want to work?

TOM:

Sure, but what is this?

BOOKKEEPER:

That's not your affair. Name.

TOM:

Joad.

BOOKKEEPER:

How many men?

TOM:

Four.

BOOKKEEPER:

Women?

TOM:

Two.

BOOKKEEPER:

Kids?

TOM:

Two.

BOOKKEEPER:

Can all of you work?

TOM:

Why, I guess so.

BOOKKEEPER:

Okay. House 63. Wages 5 cents a box.

No bruised fruit. Move along and go

to work right away.

He moves to the next car. The Joad truck starts...

AT HOUSE 63, as the Joad truck pulls up, two deputies

approach. They look closely into each face as the Joads pile

out. One of the deputies has a long list in his hand.

FIRST DEPUTY:

Name.

TOM:

(impatiently)

Joad. Say, what is this here?

SECOND DEPUTY:

(consulting list)

Not here. Take a look at his license.

FIRST DEPUTY:

542-567 Oklahoma.

SECOND DEPUTY:

Ain't got it. Guess they're okay.

(To Tom)

Now you look here. We don't want no

trouble with you. Jes' do your work

and mind your own business and you'll

be all right.

(The deputies walk

away)

TOM:

They sure do want to make us feel at

home all right.

Ma and Rosasharn step inside the house. It is filthy. A rusty

tin stove resting on four bricks is all the one room contains.

Ma and Rosasharn stand looking around at it. Finally:

ROSASHARN:

We gonna live here?

MA:

(after a moment)

Why, sure. It won't be so bad once

we get her washed out.

ROSASHARN:

I like the tent better.

MA:

This got a floor. Wouldn't leak when

it rains.

OUTSIDE, a clerk with glasses appears, pushing a cart loaded

with three-gallon buckets.

CLERK:

Name?

TOM:

(patiently)

It's still Joad.

CLERK:

(doling out the buckets)

How many?

MA:

(at the door)

Six.

(To Tom)

All y'all go. Me an' Rosasharn'll

unload.

With their buckets they shuffle away toward the peach trees--

Tom, Pa, Uncle John, Al, and the two children struggling

with the enormous containers.

The scene dissolves to the INTERIOR OF HOUSE 63 at night, a

lantern lighting the scene. Sitting wherever they can, the

Joads have finished their supper of hamburgers. And grateful

they are too, for the meat.

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