The Grapes of Wrath Page #70

---

TOM:

(tiredly)

Okay, Ma. I shouldn't, though. I

know I shouldn't. But okay.

ROSASHARN:

Here come a lot of people.

Tom puts his head under the quilt. Ma turns, faces the door,

her body protectively between Tom and whatever threatens.

BOOKKEEPER'S VOICE

How many of you?

MIGRANT'S VOICE

Ten of us. Whatcha payin'?

OUTSIDE HOUSE 63, the bookkeeper has encountered the

newcomers.

BOOKKEEPER:

House 25. Number's on the door.

MIGRANT:

Okay, mister. Whatcha payin'?

BOOKKEEPER:

Two and a half cents.

MIGRANT:

(angrily)

Two an' a half! Say, mister, a man

can't make his dinner on that.

BOOKKEEPER:

Take it or leave it. There's 200 men

coming from the South that'll be

glad to get it.

MIGRANT:

But--but how we gonna eat?

BOOKKEEPER:

Look, I didn't set the price. I'm

just working here. If you want it,

take it. If you don't, turn right

around and beat it.

MIGRANT:

(sullenly)

Which way is House 25?

TOM:

(slowly)

That Casy. He might a been a preacher,

but--he seen a lot a things clear.

He was like a lantern--he helped mw

see things too.

MA:

Comes night we'll get outa here.

At night, the TRUCK is backed up to the door of House 63; it

is already loaded. Ma is speaking in a low voice to Tom, who

is peering out from under a mattress in the truck.

MA:

It's jus' till we get some distance.

Then you can come out.

TOM:

I'd hate to get *trapped* in here.

GUARD'S VOICE

What's goin' on here?

Tom disappears. Ma turns, her back to the truck. The guard

plays his flashlight on the Joads, who stand watching him

ominously.

PA:

We're goin' out.

GUARD:

What for?

MA:

We got a job offered--good job.

GUARD:

Yeah? Let's have a look at you.

(He plays his

flashlight on the

truck)

Wasn't there another fella with you?

AL:

You mean that hitch-hiker? Little

short fella with a pale face?

GUARD:

I guess that's what he looked like.

AL:

We just picked him up on the way in.

He went away this mornin' when the

rate dropped.

GUARD:

(thinking hard)

What'd he look like again?

AL:

Short fella. Pale face.

GUARD:

Was he bruised up this mornin'? About

the face?

AL:

I didn't see nothin'.

GUARD:

(reluctantly)

Okay. Go on.

Quickly, Al is in the driver's seat, with Ma and Pa beside

him. The truck rattles into motion and moves down the street.

AT THE GATES TO THE RANCH another guard flashes a light as

Al stops the car.

SECOND GUARD:

Goin' out for good?

AL:

Yeah. Goin' north. Got a job.

SECOND GUARD:

Okay.

He opens the gate and the truck goes through. It turns from

the gravel road onto the paved highway.

IN THE FRONT SEAT OF THE TRUCK:

MA:

You done good, Al. Just good.

Al shows his pleased pride in her quiet approval.

PA:

Know where we're a-goin'?

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote