The Grapes of Wrath Page #80

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The scene dissolves to the CAB OF THE TRUCK. It is day, and

Tom is seated beside the driver, who is surreptitiously eyeing

him, trying to confirm some suspicion--an inspection which

Tom ignores at first.

DRIVER:

Goin' far?

TOM:

(shaking his head)

Just a few miles. I'd a walked her

if my dogs wasn't pooped out.

DRIVER:

Lookin' for a job?

TOM:

No, my old man got a place, forty

acres. He's a sharecropper, but we

been there a long time.

DRIVER:

(after a curious glance)

Oh!

Cautiously, the driver's eyes drop to Tom's feet. We see

TOM'S SHOES. They are prison shoes--new, stiff and bulky.

Curiosity is in the eyes of the DRIVER as they shoot a swift

glance at Tom. TOM is looking straight ahead, with the dead-

pan look that prisoners get when they are trying to conceal

something. The DRIVER'S eyes take in Tom's hands and the

stiff coat.

DRIVER:

Been doin' a job?

TOM:

Yeah.

DRIVER:

I seen your hands. You been swinging

a pick or a sledge--that shines up

your hands. I notice little things

like that all the time.

(After a pause)

Got a trade?

TOM:

(evenly)

Why don't you get to it, buddy?

DRIVER:

(uneasily)

Get to what?

TOM:

You know what I mean. You been givin'

me a goin' over ever since I got in.

Whyn't you go on and ask me where I

been?

DRIVER:

I don't stick my nose in nobody's

business.

TOM:

Naw--not much!

DRIVER:

(a little frightened)

I stay in my own yard.

TOM:

(without emotion)

Listen. That big nose of yours been

goin' over me like a sheep in a

vegetable patch. But I ain't keepin'

it a secret. I been in the

penitentiary. Been there four years.

Like to know anything else?

DRIVER:

You ain't got to get sore.

TOM:

(coldly)

Go ahead. Ask me anything you want.

DRIVER:

I didn't mean nothing.

TOM:

Me neither. I'm just tryin' to get

along without shovin' anybody around,

that's all.

(After a pause)

See that road up ahead?

DRIVER:

Yeah.

TOM:

That's where I get off.

With a sigh of relief the driver puts his foot on the brake.

The TRUCK stops and Tom gets out. He look at the uneasy driver

contemptuously.

TOM:

You're about to bust to know what I

done, ain't you? Well, I ain't a

guy to let you down.

(Confidentially)

Homicide!

The driver throws the truck into gear. He doesn't like this

at all.

DRIVER:

I never asked you!

TOM:

(as the truck moves

away)

Sure, but you'd a throwed a fit if I

hadn't tol' you.

He looks indifferently after the truck and then starts on

foot down the dirt crossroad. A wind has begun to blow.

The scene dissolves to the roadside under a WILLOW TREE in

daylight. The wind is still blowing. Sitting on the ground,

his back against the tree, Casy, a long, lean man in overalls,

blue shirt, and one sneaker, is fixing something on the other

dirty sneaker. To the tune of "Yes, Sir, That's My Baby" he

is absent-mindedly singing.

CASY:

Mmmmm he's my saviour. Mmmmm my

saviour, Mmmmmmmmmm my saviour now.

(Looking up as Tom

comes down the road)

Howdy, friend.

Carrying his coat under his arm, TOM wipes his face with his

cap as he cuts off the road to acknowledge the greeting.

TOM:

Howdy.

He stops, grateful for the momentary relief of the shade.

CASY:

Say, ain't you young Tom Joad--ol'

Tom's boy?

TOM:

(surprised)

Yeah. On my way home now.

CASY:

Well, I do declare!

(Grinning)

I baptized you, son.

TOM:

(staring)

Why, you're the preacher!

CASY:

*Used* to be. Not no more. I lost

the call.

(Reminiscently)

But boy, I sure *used* to have it!

I'd get an irrigation ditch so

squirmin' full of repented sinners I

pretty near *drowned* half of 'em!

(Sighing)

But not no more. I lost the sperit.

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