The Grapes of Wrath Page #81

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TOM:

(with a grin)

Pa always said you was never cut out

to be a preacher.

CASY:

I got nothin' to preach about no

more--that's all. I ain't so sure o'

things.

TOM:

Maybe you should a got yourself a

wife.

CASY:

(shakes his head sadly)

At my meetin's I used to get the

girls glory-shoutin' till they about

passed out. Then, I'd go to comfort

'em--and always end up by lovin'

'em. I'd feel bad, an' pray, an'

pray, but it didn't do no good. Next

time, do it again. I figgered there

just wasn't no hope for me.

TOM:

I never let one go by me when I could

catch her.

CASY:

But you wasn't a preacher. A girl

was just a girl to you. But to me

they was holy vessels. I was savin'

their souls.

(Fervently)

I ast myself--what *is* this call,

the Holy Sperit? Maybe *that's* love.

Why, I love everybody so much I'm

fit to bust sometimes! So maybe

there ain't no sin an' there ain't

no virtue. There's just what people

do. Some things folks do is nice,

and some ain't so nice. But that's

as far as any man's got a right to

say.

TOM:

(after a moment,

figuring there is no

percentage in

continuing this

philosophical

discussion, pulls

out a flask, which

he extends)

Have a little snort?

CASY:

(holding the flask)

Course I'll say grace if somebody

sets out the food--

(shaking his head)

--but my heart ain't in it.

(He takes a long pull)

Nice drinkin' liquor.

TOM:

Ought to be. That's fact'ry liquor.

Cost me a buck.

CASY:

(handing back the

flask)

Been out travelin' around?

TOM:

Didn't you hear? It was in the papers.

CASY:

No, I never. What?

TOM:

I been in the penitentiary for four

years.

(He drinks)

CASY:

Excuse me for asking.

TOM:

I don't mind any more. I'd do what I

done again. I killed a guy at a dance.

We was drunk. He got a knife in me

and I laid him out with a shovel.

Knocked his head plumb to squash.

CASY:

And you ain't ashamed?

TOM:

(shaking his head)

He had a knife in me. That's why

they only gave me seven years. Got

out in four--parole.

CASY:

Ain't you seen your folks since then?

TOM:

(putting on his coat)

No, but I aim to before sundown.

Gettin' kind of excited about it,

too. Which way you going?

CASY:

(putting on his sneaker)

It don't matter. Ever since I lost

the sperit it looks like I just as

soon go one way as the other.

(Rising)

I'll go your way.

They pause at the edge of the shade, squint up at the sky,

and then move off.

The scene dissolves to the SURFACE OF A DIRT ROAD by daylight.

Leaves are scuttling across it. The top soil begins to fly

up. It is not a hard wind as yet, but it is steady and

persistent. Tom's and Casy's feet walk into sight.

TOM:

Maybe Ma'll have pork for supper. I

ain't had pork but four times in

four years--every Christmas.

CASY:

I'll be glad to see you pa. Last

time I seen him was at a baptizin',

an' he had one a the bigges' doses

of the Holy Sperit I ever seen. He

go to jumpin' over bushes, howlin'

like a dog-wolf in moon-time. Fin'ly

he picks hisself out a bush big as a

piana an' he let out a squawk an'

took a run at that bush. Well, sir,

he cleared her but he bust his leg

snap in two. They was a travellin'

dentist there and he set her, an' I

give her a prayin' over, but they

wasn't no more Holy Sperit in your

pa after that.

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