The Grapes of Wrath Page #9

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TOM:

(marveling)

Why, she wasn't no more'n a kid when

I went up.

AL:

(eagerly as he jumps

down)

You bust outa jail, Tom?

TOM:

(patiently)

Naw. They paroled me.

AL:

(let down)

Oh.

ROSASHARN:

Heh'o Tom.

(Proudly)

This is Connie, my husband.

TOM:

(shaking hands)

If this don't beat all!

(Chuckling)

Well, I see you been busy already!

ROSASHARN:

(gasping)

You do not see either!--not yet!

At the whoop of laughter that goes up from all, she turns in

a fine simulation of maidenly mortification, and throws

herself into Connie's arms, hiding her face against his chest.

After a moment of surprise, a slow, happy, fatuous grin begins

to broaden his face. He beams, whereupon their delight

increases, the men roaring and jeering and slapping their

legs, the women making modest efforts to suppress their

amusement.

OMNES:

Lookut his face! Y'see his face?

Lookut Rosasharn! Y'ever see anything

like her face when Tom said it? Look

around, Rosasharn! Let's see it again!

An automobile horn sounds sharply. Their laughter halted as

though cut by a knife, they look off. A TOURING CAR has

stopped in the road by the house, the engine still running.

One man drives, the other talks.

MAN:

Hey, Joad! John Joad!

In the BACKYARD the people are silent, their faces without

expression, as all gaze toward the touring car.

MAN:

Ain't forgot, have you?

JOHN:

We ain't forgot.

MAN:

Comin' through here tomorrow, you

know.

JOHN:

I know. We be out. We be out by sunup.

The touring car's engine is still heard after the men drive

off. The Joads watch the car, their heads turning, their

eyes following, expressionless.

The scene dissolves to the BACKYARD just before dawn. Now

and then a rooster crows. A couple of lanterns light the

scene as the man load the truck. It is nearly done, the body

piled high but flat with boxes, and more tied on running

boards. Al has the hood open and is working on the motor.

Noah, Casy, Uncle John, Connie, Pa, and Tom are at various

tasks. They talk as they work.

TOM:

(to Pa)

How you get all this money?

PA:

Sol' things, chopped cotton--even

Grampa. Got us about two hunnerd

dollars all tol'. Shucked out seventy-

five for this truck, but we still

got nearly a hunnerd and fifty to

set out on. I figger we oughta be

able to make it on that.

TOM:

(dryly)

Easy. After all, they ain't but about

*twelve* of us, is they?

AL:

(proudly closing the

hood)

She'll prob'ly ride like a bull calf--

but she'll ride!

PA:

Reckon we better begin roustin' 'em

out if we aim to get outa here by

daylight. How about it, John? How

you boys comin'?

(He casts a critical

eye over the truck)

INSIDE THE CABIN, Ma sits on a box in front of the stove.

The fire door is open and the light shines out. The room

itself has been pretty well stripped, with only trash and

discarded things left. In Ma's lap is a pasteboard shoebox

and she is going through the meager treasures stored in it,

to see what must go and what she can take with her. Her eyes

are soft and thoughtful as each item brings a memory, but

not sad. Occasionally she smiles faintly. She pulls out a

letter, looks at it, starts to throw it into the fire, then

puts it back in the box. Her hand pulls out a PICTURE

POSTCARD. We see it in Ma's hand. It is a picture of the

Statue Of Liberty. Over it: "Greetings from New York City."

She turns it over. It is addressed: "Mrs. Joad RFD 254

Oklahomy Territory." In the space for a message: "Hello honey.

Willy Mae."

MA, after a moment of studying it, throws the card into the

fire. She lifts the letter again, puts it back. She pulls

out a worn NEWSPAPER CLIPPING. We see it in Ma's hand. The

headline is:
"JOAD GETS SEVEN YEARS."

MA drops the clipping into the fire. Rummaging around, she

pulls out a small CHINA DOG. We see it closely as before. On

it is printed:
"Souvenir of Louisiana Purchase Exposition--

St. Louis--1904."

MA studies the dog, smiling, remembering something that it

meant in her life. Then she puts in in a pocket in her dress.

Next she pulls out some pieces of cheap jewelry; one cuff

link, a baby's signet ring, two earrings. She smiles at the

ring, then pockets it. The cuff link too. The earrings she

holds for a moment longer, then looks around to make sure

nobody sees, then holds them to her ears, not looking into

any kind of a mirror, just feeling them against the lobes of

her ears, as once perhaps she wore them. Her eyes are grave.

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