Гроздья гнева
Chapter 8
Hislips,fromwhichthebignailsprotruded,werethinandred.
Heheldhishammersuspendedintheair,abouttodriveasetnail,andhelookedoverthetrucksideatTom,lookedresentfulatbeinginterrupted.AndthenhischindroveforwardandhiseyeslookedatTom’sface,andthengraduallyhisbrainbecameawareofwhathesaw.Thehammerdroppedslowlytohisside,andwithhislefthandhetookthenailsfromhismouth.Andhesaidwonderingly,asthoughhetoldhimselfthefact,"It’sTommy—"Andthen,stillinforminghimself,"It’sTommycomehome."Hismouthopenedagainandalookoffearcameintohiseyes."Tommy,"hesaidsoftly,"youain’tbustedout?Youain’tgottohide?"Helistenedtensely.
"Naw,"saidTom."I’mparoled.I’mfree.Igotmypapers."Hegrippedthelowerbarsofthetrucksideandlookedup.
OldTomlaidhishammergentlyonthefloorandputhisnailsinhispocket.Heswunghislegoverthesideanddroppedlithelytotheground,butoncebesidehissonheseemedembarrassedandstrange."Tommy,"hesaid,"wearegoin’toCalifornia.Butwewasgonnawriteyoualetteran’tellyou."Andhesaid,incredulously."Butyou’reback.Youcangowithus.Youcango!"Thelidofacoffeepotslammedinthehouse.OldTomlookedoverhisshoulder."Le’ssurprise’em,"hesaid,andhiseyesshonewithexcitement."Yourmagotabadfeelin’sheain’tnevergonnaseeyounomore.Shegotthatquietlooklikewhensomebodydied.
