Гроздья гнева

           Hesaidawholestringofblurredsoundsthatwerenotwords,andhisfacewasredunderthespikywhitewhiskers.

           SairyWilsonspokesoftlytoCasy."Knowwhat’swrong?"Helookedupatthewrinkledfaceandtheburningeyes."Doyou?"

           "I—thinkso."

           "What?"Casyasked.

           "Mightbewrong.Iwouldn’liketosay."

           Casylookedbackatthetwitchingredface."Wouldyousay—maybehe’sworkin’upastroke?"

           "I’dsaythat,"saidSairy."Iseenitthreetimesbefore."

           Fromoutsidecamethesoundsofcamp-making,woodchopping,andtherattleofpans.Malookedthroughtheflaps."Granmawantstocomein.Wouldshebetter?"

           Thepreachersaid,"She’lljustfretifshedon’t."

           "Thinkhe’sawright?"Maasked.

           Casyshookhisheadslowly.Malookedquicklydownatthestrugglingoldfacewithbloodpoundingthroughit.Shedrewoutsideandhervoicecamethrough."He’sawright,Granma.He’sjus’takin’alittleres’."

           AndGranmaansweredsulkily,"Well,Iwanttaseehim.He’satrickydevil.Hewouldn’tneverletyaknow."Andshecamescurryingthroughtheflaps.Shestoodoverthemattressesandlookeddown."What’sthematter’thyou?"shedemandedofGrampa.Andagainhiseyesreachedtowardhervoiceandhislipswrithed."He’ssulkin’,"saidGranma."Itol’youhewastricky.Hewasgonnasneakawaythismornin’sohewouldn’thavetocome.An’thenhishipgota-hurtin’,"shesaiddisgustedly."He’sjus’sulkin’.