Гроздья гнева

           WhenTomwasshoulderdeepintherectangularpit,hesaid,"Howdeep,Pa?"

           "Goodan’deep.Acouplefeetmore.Yougetoutnow,Tom,andgetthatpaperwrote."

           TomboostedhimselfoutoftheholeandNoahtookhisplace.TomwenttoMa,whereshetendedthefire."Wegotanypaperan’pen,Ma?"

           Mashookherheadslowly,"No-o.That’sonethingwedidn’bring."ShelookedtowardSairy.Andthelittlewomanwalkedquicklytohertent.ShebroughtbackaBibleandahalfpencil."Here,"shesaid."They’saclearpageinfront.Usethatan’tearitout."ShehandedbookandpenciltoTom.

           Tomsatdowninthefirelight.Hesquintedhiseyesinconcentration,andatlastwroteslowlyandcarefullyontheendpaperinbigclearletters:"ThishereisWilliamJamesJoad,dyedofastroke,oldoldman.Hisfokesburedhimbecawstheygotnomoneytopayforfunerls.Nobodykilthim.Jusastrokeandhedyed."Hestopped."Ma,listentothishere."Hereaditslowlytoher.

           "Why,thatsoun’snice,"shesaid."Can’tyoustickonsomepinfromScripturesoit’llbereligious?Openupan’gitasayin’,somepinoutaScripture."

           "Gottobeshort,"saidTom."Iain’tgotmuchroomlef’onthepage."

           Sairysaid,"How’bout’Godhavemercyonhissoul’?"

           "No,"saidTom."Soundstoomuchlikehewashung.I’llcopysomepin."Heturnedthepagesandread,mumblinghislips,sayingthewordsunderhisbreath."Here’sagoodshortone,"hesaid.