Гроздья гнева

           Thereislittledifferencebetweenthistractorandatank.Thepeoplearedriven,intimidated,hurtbyboth.Wemustthinkaboutthis.

           Oneman,onefamilydrivenfromtheland;thisrustycarcreakingalongthehighwaytothewest.Ilostmyland,asingletractortookmyland.IamaloneandIambewildered.Andinthenightonefamilycampsinaditchandanotherfamilypullsinandthetentscomeout.Thetwomensquatontheirhamsandthewomenandchildrenlisten.Hereisthenode,youwhohatechangeandfearrevolution.Keepthesetwosquattingmenapart;makethemhate,fear,suspecteachother.Hereistheanlageofthethingyoufear.Thisisthezygote.Forhere"Ilostmyland"ischanged;acellissplitandfromitssplittinggrowsthethingyouhate—"Welostourland."Thedangerishere,fortwomenarenotaslonelyandperplexedasone.Andfromthisfirst"we"theregrowsastillmoredangerousthing:"Ihavealittlefood"plus"Ihavenone."Iffromthisproblemthesumis"Wehavealittlefood,"thethingisonitsway,themovementhasdirection.Onlyalittlemultiplicationnow,andthisland,thistractorareours.Thetwomensquattinginaditch,thelittlefire,theside-meatstewinginasinglepot,thesilent,stone-eyedwomen;behind,thechildrenlisteningwiththeirsoulstowordstheirmindsdonotunderstand.Thenightdrawsdown.Thebabyhasacold.Here,takethisblanket.It’swool.Itwasmymother’sblanket—takeitforthebaby.Thisisthethingtobomb