Гроздья гнева

           Alhadloadedthefamilyonthetruckbythetimethebucketwashalffull.Tom,hisfacealreadysmudgedwithoil,lookedoutbetweenthewheels."Getbackfast!"hecalled.Andhewaslooseningthepanboltsasthetruckmovedgentlyacrosstheshallowditchandcrawledaway.Tomturnedeachboltasingleturn,looseningthemevenlytosparethegasket.

           Thepreacherkneltbesidethewheels."WhatcanIdo?"

           "Nothin’,notrightnow.Soon’stheoil’soutan’Igetthesehereboltsloose,youcanhe’pmedropthepanoff."Hesquirmedawayunderthecar,looseningtheboltswithawrenchandturningthemoutwithhisfingers.Helefttheboltsoneachendlooselythreadedtokeepthepanfromdropping."Ground’sstillhotunderhere,"Tomsaid.Andthen,"Say,Casy,youbeenawfulgoddamnquietthelas’fewdays.Why,Jesus!WhenIfirstcomeupwithyou,youwasmakin’aspeechever’half-hourorso.An’hereyouain’tsaidtenwordsthelas’coupledays.What’samatter—gettin’sour?"

           Casywasstretchedoutonhisstomach,lookingunderthecar.Hischin,bristlywithsparsewhiskers,restedonthebackofonehand.Hishatwaspushedbacksothatitcoveredthebackofhisneck."Idoneenoughtalkin’whenIwasapreachertolas’therestamylife,"hesaid.

           "Yeah,butyoudonesometalkin’sence,too."

           "I’mallworriedup,"Casysaid."Ididn’evenknowitwhenIwasa-preachin’aroun’,butIwasdoin’consid’abletom-cattin’aroun’.