Гроздья гнева

           Theygotlotsastufftoworkin."Theraggedmangiggledunderhisbreath.Tomturnedirritably."What’ssogoddamnfunnyaboutthat?"

           Theraggedmanshuthismouthandlookedsullenlyattheporchboards."Youfolksallgoin’toCalifornia,Ibet."

           "Itol’youthat,"saidPa."Youdidn’guessnothin’."

           Theraggedmansaidslowly,"Me—I’mcomin’back.Ibeenthere."

           Thefacesturnedquicklytowardhim.Themenwererigid.Thehissofthelanterndroppedtoasighandtheproprietorloweredthefrontchairlegstotheporch,stoodup,andpumpedthelanternuntilthehisswassharpandhighagain.Hewentbacktohischair,buthedidnottiltbackagain.Theraggedmanturnedtowardthefaces."I’mgoin’backtostarve.Irutherstarvealloveratoncet."

           Pasaid,"Whatthehellyoutalkin’about?Igotahan’billsaystheygotgoodwages,an’littlewhileagoIseenathinginthepapersaystheyneedfolkstopickfruit."

           TheraggedmanturnedtoPa."Yougotanyplacetogo,backhome?"

           "No,"saidPa."We’reout.Theyputatractorpastthehouse."

           "Youwouldn’gobackthen?"

           "’Coursenot."

           "ThenIain’tgonnafretyou,"saidtheraggedman.

           "’Courseyouain’tgonnafretme.Igotahan’billsaystheyneedmen.Don’tmakenosenseiftheydon’tneedmen.Costsmoneyforthembills.Theywouldn’put’emoutiftheydidn’needmen."

           "Idon’wannafretyou."

           Pasaidangrily,"Youdonesomejackassin’.Youain’tgonnashutupnow.