Гроздья гнева

           ShelistenedtoGranma’sbreathingandtothegirl’sbreathing.Shemovedahandtostartaflyfromherforehead.Thecampwasquietintheblindingheat,butthenoisesofhotgrass—ofcrickets,thehumofflies—wereatonethatwasclosetosilence.Masigheddeeplyandthenyawnedandclosedhereyes.Inherhalf-sleepsheheardfootstepsapproaching,butitwasaman’svoicethatstartedherawake.

           "Who’sinhere?"

           Masatupquickly.Abrown-facedmanbentoverandlookedin.Heworebootsandkhakipantsandakhakishirtwithepaulets.OnaSamBrownebeltapistolholsterhung,andabigsilverstarwaspinnedtohisshirtattheleftbreast.Aloose-crownedmilitarycapwasonthebackofhishead.Hebeatonthetarpaulinwithhishand,andthetightcanvasvibratedlikeadrum.

           "Who’sinhere?"hedemandedagain.

           Maasked,"Whatisityouwant,mister?"

           "WhatyouthinkIwant?Iwanttoknowwho’sinhere."

           "Why,they’sjus’usthreeinhere.Mean’Granmaan’mygirl."

           "Where’syourmen?"

           "Why,theywentdowntocleanup.Wewasdrivin’allnight."

           "Where’dyoucomefrom?"

           "RightnearSallisaw,Oklahoma."

           "Well,youcan’tstayhere."

           "Weaimtogetouttonightan’crossthedesert,mister."

           "Well,youbetter.Ifyou’reheretomorrathistimeI’llrunyouin.

           Wedon’twantnoneofyousettlin’downhere."

           Ma’sfaceblackenedwithanger.Shegotslowlytoherfeet.Shestoopedtotheutensilboxandpickedouttheironskillet.