Гроздья гнева
Chapter 22
Helaydownonhisbackonthewoodenfloorandhepillowedhisheadonhiscrossedhands,andhisforearmspressedagainsthisears.Thenightgrewcooler.Tombuttonedhiscoatoverhischestandsettledbackagain.Thestarswereclearandsharpoverhishead.
ITWASSTILLDARKwhenheawakened.Asmallclashingnoisebroughthimupfromsleep.Tomlistenedandheardagainthesqueakofirononiron.Hemovedstifflyandshiveredinthemorningair.Thecampstillslept.Tomstoodupandlookedoverthesideofthetruck.Theeasternmountainswereblue-black,andashewatched,thelightstoodupfaintlybehindthem,coloredatthemountainrimswithawashedred,thengrowingcolder,grayer,darker,asitwentupoverhead,untilataplacenearthewesternhorizonitmergedwithpurenight.Downinthevalleytheearthwasthelavender-grayofdawn.
Theclashofironsoundedagain.Tomlookeddownthelineoftents,onlyalittlelightergraythantheground.Besideatenthesawaflashoforangefireseepingfromthecracksinanoldironstove.Graysmokespurtedupfromastubbysmokepipe.
Tomclimbedoverthetrucksideanddroppedtotheground.Hemovedslowlytowardthestove.Hesawagirlworkingaboutthestove,sawthatshecarriedababyonhercrookedarm,andthatthebabywasnursing,itsheadupunderthegirl’sshirtwaist.Andthegirlmovedabout,pokingthefire,shiftingtherustystovelidstomakeabetterdraft,openingtheovendoor;andallthetimethebabysucked,andthemothershifteditdeftlyfromarmtoarm.
