Гроздья гнева

           Throughamazeofsplinteredwoodtheroomatthecornerwasvisible.Thefrontdoorhungopeninward,andalowstronggateacrossthefrontdoorhungoutwardonleatherhinges.

           Joadstoppedatthestep,atwelve-by-twelvetimber."Doorstep’shere,"hesaid."Butthey’regone—orMa’sdead."Hepointedtothelowgateacrossthefrontdoor."IfMawasanywheresabout,thatgate’dbeshutan’hooked.That’sonethingshealwaysdone—seenthatgatewasshut."Hiseyeswerewarm."EversincethepiggotinovertoJacobs’an’etthebaby.MillyJacobswasjus’outinthebarn.Shecomeinwhilethepigwasstilleatin’it.Well,MillyJacobswasinafamilyway,an’shewentravin’.Neverdidgetoverit.Touchedeversince.ButMatookalessonfromit.Sheneverlef’thatpiggateopen’lessshewasinthehouseherself.Neverdidforget.No—they’regone—ordead."Heclimbedtothesplitporchandlookedintothekitchen.Thewindowswerebrokenout,andthrowingrockslayonthefloor,andthefloorandwallssaggedsteeplyawayfromthedoor,andthesifteddustwasontheboards.Joadpointedtothebrokenglassandtherocks."Kids,"hesaid."They’llgotwentymilestobustawindow.Idoneitmyself.Theyknowwhenahouseisempty,theyknow.That’sthefustthingkidsdowhenfolksmoveout."Thekitchenwasemptyoffurniture,stovegoneandtheroundstovepipeholeinthewallshowinglight.Onthesinkshelflayanoldbeeropenerandabrokenforkwithitswoodenhandlegone.