Гроздья гнева
Chapter 6
Joadslippedcautiouslyintotheroom,andthefloorgroanedunderhisweight.AnoldcopyofthePhiladelphiaLedgerwasontheflooragainstthewall,itspagesyellowandcurling.Joadlookedintothebedroom—nobed,nochairs,nothing.OnthewallapictureofanIndiangirlincolor,labeledRedWing.Abedslatleaningagainstthewall,andinonecornerawoman’shighbuttonshoe,curledupatthetoeandbrokenovertheinstep.Joadpickeditupandlookedatit."Irememberthis,"hesaid."ThiswasMa’s.It’sallworeoutnow.Malikedthemshoes.Had’emforyears.No,they’vewent—an’tookever’thing."
Thesunhadlowereduntilitcamethroughtheangledendwindowsnow,anditflashedontheedgesofthebrokenglass.Joadturnedatlastandwentoutandcrossedtheporch.Hesatdownontheedgeofitandrestedhisbarefeetonthetwelve-by-twelvestep.Theeveninglightwasonthefields,andthecottonplantsthrewlongshadowsontheground,andthemoltingwillowtreethrewalongshadow.
CasysatdownbesideJoad."Theyneverwroteyounothin’?"heasked.
"No.LikeIsaid,theywasn’tpeopletowrite.Pacouldwrite,buthewouldn’t.Didn’tliketo.Itgivehimtheshiverstowrite.Hecouldworkoutacatalogueorderasgoodasthenex’fella,buthewouldn’twritenolettersjustforducks."Theysatsidebyside,staringoffintothedistance.Joadlaidhisrolledcoatontheporchbesidehim.
