Гроздья гнева

           Hewrotetheminthebook,withaspaceleftfortheweights.«Gotyourbags?Igotafew.Costyouadollar.»Andthecarspouredintotheyard.Theownerpulledhissheep-linedleatherjacketuparoundhisthroat.Helookedatthedrivewayapprehensively.«Thistwentyisn’tgonnatakelongtopickwithallthesepeople,"hesaid.

           Childrenwereclimbingintothebigcottontrailer,diggingtheirtoesintothechicken-wiresides.«Gitoffthere,"theownercried.«Comeondown.You’lltearthatwireloose.»Andthechildrenclimbedslowlydown,embarrassedandsilent.Thegraydawncame.«I’llhavetotakeatarefordew,"theownersaid.«Changeitwhenthesuncomesout.Allright,gooutwhenyouwant.Lightenoughtosee.»

           Thepeoplemovedquicklyoutintothecottonfieldandtooktheirrows.Theytiedthebagstotheirwaistsandtheyslappedtheirhandstogethertowarmstifffingersthathadtobenimble.Thedawncoloredovertheeasternhills,andthewidelinemovedovertherows.Andfromthehighwaythecarsstillmovedinandparkedinthebarnyarduntilitwasfull,andtheyparkedalongtheroadonbothsides.Thewindblewbrisklyacrossthefield.«Idon’tknowhowyouallfoundout,"theownersaid.«Theremustbeahellofagrapevine.Thetwentywon’tlasttillnoon.Whatname?Hume?Howmany?»

           Thelineofpeoplemovedoutacrossthefield,andthestrongsteadywestwindblewtheirclothes.Theirfingersflewtothespillingbolls,andflewtothelongsacksgrowingheavybehindthem.