The Grapes of Wrath (74 page)

“Ruthie! You give him one.”

Ruthie heard the threat in Ma’s tone, and changed her tactics. “Here,” she said with elaborate kindness. “I’ll stick on one for you.” The older people walked on. Winfield held his nose near to her. She wet a petal with her tongue and jabbed it cruelly on his nose. “You little son-of-a-bitch,” she said softly. Winfield felt for the petal with his fingers, and pressed it down on his nose. They walked quickly after the others. Ruthie felt how the fun was gone. “Here,” she said. “Here’s some more. Stick some on your forehead.”

From the right of the road there came a sharp swishing. Ma cried, “Hurry up. They’s a big rain. Le’s go through the fence here. It’s shorter. Come on, now! Bear on, Rosasharn.” They half dragged the girl across
the ditch, helped her through the fence. And then the storm struck them. Sheets of rain fell on them. They plowed through the mud and up the little incline. The black barn was nearly obscured by the rain. It hissed and splashed, and the growing wind drove it along. Rose of Sharon’s feet slipped and she dragged between her supporters.

“Pa! Can you carry her?”

Pa leaned over and picked her up. “We’re wet through anyways,” he said. “Hurry up. Winfiel’—Ruthie! Run on ahead.”

They came panting up to the rain-soaked barn and staggered into the open end. There was no door in this end. A few rusty farm tools lay about, a disk plow and a broken cultivator, an iron wheel. The rain hammered on the roof and curtained the entrance. Pa gently set Rose of Sharon down on an oily box. “God Awmighty!” he said.

Ma said, “Maybe they’s hay inside. Look, there’s a door.” She swung the door on its rusty hinges. “They is hay,” she cried. “Come on in, you.”

It was dark inside. A little light came in through the cracks between the boards.

“Lay down, Rosasharn,” Ma said. “Lay down an’ res’.I’ll try to figger some way to dry you off.”

Winfield said, “Ma!” and the rain roaring on the roof drowned his voice. “
Ma!
”

“What is it? What you want?”

“Look! In the corner.”

Ma looked. There were two figures in the gloom; a man who lay on his back, and a boy sitting beside him, his eyes wide, staring at the newcomers. As she looked, the boy got slowly up to his feet and came toward her. His voice croaked. “You own this here?”

“No,” Ma said. “Jus’ come in outa the wet. We got a sick girl. You got a dry blanket we could use an’ get her wet clothes off ?”

The boy went back to the corner and brought a dirty comfort and held it out to Ma.

“Thank ya,” she said. “What’s the matter’th that fella?”

The boy spoke in a croaking monotone. “Fust he was sick—but now he’s starvin’.”

“What?”

“Starvin’. Got sick in the cotton. He ain’t et for six days.”

Ma walked to the corner and looked down at the man. He was about fifty, his whiskery face gaunt, and his open eyes were vague and staring. The boy stood beside her. “Your pa?” Ma asked.

“Yeah! Says he wasn’ hungry, or he jus’ et. Give me the food. Now he’s too weak. Can’t hardly move.”

The pounding of the rain decreased to a soothing swish on the roof. The gaunt man moved his lips. Ma knelt beside him and put her ear close. His lips moved again.

“Sure,” Ma said. “You jus’ be easy. He’ll be awright. You jus’ wait’ll I get them wet clo’es off’n my girl.”

Ma went back to the girl. “Now slip ’em off,” she said. She held the comfort up to screen her from view. And when she was naked, Ma folded the comfort about her.

The boy was at her side again explaining, “I didn’ know. He said he et, or he wasn’ hungry. Las’ night I went an’ bust a winda an’ stoled some bread. Made ’im chew ’er down. But he puked it all up, an’ then he was weaker. Got to have soup or milk. You folks got money to git milk?”

Ma said, “Hush. Don’ worry. We’ll figger somepin out.”

Suddenly the boy cried, “He’s dyin’, I tell you! He’s starvin’ to death, I tell you.”

“Hush,” said Ma. She looked at Pa and Uncle John standing helplessly gazing at the sick man. She looked at Rose of Sharon huddled in the comfort. Ma’s eyes passed Rose of Sharon’s eyes, and then came back to them. And the two women looked deep into each other. The girl’s breath came short and gasping.

She said “Yes.”

Ma smiled. “I knowed you would. I knowed!” She looked down at her hands, tight-locked in her lap.

Rose of Sharon whispered, “Will—will you all—go out?” The rain whisked lightly on the roof.

Ma leaned forward and with her palm she brushed the tousled hair back from her daughter’s forehead, and she kissed her on the forehead. Ma got up quickly. “Come on, you fellas,” she called. “You come out in the tool shed.”

Ruthie opened her mouth to speak. “Hush,” Ma said. “Hush and git.” She herded them through the door, drew the boy with her; and she closed the squeaking door.

For a minute Rose of Sharon sat still in the whispering barn. Then she hoisted her tired body up and drew the comfort about her. She moved slowly to the corner and stood looking down at the wasted face, into the wide, frightened eyes. Then slowly she lay down beside him. He shook his head slowly from side to side. Rose of Sharon loosened one side of the blanket and bared her breast. “You got to,” she said. She squirmed closer and pulled his head close. “There!” she said. “There.” Her hand moved behind his head and supported it. Her fingers moved gently in his hair. She looked up and across the barn, and her lips came together and smiled mysteriously.