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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Гроздья гнева
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- Стр. 167/563
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Look
a
the
sun
a
-
flashin
’
on
them
windas
.
"
The
truck
drove
to
the
service
-
station
belt
,
and
there
on
the
right
-
hand
side
of
the
road
was
a
wrecking
yard
—
an
acre
lot
surrounded
by
a
high
barbed
-
wire
fence
,
a
corrugated
iron
shed
in
front
with
used
tires
piled
up
by
the
doors
,
and
price
-
marked
.
Behind
the
shed
there
was
a
little
shack
built
of
scrap
,
scrap
lumber
and
pieces
of
tin
.
The
windows
were
windshields
built
into
the
walls
.
In
the
grassy
lot
the
wrecks
lay
,
cars
with
twisted
,
stove
-
in
noses
,
wounded
cars
lying
on
their
sides
with
the
wheels
gone
.
Engines
rusting
on
the
ground
and
against
the
shed
.
A
great
pile
of
junk
;
fenders
and
truck
sides
,
wheels
and
axles
;
over
the
whole
lot
a
spirit
of
decay
,
of
mold
and
rust
;
twisted
iron
,
half
-
gutted
engines
,
a
mass
of
derelicts
.
Al
drove
the
truck
up
on
the
oily
ground
in
front
of
the
shed
.
Tom
got
out
and
looked
into
the
dark
doorway
.
"
Don
’
t
see
nobody
,
"
he
said
,
and
he
called
,
"
Anybody
here
?
"
"
Jesus
,
I
hope
they
got
a
’
25
Dodge
.
"
Behind
the
shed
a
door
banged
.
A
specter
of
a
man
came
through
the
dark
shed
.
Thin
,
dirty
,
oily
skin
tight
against
stringy
muscles
.
One
eye
was
gone
,
and
the
raw
,
uncovered
socket
squirmed
with
eye
muscles
when
his
good
eye
moved
.
His
jeans
and
shirt
were
thick
and
shiny
with
old
grease
,
and
his
hands
cracked
and
lined
and
cut
.
His
heavy
,
pouting
underlip
hung
out
sullenly
.
Tom
asked
,
"
You
the
boss
?
"
The
one
eye
glared
.
"
I
work
for
the
boss
,
"
he
said
sullenly
.
"
Whatcha
want
?
"
"
Got
a
wrecked
’
25
Dodge
?
We
need
a
con
-
rod
.
"
"
I
don
’
t
know
.
