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- Джон Стейнбек
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The
people
came
out
of
their
houses
and
smelled
the
hot
stinging
air
and
covered
their
noses
from
it
.
And
the
children
came
out
of
the
houses
,
but
they
did
not
run
or
shout
as
they
would
have
done
after
a
rain
.
Men
stood
by
their
fences
and
looked
at
the
ruined
corn
,
drying
fast
now
,
only
a
little
green
showing
through
the
film
of
dust
.
The
men
were
silent
and
they
did
not
move
often
.
And
the
women
came
out
of
the
houses
to
stand
beside
their
men
—
to
feel
whether
this
time
the
men
would
break
.
The
women
studied
the
men
’
s
faces
secretly
,
for
the
corn
could
go
,
as
long
as
something
else
remained
.
The
children
stood
near
by
,
drawing
figures
in
the
dust
with
bare
toes
,
and
the
children
sent
exploring
senses
out
to
see
whether
men
and
women
would
break
.
The
children
peeked
at
the
faces
of
the
men
and
women
,
and
then
drew
careful
lines
in
the
dust
with
their
toes
.
Horses
came
to
the
watering
troughs
and
nuzzled
the
water
to
clear
the
surface
dust
.
After
a
while
the
faces
of
the
watching
men
lost
their
bemused
perplexity
and
became
hard
and
angry
and
resistant
.
Then
the
women
knew
that
they
were
safe
and
that
there
was
no
break
.
Then
they
asked
,
What
’
ll
we
do
?
And
the
men
replied
,
I
don
’
t
know
.
But
it
was
all
right
.
The
women
knew
it
was
all
right
,
and
the
watching
children
knew
it
was
all
right
.
Women
and
children
knew
deep
in
themselves
that
no
misfortune
was
too
great
to
bear
if
their
men
were
whole
.
The
women
went
into
the
houses
to
their
work
,
and
the
children
began
to
play
,
but
cautiously
at
first
.
As
the
day
went
forward
the
sun
became
less
red
.
It
flared
down
on
the
dust
-
blanketed
land
.
The
men
sat
in
the
doorways
of
their
houses
;
their
hands
were
busy
with
sticks
and
little
rocks
.
The
men
sat
still
—
thinking
—
figuring
.
A
huge
red
transport
truck
stood
in
front
of
the
little
roadside
restaurant
.
The
vertical
exhaust
pipe
muttered
softly
,
and
an
almost
invisible
haze
of
steel
-
blue
smoke
hovered
over
its
end
.
It
was
a
new
truck
,
shining
red
,
and
in
twelve
-
inch
letters
on
its
sides
—
OKLAHOMA
CITY
TRANSPORT
COMPANY
.
Its
double
tires
were
new
,
and
a
brass
padlock
stood
straight
out
from
the
hasp
on
the
big
black
doors
.
Inside
the
screened
restaurant
a
radio
played
,
quiet
dance
music
turned
low
the
way
it
is
when
no
one
is
listening
.
A
small
outlet
fan
turned
silently
in
its
circular
hole
over
the
entrance
,
and
flies
buzzed
excitedly
about
the
doors
and
windows
,
butting
the
screens
.
Inside
,
one
man
,
the
truck
driver
,
sat
on
a
stool
and
rested
his
elbows
on
the
counter
and
looked
over
his
coffee
at
the
lean
and
lonely
waitress
.
He
talked
the
smart
listless
language
of
the
roadsides
to
her
.
«
I
seen
him
about
three
months
ago
.
He
had
a
operation
.
Cut
somepin
out
.
I
forget
what
.
»
And
she
—
"
Doesn
’
t
seem
no
longer
than
a
week
I
seen
him
myself
.
Looked
fine
then
.
He
’
s
a
nice
sort
of
a
guy
when
he
ain
’
t
stinko
.
"
Now
and
then
the
flies
roared
softly
at
the
screen
door
.
The
coffee
machine
spurted
steam
,
and
the
waitress
,
without
looking
,
reached
behind
her
and
shut
it
off
.
Outside
,
a
man
walking
along
the
edge
of
the
highway
crossed
over
and
approached
the
truck
.
He
walked
slowly
to
the
front
of
it
,
put
his
hand
on
the
shiny
fender
,
and
looked
at
the
No
Riders
sticker
on
the
windshield
.
For
a
moment
he
was
about
to
walk
on
down
the
road
,
but
instead
he
sat
on
the
running
board
on
the
side
away
from
the
restaurant
.
He
was
not
over
thirty
.
His
eyes
were
very
dark
brown
and
there
was
a
hint
of
brown
pigment
in
his
eyeballs
.
His
cheek
bones
were
high
and
wide
,
and
strong
deep
lines
cut
down
his
cheeks
,
in
curves
beside
his
mouth
.
His
upper
lip
was
long
,
and
since
his
teeth
protruded
,
the
lips
stretched
to
cover
them
,
for
this
man
kept
his
lips
closed
.
His
hands
were
hard
,
with
broad
fingers
and
nails
as
thick
and
ridged
as
little
clam
shells
.
The
space
between
thumb
and
forefinger
and
the
hams
of
his
hands
were
shiny
with
callus
.
The
man
’
s
clothes
were
new
—
all
of
them
,
cheap
and
new
.
His
gray
cap
was
so
new
that
the
visor
was
still
stiff
and
the
button
still
on
,
not
shapeless
and
bulged
as
it
would
be
when
it
had
served
for
a
while
all
the
various
purposes
of
a
cap
—
carrying
sack
,
towel
,
handkerchief
.
His
suit
was
of
cheap
gray
hardcloth
and
so
new
that
there
were
creases
in
the
trousers
.
His
blue
chambray
shirt
was
stiff
and
smooth
with
filler
.
The
coat
was
too
big
,
the
trousers
too
short
,
for
he
was
a
tall
man
.
The
coat
shoulder
peaks
hung
down
on
his
arms
,
and
even
then
the
sleeves
were
too
short
and
the
front
of
the
coat
flapped
loosely
over
his
stomach
.
He
wore
a
pair
of
new
tan
shoes
of
the
kind
called
«
army
last
,
"
hob
-
nailed
and
with
half
-
circles
like
horseshoes
to
protect
the
edges
of
the
heels
from
wear
.
This
man
sat
on
the
running
board
and
took
off
his
cap
and
mopped
his
face
with
it
.
Then
he
put
on
the
cap
,
and
by
pulling
started
the
future
ruin
of
the
visor
.
His
feet
caught
his
attention
.
He
leaned
down
and
loosened
the
shoelaces
,
and
did
not
tie
the
ends
again
.
Over
his
head
the
exhaust
of
the
Diesel
engine
whispered
in
quick
puffs
of
blue
smoke
.
The
music
stopped
in
the
restaurant
and
a
man
’
s
voice
spoke
from
the
loudspeaker
,
but
the
waitress
did
not
turn
him
off
,
for
she
didn
’
t
know
the
music
had
stopped
.
Her
exploring
fingers
had
found
a
lump
under
her
ear
.
She
was
trying
to
see
it
in
a
mirror
behind
the
counter
without
letting
the
truck
driver
know
,
and
so
she
pretended
to
push
a
bit
of
hair
to
neatness
.
The
truck
driver
said
,
«
They
was
a
big
dance
in
Shawnee
.
I
heard
somebody
got
killed
or
somepin
.
You
hear
anything
?
»
«
No
,
"
said
the
waitress
,
and
she
lovingly
fingered
the
lump
under
her
ear
.
Outside
,
the
seated
man
stood
up
and
looked
over
the
cowl
of
the
truck
and
watched
the
restaurant
for
a
moment
.
Then
he
settled
back
on
the
running
board
,
pulled
a
sack
of
tobacco
and
a
book
of
papers
from
his
side
pocket
.
He
rolled
his
cigarette
slowly
and
perfectly
,
studied
it
,
smoothed
it
.
At
last
he
lighted
it
and
pushed
the
burning
match
into
the
dust
at
his
feet
.
The
sun
cut
into
the
shade
of
the
truck
as
noon
approached
.
In
the
restaurant
the
truck
driver
paid
his
bill
and
put
his
two
nickels
’
change
in
a
slot
machine
.
The
whirling
cylinders
gave
him
no
score
.
«
They
fix
’
em
so
you
can
’
t
win
nothing
,
"
he
said
to
the
waitress
.
