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- Джон Стейнбек
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The
tenant
men
squatted
down
on
their
hams
again
to
mark
the
dust
with
a
stick
,
to
figure
,
to
wonder
.
Their
sunburned
faces
were
dark
,
and
their
sun
-
whipped
eyes
were
light
.
The
women
moved
cautiously
out
of
the
doorways
toward
their
men
,
and
the
children
crept
behind
the
women
,
cautiously
,
ready
to
run
.
The
bigger
boys
squatted
beside
their
fathers
,
because
that
made
them
men
.
After
a
time
the
women
asked
,
What
did
he
want
?
And
the
men
looked
up
for
a
second
,
and
the
smolder
of
pain
was
in
their
eyes
.
We
got
to
get
off
.
A
tractor
and
a
superintendent
.
Like
factories
.
Where
’
ll
we
go
?
the
women
asked
.
We
don
’
t
know
.
We
don
’
t
know
.
And
the
women
went
quickly
,
quietly
back
into
the
houses
and
herded
the
children
ahead
of
them
.
They
knew
that
a
man
so
hurt
and
so
perplexed
may
turn
in
anger
,
even
on
people
he
loves
.
They
left
the
men
alone
to
figure
and
to
wonder
in
the
dust
.
After
a
time
perhaps
the
tenant
man
looked
about
—
at
the
pump
put
in
ten
years
ago
,
with
a
goose
-
neck
handle
and
iron
flowers
on
the
spout
,
at
the
chopping
block
where
a
thousand
chickens
had
been
killed
,
at
the
hand
plow
lying
in
the
shed
,
and
the
patent
crib
hanging
in
the
rafters
over
it
.
The
children
crowded
about
the
women
in
the
houses
.
What
we
going
to
do
,
Ma
?
Where
we
going
to
go
?
The
women
said
,
We
don
’
t
know
,
yet
.
Go
out
and
play
.
But
don
’
t
go
near
your
father
.
He
might
whale
you
if
you
go
near
him
.
And
the
women
went
on
with
the
work
,
but
all
the
time
they
watched
the
men
squatting
in
the
dust
—
perplexed
and
figuring
.
The
tractors
came
over
the
roads
and
into
the
fields
,
great
crawlers
moving
like
insects
,
having
the
incredible
strength
of
insects
.
They
crawled
over
the
ground
,
laying
the
track
and
rolling
on
it
and
picking
it
up
.
Diesel
tractors
,
puttering
while
they
stood
idle
;
they
thundered
when
they
moved
,
and
then
settled
down
to
a
droning
roar
.
