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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Гроздья гнева
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- Стр. 321/563
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«
Wasn
’
t
never
so
much
reason
,
"
she
said
.
He
drove
through
the
side
streets
and
cleared
the
town
,
and
then
he
crossed
back
.
At
an
intersection
the
sign
said
«
99
.
»
He
turned
south
on
it
.
«
Well
,
anyways
they
never
shoved
us
north
,
"
he
said
.
«
We
still
go
where
we
want
,
even
if
we
got
to
crawl
for
the
right
.
»
The
dim
lights
felt
along
the
broad
black
highway
ahead
.
The
moving
,
questing
people
were
migrants
now
.
Those
families
who
had
lived
on
a
little
piece
of
land
,
who
had
lived
and
died
on
forty
acres
,
had
eaten
or
starved
on
the
produce
of
forty
acres
,
had
now
the
whole
West
to
rove
in
.
And
they
scampered
about
,
looking
for
work
;
and
the
highways
were
streams
of
people
,
and
the
ditch
banks
were
lines
of
people
.
Behind
them
more
were
coming
.
The
great
highways
streamed
with
moving
people
.
There
in
the
Middle
—
and
Southwest
had
lived
a
simple
agrarian
folk
who
had
not
changed
with
industry
,
who
had
not
farmed
with
machines
or
known
the
power
and
danger
of
machines
in
private
hands
.
They
had
not
grown
up
in
the
paradoxes
of
industry
.
Their
senses
were
still
sharp
to
the
ridiculousness
of
the
industrial
life
.
And
then
suddenly
the
machines
pushed
them
out
and
they
swarmed
on
the
highways
.
The
movement
changed
them
;
the
highways
,
the
camps
along
the
road
,
the
fear
of
hunger
and
the
hunger
itself
,
changed
them
.
The
children
without
dinner
changed
them
,
the
endless
moving
changed
them
.
They
were
migrants
.
And
the
hostility
changed
them
,
welded
them
,
united
them
—
hostility
that
made
the
little
towns
group
and
arm
as
though
to
repel
an
invader
,
squads
with
pick
handles
,
clerks
and
storekeepers
with
shotguns
,
guarding
the
world
against
their
own
people
.
In
the
West
there
was
panic
when
the
migrants
multiplied
on
the
highways
.
Men
of
property
were
terrified
for
their
property
.
Men
who
had
never
been
hungry
saw
the
eyes
of
the
hungry
.
Men
who
had
never
wanted
anything
very
much
saw
the
flare
of
want
in
the
eyes
of
the
migrants
.
And
the
men
of
the
towns
and
of
the
soft
suburban
country
gathered
to
defend
themselves
;
and
they
reassured
themselves
that
they
were
good
and
the
invaders
bad
,
as
a
man
must
do
before
he
fights
.
They
said
,
These
goddamned
Okies
are
dirty
and
ignorant
.
They
’
re
degenerate
,
sexual
maniacs
.
Those
goddamned
Okies
are
thieves
.
They
’
ll
steal
anything
.
They
’
ve
got
no
sense
of
property
rights
.
And
the
latter
was
true
,
for
how
can
a
man
without
property
know
the
ache
of
ownership
?
And
the
defending
people
said
,
They
bring
disease
,
they
’
re
filthy
.
We
can
’
t
have
them
in
the
schools
.
They
’
re
strangers
.
How
’
d
you
like
to
have
your
sister
go
out
with
one
of
’
em
?
The
local
people
whipped
themselves
into
a
mold
of
cruelty
.
Then
they
formed
units
,
squads
,
and
armed
them
—
armed
them
with
clubs
,
with
gas
,
with
guns
.
We
own
the
country
.
We
can
’
t
let
these
Okies
get
out
of
hand
.
And
the
men
who
were
armed
did
not
own
the
land
,
but
they
thought
they
did
.
And
the
clerks
who
drilled
at
night
owned
nothing
,
and
the
little
storekeepers
possessed
only
a
drawerful
of
debts
.
But
even
a
debt
is
something
,
even
a
job
is
something
.
The
clerk
thought
,
I
get
fifteen
dollars
a
week
.
S
’
pose
a
goddamn
Okie
would
work
for
twelve
?
And
the
little
storekeeper
thought
,
How
could
I
compete
with
a
debtless
man
?
And
the
migrants
streamed
in
on
the
highways
and
their
hunger
was
in
their
eyes
,
and
their
need
was
in
their
eyes
.
They
had
no
argument
,
no
system
,
nothing
but
their
numbers
and
their
needs
.
When
there
was
work
for
a
man
,
ten
men
fought
for
it
—
fought
with
a
low
wage
.
