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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Гроздья гнева
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Al
backed
and
filled
on
the
narrow
road
,
until
he
had
reversed
his
direction
.
He
drove
slowly
back
to
the
line
of
boxcars
.
The
truck
lights
showed
the
cat
-
walks
up
to
the
wide
car
doors
.
The
doors
were
dark
.
No
one
moved
in
the
night
.
Al
shut
off
his
lights
.
«
You
and
Uncle
John
climb
up
back
,
"
he
said
to
Rose
of
Sharon
«
I
’
ll
sleep
in
the
seat
here
.
»
Uncle
John
helped
the
heavy
girl
to
climb
up
over
the
tail
board
.
Ma
piled
the
pots
in
a
small
space
.
The
family
lay
wedged
close
together
in
the
back
of
the
truck
.
A
baby
cried
,
in
long
jerking
cackles
,
in
one
of
the
boxcars
.
A
dog
trotted
out
,
sniffing
and
snorting
,
and
moved
slowly
around
the
Joad
truck
.
The
tinkle
of
moving
water
came
from
the
streambed
.
Cotton
pickers
wanted
—
placards
on
the
road
,
handbills
out
,
orange
-
colored
handbills
—
Cotton
Pickers
Wanted
.
Here
,
up
this
road
,
it
says
.
The
dark
green
plants
stringy
now
,
and
the
heavy
bolls
clutched
in
the
pod
.
White
cotton
spilling
out
like
popcorn
.
Like
to
get
our
hands
on
the
bolls
.
Tenderly
,
with
the
fingertips
.
I
’
m
a
good
picker
.
Here
’
s
the
man
,
right
here
.
I
aim
to
pick
some
cotton
.
Got
a
bag
?
Well
,
no
,
I
ain
’
t
.
Cost
ya
a
dollar
,
the
bag
.
Take
it
out
o
’
your
first
hunderd
and
fifty
.
Eighty
cents
a
hunderd
first
time
over
the
field
.
Ninety
cents
second
time
over
.
Get
your
bag
there
.
One
dollar
.
’
F
you
ain
’
t
got
the
buck
,
we
’
ll
take
it
out
of
your
first
hunderd
and
fifty
.
That
’
s
fair
,
and
you
know
it
.
Sure
it
’
s
fair
.
Good
cotton
bag
,
last
all
season
.
An
’
when
she
’
s
wore
out
,
draggin
’
,
turn
’
er
aroun
’
,
use
the
other
end
.
Sew
up
the
open
end
.
Open
up
the
wore
end
.
And
when
both
ends
is
gone
,
why
,
that
’
s
nice
cloth
!
Makes
a
nice
pair
a
summer
drawers
.
Makes
nightshirts
.
And
well
,
hell
—
a
cotton
bag
’
s
a
nice
thing
.
Hang
it
around
your
waist
.
Straddle
it
,
drag
it
between
your
legs
.
She
drags
light
at
first
.
And
your
fingertips
pick
out
the
fluff
,
and
the
hands
go
twisting
into
the
sack
between
your
legs
.
Kids
come
along
behind
;
got
no
bags
for
the
kids
—
use
a
gunny
sack
or
put
it
in
your
ol
’
man
’
s
bag
.
She
hangs
heavy
,
some
,
now
.
Lean
forward
,
hoist
’
er
along
.
I
’
m
a
good
hand
with
cotton
.
Finger
-
wise
,
boll
-
wise
.
Jes
’
move
along
talkin
’
,
an
’
maybe
singin
’
till
the
bag
gets
heavy
.
Fingers
go
right
to
it
.
Fingers
know
.
Eyes
see
the
work
—
and
don
’
t
see
it
.
Talkin
’
across
the
rows
