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- Джон Стейнбек
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In
the
yard
was
a
litter
,
piled
furniture
,
the
blades
and
motor
of
the
windmill
,
bedsteads
,
chairs
,
tables
.
"
Holy
Christ
,
they
’
re
fixin
’
to
go
!
"
Joad
said
.
A
truck
stood
in
the
yard
,
a
truck
with
high
sides
,
but
a
strange
truck
,
for
while
the
front
of
it
was
a
sedan
,
the
top
had
been
cut
off
in
the
middle
and
the
truck
bed
fitted
on
.
And
as
they
drew
near
,
the
men
could
hear
pounding
from
the
yard
,
and
as
the
rim
of
the
blinding
sun
came
up
over
the
horizon
,
it
fell
on
the
truck
,
and
they
saw
a
man
and
the
flash
of
his
hammer
as
it
rose
and
fell
.
And
the
sun
flashed
on
the
windows
of
the
house
.
The
weathered
boards
were
bright
.
Two
red
chickens
on
the
ground
flamed
with
reflected
light
.
"
Don
’
t
yell
,
"
said
Tom
.
"
Let
’
s
creep
up
on
’
em
,
like
,
"
and
he
walked
so
fast
that
the
dust
rose
high
as
his
waist
.
And
then
he
came
to
the
edge
of
the
cotton
field
.
Now
they
were
in
the
yard
proper
,
earth
beaten
hard
,
shiny
hard
,
and
a
few
dusty
crawling
weeds
on
the
ground
.
And
Joad
slowed
as
though
he
feared
to
go
on
.
The
preacher
,
watching
him
,
slowed
to
match
his
step
.
Tom
sauntered
forward
,
sidled
embarrassedly
toward
the
truck
.
It
was
a
Hudson
Super
-
Six
sedan
,
and
the
top
had
been
ripped
in
two
with
a
cold
chisel
.
Old
Tom
Joad
stood
in
the
truck
bed
and
he
was
nailing
on
the
top
rails
of
the
truck
sides
.
His
grizzled
,
bearded
face
was
low
over
his
work
,
and
a
bunch
of
six
-
penny
nails
stuck
out
of
his
mouth
.
He
set
a
nail
and
his
hammer
thundered
it
in
.
From
the
house
came
the
clash
of
a
lid
on
the
stove
and
the
wail
of
a
child
.
Joad
sidled
up
to
the
truck
bed
and
leaned
against
it
.
And
his
father
looked
at
him
and
did
not
see
him
.
His
father
set
another
nail
and
drove
it
in
.
A
flock
of
pigeons
started
from
the
deck
of
the
tank
house
and
flew
around
and
settled
again
and
strutted
to
the
edge
to
look
over
;
white
pigeons
and
blue
pigeons
and
grays
,
with
iridescent
wings
.
Joad
hooked
his
fingers
over
the
lowest
bar
of
the
truck
side
.
He
looked
up
at
the
aging
,
graying
man
on
the
truck
.
He
wet
his
thick
lips
with
his
tongue
,
and
he
said
softly
,
"
Pa
.
"
"
What
do
you
want
?
"
old
Tom
mumbled
around
his
mouthful
of
nails
.
He
wore
a
black
,
dirty
slouch
hat
and
a
blue
work
shirt
over
which
was
a
buttonless
vest
;
his
jeans
were
held
up
by
a
wide
harness
-
leather
belt
with
a
big
square
brass
buckle
,
leather
and
metal
polished
from
years
of
wearing
;
and
his
shoes
were
cracked
and
the
soles
swollen
and
boat
-
shaped
from
years
of
sun
and
wet
and
dust
.
The
sleeves
of
his
shirt
were
tight
on
his
forearms
,
held
down
by
the
bulging
powerful
muscles
.
Stomach
and
hips
were
lean
,
and
legs
,
short
,
heavy
,
and
strong
.
His
face
,
squared
by
a
bristling
pepper
and
salt
beard
,
was
all
drawn
down
to
the
forceful
chin
,
a
chin
thrust
out
and
built
out
by
the
stubble
beard
which
was
not
so
grayed
on
the
chin
,
and
gave
weight
and
force
to
its
thrust
.
Over
old
Tom
’
s
unwhiskered
cheek
bones
the
skin
was
as
brown
as
meerschaum
,
and
wrinkled
in
rays
around
his
eye
-
corners
from
squinting
.
His
eyes
were
brown
,
black
-
coffee
brown
,
and
he
thrust
his
head
forward
when
he
looked
at
a
thing
,
for
his
bright
dark
eyes
were
failing
.
His
lips
,
from
which
the
big
nails
protruded
,
were
thin
and
red
.
He
held
his
hammer
suspended
in
the
air
,
about
to
drive
a
set
nail
,
and
he
looked
over
the
truck
side
at
Tom
,
looked
resentful
at
being
interrupted
.
And
then
his
chin
drove
forward
and
his
eyes
looked
at
Tom
’
s
face
,
and
then
gradually
his
brain
became
aware
of
what
he
saw
.
The
hammer
dropped
slowly
to
his
side
,
and
with
his
left
hand
he
took
the
nails
from
his
mouth
.
And
he
said
wonderingly
,
as
though
he
told
himself
the
fact
,
"
It
’
s
Tommy
—
"
And
then
,
still
informing
himself
,
"
It
’
s
Tommy
come
home
.
"
His
mouth
opened
again
and
a
look
of
fear
came
into
his
eyes
.
"
Tommy
,
"
he
said
softly
,
"
you
ain
’
t
busted
out
?
You
ain
’
t
got
to
hide
?
"
He
listened
tensely
.
"
Naw
,
"
said
Tom
.
"
I
’
m
paroled
.
I
’
m
free
.
I
got
my
papers
.
"
He
gripped
the
lower
bars
of
the
truck
side
and
looked
up
.
Old
Tom
laid
his
hammer
gently
on
the
floor
and
put
his
nails
in
his
pocket
.
He
swung
his
leg
over
the
side
and
dropped
lithely
to
the
ground
,
but
once
beside
his
son
he
seemed
embarrassed
and
strange
.
"
Tommy
,
"
he
said
,
"
we
are
goin
’
to
California
.
But
we
was
gonna
write
you
a
letter
an
’
tell
you
.
"
And
he
said
,
incredulously
.
"
But
you
’
re
back
.
You
can
go
with
us
.
You
can
go
!
"
The
lid
of
a
coffee
pot
slammed
in
the
house
.
Old
Tom
looked
over
his
shoulder
.
"
Le
’
s
surprise
’
em
,
"
he
said
,
and
his
eyes
shone
with
excitement
.
"
Your
ma
got
a
bad
feelin
’
she
ain
’
t
never
gonna
see
you
no
more
.
She
got
that
quiet
look
like
when
somebody
died
.
Almost
she
don
’
t
want
to
go
to
California
,
fear
she
’
ll
never
see
you
no
more
.
"
A
stove
lid
clashed
in
the
house
again
.
"
Le
’
s
surprise
’
em
,
"
old
Tom
repeated
.
"
Le
’
s
go
in
like
you
never
been
away
.
Le
’
s
jus
’
see
what
your
ma
says
.
"
At
last
he
touched
Tom
,
but
touched
him
on
the
shoulder
,
timidly
,
and
instantly
took
his
hand
away
.
He
looked
at
Jim
Casy
.
