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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Гроздья гнева
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- Стр. 69/563
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They
sat
and
looked
at
it
and
burned
it
into
their
memories
.
How
’
ll
it
be
not
to
know
what
land
’
s
outside
the
door
?
How
if
you
wake
up
in
the
night
and
know
—
and
know
the
willow
tree
’
s
not
there
?
Can
you
live
without
the
willow
tree
?
Well
,
no
,
you
can
’
t
.
The
willow
tree
is
you
.
The
pain
on
that
mattress
there
—
that
dreadful
pain
—
that
’
s
you
.
And
the
children
—
if
Sam
takes
his
Injun
bow
an
’
his
long
roun
’
stick
,
I
get
to
take
two
things
.
I
choose
the
fluffy
pilla
.
That
’
s
mine
.
Suddenly
they
were
nervous
.
Got
to
get
out
quick
now
.
Can
’
t
wait
.
We
can
’
t
wait
.
And
they
piled
up
the
goods
in
the
yards
and
set
fire
to
them
.
They
stood
and
watched
them
burning
,
and
then
frantically
they
loaded
up
the
cars
and
drove
away
,
drove
in
the
dust
.
The
dust
hung
in
the
air
for
a
long
time
after
the
loaded
cars
had
passed
.
When
the
truck
had
gone
,
loaded
with
implements
,
with
heavy
tools
,
with
beds
and
springs
,
with
every
movable
thing
that
might
be
sold
,
Tom
hung
around
the
place
.
He
mooned
into
the
barn
shed
,
into
the
empty
stalls
,
and
he
walked
into
the
implement
leanto
and
kicked
the
refuse
that
was
left
,
turned
a
broken
mower
tooth
with
his
foot
.
He
visited
places
he
remembered
—
the
red
bank
where
the
swallows
nested
,
the
willow
tree
over
the
pig
pen
.
Two
shoats
grunted
and
squirmed
at
him
through
the
fence
,
black
pigs
,
sunning
and
comfortable
.
And
then
his
pilgrimage
was
over
,
and
he
went
to
sit
on
the
doorstep
where
the
shade
was
lately
fallen
.
Behind
him
Ma
moved
about
in
the
kitchen
,
washing
children
’
s
clothes
in
a
bucket
;
and
her
strong
freckled
arms
dripped
soapsuds
from
the
elbows
.
She
stopped
her
rubbing
when
he
sat
down
.
She
looked
at
him
a
long
time
,
and
at
the
back
of
his
head
when
he
turned
and
stared
out
at
the
hot
sunlight
.
And
then
she
went
back
to
her
rubbing
.
She
said
,
"
Tom
,
I
hope
things
is
all
right
in
California
.
"
He
turned
and
looked
at
her
.
"
What
makes
you
think
they
ain
’
t
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Well
—
nothing
.
Seems
too
nice
,
kinda
.
I
seen
the
han
’
bills
fellas
pass
out
,
an
’
how
much
work
they
is
,
an
’
high
wages
an
’
all
;
an
’
I
seen
in
the
paper
how
they
want
folks
to
come
an
’
pick
grapes
an
’
oranges
an
’
peaches
.
That
’
d
be
nice
work
,
Tom
,
pickin
’
peaches
.
Even
if
they
wouldn
’
t
let
you
eat
none
,
you
could
maybe
snitch
a
little
ratty
one
sometimes
.
An
’
it
’
d
be
nice
under
the
trees
,
workin
’
in
the
shade
.
I
’
m
scared
of
stuff
so
nice
.
I
ain
’
t
got
faith
.
I
’
m
scared
somepin
ain
’
t
so
nice
about
it
.
"
Tom
said
,
"
Don
’
t
roust
your
faith
bird
-
high
an
’
you
won
’
t
do
no
crawlin
’
with
the
worms
.
"
"
I
know
that
’
s
right
.
That
’
s
Scripture
,
ain
’
t
it
?
"
