Joad looked at him with drooped eyes, and then he laughed.
“Why, you’re the preacher.
You’re the preacher.
I jus’ passed a recollection about you to a guy not an hour ago.”
“I was a preacher,” said the man seriously. “Reverend Jim Casy—was a Burning Busher.
Used to howl out the name of Jesus to glory.
And used to get an irrigation ditch so squirmin’ full of repented sinners half of ’em like to drownded.
But not no more,” he sighed. “Just Jim Casy now.
Ain’t got the call no more.
Got a lot of sinful idears—but they seem kinda sensible.”
Joad said,
“You’re bound to get idears if you go thinkin’ about stuff.
Sure I remember you.
You use ta give a good meetin’.
I recollect one time you give a whole sermon walkin’ around on your hands, yellin’ your head off.
Ma favored you more than anybody.
An’ Granma says you was just lousy with the spirit.” Joad dug at his rolled coat and found the pocket and brought out his pint.
The turtle moved a leg but he wrapped it up tightly.
He unscrewed the cap and held out the bottle. “Have a little snort?”
Casy took the bottle and regarded it broodingly.
“I ain’t preachin’ no more much.
The sperit ain’t in the people much no more; and worse’n that, the sperit ain’t in me no more. ’Course now an’ again the sperit gets movin’ an’ I rip out a meetin’, or when folks sets out food I give ’em a grace, but my heart ain’t in it.
I on’y do it ’cause they expect it.”
Joad mopped his face with his cap again.
“You ain’t too damn holy to take a drink, are you?” he asked.
Casy seemed to see the bottle for the first time.
He tilted it and took three big swallows.
“Nice drinkin’ liquor,” he said.
“Ought to be,” said Joad. “That’s fact’ry liquor.
Cost a buck.”
Casy took another swallow before he passed the bottle back.
“Yes, sir!” he said. “Yes, sir!”
Joad took the bottle from him, and in politeness did not wipe the neck with his sleeve before he drank.
He squatted on his hams and set the bottle upright against his coat roll. His fingers found a twig with which to draw his thoughts on the ground.
He swept the leaves from a square and smoothed the dust. And he drew angles and made little circles.
“I ain’t seen you in a long time,” he said.
“Nobody seen me,” said the preacher. “I went off alone, an’ I sat and figured.
The sperit’s strong in me, on’y it ain’t the same.
I ain’t so sure of a lot of things.”
He sat up straighter against the tree.
His bony hand dug its way like a squirrel into his overall pocket, brought out a black, bitten plug of tobacco.
Carefully he brushed off bits of straw and gray pocket fuzz before he bit off a corner and settled the quid into his cheek.
Joad waved his stick in negation when the plug was held out to him.
The turtle dug at the rolled coat.
Casy looked over at the stirring garment.
“What you got there—a chicken?
You’ll smother it.”
Joad rolled the coat up more tightly.
“An old turtle,” he said. “Picked him up on the road.
An old bulldozer.