Pa called,
“We’re there—we’re in California!”
They looked dully at the broken rock glaring under the sun, and across the river the terrible ramparts of Arizona.
“We got the desert,” said Tom. “We got to get to the water and rest.”
The road runs parallel to the river, and it was well into the morning when the burning motors came to Needles, where the river runs swiftly among the reeds.
The Joads and Wilsons drove to the river, and they sat in the cars looking at the lovely water flowing by, and the green reeds jerking slowly in the current.
There was a little encampment by the river, eleven tents near the water, and the swamp grass on the ground.
And Tom leaned out of the truck window.
“Mind if we stop here a piece?”
A stout woman, scrubbing clothes in a bucket, looked up.
“We don’t own it, mister.
Stop if you want.
They’ll be a cop down to look you over.” And she went back to her scrubbing in the sun.
The two cars pulled to a clear place on the swamp grass.
The tents were passed down, the Wilson tent set up, the Joad tarpaulin stretched over its rope.
Winfield and Ruthie walked slowly down through the willows to the reedy place.
Ruthie said, with soft vehemence,
“California.
This here’s California an’ we’re right in it!”
Winfield broke a tule and twisted it free, and he put the white pulp in his mouth and chewed it.
They walked into the water and stood quietly, the water about the calves of their legs.
“We got the desert yet,” Ruthie said.
“What’s the desert like?”
“I don’t know.
I seen pitchers once says a desert.
They was bones ever’place.”
“Man bones?”
“Some, I guess, but mos’ly cow bones.”
“We gonna get to see them bones?”
“Maybe.
I don’ know.
Gonna go ’crost her at night.
That’s what Tom said.
Tom says we get the livin’ Jesus burned outa us if we go in daylight.”
“Feels nicet an’ cool,” said Winfield, and he squidged his toes in the sand of the bottom.
They heard Ma calling,
“Ruthie! Winfiel’!
You come back.”
They turned and walked slowly back through the reeds and the willows.
The other tents were quiet.
For a moment, when the cars came up, a few heads had stuck out between the flaps, and then were withdrawn.
Now the family tents were up and the men gathered together.
Tom said,
“I’m gonna go down an’ take a bath.
That’s what I’m gonna do—before I sleep.
How’s Granma sence we got her in the tent?”
“Don’ know,” said Pa. “Couldn’ seem to wake her up.” He cocked his head toward the tent.
A whining, babbling voice came from under the canvas.
Ma went quickly inside.
“She woke up, awright,” said Noah. “Seems like all night she was a-croakin’ up on the truck.