When ya get ’em picked, ever’ goddamn one is picked.
There ain’t another damn thing in that part a the country to do.
An’ then them owners don’ want you there no more.
Three thousan’ of you.
The work’s done.
You might steal, you might get drunk, you might jus’ raise hell.
An’ besides, you don’ look nice, livin’ in ol’ tents; an’ it’s a pretty country, but you stink it up.
They don’ want you aroun’.
So they kick you out, they move you along.
That’s how it is.”
Tom, looking down toward the Joad tent, saw his mother, heavy and slow with weariness, build a little trash fire and put the cooking pots over the flame.
The circle of children drew closer, and the calm wide eyes of the children watched every move of Ma’s hands.
An old, old man with a bent back came like a badger out of a tent and snooped near, sniffing the air as he came.
He laced his arms behind him and joined the children to watch Ma.
Ruthie and Winfield stood near to Ma and eyed the strangers belligerently.
Tom said angrily,
“Them peaches got to be picked right now, don’t they?
Jus’ when they’re ripe?”
“’Course they do.”
“Well, s’pose them people got together an’says,
‘Let ’em rot.’
Wouldn’ be long ’fore the price went up, by God!”
The young man looked up from the valves, looked sardonically at Tom.
“Well, you figgered out somepin, didn’ you.
Come right outa your own head.”
“I’m tar’d,” said Tom. “Drove all night.
I don’t wanta start no argument.
An’ I’m so goddamn tar’d I’d argue easy.
Don’ be smart with me.
I’m askin’ you.”
The young man grinned.
“I didn’ mean it.
You ain’t been here.
Folks figgered that out.
An’ the folks with the peach orchard figgered her out too.
Look, if the folks gets together, they’s a leader—got to be—fella that does the talkin’.
Well, first time this fella opens his mouth they grab ’im an’ stick ’im in jail.
An’ if they’s another leader pops up, why, they stick ’im in jail.”
Tom said,
“Well, a fella eats in jail anyways.”
“His kids don’t.
How’d you like to be in an’ your kids starvin’ to death?”
“Yeah,” said Tom slowly. “Yeah.”
“An’ here’s another thing.
Ever hear a’ the blacklist?”
“What’s that?”
“Well, you jus’ open your trap about us folks gettin’ together, an’ you’ll see.
They take your pitcher an’ send it all over.
Then you can’t get work nowhere.
An’ if you got kids——”