Ma stooped down and picked up a stick of wood.
“Git!” she said coldly. “Don’ you never come back.
I seen your kind before.
You’d take the little pleasure, wouldn’ you?” Ma advanced on Mrs. Sandry.
For a moment the woman backed away and then suddenly she threw back her head and howled.
Her eyes rolled up, her shoulders and arms flopped loosely at her side, and a string of thick ropy saliva ran from the corner of her mouth.
She howled again and again, long deep animal howls.
Men and women ran up from the other tents, and they stood near—frightened and quiet.
Slowly the woman sank to her knees and the howls sank to a shuddering, bubbling moan.
She fell sideways and her arms and legs twitched.
The white eye-balls showed under the open eyelids.
A man said softly,
“The sperit.
She got the sperit.”
Ma stood looking down at the twitching form.
The little manager strolled up casually.
“Trouble?” he asked.
The crowd parted to let him through.
He looked down at the woman. “Too bad,” he said.
“Will some of you help get her back to her tent?”
The silent people shuffled their feet.
Two men bent over and lifted the woman, one held her under the arms and the other took her feet. They carried her away, and the people moved slowly after them.
Rose of Sharon went under the tarpaulin and lay down and covered her face with a blanket.
The manager looked at Ma, looked down at the stick in her hand.
He smiled tiredly.
“Did you clout her?” he asked.
Ma continued to stare after the retreating people.
She shook her head slowly.
“No—but I would a.
Twicet today she worked my girl up.”
The manager said,
“Try not to hit her.
She isn’t well. She just isn’t well.” And he added softly, “I wish she’d go away, and all her family.
She brings more trouble on the camp than all the rest together.”
Ma got herself in hand again.
“If she comes back, I might hit her.
I ain’t sure.
I won’t let her worry my girl no more.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Joad,” he said. “You won’t ever see her again.
She works over the newcomers.
She won’t ever come back.
She thinks you’re a sinner.”
“Well, I am,” said Ma.
“Sure.
Everybody is, but not the way she means.
She isn’t well, Mrs. Joad.”
Ma looked at him gratefully, and she called,
“You hear that, Rosasharn?
She ain’t well.
She’s crazy.” But the girl did not raise her head.