“I’m a-gettin’ tired, Ma.
How ’bout makin’ me mad?”
“You got more sense, Tom.
I don’ need to make you mad.
I got to lean on you.
Them others—they’re kinda strangers, all but you.
You won’t give up, Tom.”
The job fell on him.
“I don’ like it,” he said. “I wanta go out like Al.
An’ I wanta get mad like Pa, an’ I wanta get drunk like Uncle John.”
Ma shook her head.
“You can’t, Tom.
I know.
I knowed from the time you was a little fella.
You can’t.
They’s some folks that’s just theirself an’ nothin’ more.
There’s Al—he’s jus’ a young fella after a girl.
You wasn’t never like that, Tom.”
“Sure I was,” said Tom. “Still am.”
“No you ain’t.
Ever’thing you do is more’n you.
When they sent you up to prison I knowed it.
You’re spoke for.”
“Now, Ma—cut it out.
It ain’t true. It’s all in your head.”
She stacked the knives and forks on top of the plates.
“Maybe.
Maybe it’s in my head.
Rosasharn, you wipe up these here an’ put ’em away.”
The girl got breathlessly to her feet and her swollen middle hung out in front of her.
She moved sluggishly to the box and picked up a washed dish.
Tom said,
“Gettin’ so tightful it’s a-pullin’ her eyes wide.”
“Don’t you go a-jollyin’,” said Ma. “She’s doin’ good.
You go ’long an’ say goo’-by to anybody you wan’.”
“O.K.,” he said. “I’m gonna see how far it is up there.”
Ma said to the girl,
“He ain’t sayin’ stuff like that to make you feel bad.
Where’s Ruthie an’ Winfiel’?”
“They snuck off after Pa. I seen ’em.”
“Well, leave ’em go.”
Rose of Sharon moved sluggishly about her work.
Ma inspected her cautiously.
“You feelin’ pretty good?
Your cheeks is kinda saggy.”
“I ain’t had milk like they said I ought.”
“I know.
We jus’ didn’ have no milk.”
Rose of Sharon said dully,
“Ef Connie hadn’ went away, we’d a had a little house by now, with him studyin’ an’ all.