He crept silently to the door of the Joad house.
The door squalled on its hinges.
And Ma’s voice, calm and steady and wide awake:
“What’s that?”
“Me. Tom.”
“Well, you better get some sleep.
Al ain’t in yet.”
“He must a foun’ a girl.”
“Go on to sleep,” she said softly. “Over under the window.”
He found his place and took off his clothes to the skin.
He lay shivering under his blanket.
And his torn face awakened from its numbness, and his whole head throbbed.
It was an hour more before Al came in.
He moved cautiously near and stepped on Tom’s wet clothes.
“Sh!” said Tom.
Al whispered,
“You awake?
How’d you get wet?”
“Sh,” said Tom. “Tell you in the mornin’.”
Pa turned on his back, and his snoring filled the room with gasps and snorts.
“You’re col’,” Al said.
“Sh.
Go to sleep.” The little square of the window showed gray against the black of the room.
Tom did not sleep.
The nerves of his wounded face came back to life and throbbed, and his cheek bone ached, and his broken nose bulged and pulsed with pain that seemed to toss him about, to shake him.
He watched the little square window, saw the stars slide down over it and drop from sight.
At intervals he heard the footsteps of the watchmen.
At last the roosters crowed, far away, and gradually the window lightened.
Tom touched his swollen face with his fingertips, and at his movement Al groaned and murmured in his sleep.
The dawn came finally.
In the houses, packed together, there was a sound of movement, a crash of breaking sticks, a little clatter of pans.
In the graying gloom Ma sat up suddenly.
Tom could see her face, swollen with sleep.
She looked at the window, for a long moment.
And then she threw the blanket off and found her dress.
Still sitting down, she put it over her head and held her arms up and let the dress slide down to her waist.
She stood up and pulled the dress down around her ankles.
Then, in bare feet, she stepped carefully to the window and looked out, and while she stared at the growing light, her quick fingers unbraided her hair and smoothed the strands and braided them up again.
Then she clasped her hands in front of her and stood motionless for a moment.
Her face was lighted sharply by the window.
She turned, stepped carefully among the mattresses, and found the lantern.
The shade screeched up, and she lighted the wick.
Pa rolled over and blinked at her.
She said,
“Pa, you got more money?”
“Huh?
Yeah.
Paper wrote for sixty cents.”
“Well, git up an’ go buy some flour an’ lard.
Quick, now.”