That’ll keep ya up.”
Ma turned the dough and stirred the coffee.
“Listen to me,” she said. “I’m gettin’ cornmeal today.
We’re a-gonna eat cornmeal mush.
An’ soon’s we get enough for gas, we’re movin’ away.
This ain’t a good place.
An’ I ain’t gonna have Tom out alone.
No, sir.”
“Ya can’t do that, Ma.
I tell you I’m jus’ a danger to ya.”
Her chin was set.
“That’s what we’ll do.
Here, come eat this here, an’ then get out to work.
I’ll come out soon’s I get washed up.
We got to make some money.”
They ate the fried dough so hot that it sizzled in their mouths.
And they tossed the coffee down and filled their cups and drank more coffee.
Uncle John shook his head over his plate.
“Don’t look like we’re a-gonna get shet of this here.
I bet it’s my sin.”
“Oh, shut up!” Pa cried. “We ain’t got the time for your sin now.
Come on now. Le’s get out to her.
Kids, you come he’p.
Ma’s right.
We got to go outa here.”
When they were gone, Ma took a plate and a cup to Tom.
“Better eat a little somepin.”
“I can’t, Ma.
I’m so darn sore I couldn’ chew.”
“You better try.”
“No, I can’t, Ma.”
She sat down on the edge of his mattress.
“You got to tell me,” she said.
“I got to figger how it was.
I got to keep straight.
What was Casy a-doin’?
Why’d they kill ’im?”
“He was jus’ standin’ there with the lights on’ ’im.”
“What’d he say?
Can ya ’member what he says?”
Tom said,
“Sure.
Casy said,
‘You got no right to starve people.’
An’ then this heavy fella called him a red son-of-a-bitch.
An’ Casy says,
‘You don’ know what you’re a-doin’.’
An’ then this guy smashed ’im.”
Ma looked down.
She twisted her hands together.