Pa said,
“Come on, Al.
Le’s git that lumber in.”
In the gray dawn light Uncle John waded around the end of the car, past the Joad truck; and he climbed the slippery bank to the highway.
He walked down the highway, past the boxcar flat, until he came to a place where the boiling stream ran close to the road, where the willows grew along the road side.
He put his shovel down, and holding the box in front of him, he edged through the brush until he came to the edge of the swift stream.
For a time he stood watching it swirl by, leaving its yellow foam among the willow stems.
He held the apple box against his chest.
And then he leaned over and set the box in the stream and steadied it with his hand.
He said fiercely,
“Go down an’ tell ’em.
Go down in the street an’ rot an’ tell ’em that way.
That’s the way you can talk.
Don’ even know if you was a boy or a girl.
Ain’t gonna find out.
Go on down now, an’ lay in the street.
Maybe they’ll know then.” He guided the box gently out into the current and let it go.
It settled low in the water, edged sideways, whirled around, and turned slowly over.
The sack floated away, and the box, caught in the swift water, floated quickly away, out of sight, behind the brush.
Uncle John grabbed the shovel and went rapidly back to the boxcars.
He sloshed down into the water and waded to the truck, where Pa and Al were working, taking down the one-by-six planks.
Pa looked over at him.
“Get it done?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, look,” Pa said. “If you’ll he’p Al, I’ll go down the store an’ get some stuff to eat.”
“Get some bacon,” Al said. “I need some meat.”
“I will,” Pa said.
He jumped down from the truck and Uncle John took his place.
When they pushed the planks into the car door, Ma awakened and sat up.
“What you doin’?”
“Gonna build up a place to keep outa the wet.”
“Why?” Ma asked. “It’s dry in here.”
“Ain’t gonna be.
Water’s comin’ up.”
Ma struggled up to her feet and went to the door.
“We got to git outa here.”
“Can’t,” Al said. “All our stuff ’s here.
Truck’s here.
Ever’thing we got.”
“Where’s Pa?”
“Gone to get stuff for breakfas’.”
Ma looked down at the water.
It was only six inches down from the floor by now.
She went back to the mattress and looked at Rose of Sharon.
The girl stared back at her.
“How you feel?” Ma asked.
“Tar’d. Jus’ tar’d out.”
“Gonna get some breakfas’ into you.”
“I ain’t hungry.”
Mrs. Wainwright moved beside Ma.