Ma Joad

"Ma was heavy, but not fat; thick with childbearing and work.  She wore a loose Mother Hubbard of gray cloth to which there had once been colored flowers, but the color was washed out now, so that the small flowered pattern was only a little lighter gray than the background.  The dress came down to her ankles, and her strong broad, bare feet moved quickly and deftly over the floor.  Her thin steel-gray hair was gathered in a sparse wispy knot at the back of her head.  Strong, freckled arms were bare to the elbow, and her hands were chubby and delicate, like those of a plump little girl.  She looked out into the sunshine.  Her full face was not soft; it was controlled, kindly.  Her hazel eyes seemed to have experienced all possible tragedy and to have mounted pain and suffering like steps into a high calm and a superhuman understanding. She seemed to know, to accept, to welcome her position, the citadel of the family, the strong place that could not be taken.  And since old Tom and the children could not know hurt or fear unless she acknowledged hurt and fear, she had practiced denying them in herself.  And since, when a joyful thing happened, they looked to see whether joy was on her, it was her habit to build up laughter out of inadequate materials.  But better than joy was calm.  Imperturbability could be depended upon.  And from her great and humble position in the family she had taken dignity and a clean calm beauty.  From her position as healer, her hands had grown sure and cool and quiet; from her position as arbiter she had become as remote and faultless in judgment as a goddess.  She seemed to know that if she swayed the family shook, and if she ever really deeply wavered or despaired the family would fall, the family will to function would be gone.

(Chapter 8, p. 74)

   "We got to do somepin," she said.  And she pointed at Winfield.  "Look at 'im," she said.  And when they stared at the little boy, "He's a-jerkin' an' a-twistin' in his sleep.  Lookut his color."  The members of the family looked at the earth again in shame.  "Fried dough," Ma said.  "One month we been here. An' Tom had five days' work.  An' the rest of you scrabblin' out ever' day, an' no work.  An' scairt to talk.  An' the money gone.  You're scairt to talk it out.  Ever' night you jus' eat, an' then you get wanderin' away.  Can't bear to talk it out.  Well, you got to.  Rosasharn ain't far from due, an' lookut her color.  You got to talk it out.  Now don't none of you get up till we figger somepin out.  One day' more grease an' two days' flour, an' ten potatoes.  You set her an' get busy!"

    They looked at the g round.  Pa cleaned his thick nails with his pocket knife.  Uncle John picked at a splinter on the box he sat on. Tom pinched his lower lip and pulled it away from his teeth.

    He released his lip and said softly, "We been a-lookin', Ma.  Been walkin' up to ever' house, even when we knowed they wasn't gonna be nothin'.  Puts a weight on ya.  Goin' out lookin' for somepin you know you ain't gonna find."

    Ma said fiercely, "You ain't got the right to get discouraged.  This here fambly's goin' under.  You jus' ain't got the right."

    Pa inspected his scraped nail.  "We gotta go," he said.  We didn' wanta go.  It's nice here, an' folks is nice here.  We're feared we'll have to go live in one of them Hoovervilles."

    "Well, if we got to, we got to.  First thing is, we got to eat."

    Al broke in. "I got a tankful a gas in the truck.  I didn' let nobody get into that."

    Tom smiled.  "This here Al got a lot of sense along with he's randy-pandy."

    "Now you figger," Ma said.  I ain't watchin' this here fambly starve no more.  One day' more grease.  That's what we got.  Come time for Rosasharn to lay in, she got to be fed up.  You figger!"

    "This here hot water an' toilets--" Pa began.

    "Well, we can't eat no toilets."

(Chapter 26, pp 350-51)

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    Pa sniffled.  "Seems like times is changed," he said sarcastically.  "Time was when a man said what we'd do.  Seems like women is tellin' now.  Seems like it's purty near time to get out a stick."

    Ma put the clean dripping tin dish out on a box.  She smiled down at her work. "You get your stick, Pa," she said.  "Times when they's food an' a place to set, then maybe you can use your stick an' keep your skin whole.  But you ain't a-doin' your job, either a-thinkin' or a-workin'.  If you was, why, you could use your stick, an' women folks'd sniffle their nose an' creep-mouse aroun'.  But you jus' get you a stick now an' you ain't lickin' no woman; you're a-fightin', 'cause I got a stick all laid out too."

    Pa grinned with embarrassment.  "Now it ain't good to have the little fellas hear you talkin' like that," he said.

    "You get some bacon inside the little fellas 'fore you come tellin' what else is good for 'em," said Ma.

    Pa got up in disgust and moved away, and Uncle John followed him.

    Ma's hands were busy in the water, but she watched them go, and she said proudly to Tom, "He's all right.  He ain't beat.  He's lie as not to take a smack at me."

    Tom laughed.  "You jus' a-treadin' him on?"

    "Sure," said Ma.  "Take a man, he can get worried an' worried, an' it eats out his liver, an' purty soon he'll jus' lay down and die with his heart et out.  But if you can take an' make 'im mad, why, he'll be awright.  Pa, he didn' say nothin', but he's mad now.  He'll show me now.  Hes awright."

(Chapter 26, pp 352-53)