“I could of took our truck,” Tom suggested.
“No.” Timothy leaned down and picked up a green walnut. He tested it with his thumb and then shied it at a blackbird sitting on a fence wire. The bird flew up, let the nut sail under it, and then settled back on the wire and smoothed its shining black feathers with its beak.
Tom asked, “Ain’t you got no car?”
Both Wallaces were silent, and Tom, looking at their faces, saw that they were ashamed.
Wilkie said, “Place we work at is on’y a mile up the road.”
Timothy said angrily, “No, we ain’t got no car. We sol’ our car. Had to. Run outa food, run outa ever’thing. Couldn’ git no job. Fellas come aroun’ ever’ week, buyin’ cars. Come aroun’, an’ if you’re hungry, why, they’ll buy your car. An’ if you’re hungry enough, they don’t hafta pay nothin’ for it. An’—we was hungry enough. Give us ten dollars for her.” He spat into the road.
Wilkie said quietly, “I was in Bakersfiel’ las’ week. I seen hera-settin’ in a use’-car lot—settin’ right there, an’ seventy-five dollars was the sign on her.”
“We had to,” Timothy said. “It was either us let ’em steal our car or us steal somepin from them. We ain’t had to steal yet, but, goddamn it, we been close!”
Tom said, “You know, ’fore we lef’ home, we heard they was plenty work out here. Seen han’bills, askin’ folks to come out.”
“Yeah,” Timothy said. “We seen ’em too. An’ they ain’t much work. An’ wages is comin’ down all a time. I git so goddamn tired jus’ figgerin’ how to eat.”