Read Online The Wayward Bus by John Steinbeck, Gary Scharnhorst - Free Book Online

and set it in front of Pimples.
    â€œEverybody’s nervous,” she said.
    Pimples looked up from his fingernails. He saw how the little lines of age were sneaking down her neck, and he noticed the thickness of her upper eyelids. He saw that her hands had lost the tightness of skin of young girls. He was very sorry for her. Unblessed with beauty as he was, he thought that youth was the only thing in the world worth having and that one who had lost youth was already dead. He had won a great victory this morning, and now when he saw the weakness and indecision in Alice he pressed for a second victory.
    â€œMr. Chicoy says he ain’t going to call me Pimples no more,” he said.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œWell, I asked him not. My name’s Edward. They used to call me Kit in school on account my last name’s Carson.”
    â€œIs Juan calling you Kit?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    Alice didn’t really understand what it was about, and behind her in the bedroom there was movement, footsteps between the rugs and a little low talking. Now that she was aware of the strangers, Pimples became closer to her because he was not quite a stranger. “I’ll see how it goes,” she said.
    The sun had been shining in through the front windows and the door, making five bright splashes on the wall, illuminating the Grape-Nuts packages and the pyramids of oranges behind the counter. And now the bright squares dimmed and went out. There was a roll of thunder, and without warning the rain began. It whisked down on the roof.
    Pimples went to the door and looked out. The rain sheeted down, obscuring the country, splashing high on the cement road. There was a steely look to the wet light. Pimples saw Juan Chicoy inside the bus for shelter. The back wheels were still turning around slowly. As he watched, Juan leaped to the ground and made a run for the lunchroom. Pimples held the door open for him and he bolted through, but even in the little run his overalls were dark with water and his shoes squidged sloppily on the floor.
    â€œGod Almighty,” he said, “that’s a real cloudburst.”
    The gray wall of water obscured the hills and there was a dark, metallic light with it. The heads of the lupines bent down, heavy with water. The petals of the poppies were beaten off and lay on the ground like gold coins. The already wet ground could absorb no more water, and little rivulets started immediately for the low places. The cloudburst roared on the roof of the lunchroom at Rebel Corners.
    Juan Chicoy had taken one of the tables by the lunchroom window and he drank well-creamed coffee and chewed a doughnut and looked out at the downpour. Norma came in and began to wash the few dishes on the stainless steel sink behind the counter.
    â€œBring me another cup of coffee, will you?” Juan asked.
    She came listlessly around the end of the counter. The cup was too full. A little stream of coffee dripped off the bottom of it. Juan pulled out a paper napkin and folded it as a blotter for the wet cup.
    â€œDidn’t get much rest, did you?” he asked.
    Norma was drawn, and her dress was wrinkled. You could see now that she would be an old-looking woman long before she was old. Her skin was muddy and her thin hands were splotched. Many, many things gave Norma the hives.
    â€œDidn’t get any sleep at all,” she said. “I tried the floor but I couldn’t sleep.”
    â€œWell, we’ll see it doesn’t happen again,” said Juan. “I should have got a car to take them into San Ysidro.”
    â€œGiving them our beds!” Alice said derisively. “Now, where did you get that idea? Where else do you suppose they could have got the owners’ beds? They don’t have to work today. They could just as well of sat up.”
    â€œSlipped up on me, I guess,” said Juan.
    â€œYou don’t care if your wife sleeps in a chair,” Alice said. “You’d