In one of several scenes in the novel that do not focus on the Joad family, Steinbeck presents a symbolic conversation between two unnamed male figures. One of these figures represents the tenant farmers in Oklahoma, and the other, a tractor-driver, defends the banks that have evicted the tenants. Justifying the evictions, the tractor-driver uses an extended metaphor that imagines the banks as monstrous living creatures:
But—you see, a bank or a company can’t do that, because those creatures don’t breathe air, don’t eat side-meat. They breathe profits; they eat the interest on money. If they don’t get it, they die the way you die without air, without side-meat. It is a sad thing, but it is so. It is just so [...] The bank—the monster has to have profits all the time. It can’t wait. It’ll die. No, taxes go on. When the monster stops growing, it dies. It can’t stay one size.
The banks, he claims, cannot show any mercy to the tenant farmers because “they breathe profits” and “eat the interest on money.” The banks must prioritize profit above all else because “if they don’t get it, they die the way you die without air.” He further develops this metaphor, noting that the banks must constantly find new sources of profit or they will die, and as a result, they must continually grow in order to stay alive. In this scene, the tractor-driver metaphorically imagines the banks as living things in order to justify the cruel exploitation of the tenants in the name of survival. There is a clear sense of irony in his speech, however, as the needs of banks are prioritized over those of living people who actually require food to survive.
When Al Joad, Tom’s younger brother, returns to Uncle John’s house with the new family car, Steinbeck uses ironic metaphors drawn from the language of monarchy to describe Grampa Joad:
Grampa was still the titular head, but he no longer ruled. His position was honorary and a matter of custom. But he did have the right of first comment, no matter how silly his old mind might be. And the squatting men and the standing women waited for him. “You’re all right, Al,’’ Grampa said. “I was a squirt jus’ like you, a-fartin’ aroun’ like a dog-wolf. But when they was a job, I done it. You’ve growed up good.’’ He finished in the tone of a benediction, and Al reddened a little with pleasure.
Here, he metaphorically describes Grampa Joad as a “titular head” who “no longer ruled” his kingdom. He is, then, a king who occupies the throne symbolically but holds little actual political power. Like a king, he has “the right of first comment,” and the others wait for him to speak before praising Al. His highly informal and vulgar speech, however, casts these royal metaphors in an ironic light. Grampa Joad is, after all, no monarch ruling over a court, but the elderly and ill-mannered patriarch of an impoverished American family. Steinbeck describes his words, with further irony, as being spoken in “the tone of a benediction,” as if he is a clergyman pronouncing a blessing.
As the Joad family makes its way in an overstuffed car toward California, Steinbeck employs a hyperbolic metaphor to emphasize the sense of secret communication between Rose of Sharon, who is pregnant, and Connie Rivers, her husband:
She looked at him and smiled secretly. She was all secrets now she was pregnant, secrets and little silences that seemed to have meanings. She was pleased with herself, and she complained about things that didn’t really matter. And she demanded services of Connie that were silly, and both of them knew they were silly [...] The world had drawn close around them, and they were in the center of it, or rather Rose of Sharon was in the center of it with Connie making a small orbit about her. Everything they said was a kind of secret.
Though the family rides in the cramped car together, Rose of Sharon and Connie seem to be able to communicate with each other privately, through cryptic signs, silences, and smiles. Focused on her pregnancy and their future, the two seem to be in their own private world. Steinbeck writes that “the world had drawn close around them, and they were in the center of it.” They pay little attention to the others, in other words, and are fully absorbed in each other.
Steinbeck further elaborates upon this metaphor, noting that Rose of Sharon was the “center” of this world, with Connie “making a small orbit about her.” Through this metaphor, Steinbeck suggests that Rose of Sharon, due to her pregnancy, is the sun at the center of her own galaxy, and Connie, the father, attends to her in the manner of a planet that orbits the sun. This metaphor, then, underscores the extent to which the young married couple are consumed by their relationship and, as a result, grow increasingly distant from the rest of the family.
Heavily pregnant, Rose of Sharon’s contractions begin during a dangerous rainstorm that threatens to flood the boxcar where the Joads have lived during their time picking cotton. She gives birth but the baby is stillborn. Mrs. Wainwright, who assisted in the delivery, asks Uncle John to dispose of the body of the stillborn baby, which has been placed in an apple box. Uncle John decides to send the stillborn baby, cradled in the apple box, down the current formed by the rainfall. Speaking to the stillborn baby, Uncle John uses an ironic metaphor in which he imagines the baby speaking as it is carried downstream by the water:
[H]e 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.”
Bitter and anguished, Uncle John speaks to the stillborn baby, commanding it to “Go down an’ tell ’em” as he pushes the apple box along the flowing water. The stillborn baby, he knows, cannot speak, but his metaphorical language here suggests that it can communicate simply by attesting, through its death, to the inhumane conditions in which the migrant laborers have been forced to live. “That’s the way you can talk,” he insists. Ironically, he feels that the stillborn baby’s silence can itself send a powerful message to those who encounter it.