OF MICE AND MEN by John Steinbeck (read online)

THREE

Although there was evening brightness showing through the windows of
the bunkhouse, inside it was dusk. Through the open door came the
thuds and occasional clangs of a horseshoe game, and now and then
the sound of voices raised in approval or derision.
Slim and George came into the darkening bunkhouse together. Slim
reached up over the card table and turned on the tin-shaded electric
light. Instantly the table was brilliant with light, and the cone of
the shade threw its brightness straight downward, leaving the
corners of the bunkhouse still in dusk. Slim sat down on a box and
George took his place opposite.
“It wasn’t nothing,” said Slim. “I would of had to drowned most of
’em anyways. No need to thank me about that.”
George said, “It wasn’t much to you, maybe, but it was a hell of a
lot to him. Jesus Christ, I don’t know how we’re gonna get him to
sleep in here. He’ll want to sleep right out in the barn with ’em.
We’ll have trouble keepin’ him from getting right in the box with them
pups.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” Slim repeated. “Say, you sure was right about
him. Maybe he ain’t bright, but I never seen such a worker. He damn
near killed his partner buckin’ barley. There ain’t nobody can keep up
with him. God awmighty, I never seen such a strong guy.”
George spoke proudly. “Jus’ tell Lennie what to do an’ he’ll do it
if it don’t take no figuring. He can’t think of nothing to do himself,
but he sure can take orders.”
There was a clang of horseshoe on iron stake outside and a little
cheer of voices.
Slim moved back slightly so the light was not on his face. “Funny
how you an’ him string along together.” It was Slim’s calm
invitation to confidence.
“What’s funny about it?” George demanded defensively.
“Oh, I dunno. Hardly none of the guys ever travel together. I hardly
never seen two guys travel together. You know how the hands are,
they just come in and get their bunk and work a month, and then they
quit and go out alone. Never seem to give a damn about nobody. It jus’
seems kinda funny a cuckoo like him and a smart little guy like you
travelin’ together.”
“He ain’t no cuckoo,” said George. “He’s dumb as hell, but he
ain’t crazy. An’ I ain’t so bright neither, or I wouldn’t be buckin’
barley for my fifty and found. If I was bright, if I was even a little
bit smart, I’d have my own little place, an’ I’d be bringin’ in my own
crops, ‘stead of doin’ all the work and not getting what comes up outa
the ground.” George fell silent. He wanted to talk. Slim neither
encouraged nor discouraged him. He just sat back quiet and receptive.
“It ain’t so funny, him an’ me goin’ aroun’ together,” George said
at last. “Him and me was both born in Auburn. I knowed his Aunt Clara.
She took him when he was a baby and raised him up. When his Aunt Clara
died, Lennie just come along with me out workin’. Got kinda used to
each other after a little while.”
“Umm,” said Slim.
George looked over at Slim and saw the calm, Godlike eyes fastened
on him. “Funny,” said George. “I used to have a hell of a lot of fun
with ‘im. Used to play jokes on ‘im ’cause he was too dumb to take
care of ‘imself. But he was too dumb even to know he had a joke played
on him. I had fun. Made me seem God damn smart alongside of him. Why
he’d do any damn thing I tol’ him. If I tol’ him to walk over a cliff,
over he’d go. That wasn’t so damn much fun after a while. He never got
mad about it, neither. I’ve beat the hell outa him, and he coulda bust
every bone in my body jus’ with his han’s, but he never lifted a
finger against me.” George’s voice was taking on the tone of
confession. “Tell you what made me stop that. One day a bunch of
guys was standin’ around up on the Sacramento River. I was feelin’
pretty smart. I turns to Lennie and says, ‘Jump in.’ An’ he jumps.
Couldn’t swim a stroke. He damn near drowned before we could get
him. An’ he was so damn nice to me for pullin’ him out. Clean forgot I
told him to jump in. Well, I ain’t done nothing like that no more.”
“He’s a nice fella,” said Slim. “Guy don’t need no sense to be a
nice fella. Seems to me sometimes it jus’ works the other way
around. Take a real smart guy and he ain’t hardly ever a nice fella.”
George stacked the scattered cards and began to lay out his
solitaire hand. The shoes thudded on the ground outside. At the
windows the light of the evening still made the window squares bright.
“I ain’t got no people,” George said. “I seen the guys that go
around on the ranches alone. That ain’t no good. They don’t have no
fun. After a long time they get mean. They get wantin’ to fight all
the time.”
“Yeah, they get mean,” Slim agreed. “They get so they don’t want
to talk to nobody.”
“‘Course Lennie’s a God damn nuisance most of the time,” said
George. “But you get used to goin’ around with a guy an’ you can’t get
rid of him.”
“He ain’t mean,” said Slim. “I can see Lennie ain’t a bit mean.”
“‘Course he ain’t mean. But he gets in trouble alla time because
he’s so God damn dumb. Like what happened in Weed-” He stopped,
stopped in the middle of turning over a card. He looked alarmed and
peered over at Slim. “You wouldn’t tell nobody?”
“What’d he do in Weed?” Slim asked calmly.
“You wouldn’ tell?… No, ‘course you wouldn’.”
“What’d he do in Weed?” Slim asked again.
“Well, he seen this girl in a red dress. Dumb bastard like he is, he
wants to touch ever’thing he likes. Just wants to feel it. So he
reaches out to feel this red dress an’ the girl lets out a squawk, and
that gets Lennie all mixed up, and he holds on ’cause that’s the
only thing he can think to do. Well, this girl squawks and squawks.
I was jus’ a little bit off, and I heard all the yellin’, so I comes
running, an’ by that time Lennie’s so scared all he can think to do is
jus’ hold on. I socked him over the head with a fence picket to make
him let go. He was so scairt he couldn’t let go of that dress. And
he’s so God damn strong, you know.”
Slim’s eyes were level and unwinking. He nodded very slowly. “So
what happens?”
George carefully built his line of solitaire cards. “Well, that girl
rabbits in an’ tells the law she been raped. The guys in Weed start
a party out to lynch Lennie. So we sit in a irrigation ditch under
water all the rest of that day. Got on’y our heads sticking outa
water, an’ up under the grass that sticks out from the side of the
ditch. An’ that night we scrammed outa there.”
Slim sat in silence for a moment. “Didn’t hurt the girl none,
huh?” he asked finally.
“Hell, no. He just scared her. I’d be scared too if he grabbed me.
But he never hurt her. He jus’ wanted to touch that red dress, like he
wants to pet them pups all the time.”
“He ain’t mean,” said Slim. “I can tell a mean guy a mile off.”
“‘Course he ain’t, and he’ll do any damn thing I-”
Lennie came in through the door. He wore his blue denim coat over
his shoulders like a cape, and he walked hunched way over.
“Hi, Lennie,” said George. “How you like the pup now?”
Lennie said breathlessly, “He’s brown an’ white jus’ like I wanted.”
He went directly to his bunk and lay down and turned his face to the
wall and drew up his knees.
George put down his cards very deliberately. “Lennie,” he said
sharply.
Lennie twisted his neck and looked over his shoulder. “Huh? What you
want, George?”
“I tol’ you you couldn’t bring that pup in here.”
“What pup, George? I ain’t got no pup.”
George went quickly to him, grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled
him over. He reached down and picked the tiny puppy from where
Lennie had been concealing it against his stomach.
Lennie sat up quickly. “Give ‘um to me, George.”
George said, “You get right up an’ take this pup back to the nest.
He’s gotta sleep with his mother. You want to kill him? Just born last
night an’ you take him out of the nest. You take him back or I’ll tell
Slim not to let you have him.”
Lennie held out his hands pleadingly. “Give ‘um to me, George.
I’ll take ‘um back. I didn’t mean no harm, George. Honest I didn’t.
I jus’ wanted to pet ‘um a little.”
George handed the pup to him. “Awright. You get him back there
quick, and don’t you take him out no more. You’ll kill him, the
first thing you know.” Lennie fairly scuttled out of the room.
Slim had not moved. His calm eyes followed Lennie out the door.
“Jesus,” he said. “He’s jus’ like a kid, ain’t he?”
“Sure he’s jes’ like a kid. There ain’t no more harm in him than a
kid neither, except he’s so strong. I bet he won’t come in here to
sleep tonight. He’d sleep right alongside that box in the barn.
Well- let ‘im. He ain’t doin’ no harm out there.”
It was almost dark outside now. Old Candy, the swamper, came in
and went to his bunk, and behind him struggled his old dog. “Hello,
Slim. Hello, George. Didn’t neither of you play horseshoes?”
“I don’t like to play ever’ night,” said Slim.
Candy went on, “Either you guys got a slug of whisky? I gotta gut
ache.”
“I ain’t,” said Slim. “I’d drink it myself if I had, an’ I ain’t got
a gut ache neither.”
“Gotta bad gut ache,” said Candy. “Them God damn turnips give it
to me. I knowed they was going to before I ever eat ’em.”
The thick-bodied Carlson came in out of the darkening yard. He
walked to the other end of the bunk house and turned on the second
shaded light. “Darker’n hell in here,” he said. “Jesus, how that
nigger can pitch shoes.”
“He’s plenty good,” said Slim.
“Damn right he is,” said Carlson. “He don’t give nobody else a
chance to win-” He stopped and sniffed the air, and still sniffing,
looked down at the old dog. “God awmighty, that dog stinks. Get him
outa here, Candy! I don’t know nothing that stinks as bad as an old
dog. You gotta get him out.”
Candy rolled to the edge of his bunk. He reached over and patted the
ancient dog, and he apologized, “I been around him so much I never
notice how he stinks.”
“Well, I can’t stand him in here,” said Carlson. “That stink hangs
around even after he’s gone.” He walked over with his heavy-legged
stride and looked down at the dog. “Got no teeth,” he said. “He’s
all stiff with rheumatism. He ain’t no good to you, Candy. An’ he
ain’t no good to himself. Why’n’t you shoot him, Candy?”
The old man squirmed uncomfortably. “Well- hell! I had him so
long. Had him since he was a pup. I herded sheep with him.” He said
proudly, “You wouldn’t think it to look at him now, but he was the
best damn sheep dog I ever seen.”
George said, “I seen a guy in Weed that had an Airedale could herd
sheep. Learned it from the other dogs.”
Carlson was not to be put off. “Look, Candy. This ol’ dog jus’
suffers hisself all the time. If you was to take him out and shoot him
right in the back of the head-” he leaned over and pointed, “-right
there, why he’d never know what hit him.”
Candy looked about unhappily. “No,” he said softly. “No, I
couldn’t do that. I had ‘im too long.”
“He don’t have no fun,” Carlson insisted. “And he stinks to beat
hell. Tell you what. I’ll shoot him for you. Then it won’t be you that
does it.”
Candy threw his legs off his bunk. He scratched the white stubble
whiskers on his cheek nervously. “I’m so used to him,” he said softly.
“I had him from a pup.”
“Well, you ain’t bein’ kind to him keepin’ him alive,” said Carlson.
“Look, Slim’s bitch got a litter right now. I bet Slim would give
you one of them pups to raise up, wouldn’t you, Slim?”
The skinner had been studying the old dog with his calm eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “You can have a pup if you want to.” He seemed to
shake himself free for speech. “Carl’s right, Candy. That dog ain’t no
good to himself. I wisht somebody’d shoot me if I get old an’ a
cripple.”
Candy looked helplessly at him, for Slim’s opinions were law. “Maybe
it’d hurt him,” he suggested. “I don’t mind takin’ care of him.”
Carlson said, “The way I’d shoot him, he wouldn’t feel nothing.
I’d put the gun right there.” He pointed with his toe. “Right back
of the head. He wouldn’t even quiver.”
Candy looked for help from face to face. It was quite dark outside
by now. A young laboring man came in. His sloping shoulders were
bent forward and he walked heavily on his heels, as though he
carried the invisible grain bag. He went to his bunk and put his hat
on his shelf. Then he picked a pulp magazine from his shelf and
brought it to the light over the table. “Did I show you this, Slim?”
he asked.
“Show me what?”
The young man turned to the back of the magazine, put it down on the
table and pointed with his finger. “Right there, read that.” Slim bent
over it. “Go on,” said the young man. “Read it out loud.”
“‘Dear Editor,'” Slim read slowly. “‘I read your mag for six years
and I think it is the best on the market. I like stories by Peter
Rand. I think he is a whing-ding. Give us more like the Dark Rider.
I don’t write many letters. Just thought I would tell you I think your
mag is the best dime’s worth I ever spent.'”
Slim looked up questioningly. “What you want me to read that for?”
Whit said, “Go on. Read the name at the bottom.”
Slim read, “‘Yours for success, William Tenner.'” He glanced up at
Whit again. “What you want me to read that for?”
Whit closed the magazine impressively. “Don’t you remember Bill
Tenner? Worked here about three months ago?”
Slim thought…. “Little guy?” he asked. “Drove a cultivator?”
“That’s him,” Whit cried. “That’s the guy!”
“You think he’s the guy wrote this letter?”
“I know it. Bill and me was in here one day. Bill had one of them
books that just come. He was lookin’ in it and he says, ‘I wrote a
letter. Wonder if they put it in the book!’ But it wasn’t there.
Bill says, ‘Maybe they’re savin’ it for later.’ An’ that’s just what
they done. There it is.”
“Guess you’re right,” said Slim. “Got it right in the book.”
George held out his hand for the magazine. “Let’s look at it?”
Whit found the place again, but he did not surrender his hold on it.
He pointed out the letter with his forefinger. And then he went to his
box shelf and laid the magazine carefully in. “I wonder if Bill seen
it,” he said. “Bill and me worked in that patch of field peas. Run
cultivators, both of us. Bill was a hell of a nice fella.”
During the conversation Carlson had refused to be drawn in. He
continued to look down at the old dog. Candy watched him uneasily.
At last Carlson said, “If you want me to, I’ll put the old devil out
of his misery right now and get it over with. Ain’t nothing left for
him. Can’t eat, can’t see, can’t even walk without hurtin’.”
Candy said hopefully, “You ain’t got no gun.”
“The hell I ain’t. Got a Luger. It won’t hurt him none at all.”
Candy said, “Maybe tomorra. Le’s wait till tomorra.”
“I don’t see no reason for it,” said Carlson. He went to his bunk,
pulled his bag from underneath it and took out a Luger pistol. “Le’s
get it over with,” he said. “We can’t sleep with him stinkin’ around
in here.” He put the pistol in his hip pocket.
Candy looked a long time at Slim to try to find some reversal. And
Slim gave him none. At last Candy said softly and hopelessly,
“Awright- take ‘im.” He did not look down at the dog at all. He lay
back on his bunk and crossed his arms behind his head and stared at
the ceiling.
From his pocket Carlson took a little leather thong. He stooped over
and tied it around the old dog’s neck. All the men except Candy
watched him. “Come boy. Come on, boy,” he said gently. And he said
apologetically to Candy, “He won’t even feel it.” Candy did not move
nor answer him. He twitched the thong. “Come on, boy.” The old dog got
slowly and stiffly to his feet and followed the gently pulling leash.
Slim said, “Carlson.”
“Yeah?”
“You know what to do.”
“What ya mean, Slim?”
“Take a shovel,” said Slim shortly.
“Oh, sure! I get you.” He led the dog out into the darkness.
George followed to the door and shut the door and set the latch
gently in its place. Candy lay rigidly on his bed staring at the
ceiling.
Slim said loudly, “One of my lead mules got a bad hoof. Got to get
some tar on it.” His voice trailed off. It was silent outside.
Carlson’s footsteps died away. The silence came into the room. And the
silence lasted.
George chuckled, “I bet Lennie’s right out there in the barn with
his pup. He won’t want to come in here no more now he’s got a pup.”
Slim said, “Candy, you can have any one of them pups you want.”
Candy did not answer. The silence fell on the room again. It came
out of the night and invaded the room. George said, “Anybody like to
play a little euchre?”
“I’ll play out a few with you,” said Whit.
They took places opposite each other at the table under the light,
but George did not shuffle the cards. He rippled the edge of the
deck nervously, and the little snapping noise drew the eyes of all the
men in the room, so that he stopped doing it. The silence fell on
the room again. A minute passed, and another minute. Candy lay
still, staring at the ceiling. Slim gazed at him for a moment and then
looked down at his hands; he subdued one hand with the other, and held
it down. There came a little gnawing sound from under the floor and
all the men looked down toward it gratefully. Only Candy continued
to stare at the ceiling.
“Sounds like there was a rat under there,” said George. “We ought to
get a trap down there.”
Whit broke out, “What the hell’s takin’ him so long? Lay out some
cards, why don’t you? We ain’t going to get no euchre played this
way.”
George brought the cards together tightly and studied the backs of
them. The silence was in the room again.
A shot sounded in the distance. The men looked quickly at the old
man. Every head turned toward him.
For a moment he continued to stare at the ceiling. Then he rolled
slowly over and faced the wall and lay silent.
George shuffled the cards noisily and dealt them. Whit drew a
scoring board to him and set the pegs to start. Whit said, “I guess
you guys really come here to work.”
“How do ya mean?” George asked.
Whit laughed. “Well, ya come on a Friday. You got two days to work
till Sunday.”
“I don’t see how you figure,” said George.
Whit laughed again. “You do if you been around these big ranches
much. Guy that wants to look over a ranch comes in Sat’day
afternoon. He gets Sat’day night supper an’ three meals on Sunday, and
he can quit Monday mornin’ after breakfast without turning his hand.
But you come to work Friday noon. You got to put in a day an’ a half
no matter how you figure.”
George looked at him levelly. “We’re gonna stick aroun’ a while,” he
said. “Me an’ Lennie’s gonna roll up a stake.”
The door opened quietly and the stable buck put in his head; a
lean negro head, lined with pain, the eyes patient. “Mr. Slim.”
Slim took his eyes from old Candy. “Huh? Oh! Hello, Crooks. What’s’a
matter?”
“You told me to warm up tar for that mule’s foot. I got it warm.”
“Oh! Sure, Crooks. I’ll come right out an’ put it on.”
“I can do it if you want, Mr. Slim.”
“No. I’ll come do it myself.” He stood up.
Crooks said, “Mr. Slim.”
“Yeah.”
“That big new guy’s messin’ around your pups out in the barn.”
“Well, he ain’t doin’ no harm. I give him one of them pups.”
“Just thought I’d tell ya,” said Crooks. “He’s takin’ ’em outa the
nest and handlin’ them. That won’t do them no good.”
“He won’t hurt ’em,” said Slim. “I’ll come along with you now.”
George looked up. “If that crazy bastard’s foolin’ around too
much, jus’ kick him out, Slim.”
Slim followed the stable buck out of the room.
George dealt and Whit picked up his cards and examined them. “Seen
the new kid yet?” he asked.
“What kid?” George asked.
“Why, Curley’s new wife.”
“Yeah, I seen her.”
“Well, ain’t she a looloo?”
“I ain’t seen that much of her,” said George.
Whit laid down his cards impressively. “Well, stick around an’
keep your eyes open. You’ll see plenty. She ain’t concealin’
nothing. I never seen nobody like her. She got the eye goin’ all the
time on everybody. I bet she even gives the stable buck the eye. I
don’t know what the hell she wants.”
George asked casually, “Been any trouble since she got here?”
It was obvious that Whit was not interested in his cards. He laid
his hand down and George scooped it in. George laid out his deliberate
solitaire hand- seven cards, and six on top, and five on top of those.
Whit said, “I see what you mean. No, they ain’t been nothing yet.
Curley’s got yella-jackets in his drawers, but that’s all so far.
Ever’ time the guys is around she shows up. She’s lookin’ for
Curley, or she thought she lef’ somethin’ layin’ around and she’s
lookin’ for it. Seems like she can’t keep away from guys. An’ Curley’s
pants is just crawlin’ with ants, but they ain’t nothing come of it
yet.”
George said, “She’s gonna make a mess. They’s gonna be a bad mess
about her. She’s a jail bait all set on the trigger. That Curley got
his work cut out for him. Ranch with a bunch of guys on it ain’t no
place for a girl, specially like her.”
Whit said, “If you got idears, you oughtta come in town with us guys
tomorra night.”
“Why? What’s doin’?”
“Jus’ the usual thing. We go in to old Susy’s place. Hell of a
nice place. Old Susy’s a laugh- always crackin’ jokes. Like she says
when we come up on the front porch las’ Sat’day night. Susy opens
the door and then she yells over her shoulder, ‘Get yor coats on,
girls, here comes the sheriff.’ She never talks dirty, neither. Got
five girls there.”
“What’s it set you back?” George asked.
“Two an’ a half. You can get a shot for two bits. Susy got nice
chairs to set in, too. If a guy don’t want a flop, why he can just set
in the chairs and have a couple or three shots and pass the time of
day and Susy don’t give a damn. She ain’t rushin’ guys through and
kickin’ ’em out if they don’t want a flop.”
“Might go in and look the joint over,” said George.
“Sure. Come along. It’s a hell of a lot of fun- her crackin’ jokes
all the time. Like she says one time, she says, ‘I’ve knew people that
if they got a rag rug on the floor an’ a kewpie doll lamp on the
phonograph they think they’re running a parlor house.’ That’s
Clara’s house she’s talkin’ about. An’ Susy says, ‘I know what you
boys want,’ she says. ‘My girls is clean,’ she says, ‘an’ there
ain’t no water in my whisky,’ she says. ‘If any you guys wanta look at
a kewpie doll lamp an’ take your own chance gettin’ burned, why you
know where to go.’ An’ she says, ‘There’s guys around here walkin’
bow-legged ’cause they like to look at a kewpie doll lamp.'”
George asked, “Clara runs the other house, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Whit. “We don’t never go there. Clara gets three
bucks a crack and thirty-five cents a shot, and she don’t crack no
jokes. But Susy’s place is clean and she got nice chairs. Don’t let no
goo-goos in, neither.”
“Me an’ Lennie’s rollin’ up a stake,” said George. “I might go in
an’ set and have a shot, but I ain’t puttin’ out no two and a half.”
“Well, a guy got to have some fun sometime,” said Whit.
The door opened and Lennie and Carlson came in together. Lennie
crept to his bunk and sat down, trying not to attract attention.
Carlson reached under his bunk and brought out his bag. He didn’t look
at old Candy, who still faced the wall. Carlson found a little
cleaning rod in the bag and a can of oil. He laid them on his bed
and then brought out the pistol, took out the magazine and snapped the
loaded shell from the chamber. Then he fell to cleaning the barrel
with the little rod. When the ejector snapped, Candy turned over and
looked for a moment at the gun before he turned back to the wall
again.
Carlson said casually, “Curley been in yet?”
“No,” said Whit. “What’s eatin’ on Curley?”
Carlson squinted down the barrel of his gun. “Lookin’ for his old
lady. I seen him going round and round outside.”
Whit said sarcastically, “He spends half his time lookin’ for her,
and the rest of the time she’s lookin’ for him.”
Curley burst into the room excitedly. “Any you guys seen my wife?”
he demanded.
“She ain’t been here,” said Whit.
Curley looked threateningly about the room. “Where the hell’s Slim?”
“Went out in the barn,” said George. “He was gonna put some tar on a
split hoof.”
Curley’s shoulders dropped and squared. “How long ago’d he go?”
“Five- ten minutes.”
Curley jumped out the door and banged it after him.
Whit stood up. “I guess maybe I’d like to see this,” he said.
“Curley’s just spoilin’ or he wouldn’t start for Slim. An’ Curley’s
handy, God damn handy. Got in the finals for the Golden Gloves. He got
newspaper clippings about it.” He considered. “But jus’ the same, he
better leave Slim alone. Nobody don’t know what Slim can do.”
“Thinks Slim’s with his wife, don’t he?” said George.
“Looks like it,” Whit said. “‘Course Slim ain’t. Least I don’t think
Slim is. But I like to see the fuss if it comes off. Come on, le’s
go.”
George said, “I’m stayin’ right here. I don’t want to get mixed up
in nothing. Lennie and me got to make a stake.”
Carlson finished the cleaning of the gun and put it in the bag and
pushed the bag under his bunk. “I guess I’ll go out and look her
over,” he said. Old Candy lay still, and Lennie, from his bunk,
watched George cautiously.
When Whit and Carlson were gone and the door closed after them,
George turned to Lennie. “What you got on your mind?”
“I ain’t done nothing, George. Slim says I better not pet them
pups so much for a while. Slim says it ain’t good for them; so I
come right in. I been good, George.”
“I coulda told you that,” said George.
“Well, I wasn’t hurtin’ ’em none. I jus’ had mine in my lap
pettin’ it.”
George asked, “Did you see Slim out in the barn?”
“Sure I did. He tol’ me I better not pet that pup no more.”
“Did you see that girl?”
“You mean Curley’s girl?”
“Yeah. Did she come in the barn?”
“No. Anyways I never seen her.”
“You never seen Slim talkin’ to her?”
“Uh-uh. She ain’t been in the barn.”
“O.K.,” said George. “I guess them guys ain’t gonna see no fight. If
there’s any fightin’, Lennie, you keep out of it.”
“I don’t want no fights,” said Lennie. He got up from his bunk and
sat down at the table, across from George. Almost automatically George
shuffled the cards and laid out his solitaire hand. He used a
deliberate, thoughtful slowness.
Lennie reached for a face card and studied it, then turned it upside
down and studied it. “Both ends the same,” he said. “George, why is it
both ends the same?”
“I don’t know,” said George. “That’s jus’ the way they make ’em.
What was Slim doin’ in the barn when you seen him?”
“Slim?”
“Sure. You seen him in the barn, an’ he tol’ you not to pet the pups
so much.”
“Oh, yeah. He had a can a’ tar an’ a paint brush. I don’t know
what for.”
“You sure that girl didn’t come in like she come in here today?”
“No. She never come.”
George sighed. “You give me a good whore house every time,” he said.
“A guy can go in an’ get drunk and get ever’thing outa his system
all at once, an’ no messes. And he knows how much it’s gonna set him
back. These here jail baits is just set on the trigger of the
hoosegow.”
Lennie followed his words admiringly, and moved his lips a little to
keep up. George continued, “You remember Andy Cushman, Lennie? Went to
grammar school?”
“The one that his old lady used to make hot cakes for the kids?”
Lennie asked.
“Yeah. That’s the one. You can remember anything if there’s anything
to eat in it.” George looked carefully at the solitaire hand. He put
an ace up on his scoring rack and piled a two, three and four of
diamonds on it. “Andy’s in San Quentin right now on account of a
tart,” said George.
Lennie drummed on the table with his fingers. “George?”
“Huh?”
“George, how long’s it gonna be till we get that little place an’
live on the fatta the lan’- an’ rabbits?”
“I don’t know”, said George. “We gotta get a big stake together. I
know a little place we can get cheap, but they ain’t givin’ it away.”
Old Candy turned slowly over. His eyes were wide open. He watched
George carefully.
Lennie said, “Tell about that place, George.”
“I jus’ tol’ you, jus’ las’ night.”
“Go on- tell again, George.”
“Well, it’s ten acres,” said George. “Got a little win’mill. Got a
little shack on it, an’ a chicken run. Got a kitchen, orchard,
cherries, apples, peaches, ‘cots, nuts, got a few berries. They’s a
place for alfalfa and plenty water to flood it. They’s a pig pen-”
“An’ rabbits, George.”
“No place for rabbits now, but I could easy build a few hutches
and you could feed alfalfa to the rabbits.”
“Damn right, I could,” said Lennie. “You God damn right I could.”
George’s hands stopped working with the cards. His voice was growing
warmer. “An’ we could have a few pigs. I could build a smoke house
like the one gran’pa had, an’ when we kill a pig we can smoke the
bacon and the hams, and make sausage an’ all like that. An’ when the
salmon run up river we could catch a hundred of ’em an’ salt ’em
down or smoke ’em. We could have them for breakfast. They ain’t
nothing so nice as smoked salmon. When the fruit come in we could
can it- and tomatoes, they’re easy to can. Ever’ Sunday we’d kill a
chicken or a rabbit. Maybe we’d have a cow or a goat, and the cream is
so God damn thick you got to cut it with a knife and take it out
with a spoon.”
Lennie watched him with wide eyes, and old Candy watched him too.
Lennie said softly, “We could live offa the fatta the lan’.”
“Sure,” said George. “All kin’s a vegetables in the garden, and if
we want a little whisky we can sell a few eggs or something, or some
milk. We’d jus’ live there. We’d belong there. There wouldn’t be no
more runnin’ round the country and gettin’ fed by a Jap cook. No, sir,
we’d have our own place where we belonged and not sleep in no
bunkhouse.”
“Tell about the house, George,” Lennie begged.
“Sure, we’d have a little house an’ a room to ourself. Little fat
iron stove, an’ in the winter we’d keep a fire goin’ in it. It ain’t
enough land so we’d have to work too hard. Maybe six, seven hours a
day. We wouldn’t have to buck no barley eleven hours a day. An’ when
we put in a crop, why, we’d be there to take the crop up. We’d know
what come of our planting.”
“An’ rabbits,” Lennie said eagerly. “An’ I’d take care of ’em.
Tell how I’d do that, George.”
“Sure, you’d go out in the alfalfa patch an’ you’d have a sack.
You’d fill up the sack and bring it in an’ put it in the rabbit
cages.”
“They’d nibble an’ they’d nibble,” said Lennie, “the way they do.
I seen ’em.”
“Ever’ six weeks or so,” George continued, “them does would throw
a litter so we’d have plenty rabbits to eat an’ to sell. An’ we’d keep
a few pigeons to go flyin’ around the win’mill like they done when I
was a kid.” He looked raptly at the wall over Lennie’s head. “An’ it’d
be our own, an’ nobody could can us. If we don’t like a guy we can
say, ‘Get the hell out,’ and by God he’s got to do it. An’ if a
fren’ come along, why we’d have an extra bunk, an’ we’d say, ‘Why
don’t you spen’ the night?’ an’ by God he would. We’d have a setter
dog and a couple stripe cats, but you gotta watch out them cats
don’t get the little rabbits.”
Lennie breathed hard. “You jus’ let ’em try to get the rabbits. I’ll
break their God damn necks. I’ll… I’ll smash ’em with a stick.” He
subsided, grumbling to himself, threatening the future cats which
might dare to disturb the future rabbits.
George sat entranced with his own picture.
When Candy spoke they both jumped as though they had been caught
doing something reprehensible. Candy said, “You know where’s a place
like that?”
George was on guard immediately. “S’pose I do,” he said. “What’s
that to you?”
“You don’t need to tell me where it’s at. Might be any place.”
“Sure,” said George. “That’s right. You couldn’t find it in a
hundred years.”
Candy went on excitedly, “How much they want for a place like that?”
George watched him suspiciously. “Well- I could get it for six
hundred bucks. The ol’ people that owns it is flat bust an’ the ol’
lady needs an operation. Say- what’s it to you? You got nothing to
do with us.”
Candy said, “I ain’t much good with on’y one hand. I lost my hand
right here on this ranch. That’s why they give me a job swampin’.
An’ they give me two hunderd an’ fifty dollars ’cause I los’ my
hand. An’ I got fifty more saved up right in the bank, right now.
Tha’s three hunderd, and I got fifty more comin’ the end a the
month. Tell you what-” He leaned forward eagerly. “S’pose I went in
with you guys. Tha’s three hunderd an’ fifty bucks I’d put in. I ain’t
much good, but I could cook and tend the chickens and hoe the garden
some. How’d that be?”
George half-closed his eyes. “I gotta think about that. We was
always gonna do it by ourselves.”
Candy interrupted him, “I’d make a will an’ leave my share to you
guys in case I kick off, ’cause I ain’t got no relatives nor
nothing. You guys got any money? Maybe we could do her right now?”
George spat on the floor disgustedly. “We got ten bucks between us.”
Then he said thoughtfully, “Look, if me an’ Lennie work a month an’
don’t spen’ nothing, we’ll have a hunderd bucks. That’d be four fifty.
I bet we could swing her for that. Then you an’ Lennie could go get
her started an’ I’d get a job an’ make up the res’, an’ you could sell
eggs an’ stuff like that.”
They fell into a silence. They looked at one another, amazed. This
thing they had never really believed in was coming true. George said
reverently, “Jesus Christ! I bet we could swing her.” His eyes were
full of wonder. “I bet we could swing her,” he repeated softly.
Candy sat on the edge of his bunk. He scratched the stump of his
wrist nervously. “I got hurt four year ago,” he said. “They’ll can
me purty soon. Jus’ as soon as I can’t swamp out no bunkhouses they’ll
put me on the county. Maybe if I give you guys my money, you’ll let me
hoe in the garden even after I ain’t no good at it. An’ I’ll wash
dishes an’ little chicken stuff like that. But I’ll be on our own
place, an’ I’ll be let to work on our own place.” He said miserably,
“You seen what they done to my dog tonight? They says he wasn’t no
good to himself nor nobody else. When they can me here I wisht
somebody’d shoot me. But they won’t do nothing like that. I won’t have
no place to go, an’ I can’t get no more jobs. I’ll have thirty dollars
more comin’, time you guys is ready to quit.”
George stood up. “We’ll do her,” he said. “We’ll fix up that
little old place an’ we’ll go live there.” He sat down again. They all
sat still, all bemused by the beauty of the thing, each mind was
popped into the future when this lovely thing should come about.
George said wonderingly, “S’pose they was a carnival or a circus
come to town, or a ball game, or any damn thing.” Old Candy nodded
in appreciation of the idea. “We’d just go to her,” George said. “We
wouldn’t ask nobody if we could. Jus’ say, ‘We’ll go to her,’ an’ we
would. Jus’ milk the cow and sling some grain to the chickens an’ go
to her.”
“An’ put some grass to the rabbits,” Lennie broke in. “I wouldn’t
never forget to feed them. When we gon’ta do it, George?”
“In one month. Right squack in one month. Know what I’m gon’ta do?
I’m gon’ta write to them old people that owns the place that we’ll
take it. An’ Candy’ll send a hunderd dollars to bind her.”
“Sure will,” said Candy. “They got a good stove there?”
“Sure, got a nice stove, burns coal or wood.”
“I’m gonna take my pup,” said Lennie. “I bet by Christ he likes it
there, by Jesus.”
Voices were approaching from outside. George said quickly, “Don’t
tell nobody about it. Jus’ us three an’ nobody else. They li’ble to
can us so we can’t make no stake. Jus’ go on like we was gonna buck
barley the rest of our lives, then all of a sudden some day we’ll go
get our pay an’ scram outa here.”
Lennie and Candy nodded, and they were grinning with delight. “Don’t
tell nobody,” Lennie said to himself.
Candy said, “George.”
“Huh?”
“I ought to of shot that dog myself, George. I shouldn’t ought to of
let no stranger shoot my dog.”
The door opened. Slim came in, followed by Curley and Carlson and
Whit. Slim’s hands were black with tar and he was scowling. Curley
hung close to his elbow.
Curley said, “Well, I didn’t mean nothing, Slim. I just ast you.”
Slim said, “Well, you been askin’ me too often. I’m gettin’ God damn
sick of it. If you can’t look after your own God damn wife, what you
expect me to do about it? You lay offa me.”
“I’m jus’ tryin’ to tell you I didn’t mean nothing,” said Curley. “I
jus’ thought you might of saw her.”
“Why’n’t you tell her to stay the hell home where she belongs?” said
Carlson. “You let her hang around bunkhouses and pretty soon you’re
gonna have som’pin on your hands and you won’t be able to do nothing
about it.”
Curley whirled on Carlson. “You keep outa this les’ you wanta step
outside.”
Carlson laughed. “You God damn punk,” he said. “You tried to throw a
scare into Slim, an’ you couldn’t make it stick. Slim throwed a
scare into you. You’re yella as a frog belly. I don’t care if you’re
the best welter in the country. You come for me, an’ I’ll kick your
God damn head off.”
Candy joined the attack with joy. “Glove fulla vaseline,” he said
disgustedly. Curley glared at him. His eyes slipped on past and
lighted on Lennie; and Lennie was still smiling with delight at the
memory of the ranch.
Curley stepped over to Lennie like a terrier. “What the hell you
laughin’ at?”
Lennie looked blankly at him. “Huh?”
Then Curley’s rage exploded. “Come on, ya big bastard. Get up on
your feet. No big son-of-a-bitch is gonna laugh at me. I’ll show ya
who’s yella.”
Lennie looked helplessly at George, and then he got up and tried
to retreat. Curley was balanced and poised. He slashed at Lennie
with his left, and then smashed down his nose with a right. Lennie
gave a cry of terror. Blood welled from his nose. “George,” he
cried. “Make ‘um let me alone, George.” He backed until he was against
the wall, and Curley followed, slugging him in the face. Lennie’s
hands remained at his sides; he was too frightened to defend himself.
George was on his feet yelling, “Get him, Lennie. Don’t let him do
it.”
Lennie covered his face with his huge paws and bleated with
terror. He cried, “Make ‘um stop, George.” Then Curley attacked his
stomach and cut off his wind.
Slim jumped up. “The dirty little rat,” he cried, “I’ll get ‘um
myself.”
George put out his hand and grabbed Slim. “Wait a minute,” he
shouted. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Get ‘im,
Lennie!”
Lennie took his hands away from his face and looked about for
George, and Curley slashed at his eyes. The big face was covered
with blood. George yelled again, “I said get him.”
Curley’s fist was swinging when Lennie reached for it. The next
minute Curley was flopping like a fish on a line, and his closed
fist was lost in Lennie’s big hand. George ran down the room. “Leggo
of him, Lennie. Let go.”
But Lennie watched in terror the flopping little man whom he held.
Blood ran down Lennie’s face, one of his eyes was cut and closed.
George slapped him in the face again and again, and still Lennie
held on to the closed fist. Curley was white and shrunken by now,
and his struggling had become weak. He stood crying, his fist lost
in Lennie’s paw.
George shouted over and over. “Leggo his hand, Lennie. Leggo.
Slim, come help me while the guy got any hand left.”
Suddenly Lennie let go his hold. He crouched cowering against the
wall. “You tol’ me to, George,” he said miserably.
Curley sat down on the floor, looking in wonder at his crushed hand.
Slim and Carlson bent over him. Then Slim straightened up and regarded
Lennie with horror. “We got to get him in to a doctor,” he said.
“Looks to me like ever’ bone in his han’ is bust.”
“I didn’t wanta,” Lennie cried. “I didn’t wanta hurt him.”
Slim said, “Carlson, you get the candy wagon hitched up. We’ll
take ‘um into Soledad an’ get ‘um fixed up.” Carlson hurried out. Slim
turned to the whimpering Lennie. “It ain’t your fault,” he said. “This
punk sure had it comin’ to him. But- Jesus! He ain’t hardly got no
han’ left.” Slim hurried out, and in a moment returned with a tin
cup of water. He held it to Curley’s lips.
George said, “Slim, will we get canned now? We need the stake.
Will Curley’s old man can us now?”
Slim smiled wryly. He knelt down beside Curley. “You got your senses
in hand enough to listen?” he asked. Curley nodded. “Well, then
listen,” Slim went on. “I think you got your han’ caught in a machine.
If you don’t tell nobody what happened, we ain’t going to. But you
jus’ tell an’ try to get this guy canned and we’ll tell ever’body, an’
then will you get the laugh.”
“I won’t tell,” said Curley. He avoided looking at Lennie.
Buggy wheels sounded outside. Slim helped Curley up. “Come on now.
Carlson’s gonna take you to a doctor.” He helped Curley out the
door. The sound of wheels drew away. In a moment Slim came back into
the bunkhouse. He looked at Lennie, still crouched fearfully against
the wall. “Le’s see your hands,” he asked.
Lennie stuck out his hands.
“Christ awmighty, I hate to have you mad at me,” Slim said.
George broke in, “Lennie was jus’ scairt,” he explained. “He
didn’t know what to do. I told you nobody ought never to fight him.
No, I guess it was Candy I told.”
Candy nodded solemnly. “That’s jus’ what you done,” he said.
“Right this morning when Curley first lit intil your fren’, you
says, ‘He better not fool with Lennie if he knows what’s good for
‘um.’ That’s jus’ what you says to me.”
George turned to Lennie. “It ain’t your fault,” he said. “You
don’t need to be scairt no more. You done jus’ what I tol’ you to.
Maybe you better go in the wash room an’ clean up your face. You
look like hell.”
Lennie smiled with his bruised mouth. “I didn’t want no trouble,” he
said. He walked toward the door, but just before he came to it, he
turned back. “George?”
“What you want?”
“I can still tend the rabbits, George?”
“Sure. You ain’t done nothing wrong.”
“I di’n’t mean no harm, George.”
“Well, get the hell out and wash your face.”