From outside came the clang of horseshoes on the iron stake, and then a little chorus of cries.
Lennie got up and brought the puppy back and laid it on the hay and sat down.
He stroked the pup again.
“You wasn’t big enough,” he said. “They tol’ me and tol’ me you wasn’t.
I di’n’t know you’d get killed so easy.” He worked his fingers on the pup’s limp ear. “Maybe George won’t care,” he said. “This here God damn little son-of-a-bitch wasn’t nothing to George.”
Curley’s wife came around the end of the last stall.
She came very quietly, so that Lennie didn’t see her.
She wore her bright cotton dress and the mules with the red ostrich feathers.
Her face was made-up and the little sausage curls were all in place.
She was quite near to him before Lennie looked up and saw her.
In a panic he shoveled hay over the puppy with his fingers.
He looked sullenly up at her.
She said, “What you got there, sonny boy?”
Lennie glared at her.
“George says I ain’t to have nothing to do with you — talk to you or nothing.”
She laughed.
“George giving you orders about everything?”
Lennie looked down at the hay.
“Says I can’t tend no rabbits if I talk to you or anything.”
She said quietly, “He’s scared Curley’ll get mad. Well, Curley got his arm in a sling — an’ if Curley gets tough, you can break his other han’.
You didn’t put nothing over on me about gettin’ it caught in no machine.”
But Lennie was not to be drawn.
“No, sir.
I ain’t gonna talk to you or nothing.”
She knelt in the hay beside him.
“Listen,” she said. “All the guys got a horseshoe tenement goin’ on.
It’s on’y about four o’clock.
None of them guys is goin’ to leave that tenement.
Why can’t I talk to you?
I never get to talk to nobody.
I get awful lonely.”
Lennie said, “Well, I ain’t supposed to talk to you or nothing.”
“I get lonely,” she said. “You can talk to people, but I can’t talk to nobody but Curley.
Else he gets mad.
How’d you like not to talk to anybody?”
Lennie said, “Well, I ain’t supposed to. George’s scared I’ll get in trouble.”
She changed the subject.
“What you got covered up there?”
Then all of Lennie’s woe came back on him.
“Jus’ my pup,” he said sadly. “Jus’ my little pup.”
And he swept the hay from on top of it.
“Why, he’s dead,” she cried.
“He was so little,” said Lennie. “I was jus’ playin’ with him.... an’ he made like he’s gonna bite me.... an’ I made like I was gonna smack him.... an’.... an’ I done it. An’ then he was dead.”
She consoled him.
“Don’t you worry none.
He was jus’ a mutt.
You can get another one easy.
The whole country is fulla mutts.”
“It ain’t that so much,” Lennie explained miserably. “George ain’t gonna let me tend no rabbits now.
“Why don’t he?”