John Steinbeck Fullscreen About mice and humans (1935)

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George didn’t answer his question.

George said,

“I’ll work my month an’ I’ll take my fifty bucks an’ I’ll stay all night in some lousy cat house.

Or I’ll set in some poolroom till ever’body goes home.

An’ then I’ll come back an’ work another month an’ I’ll have fifty bucks more.”

Candy said,

“He’s such a nice fella.

I didn’ think he’d do nothing like this.”

George still stared at Curley’s wife.

“Lennie never done it in meanness,” he said. “All the time he done bad things, but he never done one of ‘em mean.” He straightened up and looked back at Candy. “Now listen.

We gotta tell the guys.

They got to bring him in, I guess.

They ain’t no way out.

Maybe they won’t hurt ‘im.” He said sharply, “I ain’t gonna let ‘em hurt Lennie.

Now you listen.

The guys might think I was in on it.

I’m gonna go in the bunk house.

Then in a minute you come out and tell the guys about her, and I’ll come along and make like I never seen her.

Will you do that?

So the guys won’t think I was in on it?”

Candy said, “Sure, George. Sure I’ll do that.”

“O.K.

Give me a couple minutes then, and you come runnin’ out an’ tell like you jus’ found her.

I’m going now.”

George turned and went quickly out of the barn.

Old Candy watched him go.

He looked helplessly back at Curley’s wife, and gradually his sorrow and his anger grew into words.

“You God damn tramp”, he said viciously. “You done it, di’n’t you?

I s’pose you’re glad.

Ever’body knowed you’d mess things up.

You wasn’t no good.

You ain’t no good now, you lousy tart.” He sniveled, and his voice shook. “I could of hoed in the garden and washed dishes for them guys.” He paused, and then went on in a singsong. And he repeated the old words: “If they was a circus or a baseball game.... we would of went to her.... jus’ said ‘ta hell with work,’ an’ went to her.

Never ast nobody’s say so. An’ they’d of been a pig and chickens.... an’ in the winter.... the little fat stove.... an’ the rain comin’.... an’ us jes’ settin’ there.”

His eyes blinded with tears and he turned and went weakly out of the barn, and he rubbed his bristly whiskers with his wrist stump.

Outside the noise of the game stopped.

There was a rise of voices in question, a drum of running feet and the men burst into the barn. Slim and Carlson and young Whit and Curley, and Crooks keeping back out of attention range.

Candy came after them, and last of all came George.

George had put on his blue denim coat and buttoned it, and his black hat was pulled down low over his eyes.

The men raced around the last stall. Their eyes found Curley’s wife in the gloom, they stopped and stood still and looked.

Then Slim went quietly over to her, and he felt her wrist.

One lean finger touched her cheek, and then his hand went under her slightly twisted neck and his fingers explored her neck.

When he stood up the men crowded near and the spell was broken.

Curley came suddenly to life.

“I know who done it,” he cried. “That big son-of-a-bitch done it.

I know he done it.

Why — ever’body else was out there playin’ horseshoes.”

He worked himself into a fury.

“I’m gonna get him.

I’m going for my shotgun.

I’ll kill the big son-of-a-bitch myself.