‘Specially if you remember as good as that.”
Lennie choked with pride.
“I can remember,” he said.
George motioned with his spoon again.
“Look, Lennie.
I want you to look around here.
You can remember this place, can’t you?
The ranch is about a quarter mile up that way.
Just follow the river?”
“Sure,” said Lennie. “I can remember this.
Di’n’t I remember about not gonna say a word?”
“’Course you did.
Well, look. Lennie — if you jus’ happen to get in trouble like you always done before, I want you to come right here an’ hide in the brush.”
“Hide in the brush,” said Lennie slowly.
“Hide in the brush till I come for you.
Can you remember that?”
“Sure I can, George.
Hide in the brush till you come.”
“But you ain’t gonna get in no trouble, because if you do, I won’t let you tend the rabbits.”
He threw his empty bean can off into the brush.
“I won’t get in no trouble, George.
I ain’t gonna say a word
“O.K.
Bring your bindle over here by the fire.
It’s gonna be nice sleepin’ here.
Lookin’ up, and the leaves.
Don’t build up no more fire.
We’ll let her die down.”
They made their beds on the sand, and as the blaze dropped from the fire the sphere of light grew smaller; the curling branches disappeared and only a faint glimmer showed where the tree trunks were. From the darkness Lennie called,
“George — you asleep?”
“No.
Whatta you want?”
“Let’s have different color rabbits, George.”
“Sure we will,” George said sleepily. “Red and blue and green rabbits, Lennie.
Millions of ‘em.”
“Furry ones, George, like I seen in the fair in Sacramento.”
“Sure, furry ones.”
“’Cause I can jus’ as well go away, George, an’ live in a cave.”
“You can jus’ as well go to hell,” said George. “Shut up now.”
The red light dimmed on the coals.
Up the hill from the river a coyote yammered, and a dog answered from the other side of the stream.
The sycamore leaves whispered in a little night breeze.
The bunk house was a long, rectangular building.
Inside, the walls were whitewashed and the floor unpainted.
In three walls there were small, square windows, and in the fourth, a solid door with a wooden latch.
Against the walls were eight bunks, five of them made up with blankets and the other three showing their burlap ticking.
Over each bunk there was nailed an apple box with the opening forward so that it made two shelves for the personal belongings of the occupant of the bunk.
And these shelves were loaded with little articles, soap and talcum powder, razors and those Western magazines ranch men love to read and scoff at and secretly believe.
And there were medicines on the shelves, and little vials, combs; and from nails on the box sides, a few neckties.
Near one wall there was a black cast-iron stove, its stovepipe going straight up through the ceiling.