Of Mice and Men

by John Steinbeck

“George Milton.”

George said, “His name’s Lennie Small.”

“Well, I never seen one guy take so much trouble for another guy. I just like to know what your interest is.” George said, “He’s my . . . cousin. I told his old lady I’d take care of him. He got kicked in the head by a horse when he was a kid. He’s awright. Just ain’t bright. But he can do anything you tell him.”

a thin young man with a brown face, with brown eyes and a head of tightly curled hair. He wore a work glove on his left hand, and, like the boss, he wore high-heeled boots. “Seen my old man?” he asked. The swamper said, “He was here jus’ a minute ago, Curley.

“That’s the boss’s son,” he said quietly. “Curley’s pretty handy. He done quite a bit in the ring. He’s a lightweight, and he’s handy.”

“Well, let him be handy,” said George. “He don’t have to take after Lennie. Lennie didn’t do nothing to him. What’s he got against Lennie?” The swamper considered. . . . “Well . . . tell you what. Curley’s like a lot of little guys. He hates big guys. He’s alla time picking scraps with big guys. Kind of like he’s mad at ’em because he ain’t a big guy. You seen little guys like that, ain’t you? Always scrappy?”

“Wait’ll you see Curley’s wife.”

“Yeah. Purty . . . but——” George studied his cards. “But what?” “Well—she got the eye.” “Yeah? Married two weeks and got the eye? Maybe that’s why Curley’s pants is full of ants.” “I seen her give Slim the eye.

“Know what I think?” George did not answer. “Well, I think Curley’s married . . . a tart.”

“If I get in any trouble, you ain’t gonna let me tend the rabbits.” “That’s not what I meant. You remember where we slep’ last night? Down by the river?” “Yeah. I remember. Oh, sure I remember! I go there an’ hide in the brush.”

A girl was standing there looking in. She had full, rouged lips and wide-spaced eyes, heavily made up. Her fingernails were red. Her hair hung in little rolled clusters, like sausages. She wore a cotton house dress and red mules, on the insteps of which were little bouquets of red ostrich feathers.

Lennie cried out suddenly—“I don’ like this place, George. This ain’t no good place. I wanna get outta here.”

Lennie leaned eagerly toward him. “Le’s go, George. Le’s get outta here. It’s mean here.”

This was Slim, the jerkline skinner. His hatchet face was ageless. He might have been thirty-five or fifty. His ear heard more than was said to him, and his slow speech had overtones not of thought, but of understanding beyond thought. His hands, large and lean, were as delicate in their action as those of a temple dancer.

“Sure,” said George. “We kinda look after each other.” He indicated Lennie with his thumb. “He ain’t bright. Hell of a good worker, though. Hell of a nice fella, but he ain’t bright. I’ve knew him for a long time.”

“George, how long’s it gonna be till we get that little place an’ live on the fatta the lan’—an’ rabbits?” “I don’ know,” said George. “We gotta get a big stake together.

“We could live offa the fatta the lan’.”