chapter 3

'Lennie said, "I like beans with ketchup." "Well, we ain’t got no ketchup. You go get wood. An’ don’t you fool around. It’ll be dark before long." Lennie lumbered to his feet and disappeared in the brush. George lay where he was and whistled softly to himself. There were sounds of splashings down the river in the direction Lennie had taken. George stopped whistling and listened, "Poor bastard," he said softly, and then went on whistling again.

In a moment Lennie came crashing back through the brush. He carried one small willow stick in his hand. George sat up.

"Awright," he said brusquely. "Gi’me that mouse!" But Lennie made an elaborate pantomime of innocence. "What mouse, George? I ain’t got no mouse." George held out his hand. "Come on. Give it to me. You ain’t puttin’ nothing over." Lennie hesitated, backed away, looked wildly at the brush line as though he contemplated running for his freedom. George said coldly, "You gonna give me that mouse or do I have to sock you?" "Give you what, George?" "You know God damn well what. I want that mouse." Lennie reluctantly reached into his pocket. His voice broke a little. "I don’t know why I can’t keep it. It ain’t nobody’s mouse. I didn’t steal it. I found it lyin’ right beside the road." George’s hand remained outstretched imperiously. Slowly, like a terrier who doesn’t want to bring a ball to its master, Lennie approached, drew back, approached again. George snapped his fingers sharply, and at the sound Lennie laid the mouse in his hand.

I wasn’t doin’ nothing bad with it, George. Jus’ strokin’ it." George stood up and threw the mouse as far as he could into the darkening brush, and then he stepped to the pool and washed his hands. "You crazy fool. Don’t you think I could see your feet was wet where you went acrost the river to get it?" He heard Lennie’s whimpering cry and wheeled about. "Blubberin’ like a baby! Jesus Christ! A big guy like you." Lennie’s lip quivered and tears started in his eyes. "Aw, Lennie!" George put his hand on Lennie’s shoulder. "I ain’t takin’ it away jus’ for ' meanness. That mouse ain’t fresh, Lennie; and besides, you’ve broke it pettin’ it. You get another mouse that’s fresh and I’ll let you keep it a little while." Lennie sat down on the ground and hung his head dejectedly, "I don’t know where there is no other mouse. I remember a lady used to give ’em to me - ever’ one she got. But that lady ain’t here." George scoffed. "Lady, huh? Don’t even remember who that lady was. That was your own Aunt Clara. An’ she stopped givin’ ’em to ya. You always killed ’em." Lennie looked sadly up at him. "They was so little," he said, apologetically. "I’d pet ’em, and pretty soon they bit my fingers and I pinched their heads a little and then they was dead - because they was so little.

"I wish’t we’d get the rabbits pretty soon, George. They ain’t so little." "The hell with the rabbits. An’ you ain’t to be trusted with no live mice; Your Aunt Clara give you a rubber mouse and you wouldn’t have nothing to do with it." "It wasn’t no good to pet," said Lennie.

The flame of the sunset lifted from the mountain-tops and dusk came into the valley, and a half darkness came in among the

willows and the sycamores. A big carp rose to the surface of the pool, gulped air and then sank mysteriously into the dark water again, leaving widening rings on the water. Over-head the leaves whisked again and little puffs of willow cotton blew down and landed on the pool’s surface, "You gonna get that wood?" George demanded. "There’s plenty right up against the back of that sycamore. Floodwater wood. Now you get it." Lennie went behind the tree and brought out a litter of dried leaves and twigs. He threw them in a heap on the oldash pile and went back for more and more. It was almost night now. A dove’s wings whistled over the water. George walked to the fire pile and lighted the dry leaves. The flame cracked up among the twigs and fell to work. George undid his bindle and brought out three cans of beans. He stood them about the fire, close in against the blaze, but not quite touching the flame.

"There’s enough beans for four men," George said.

Lennie watched him from over the fire. He said patiently, "I like ’em with ketchup." "Well, we ain’t got any," George exploded. "Whatever we ain’t got, that’s what you want. God a’mighty, if I was alone I could live so easy. I could go get a job an’ work, an’ no trouble. No mess ' all, and when the end of the month come I coul' take my fifty bucks and go into town and get what‘ ever I want. Why, I could stay in a cat house night. I could eat any place I want, hotel or an place, and order any damn thing I could think of. An’ I could do all that every damn month. Get a gallon of whisky, or set in a pool room and play cards or shoot pool." Lennie knelt and looked over the fire at the angry George. And Lennie’s face was drawn with terror.

"An’ whatta I got," George went on furiously. "I got you! You can’t keep a job and you lose me ever’ job I get. Jus’ keep me shovin’ all over the country all the time. An’ that ain’t the,' worst. You get in trouble. You do bad things and I got m get you out." His voice rose

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