Candy asked, “What we gonna do now, George? What we gonna do now?”
George was a long time in answering. “Guess . . . . we gotta tell the . . . . guys. I guess we gotta get ‘im an’ lock ‘im up. We can’t let ‘im get away. Why, the poor bastard’d starve.” And he tried to reassure himself. “Maybe they’ll lock ‘im up an’ be nice to In.”
But Candy said excitedly, “We oughtta let’im get away. You don’t know that Curley. Curley gon’ta wanta get ‘im lynched. Curley’ll get ‘im killed.”
George watched Candy’s lips. “Yeah,” he said at last, “that’s right, Curley will. An’ the other guys will.” And he looked back at Curley’s wife.
Now Candy spoke his greatest fear. “You an’ me can get that little place, can’t we, George? You an’ me can go there an’ live nice, can’t we, George? Can’t we?”
Before George answered, Candy dropped his head and looked down at the hay. He knew.
George said softly, “-I think I knowed from the very first I think I knowed we’d never do her. He usta like to hear about it so much I got to thinking maybe we would.”
“Then-it’s all off?” Candy said sulkily.
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,” be 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 jus’ 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. I’ll shoot ‘im in the guts. Come on, you guys.” He ran furiously out of the barn. Carlson said, “I’ll get my Luger,” and he ran out too.
Slim turned quietly to George. “I guess Lennie done it, all right,” he said. “Her neck’s bust. Lennie coulda did that.”
George didn’t answer, but he nodded slowly. His hat was so far down on his forehead that his eyes were covered.
Slim went on, “Maybe like that time in Weed you was tellin’ about.”
Again George nodded.
Slim sighed. “Well, I guess we got to get him. Where you think he might of went?”
It seemed to take George some time to free his words. “He-would of went south,” he said. “We come from north so he would of went south.”
“I guess we gotta get ‘im,” Slim repeated.
George stepped close. “Couldn’ we maybe bring him in an’ they’ll lock him up? He’s nuts, Slim. He never done this to be mean.”
Slim nodded. “We might,” he said. “If we could keep Curley in, we might. But Curley’s gonna want to shoot ‘im. Curley’s still mad about his hand. An’ s’pose they lock him up an’ strap him down and put him in a cage. That ain’t no good, George.”
“I know,” said George. “I know.”
Carlson came running in, “The bastard’s stole my Luger,” he shouted. “It ain’t in my bag.” Curley followed him, and Curley carried a shotgun in his good hand. Curley was cold now.
“All right, you guys,” he said. “The nigger’s got a shotgun. You take it, Carlson. When you see ‘urn, don’t give ‘im no chance. Shoot for his guts. That’ll double ‘im over.”
Whit said excitedly, “I ain’t got a gun.”
Curley said, “You go in Soledad an’ get a cop. Get AI Wilts, he’s deputy sheriff. Le’s go now.” He turned suspiciously on George. “You’re comin’ with us, fella.”
“Yeah,” said George. “I’ll come. But listen, Curley. The poor bastard’s nuts. Don’t shoot ‘im. He di’n’t know what he was doin’.”
“Don’t shoot ‘im?” Curley cried. “He got Carlson’s Luger. ‘Course we’ll shoot ‘im. ”
George said weakly, “Maybe Carlson lost his gun.,,
“I seen it this morning,” said Carlson. “No, it’s been took.”
Slim stood looking down at Curley’s wife. He said, “Curley-maybe you better stay here with your wife.”
Curley’s face reddened. “I’m goin’,” he said. “I’m gonna shoot the guts outa that big bastard myself, even if I only got one hand. I’m gonna get ‘im.”
Slim turned to Candy. “You stay here with her then, Candy. The rest of us better get goin’.”
They moved away. George stopped a moment beside Candy and they both looked down at the dead girl until Curley called, “You George! You stick with us so we don’t think you had nothin’ to do with this.”
George moved slowly after them, and his feet dragged heavily.
And when they were gone, Candy squatted down in the hay and watched the face of Curley’s wife. “Poor bastard,” he said softly.
The sound of the men grew fainter. The barn was darkening gradually and, in their stalls, the horses shifted their feet and rattled the halter chains. Old Candy lay down in the hay and covered his eyes with his arm.
CHAPTER 6
THE deep green pool of the Salinas River was still in the late afternoon. Already the sun had left the valley to go climbing up the slopes of the Gabilan mountains, and the hilltops were rosy in the sun. But by the pool among the mottled sycamores, a pleasant shade had fallen.
A water snake glided smoothly up the pool, twist-ing its periscope head from side to side; and it swam the length of the pool and came to the legs of a motionless heron that stood in the shallows. A silent head and beak lanced down and plucked it out by the head, and the beak swallowed the little snake while its tail waved frantically.
A far rush of wind sounded and a gust drove through the tops of the trees like a wave. The syca-more leaves turned up their silver sides, the brown, dry leaves on the ground scudded a few feet. And row on row of tiny wind waves flowed up the pool’s green surface.