ACT ONE
ACT ONE: SCENE I
Thursday night.
A sandy bank of the Salinas River sheltered with willows—one giant sycamore right, upstage.
The stage is covered with dry leaves. The feeling of the stage is sheltered and quiet.
Stage is lit by a setting sun.
Curtain rises on an empty stage. A sparrow is singing. There is a distant sound of ranch dogs barking aimlessly and one clear quail call. The quail call turns to a warning call and there is a beat of the flock’s wings. Two figures are seen entering the stage in single file, with GEORGE , the short man, coming in ahead of LENNIE. Both men are carrying blanket rolls. They approach the water. The small man throws down his blanket roll, the large man follows and then falls down and drinks from the river, snorting as he drinks.
GEORGE [irritably]: Lennie, for God’s sake, don’t drink so much. [Leans over and shakes LENNIE.] Lennie, you hear me! You gonna be sick like you was last night.
LENNIE [dips his whole head under, hat and all. As he sits upon the bank, his hat drips down the back]: That’s good. You drink some, George. You drink some too.
GEORGE [kneeling and dipping his finger in the water]: I ain’t sure it’s good water. Looks kinda scummy to me.
LENNIE [imitates, dipping his finger also]: Look at them wrinkles in the water, George. Look what I done.
GEORGE [drinking from his cupped palm]: Tastes all right. Don’t seem to be runnin’ much, though. Lennie, you oughtn’ to drink water when it ain’t running. [Hopelessly.] You’d drink water out of a gutter if you was thirsty. [He throws a scoop of water into his face and rubs it around with his hand, pushes himself back and embraces his knees. LENNIE, after watching him, imitates him in every detail.]
GEORGE [beginning tiredly and growing angry as he speaks]: God damn it, we could just as well of rode clear to the ranch. That bus driver didn’t know what he was talkin’ about. “Just a little stretch down the highway,” he says. “Just a little stretch”—damn near four miles. I bet he didn’t want to stop at the ranch gate. . . . I bet he’s too damn lazy to pull up. Wonder he ain’t too lazy to stop at Soledad at all! [Mumbling.] Just a little stretch down the road. LENNIE [timidly]: George?
GEORGE: Yeh . . . what you want?
LENNIE: Where we goin’, George?
GEORGE [jerks down his hat furiously]: So you forgot that already, did you? So I got to tell you again! Jeez, you’re a crazy bastard!
LENNIE [softly]: I forgot. I tried not to forget, honest to God, I did!
GEORGE: Okay, okay, I’ll tell you again. . . . [With sarcasm. ] I ain’t got nothin’ to do. Might just as well spen’ all my time tellin’ you things. You forgit ’em and I tell you again.
LENNIE [continuing on from his last speech]: I tried and tried, but it didn’t do no good. I remember about the rabbits, George!
GEORGE: The hell with the rabbits! You can’t remember nothing but them rabbits. You remember settin’ in that gutter on Howard Street and watchin’ that blackboard?
LENNIE [delightedly]: Oh, sure! I remember that . . . but . . . wha’d we do then? I remember some girls come by, and you says—
GEORGE: The hell with what I says! You remember about us goin’ in Murray and Ready’s and they give us work cards and bus tickets?
LENNIE: [confidently]: Oh, sure, George . . . I remember that now. [Puts his hand into his side coat-pocket; his confidence vanishes. Very gently.] . . . George?
GEORGE: Huh?
LENNIE [staring at the ground in despair]: I ain’t got mine. I musta lost it.
GEORGE: You never had none. I got both of ’em here. Think I’d let you carry your own work card?
LENNIE [with tremendous relief]: I thought I put it in my side pocket. [Puts his hand in his pocket again.]
GEORGE [looking sharply at him; and as he looks, LENNIE brings his hand out of his pocket]: Wha’d you take out of that pocket?
LENNIE [cleverly]: Ain’t a thing in my pocket.
GEORGE: I know there ain’t. You got it in your hand now. What you got in your hand?
LENNIE: I ain’t got nothing, George! Honest!
GEORGE: Come on, give it here!
LENNIE [holds his closed hand away from GEORGE]: It’s on’y a mouse!
GEORGE: A mouse? A live mouse?
LENNIE: No . . . just a dead mouse. [Worriedly.] I didn’t kill it. Honest. I found it. I found it dead.
GEORGE: Give it here!
LENNIE: Leave me have it, George.
GEORGE [sternly]: Give it here! [LENNIE reluctantly gives him the mouse.] What do you want of a dead mouse, anyway?
LENNIE [in a propositional tone]: I was petting it with my thumb while we walked along.
GEORGE: Well, you ain’t pettin’ no mice while you walk with me. Now let’s see if you can remember where we’re going. [GEORGE throws it across the water into the brush.]
LENNIE [looks startled and then in embarrassment hides his face against his knees]: I forgot again.
GEORGE: Jesus Christ! [Resignedly.] Well, look, we are gonna work on a ranch like the one we come from up north.
LENNIE: Up north?
GEORGE: In Weed!
LENNIE: Oh, sure I remember—in Weed.
GEORGE [still with exaggerated patience]: That ranch we’re goin’ to is right down there about a quarter mile. We’re gonna go in and see the boss.
LENNIE [repeats as a lesson]: And see the boss!
GEORGE: Now, look! I’ll give him the work tickets, but you ain’t gonna say a word. You’re just gonna stand there and not say nothing.
LENNIE: Not say nothing!
GEORGE: If he finds out what a crazy bastard you are, we won’t get no job. But if he sees you work before he hears you talk, we’re set. You got that?
LENNIE: Sure, George . . . sure. I got that.
GEORGE: Okay. Now when we go in to see the boss, what you gonna do?
LENNIE [concentrating]: I . . . I . . . I ain’t gonna say nothing . . . jus’ gonna stand there.
GEORGE [greatly relieved]: Good boy, that’s swell! Now say that over two or three times so you sure won’t forget it.
LENNIE [drones softly under his breath]: I ain’t gonna say nothing . . . I ain’t gonna say nothing. . . . [Trails off into a whisper.]
GEORGE: And you ain’t gonna do no bad things like you done in Weed neither.
LENNIE [puzzled]: Like I done in Weed?
GEORGE: So you forgot that too, did you?
LENNIE [triumphantly]: They run us out of Weed!
GEORGE [disgusted]: Run us out, hell! We run! They was lookin’ for us, but they didn’t catch us.
LENNIE [happily]: I didn’t forget that, you bet.
GEORGE [lies back on the sand, crosses his hands under his head. And again LENNIE imitates him]: God, you’re a lot of trouble! I could get along so easy and nice, if I didn’t have you on my tail. I could live so easy!
LENNIE [hopefully]: We gonna work on a ranch, George.
GEORGE: All right, you got that. But we’re gonna sleep here tonight, because . . . I want to. I want to sleep out. [The light is going fast, dropping into evening. A little wind whirls into the clearing and blows leaves. A dog howls in the distance.]
LENNIE: Why ain’t we goin’ on to the ranch to get some supper? They got supper at the ranch.
GEORGE: No reason at all. I just like it here. Tomorrow we’ll be goin’ to work. I seen thrashing machines on the way down; that means we’ll be buckin’ grain bags. Bus-tin’ a gut liftin’ up them bags. Tonight I’m gonna lay right here an’ look up! Tonight there ain’t a grain bag or a boss in the world. Tonight, the drinks is on the . . . house. Nice house we got here, Lennie.
LENNIE [gets up on his knees and looks down at GEORGE, plaintively]: Ain’t we gonna have no supper?
GEORGE: Sure we are. You gather up some dead willow sticks. I got three cans of beans in my bindle. I’ll open ’em up while you get a fire ready. We’ll eat ’em cold.
LENNIE [companionably]: I like beans with ketchup.
GEORGE: Well, we ain’t got no ketchup. You go get wood, and don’t you fool around none. Be dark before long. [LENNIE lumbers to his feet and disappears into the brush. GEORGE gets out the bean cans, opens two of them, suddenly turns his head and listens. A little sound of splashing comes from the direction that LENNIE has taken. GEORGE looks after him; shakes his head. LENNIE comes back carrying a few small willow sticks in his hand.] All right, give me that mouse.
LENNIE [with elaborate pantomime of innocence]: What, George? I ain’t got no mouse.
GEORGE [holding out his hand]: Come on! Give it to me! You ain’t puttin’ nothing over. [LENNIE hesitates, backs away, turns and looks as if he were going to run. Coldly.] You gonna give me that mouse or do I have to take a sock at you?
LENNIE: Give you what, George?
GEORGE: You know goddamn well, what! I want that mouse!
LENNIE [almost in tears]: I don’t know why I can’t keep it. It ain’t nobody’s mouse. I didn’ steal it! I found it layin’ right beside the road. [GEORGE snaps his fingers sharply, and LENNIE lays the mouse in his hand.] I wasn’t doin’ nothing bad with it. Just stroking it. That ain’t bad.
GEORGE [stands up and throws the mouse as far as he can into the brush, then he steps to the pool, and washes his hands]: You crazy fool! Thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? Don’t you think I could see your feet was wet where you went in the water to get it? [LENNIE whimpers like a puppy.] Blubbering like a baby. Jesus Christ, a big guy like you! [LENNIE tries to control himself, but his lips quiver and his face works with an effort. GEORGE puts his hand on LENNIE’S shoulder for a moment.] Aw, Lennie, I ain’t takin’ it away just for meanness. That mouse ain’t fresh. Besides, you broke it pettin’ it. You get a mouse that’s fresh and I’ll let you keep it a little while.
LENNIE: I don’t know where there is no other mouse. I remember a lady used to give ’em to me. Ever’ one she got she used to give it to me, but that lady ain’t here no more.
GEORGE: Lady, huh! . . . Give me them sticks there. . . . Don’t even remember who that lady was. That was your own Aunt Clara. She stopped givin’ ’em to you. You always killed ’em.
LENNIE [sadly and apologetically]: They was so little. I’d pet ’em and pretty soon they bit my fingers and then I pinched their head a little bit and then they was dead . . . because they was so little. I wish we’d get the rabbits pretty soon, George. They ain’t so little.
GEORGE: The hell with the rabbits! Come on, let’s eat! [The light has continued to go out of the scene so that when GEORGE lights the fire, it is the major light on the stage. GEORGE hands one of the open cans of beans to LENNIE.] There’s enough beans for four men.
LENNIE [sitting on the other side of the fire, speaks patiently]: I like ’em with ketchup.
GEORGE [explodes]: Well, we ain’t got any. Whatever we ain’t got, that’s what you want. God Almighty, if I was alone, I could live so easy. I could go get a job of work and no trouble. No mess . . . and when the end of the month come, I could take my fifty bucks and go into town and get whatever I want. Why, I could stay in a cat-house all night. I could eat any place I want. Order any damn thing.
LENNIE [plaintively, but softly]: I didn’t want no ketchup.
GEORGE [continuing violently]: I could do that every damn month. Get a gallon of whiskey or set in a pool room and play cards or shoot pool. [LENNIE gets up to his knees and looks over the fire, with frightened face.] And what have I got? [Disgustedly.] I got you. You can’t keep a job and you lose me every job I get!
LENNIE [in terror]: I don’t mean nothing, George.
GEORGE: Just keep me shovin’ all over the country all the time. And that ain’t the worst—you get in trouble. You do bad things and I got to get you out. It ain’t bad people that raises hell. It’s dumb ones. [He shouts.] You crazy son-of-a-bitch, you keep me in hot water all the time. [LENNIE is trying to stop GEORGE’S flow of words with his hands. Sarcastically.] You just wanta feel that girl’s dress. Just wanta pet it like it was a mouse. Well, how the hell’d she know you just wanta feel her dress? How’d she know you’d just hold onto it like it was a mouse?
LENNIE [in a panic]: I didn’t mean to, George!
GEORGE: Sure you didn’t mean to. You didn’t mean for her to yell bloody hell, either. You didn’t mean for us to hide in the irrigation ditch all day with guys out lookin’ for us with guns. Alla time it’s something you didn’t mean. God damn it, I wish I could put you in a cage with a million mice and let them pet you. [GEORGE’S anger leaves him suddenly. For the first time he seems to see the expression of terror on LENNIE’S face. He looks down ashamedly at the fire, and maneuvers some beans onto the blade of his pocket-knife and puts them into his mouth.]
LENNIE [after a pause]: George! [GEORGE purposely does not answer him.] George?
GEORGE: What do you want?
LENNIE: I was only foolin’, George. I don’t want no ketchup. I wouldn’t eat no ketchup if it was right here beside me.
GEORGE [with a sullenness of shame]: If they was some here you could have it. And if I had a thousand bucks I’d buy ya a bunch of flowers.
LENNIE: I wouldn’t eat no ketchup, George. I’d leave it all for you. You could cover your beans so deep with it, and I wouldn’t touch none of it.
GEORGE [refusing to give in from his sullenness, refusing to look at LENNIE]: When I think of the swell time I could have without you, I go nuts. I never git no peace!
LENNIE: You want I should go away and leave you alone?
GEORGE: Where the hell could you go?
LENNIE: Well, I could . . . I could go off in the hills there. Some place I could find a cave.
GEORGE: Yeah, how’d ya eat? You ain’t got sense enough to find nothing to eat.
LENNIE: I’d find things. I don’t need no nice food with ketchup. I’d lay out in the sun and nobody would hurt me. And if I found a mouse—why, I could keep it. Wouldn’t nobody take it away from me.
GEORGE [at last he looks up]: I been mean, ain’t I?
LENNIE [presses his triumph]: If you don’t want me, I can go right in them hills, and find a cave. I can go away any time.
GEORGE: No. Look! I was just foolin’ ya. ’Course I want you to stay with me. Trouble with mice is you always kill ’em. [He pauses.] Tell you what I’ll do, Lennie. First chance I get I’ll find you a pup. Maybe you wouldn’t kill it. That would be better than mice. You could pet it harder.
LENNIE [still avoiding being drawn in]: If you don’t want me, you only gotta say so. I’ll go right up on them hills and live by myself. And I won’t get no mice stole from me.
GEORGE: I want you to stay with me. Jesus Christ, somebody’d shoot you for a coyote if you was by yourself. Stay with me. Your Aunt Clara wouldn’t like your runnin’ off by yourself, even if she is dead.
LENNIE: George?
GEORGE: Huh?
LENNIE [craftily]: Tell me—like you done before.
GEORGE: Tell you what?
LENNIE: About the rabbits.
GEORGE [near to anger again]: You ain’t gonna put nothing over on me!
LENNIE [pleading]: Come on, George . . . tell me! Please! Like you done before.
GEORGE: You get a kick out of that, don’t you? All right, I’ll tell you. And then we’ll lay out our beds and eat our dinner.
LENNIE: Go on, George.
Unrolls his bed and lies on his side, supporting his head on one hand. GEORGE lays out his bed and sits crosslegged on it. GEORGE repeats the next speech rhythmically, as though he had said it many times before.
GEORGE: Guys like us that work on ranches is the loneliest guys in the world. They ain’t got no family. They don’t belong no place. They come to a ranch and work up a stake and then they go in to town and blow their stake. And then the first thing you know they’re poundin’ their tail on some other ranch. They ain’t got nothin’ to look ahead to.
LENNIE [delightedly]: That’s it, that’s it! Now tell how it is with us.
GEORGE [still almost chanting]: With us it ain’t like that. We got a future. We got somebody to talk to that gives a damn about us. We don’t have to sit in no barroom blowin’ in our jack, just because we got no place else to go. If them other guys gets in jail, they can rot for all anybody gives a damn.
LENNIE [who cannot restrain himself any longer. Bursts into speech]: But not us! And why? Because . . . because I got you to look after me . . . and you got me to look after you . . . and that’s why! [He laughs.] Go on, George!
GEORGE: You got it by heart. You can do it yourself.
LENNIE: No, no. I forget some of the stuff. Tell about how it’s gonna be.
GEORGE: Some other time.
LENNIE: No, tell how it’s gonna be!
GEORGE: Okay. Some day we’re gonna get the jack together and we’re gonna have a little house, and a couple of acres and a cow and some pigs and . . .
LENNIE [shouting]: And live off the fat of the land! And have rabbits. Go on, George! Tell about what we’re gonna have in the garden. And about the rabbits in the cages. Tell about the rain in the winter . . . and about the stove and how thick the cream is on the milk, you can hardly cut it. Tell about that, George!
GEORGE: Why don’t you do it yourself—you know all of it!
LENNIE: It ain’t the same if I tell it. Go on now. How I get to tend the rabbits.
GEORGE [resignedly]: Well, we’ll have a big vegetable patch and a rabbit hutch and chickens. And when it rains in the winter we’ll just say to hell with goin’ to work. We’ll build up a fire in the stove, and set around it and listen to the rain comin’ down on the roof—Nuts! [Begins to eat with his knife.] I ain’t got time for no more. [He falls to eating. LENNIE imitates him, spilling a few beans from his mouth with every bite. GEORGE, gesturing with his knife.] What you gonna say tomorrow when the boss asks you questions?
LENNIE [stops chewing in the middle of a bite, swallows painfully. His face contorts with thought]: I . . . I ain’t gonna say a word.
GEORGE: Good boy. That’s fine. Say, maybe you’re gittin’ better. I bet I can let you tend the rabbits . . . specially if you remember as good as that!
LENNIE [choking with pride]: I can remember, by God!
GEORGE [as though remembering something, points his knife at LENNIE’S chest]: Lennie, I want you to look around here. Think you can remember this place? The ranch is ’bout a quarter mile up that way. Just follow the river and you can get here.
LENNIE [looking around carefully]: Sure, I can remember here. Didn’t I remember ’bout not gonna say a word?
GEORGE: ’Course you did. Well, look, Lennie, if you just happen to get in trouble, I want you to come right here and hide in the brush.
LENNIE [slowly]: Hide in the brush.
GEORGE: Hide in the brush until I come for you. Think you can remember that?
LENNIE: Sure I can, George. Hide in the brush till you come for me!
GEORGE: But you ain’t gonna get in no trouble. Because if you do I won’t let you tend the rabbits.
LENNIE: I won’t get in no trouble. I ain’t gonna say a word.
GEORGE: You got it. Anyways, I hope so. [GEORGE stretches out on his blankets. The light dies slowly out of the fire until only the faces of the two men can be seen. GEORGE is still eating from his can of beans.] It’s gonna be nice sleeping here. Lookin’ up . . . and the leaves . . . Don’t build up no more fire. We’ll let her die. Jesus, you feel free when you ain’t got a job—if you ain’t hungry.
They sit silently for a few moments. A night owl is heard far off. From across the river there comes the sound of a coyote howl and on the heels of the howl all the dogs in the country start to bark.
LENNIE [from almost complete darkness]: George?
GEORGE: What do you want?
LENNIE: Let’s have different color rabbits, George.
GEORGE: Sure. Red rabbits and blue rabbits and green rabbits. Millions of ’em!
LENNIE: Furry ones, George. Like I seen at the fair in Sacramento.
GEORGE: Sure. Furry ones.
LENNIE: ’Cause I can jus’ as well go away, George, and live in a cave.
GEORGE [amiably]: Aw, shut up.
LENNIE [after a long pause]: George?
GEORGE: What is it?
LENNIE: I’m shutting up, George. [A coyote howls again.]
CURTAIN
ACT ONE: SCENE II
Late Friday morning.
The interior of a bunkhouse.
Walls, white-washed board and bat. Floors unpainted.
There is a heavy square table with upended boxes around it used for chairs. Over each bunk there is a box nailed to the wall which serves as two shelves on which are the private possessions of the working men.
On top of each bunk there is a large noisy alarm clock ticking madly.
The sun is streaking through the windows. NOTE: Articles in the boxes on wall are soap, talcum powder, razors, pulp magazines, medicine bottles, combs, and from nails on the sides of the boxes a few neckties.
There is a hanging light from the ceiling over the table, with a round dim reflector on it.
The curtain rises on an empty stage. Only the ticking of the many alarm clocks is heard.
CANDY, GEORGE and LENNIE are first seen passing the open window of the bunkhouse.
CANDY: This is the bunkhouse here. Door’s around this side. [The latch on the door rises and CANDY enters, a stoop-shouldered old man. He is dressed in blue jeans and a denim coat. He carries a big push broom in his left hand. His right hand is gone at the wrist. He grasps things with his right arm between arm and side. He walks into the room followed by GEORGE and LENNIE. Conversationally. ] The boss was expecting you last night. He was sore as hell when you wasn’t here to go out this morning. [Points with his handless arm.] You can have them two beds there.
GEORGE : I’ll take the top one . . . I don’t want you falling down on me. [Steps over to the bunk and throws his blankets down. He looks into the nearly empty box shelf over it, then picks up a small yellow can.] Say, what the hell’s this?
CANDY: I don’ know.
GEORGE: Says “positively kills lice, roaches and other scourges.” What the hell kinda beds you givin’ us, anyway? We don’t want no pants rabbits.
CANDY [shifts his broom, holding it between his elbow and his side, takes the can in his left hand and studies the label carefully]: Tell you what . . . last guy that had this bed was a blacksmith. Helluva nice fellow. Clean a guy as you’d want to meet. Used to wash his hands even after he et.
GEORGE [with gathering anger]: Then how come he got pillow-pigeons? [LENNIE puts his blankets on his bunk and sits down, watching GEORGE with his mouth slightly open.]
CANDY: Tell you what. This here blacksmith, name of Whitey, was the kinda guy that would put that stuff around even if there wasn’t no bugs. Tell you what he used to do. He’d peel his boiled potatoes and take out every little spot before he et it, and if there was a red splotch on an egg, he’d scrape it off. Finally quit about the food. That’s the kind of guy Whitey was. Clean. Used to dress up Sundays even when he wasn’t goin’ no place. Put on a necktie even, and then set in the bunkhouse.
GEORGE [skeptically]: I ain’t so sure. What da’ ya say he quit for?
CANDY [puts the can in his pocket, rubs his bristly white whiskers with his knuckles]: Why . . . he just quit the way a guy will. Says it was the food. Didn’t give no other reason. Just says “give me my time” one night, the way any guy would. [GEORGE lifts his bed tick and looks underneath, leans over and inspects the sacking carefully. LEN - NIE does the same with his bed.]
GEORGE [half satisfied]: Well, if there’s any grey-backs in this bed, you’re gonna hear from me! [He unrolls his blankets and puts his razor and bar of soap and comb and bottle of pills, his liniment and leather wristband in the box.]
CANDY: I guess the boss’ll be out here in a minute to write your name in. He sure was burned when you wasn’t here this morning. Come right in when we was eatin’ breakfast and says, “Where the hell’s them new men?” He give the stable buck hell, too. Stable buck’s a nigger.
GEORGE: Nigger, huh!
CANDY: Yeah. [Continues.] Nice fellow too. Got a crooked back where a horse kicked him. Boss gives him hell when he’s mad. But the stable buck don’t give a damn about that.
GEORGE: What kinda guy is the boss?
CANDY: Well, he’s a pretty nice fella for a boss. Gets mad sometimes. But he’s pretty nice. Tell you what. Know what he done Christmas? Brung a gallon of whiskey right in here and says, “Drink hearty, boys, Christmas comes but once a year!”
GEORGE: The hell he did! A whole gallon?
CANDY: Yes, sir. Jesus, we had fun! They let the nigger come in that night. Well, sir, a little skinner name Smitty took after the nigger. Done pretty good too. The guys wouldn’t let him use his feet so the nigger got him. If he could a used his feet Smitty says he would have killed the nigger. The guys says on account the nigger got a crooked back Smitty can’t use his feet. [He smiles in reverie at the memory.]
GEORGE: Boss the owner?
CANDY: Naw! Superintendent. Big land company. . . . Yes, sir, that night . . . he come right in here with a whole gallon . . . he set right over there and says, “Drink hearty, boys,” . . . he says. . . . [The door opens. Enter the BOSS. He is a stocky man, dressed in blue jean trousers, flannel shirt, a black unbuttoned vest and a black coat. He wears a soiled brown Stetson hat, a pair of high-heeled boots and spurs. Ordinarily he puts his thumbs in his belt. CANDY, shuffling towards the door, rubbing his whiskers with his knuckles as he goes.] Them guys just come. [CANDY exits and shuts the door behind him.]
BOSS: I wrote Murray and Ready I wanted two men this morning. You got your work slips?
GEORGE [digs in his pockets, produces two slips and hands them to the BOSS]: Here they are.
BOSS [reading the slips]: Well, I see it wasn’t Murray and Ready’s fault. It says right here on the slip, you was to be here for work this morning.
GEORGE: Bus driver give us a bum steer. We had to walk ten miles. That bus driver says we was here when we wasn’t. We couldn’t thumb no rides. [GEORGE scowls meaningly at LENNIE and LENNIE nods to show that he understands.]
BOSS: Well, I had to send out the grain teams short two buckers. It won’t do any good to go out now until after dinner. You’d get lost. [Pulls out his time book, opens it to where a pencil is stuck between the leaves. Licks his pencil carefully.] What’s your name?
GEORGE: George Milton.
BOSS: George Milton. [Writing.] And what’s yours?
GEORGE: His name’s Lennie Small.
BOSS: Lennie Small. [Writing.] Le’s see, this is the twentieth. Noon the twentieth. . . . [Makes positive mark. Closes the book and puts it in his pocket.] Where you boys been workin’?
GEORGE: Up around Weed.
BOSS [to LENNIE]: You too?
GEORGE: Yeah. Him too.
BOSS [to LENNIE]: Say, you’re a big fellow, ain’t you?
GEORGE: Yeah, he can work like hell, too.
BOSS: He ain’t much of a talker, though, is he?
GEORGE: No, he ain’t. But he’s a hell of a good worker. Strong as a bull.
LENNIE [smiling]: I’m strong as a bull. [GEORGE scowls at him and LENNIE drops his head in shame at having forgotten.]
BOSS [sharply]: You are, huh? What can you do?
GEORGE: He can do anything.
BOSS [addressing LENNIE]: What can you do? [LENNIE, looking at GEORGE, gives a high nervous chuckle.]
GEORGE [quickly]: Anything you tell him. He’s a good skinner. He can wrestle grain bags, drive a cultivator. He can do anything. Just give him a try.
BOSS [turning to GEORGE]: Then why don’t you let him answer? [LENNIE laughs.] What’s he laughing about?
GEORGE: He laughs when he gets excited.
BOSS: Yeah?
GEORGE [loudly]: But he’s a goddamn good worker. I ain’t saying he’s bright, because he ain’t. But he can put up a four hundred pound bale.
BOSS [hooking his thumbs in his belt]: Say, what you sellin’?
GEORGE: Huh?
BOSS: I said what stake you got in this guy? You takin’ his pay away from him?
GEORGE: No. Of course I ain’t!
BOSS: Yell, I never seen one guy take so much trouble for another guy. I just like to know what your percentage is.
GEORGE: He’s my . . . cousin. I told his ole lady I’d take care of him. He got kicked in the head by a horse when he was a kid. He’s all right. . . . Just ain’t bright. But he can do anything you tell him.
BOSS [turning half away]: Well, God knows he don’t need no brains to buck barley bags. [He turns back.] But don’t you try to put nothing over, Milton. I got my eye on you. Why’d you quit in Weed?
GEORGE [promptly]: Job was done.
BOSS: What kind of job?
GEORGE: Why . . . we was diggin’ a cesspool.
BOSS [after a pause]: All right. But don’t try to put nothing over ’cause you can’t get away with nothing. I seen wise guys before. Go out with the grain teams after dinner. They’re out pickin’ up barley with the thrashin’ machines. Go out with Slim’s team.
GEORGE: Slim?
BOSS: Yeah. Big, tall skinner. You’ll see him at dinner. [Up to this time the BOSS has been full of business. He has been calm and suspicious. In the following lines he relaxes, but gradually, as though he wanted to talk but felt always the burden of his position. He turns toward the door, but hesitates and allows a little warmth into his manner.] Been on the road long?
GEORGE [obviously on guard]: We was three days in ’Frisco lookin’ at the boards.
BOSS [with heavy jocularity]: Didn’t go to no night clubs, I ’spose?
GEORGE [stiffly]: We was lookin’ for a job.
BOSS [attempting to be friendly]: That’s a great town if you got a little jack, ’Frisco.
GEORGE [refusing to be drawn in]: We didn’t have no jack for nothing like that.
BOSS [realizes there is no contact to establish; grows rigid with his position again]: Go out with the grain teams after dinner. When my hands work hard they get pie and when they loaf they bounce down the road on their can. You ask anybody about me. [He turns and walks out of bunkhouse.]
GEORGE [turns to LENNIE ]: So you wasn’t gonna say a word! You was gonna leave your big flapper shut. I was gonna do the talkin’. . . . You goddamn near lost us the job!
LENNIE [stares hopelessly at his hands]: I forgot.
GEORGE: You forgot. You always forget. Now, he’s got his eye on us. Now, we gotta be careful and not make no slips. You keep your big flapper shut after this.
LENNIE: He talked like a kinda nice guy towards the last.
GEORGE [angrily]: He’s the boss, ain’t he? Well, he’s the boss first an’ a nice guy afterwards. Don’t you have nothin’ to do with no boss, except do your work and draw your pay. You can’t never tell whether you’re talkin’ to the nice guy or the boss. Just keep your goddamn mouth shut. Then you’re all right.
LENNIE: George?
GEORGE: What you want now?
LENNIE: I wasn’t kicked in the head with no horse, was I, George?
GEORGE: Be a damn good thing if you was. Save everybody a hell of a lot of trouble!
LENNIE [flattered]: You says I was your cousin.
GEORGE: Well, that was a goddamn lie. And I’m glad it was. Why, if I was a relative of yours—[He stops and listens, then steps to the front door, and looks out.] Say, what the hell you doin’, listenin’?
CANDY [comes slowly into the room. By a rope, he leads an ancient drag-footed, blind sheep dog. Guides it from running into a table leg, with the rope. Sits down on a box, and presses the hind quarters of the old dog down]: Naw . . . I wasn’t listenin’. . . . I was just standin’ in the shade a minute, scratchin’ my dog. I jest now finished swamping out the washhouse.
GEORGE: You was pokin’ your big nose into our business! I don’t like nosey guys.
CANDY [looks uneasily from GEORGE to LENNIE and then back]: I jest come there . . . I didn’t hear nothing you guys was sayin’. I ain’t interested in nothing you was sayin’. A guy on a ranch don’t never listen. Nor he don’t ast no questions.
GEORGE [slightly mollified]: Damn right he don’t! Not if the guy wants to stay workin’ long. [His manner changes.] That’s a helluva ole dog.
CANDY: Yeah. I had him ever since he was a pup. God, he was a good sheep dog, when he was young. [Rubs his cheek with his knuckles.] How’d you like the boss?
GEORGE: Pretty good! Seemed all right.
CANDY: He’s a nice fella. You got ta take him right, of course. He’s runnin’ this ranch. He don’t take no nonsense.
GEORGE: What time do we eat? Eleven-thirty?
CURLEY enters. He is dressed in working clothes. He wears brown high-heeled boots and has a glove on his left hand.
CURLEY: Seen my ole man?
CANDY: He was here just a minute ago, Curley. Went over to the cookhouse, I think.
CURLEY: I’ll try to catch him. [Looking over at the new men, measuring them. Unconsciously bends his elbow and closes his hand and goes into a slight crouch. He walks gingerly close to LENNIE.] You the new guys my ole man was waitin’ for?
GEORGE: Yeah. We just come in.
CURLEY: How’s it come you wasn’t here this morning?
GEORGE: Got off the bus too soon.
CURLEY [again addressing LENNIE]: My ole man got to get the grain out. Ever bucked barley?
GEORGE [quickly]: Hell, yes. Done a lot of it.
CURLEY: I mean him. [To LENNIE.] Ever bucked barley?
GEORGE: Sure he has.
CURLEY [irritatedly]: Let the big guy talk!
GEORGE: ’Spose he don’t want ta talk?
CURLEY [pugnaciously]: By Christ, he’s gotta talk when he’s spoke to. What the hell you shovin’ into this for?
GEORGE [stands up and speaks coldly]: Him and me travel together.
CURLEY: Oh, so it’s that way?
GEORGE [tense and motionless]: What way?
CURLEY [letting the subject drop]: And you won’t let the big guy talk? Is that it?
GEORGE: He can talk if he wants to tell you anything. [He nods slightly to LENNIE.]
LENNIE [in a frightened voice]: We just come in.
CURLEY: Well, next time you answer when you’re spoke to, then.
GEORGE: He didn’t do nothing to you.
CURLEY [measuring him]: You drawin’ cards this hand?
GEORGE [quietly]: I might.
CURLEY [stares at him for a moment, his threat moving to the future]: I’ll see you get a chance to ante, anyway. [He walks out of the room.]
GEORGE [after he has made his exit]: Say, what the hell’s he got on his shoulder? Lennie didn’t say nothing to him.
CANDY [looks cautiously at the door]: That’s the Boss’s son. Curley’s pretty handy. He done quite a bit in the ring. The guys say he’s pretty handy.
GEORGE: Well, let ’im be handy. He don’t have to take after Lennie. Lennie didn’t do nothing to him.
CANDY [considering]: Well . . . tell you what, Curley’s like a lot a little guys. He hates big guys. He’s alla time pickin’ scraps with big guys. Kinda like he’s mad at ’em because he ain’t a big guy. You seen little guys like that, ain’t you—always scrappy?
GEORGE: Sure, I seen plenty tough little guys. But this here Curley better not make no mistakes about Lennie. Lennie ain’t handy, see, but this Curley punk’s gonna get hurt if he messes around with Lennie.
CANDY [skeptically]: Well, Curley’s pretty handy. You know, it never did seem right to me. ’Spose Curley jumps a big guy and licks him. Everybody says what a game guy Curley is. Well, ’spose he jumps ’im and gits licked, everybody says the big guy oughta pick somebody his own size. Seems like Curley ain’t givin’ nobody a chance.
GEORGE [watching the door]: Well, he better watch out for Lennie. Lennie ain’t no fighter. But Lennie’s strong and quick and Lennie don’t know no rules. [Walks to the square table, and sits down on one of the boxes. Picks up scattered cards and pulls them together and shuffles them.]
CANDY: Don’t tell Curley I said none of this. He’d slough me! He jus’ don’t give a damn. Won’t ever get canned because his ole man’s the boss!
GEORGE[cuts the cards. Turns over and looks at each one as he throws it down]: This guy Curley sounds like a son-of-a-bitch to me! I don’t like mean little guys!
CANDY: Seems to me like he’s worse lately. He got married a couple of weeks ago. Wife lives over in the Boss’s house. Seems like Curley’s worse’n ever since he got married. Like he’s settin’ on a ant-hill an’ a big red ant come up an’ nipped ’im on the turnip. Just feels so goddamn miserable he’ll strike at anything that moves. I’m kinda sorry for ’im.
GEORGE: Maybe he’s showin’ off for his wife.
CANDY: You seen that glove on his left hand?
GEORGE: Sure I seen it!
CANDY: Well, that glove’s full of vaseline.
GEORGE: Vaseline? What the hell for?
CANDY: Curley says he’s keepin’ that hand soft for his wife.
GEORGE: That’s a dirty kind of a thing to tell around.
CANDY: I ain’t quite so sure. I seen such funny things a guy will do to try to be nice. I ain’t sure. But you jus’ wait till you see Curley’s wife!
GEORGE [begins to lay out a solitaire hand, speaks casually ]: Is she purty?
CANDY: Yeah. Purty, but—
GEORGE [studying his cards]: But what?
CANDY: Well, she got the eye.
GEORGE [still playing at his solitaire hand]: Yeah? Married two weeks an’ got the eye? Maybe that’s why Curley’s pants is fulla ants.
CANDY: Yes, sir, I seen her give Slim the eye. Slim’s a jerk-line skinner. Hell of a nice fella. Well, I seen her give Slim the eye. Curley never seen it. And I seen her give a skinner named Carlson the eye.
GEORGE [pretending a very mild interest]: Looks like we was gonna have fun!
CANDY [stands up]: Know what I think? [Waits for an answer. George doesn’t answer.] Well, I think Curley’s married himself a tart.
GEORGE [casually]: He ain’t the first. Black queen on a red king. Yes, sir . . . there’s plenty done that!
CANDY [moves towards the door, leading his dog out with him]: I got to be settin’ out the wash basins for the guys. The teams’ll be in before long. You guys gonna buck barley?
GEORGE: Yeah.
CANDY: You won’t tell Curley nothing I said?
GEORGE: Hell, no!
CANDY [just before he goes out the door, he turns back]: Well, you look her over, mister. You see if she ain’t a tart! [He exits.]
GEORGE [continuing to play out his solitaire. He turns to LENNIE]: Look, Lennie, this here ain’t no set-up. You gonna have trouble with that Curley guy. I seen that kind before. You know what he’s doin’. He’s kinda feelin’ you out. He figures he’s got you scared. And he’s gonna take a sock at you, first chance he gets.
LENNIE [frightened]: I don’t want no trouble. Don’t let him sock me, George!
GEORGE: I hate them kind of bastards. I seen plenty of ’em. Like the ole guy says: “Curley don’t take no chances. He always figures to win.” [Thinks for a moment.] If he tangles with you, Lennie, we’re goin’ get the can. Don’t make no mistake about that. He’s the Boss’s kid. Look, you try to keep away from him, will you? Don’t never speak to him. If he comes in here you move clear to the other side of the room. Will you remember that, Lennie?
LENNIE [mourning]: I don’t want no trouble. I never done nothing to him!
GEORGE: Well, that won’t do you no good, if Curley wants to set himself up for a fighter. Just don’t have nothing to do with him. Will you remember?
LENNIE: Sure, George . . . I ain’t gonna say a word.
Sounds of the teams coming in from the fields, jingling of harness, croak of heavy laden axles, men talking to and cussing the horses. Crack of a whip and from a distance a voice calling.
SLIM’S VOICE: Stable buck! Hey! Stable buck!
GEORGE: Here come the guys. Just don’t say nothing.
LENNIE [timidly]: You ain’t mad, George?
GEORGE: I ain’t mad at you. I’m mad at this here Curley bastard! I wanted we should get a little stake together. Maybe a hundred dollars. You keep away from Curley.
LENNIE: Sure I will. I won’t say a word.
GEORGE [hesitating]: Don’t let ’im pull you in—but—if the son-of-a-bitch socks you—let him have it!
LENNIE: Let him have what, George?
GEORGE: Never mind. . . . Look, if you get in any kind of trouble, you remember what I told you to do.
LENNIE: If I get in any trouble, you ain’t gonna let me tend the rabbits?
GEORGE: That’s not what I mean. You remember where we slept last night. Down by the river?
LENNIE: Oh, sure I remember. I go there and hide in the brush until you come for me.
GEORGE: That’s it. Hide till I come for you. Don’t let nobody see you. Hide in the brush by the river. Now say that over.
LENNIE: Hide in the brush by the river. Down in the brush by the river.
GEORGE: If you get in trouble.
LENNIE: If I get in trouble.
A brake screeches outside and a call: “Stable buck, oh, stable buck!” “Where the hell’s that goddamn nigger?” Suddenly CURLEY’S WIFE is standing in the door. Full, heavily rouged lips. Wide-spaced, made-up eyes, her fingernails are bright red, her hair hangs in little rolled clusters like sausages. She wears a cotton house dress and red mules, on the insteps of which are little bouquets of red ostrich feathers. GEORGE and LENNIE look up at her.
CURLEY’S WIFE: I’m lookin’ for Curley!
GEORGE [looks away from her]: He was in here a minute ago but he went along.
CURLEY’S WIFE [puts her hands behind her back and leans against the door frame so that her body is thrown forward]: You’re the new fellas that just come, ain’t you?
GEORGE [sullenly]: Yeah.
CURLEY’S WIFE [bridles a little and inspects her fingernails ]: Sometimes Curley’s in here.
GEORGE [brusquely]: Well, he ain’t now!
CURLEY’S WIFE [playfully]: Well, if he ain’t, I guess I’d better look some place else. [LENNIE watches her, fascinated.]
GEORGE: If I see Curley I’ll pass the word you was lookin’ for him.
CURLEY’S WIFE: Nobody can’t blame a person for lookin’.
GEORGE: That depends what she’s lookin’ for.
CURLEY’S WIFE [a little wearily, dropping her coquetry]: I’m jus’ lookin’ for somebody to talk to. Don’t you never jus’ want to talk to somebody?
SLIM [offstage]: Okay! Put that lead pair in the north stalls.
CURLEY’S WIFE [to SLIM, offstage]: Hi, Slim!
SLIM [voice offstage]: Hello.
CURLEY’S WIFE: I—I’m tryin’ to find Curley.
SLIM’S VOICE [offstage]: Well, you ain’t tryin’ very hard. I seen him goin’ in your house.
CURLEY’S WIFE [turning back toward GEORGE and LENNIE]: I gotta be goin’! [She exits hurriedly.]
GEORGE [looking around at LENNIE]: Jesus, what a tramp! So, that’s what Curley picks for a wife. God Almighty, did you smell that stink she’s got on? I can still smell her. Don’t have to see her to know she’s around.
LENNIE: She’s purty!
GEORGE: Yeah. And she’s sure hidin’ it. Curley got his work ahead of him.
LENNIE [still staring at the doorway where she was]: Gosh, she’s purty!
GEORGE [turning furiously at him]: Listen to me, you crazy bastard. Don’t you even look at that bitch. I don’t care what she says or what she does. I seen ’em poison before, but I ain’t never seen no piece of jail bait worse than her. Don’t you even smell near her!
LENNIE: I never smelled, George!
GEORGE: No, you never. But when she was standin’ there showin’ her legs, you wasn’t lookin’ the other way neither!
LENNIE: I never meant no bad things, George. Honest I never.
GEORGE: Well, you keep away from her. You let Curley take the rap. He let himself in for it. [Disgustedly.] Glove full of vaseline. I bet he’s eatin’ raw eggs and writin’ to patent-medicine houses.
LENNIE [cries out]: I don’t like this place. This ain’t no good place. I don’t like this place!
GEORGE: Listen—I don’t like it here no better than you do. But we gotta keep it till we get a stake. We’re flat. We gotta get a stake. [Goes back to the table, thoughtfully.] If we can get just a few dollars in the poke we’ll shove off and go up to the American River and pan gold. Guy can make a couple dollars a day there.
LENNIE [eagerly]: Let’s go, George. Let’s get out of here. It’s mean here.
GEORGE [shortly]: I tell you we gotta stay a little while. We gotta get a stake. [The sounds of running water and rattle of basins are heard.] Shut up now, the guys’ll be comin’ in! [Pensively.] Maybe we ought to wash up. . . . But hell, we ain’t done nothin’ to get dirty.
SLIM [enters. He is a tall, dark man in blue jeans and a short denim jacket. He carries a crushed Stetson hat under his arm and combs his long dark damp hair straight back. He stands and moves with a kind of majesty. He finishes combing his hair. Smoothes out his crushed hat, creases it in the middle and puts it on. In a gentle voice]: It’s brighter’n a bitch outside. Can’t hardly see nothing in here. You the new guys?
GEORGE: Just come.
SLIM: Goin’ to buck barley?
GEORGE: That’s what the boss says.
SLIM: Hope you get on my team.
GEORGE: Boss said we’d go with a jerk-line skinner named Slim.
SLIM: That’s me.
GEORGE: You a jerk-line skinner?
SLIM [in self-disparagement]: I can snap ’em around a little.
GEORGE [terribly impressed]: That kinda makes you Jesus Christ on this ranch, don’t it?
SLIM [obviously pleased]: Oh, nuts!
GEORGE [chuckles]: Like the man says, “The boss tells you what to do. But if you want to know how to do it, you got to ask the mule skinner.” The man says any guy that can drive twelve Arizona jack rabbits with a jerk line can fall in a toilet and come up with a mince pie under each arm.
SLIM [laughing]: Well, I hope you get on my team. I got a pair a punks that don’t know a barley bag from a blue ball. You guys ever bucked any barley?
GEORGE: Hell, yes. I ain’t nothin’ to scream about, but that big guy there can put up more grain alone than most pairs can.
SLIM [looks approvingly at GEORGE]: You guys travel around together?
GEORGE: Sure. We kinda look after each other. [Points at LENNIE with his thumb.] He ain’t bright. Hell of a good worker, though. Hell of a nice fella too. I’ve knowed him for a long time.
SLIM: Ain’t many guys travel around together. I don’t know why. Maybe everybody in the whole damn world is scared of each other.
GEORGE: It’s a lot nicer to go ’round with a guy you know. You get used to it an’ then it ain’t no fun alone any more. [Enter CARLSON. Big-stomached, powerful man. His head still drips water from scrubbing and dousing.]
CARLSON: Hello, Slim! [He looks at GEORGE and LENNIE.]
SLIM: These guys just come.
CARLSON: Glad to meet ya! My name’s Carlson.
GEORGE: I’m George Milton. This here’s Lennie Small.
CARLSON: Glad to meet you. He ain’t very small. [Chuckles at his own joke.] He ain’t small at all. Meant to ask you, Slim, how’s your bitch? I seen she wasn’t under your wagon this morning.
SLIM: She slang her pups last night. Nine of ’em. I drownded four of ’em right off. She couldn’t feed that many.
CARLSON: Got five left, huh?
SLIM: Yeah. Five. I kep’ the biggest.
CARLSON: What kinda dogs you think they gonna be?
SLIM: I don’t know. Some kind of shepherd, I guess. That’s the most kind I seen around here when she’s in heat.
CARLSON [laughs]: I had an airedale an’ a guy down the road got one of them little white floozy dogs, well, she was in heat and the guy locks her up. But my airedale, named Tom he was, he et a woodshed clear down to the roots to get to her. Guy come over one day, he’s sore as hell, he says, “I wouldn’t mind if my bitch had pups, but Christ Almighty, this morning she slang a litter of Shetland ponies. . . .” [Takes off his hat and scratches his head.] Got five pups, huh! Gonna keep all of ’em?
SLIM: I don’ know, gotta keep ’em awhile, so they can drink Lulu’s milk.
CARLSON [thoughtfully]: Well, looka here, Slim, I been thinkin’. That dog of Candy’s is so goddamn old he can’t hardly walk. Stinks like hell. Every time Candy brings him in the bunkhouse, I can smell him two or three days. Why don’t you get Candy to shoot his ol’ dog, and give him one of them pups to raise up? I can smell that dog a mile off. Got no teeth. Can’t eat. Candy feeds him milk. He can’t chew nothing else. And leadin’ him around on a string so he don’t bump into things . . . [The triangle outside begins to ring wildly. Continues for a few moments, then stops suddenly.] There she goes! [Outside there is a burst of voices as a group of men go by.]
SLIM [to LENNIE and GEORGE]: You guys better come on while they’s still somethin’ to eat. Won’t be nothing left in a couple of minutes. [Exit SLIM and CARLSON, LENNIE watches GEORGE excitedly.]
LENNIE: George!
GEORGE [rumpling his cards into a pile]: Yeah, I heard ’im, Lennie . . . I’ll ask ’im!
LENNIE [excitedly]: A brown and white one.
GEORGE: Come on, let’s get dinner. I don’t know whether he’s got a brown and white one.
LENNIE: You ask him right away, George, so he won’t kill no more of ’em!
GEORGE: Sure! Come on now—le’s go. [They start for the door.]
CURLEY [bounces in, angrily]: You seen a girl around here?
GEORGE [coldly]: ’Bout half an hour ago, mebbe.
CURLEY: Well, what the hell was she doin’?
GEORGE [insultingly]: She said she was lookin’ for you.
CURLEY [measures both men with his eyes for a moment]: Which way did she go?
GEORGE: I don’t know. I didn’t watch her go. [CURLEY scowls at him a moment and then turns and hurries out the door.] You know, Lennie, I’m scared I’m gonna tangle with that bastard myself. I hate his guts! Jesus Christ, come on! They won’t be a damn thing left to eat.
LENNIE: Will you ask him about a brown and white one? [They exeunt.]
CURTAIN