America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Chapter 100 Everyone Has a Rabbit in Their Heart (On Sale 5/10)

People also wept for George.

The despair of having to kill a loved one to protect him from further harm struck a chord with everyone struggling during the Great Depression.

They remembered how they had to borrow money at exorbitant interest rates just to feed their children, how they had to beg for help to avoid being evicted by their landlords, and how they had to endure the foreman's insults and bullying in order to keep their meager jobs.

George was not a murderer; he was someone who had been driven to the brink.

But after crying came a deep, long-suppressed anger.

This anger was directed at the man named Colley.

In the final chapter, Colley's violent outburst in the face of death is nauseating and hateful.

In the minds of readers, the image of Colley quickly overlaps with reality.

Isn't that Charles DeLa just like that guy who always wears gloves, bullies others, and only knows how to solve problems with violence?

He was O, the Tammany Society henchman who tried to strangle a witness and killed two more people to cover up the truth.

Isn't that the guy who runs rampant on the farm and everyone has to listen to him, Curley, just like Jimmy Walker?

That "playboy mayor" who indulged in debauchery in the city hall, allowed his subordinates to run rampant, and always remained aloof from the situation.

That ranch where George and Lennie had nowhere to escape—wasn't that New York City? That city that seemed free, but was actually controlled by a minority.

The Tammany Society was that huge, violent ranch. And ordinary New Yorkers were like Lenny and George, living in constant fear on that ranch, always on the verge of being crushed.

Arthur did not let this association remain in his subconscious.

At the end of this chapter, he added an epilogue.

He wrote:

In the novel, George had to shoot because he was alone. He had no power to fight Curley, and no law to protect Lenny.

In this lonely farm where class and money define hierarchy, two tramps are powerless against the world. But in reality, we don't have to be George.

Look out the window. Look at the people standing outside the police station, look at the people speaking out in the newspapers, look at the Cronins who are willing to stand up and testify.

See which neighbor will lend a helping hand if you fall down.

As long as we stand together, as long as we stop being silent, Lenny in reality will not have to die.

In reality, Colley will eventually face judgment.

Everyone has a rabbit inside them.

The Tammany Association wants to steal the rabbit.

The Great Depression wanted to starve this rabbit to death.

Thugs and corrupt officials want to crush this rabbit with fear.

But as long as we remember Lennie's smile, as long as we remember George's tears, that rabbit will live on forever.

Because rabbits don't need sharp teeth and claws. As long as these docile creatures gather in numbers of thousands, no hunting rifle can wipe them out.

In a small tailor shop in Greenwich Village.

The proprietress, Mary, is in her fifties and has been running the shop alone for twenty years.

Her husband died in World War I, and her son worked in a coal mine in Pennsylvania, only receiving a letter every few months.

She opens the shop every morning and closes it every evening, living a mundane and lonely life.

She finished reading the final chapter of "Of Mice and Men" and sat in front of the sewing machine, lost in thought for a long time.

Then she pulled out a discarded white shirt from the closet; it was one a customer didn't want and had been lying in a corner. She picked up a pair of scissors, cut a piece of fabric from the shirt, and after a few strokes, shaped it into a rabbit.

She picked up a needle and thread and sewed around the edge of the cloth rabbit to prevent it from coming undone. Then she stood in front of the mirror and pinned the white cloth rabbit to her collar.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she suddenly felt less lonely.

This small gesture quickly spread.

-

A few days later, a strange phenomenon appeared on the streets of New York.

People started wearing a white rabbit-shaped badge.

Some were cut from cardboard, which was very popular in schools. The children drew eyes and beards with crayons, pinned them to their chests, and walked around looking very spirited.

Some were sewn from coarse cloth, a craft of housewives. The fabric came from old clothes and bed sheets, cut into the shape of rabbits, with crooked stitches, but each one was sewn with great care.

Some were carved from wood, made by unemployed workers to pass the time at relief stations. They had no money to buy fabric, but they could find a few scraps of wood. They would carve out the outline little by little with a knife, then sand it smooth, and hang it on buttonholes.

This is not propaganda distributed by any political party.

There was no organization calling for it, and no one giving it an order.

This was a spontaneous, silent protest, a gentle yet resolute uprising.

This white rabbit badge became a secret code for identifying its own kind.

"For the rabbits!"

This seemingly absurd statement became the loudest slogan in the march.

It resonated more deeply than any political slogan about "down with corruption."

Because it touches the softest part of people's hearts, the place about dreams, dignity, and kindness.

town Hall.

Jimmy Walker stood in front of his huge floor-to-ceiling window, looking down.

Outside the window was the City Hall Square, where a large, dark crowd stood, just as before. There was no shouting, no smashing, they simply stood there, holding up banners.

On their chests, the tiny white dots gathered into a dazzling ocean under the winter sun.

His advisor stood behind him and said cautiously, "Mr. Mayor, please don't worry, this is just a temporary emotional outburst. They'll disperse in a few days."

This childishness—

"What can wearing a rabbit badge change? They have no organization, no leader, and no clear demands. This kind of movement won't last long."

Walker did not respond, but remained silent for a while.

He saw the faces in the crowd, so ordinary, yet so common, standing there as if they were looking at him.

That look hurt him more than any insult.

Walker turned around and looked at his secretary.

The young woman who had been with him for three years was now standing by the door, holding a stack of documents. Her face was pale, and her hand unconsciously rested on her chest, as if trying to cover something.

But at the edge of her collar, Walker still caught a glimpse of the little white rabbit badge.

At that moment, Jimmy Walker finally felt a chill he had never felt before.

Have I really lost?

He lost to a novel? A fictional fool?

Finally, Walker walked behind his desk, slumped into his chair, and said wearily, "Draw the curtains; the light is too bright."

"