America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Chapter 99 Yes, we're going to raise rabbits (4/10 available)

Two days later, "Of Mice and Men" came to its finale.

Over the past few months, George and Lennie, two fictional homeless workers, have become a part of the lives of New York City residents.

People talked about them at the docks, at the factories, and while queuing at the relief station. Lenny was a big, dumb guy, strong but not very bright, and always getting into trouble.

George is a short, intelligent but unlucky man who always ends up cleaning up Lenny's messes. They wander from one farm to another, dreaming that one day they will save enough money to buy a small plot of land, raise some rabbits, and live a stable life.

This story has no complicated plot, no fancy words, just two men walking, talking, and dreaming on a dusty road.

But it was these two people who made countless readers eagerly open the newspaper every morning.

People long for a happy ending.

They hoped George and Lenny could save enough money to buy the small farm and raise his rabbits. In this depressing winter filled with unemployment, hunger, and corruption, they desperately needed a glimmer of hope.

They need to believe that in this cruel world, good people will eventually find a place to stand.

But Arthur did not give them the lie.

He sat at the typewriter all night. Outside the window was the Manhattan night sky, with a few lights in the distance—either those of a 24-hour café or someone else suffering from insomnia.

In front of him lay a stack of manuscript paper, densely covered with writing, which he then crossed out and rewrote.

He recalled the attempted murder he had suffered in the detention center.

He recalled the things Cronin had told him.

Arthur decided to maintain that cruel ending.

It wasn't because he liked tragedy, but because if there's no pain, people will forget. What if George and Lenny eventually bought the farm? What if Lenny raised rabbits? What if the bad guys were punished and the good guys were rewarded?

That's just a fairy tale, not reality.

The reality is that in this world, people like Lenny can be crushed at any moment. People like George are forever on the run.

The ending must be cruel, because only in this way will people remember how Lennie died.

In the last two pages of the newspaper, the plot moved to that evening by the Salinas River.

That's where the story begins, and that's where it ends.

Lennie hid in the bushes like a frightened wild animal. He had no idea what trouble he had gotten himself into this time, only that people were chasing him and wanted to kill him.

He curled up in a ball, hugging his knees, and muttered what George had taught him: Wait here, don't move, George will come.

He didn't know how George would get there, but he was confident that George would come.

George has arrived.

He emerged from the woods, his footsteps light, so as not to frighten Lenny. He sat down beside Lenny and, as usual, began to tell the story about the future.

He made Lenny turn around, so his back was to him, and look at the distant mountains. The setting sun had dyed the river red, and a final glimmer of light lingered on the mountaintops.

Lenny asked, "George, tell me about that place."

Lenny's voice was full of anticipation. He was still thinking about that little farm with windmills, green clover, and hordes of rabbits. In his mind, the world was only as big as that dream.

George's voice trembled: "Okay, Lenny. There are green meadows, windmills, and hordes of rabbits."

His hands were trembling. He was holding the Luger pistol he had stolen from Carlson.

At the same time, a commotion arose from the distant woods. It was Colley, leading a group of armed thugs, shotguns, and chains, approaching.

They walked through the woods, breaking branches as they stepped, their footsteps growing closer.

George knew what was going to happen next.

If Curry catches Lenny, he won't give Lenny a trial or a chance to defend himself.

He would tie Lenny up and slowly torture him like a mad dog until he died. Corey didn't care if Lenny was mentally challenged or if he didn't know what he had done.

All he knew was that Lennie had offended him, challenged his authority, and had to die.

And the more gruesome the death, the better.

George closed his eyes.

He remembered the roads they had walked together, the ditches they had slept in together, and the dreams they had shared. Lenny wasn't smart and was always getting into trouble, but he had the simplest of hearts.

He never doubted George, and never questioned when those promises would be fulfilled. He only needed George to say it, and he believed him.

That dream was Lenny's only refuge.

George opened his eyes and raised his gun. The muzzle was pointed at the back of Lenny's head, right where the spine and skull meet.

"We're going to get rabbits, George," Lenny said.

George said, "Yes, we're going to raise rabbits."

"Bang."

A gunshot rang out.

Very cleanly. No pain, no struggle. The gunshot echoed through the valley, startling a flock of birds.

Lenny lay on the ground, his cheek pressed against the sand, a happy smile on his face. He died in a beautiful dream about the future, unaware of the approaching, dirty footsteps behind him.

A few seconds later, Colley dashed out of the woods.

He was panting heavily, his face flushed, and he clutched a hunting rifle in his hand. Five or six men followed behind him, carrying chains and clubs. They were stunned when they saw the corpse on the ground.

Colley looked at Lenny, then at George, his expression shifting from excitement to anger.

He could have killed this idiot with his own hands. He could have watched Lennie beg for mercy, watched Lennie struggle, watched Lennie slowly die. But now, all of that is gone.

"Why did you kill him? Damn it, I wanted to kill him with my own hands! I would have broken every single bone in his body!" Corey roared.

George threw away the gun.

He looked at Corey, his eyes empty like a dead man's. In that moment, the killer resembled a corpse more than the victim. George had not only killed his only friend, but also the last vestige of hope he held for life.

George said softly, "Because he belongs only to that dream, not to your filthy world."

This is the end.

When these words came into view, the whole of New York seemed to fall silent.

In a Fifth Avenue café, a young female typist put down her newspaper and covered her mouth. Tears dripped into her coffee cup.

On the docks of Brooklyn, several workers waiting for jobs huddled together. One of them read the last paragraph, and no one spoke.

At a relief station in Harlem, a middle-aged man handed a newspaper to the person next to him, saying, "You read it, I can't read it anymore."

The person next to him took the newspaper, read it, and then handed it back to him. The two sat on the ground, neither of them speaking again.

People wept for Lennie.

That big, clumsy guy never intended to hurt anyone; he just wanted to touch something soft, to find a little tenderness in this hard world.

He died, at the happiest moment, at the hands of the only person he trusted.