This document is Chapter One of *Of Mice and Men* by John Steinbeck, published in 1937, which opens with a vivid description of a peaceful stretch of the Salinas River in California where two itinerant ranch workers, the sharp and quick-witted George Milton and his large, mentally disabled companion Lennie Small, stop to rest for the night after being dropped off miles from their destination by a dishonest bus driver; through their conversation, Steinbeck gradually reveals the nature of their relationship — George acting as reluctant caretaker to the childlike Lennie, who has a dangerous obsession with petting soft things and who caused them to flee their last job in Weed after innocently frightening a girl — and the chapter culminates in their shared dream of one day owning a small farm with land, animals, and independence, a vision Lennie clings to most passionately through the promise of tending rabbits, while George instructs him to stay silent at the new ranch and to hide by the river if he ever gets into trouble, establishing from the very first pages the tender yet tragic bond between the two men and foreshadowing the hardship that lies ahead.
OF MICE AND MEN
by John Steinbeck
(Copyright John Steinbeck, 1937)
CHAPTER ONE
A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs
deep and green. The water is warm too, for it has slipped twinkling over the yellow sands in
the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool. On one side of the river the golden foothill
slopes curve up to the strong and rocky Gabilan Mountains, but on the valley side the water
is lined with trees- willows fresh and green with every spring, carrying in their lower leaf
junctures the debris of the winter's flooding; and sycamores with mottled, white, recumbent
limbs and branches that arch over the pool. On the sandy bank under the trees the leaves lie
deep and so crisp that a lizard makes a great skittering if he runs among them. Rabbits come
out of the brush to sit on the sand in the evening, and the damp flats are covered with the
night tracks of 'coons, and with the spread pads of dogs from the ranches, and with the split-
wedge tracks of deer that come to drink in the dark.
There is a path through the willows and among the sycamores, a path beaten hard by boys
coming down from the ranches to swim in the deep pool, and beaten hard by tramps who
come wearily down from the highway in the evening to jungle-up near water. In front of the
low horizontal limb of a giant sycamore there is an ash pile made by many fires; the limb is
worn smooth by men who have sat on it.
Evening of a hot day started the little wind to moving among the leaves. The shade climbed
up the hills toward the top. On the sand banks the rabbits sat as quietly as little gray sculptured
stones. And then from the direction of the state highway came the sound of footsteps on crisp
sycamore leaves. The rabbits hurried noiselessly for cover. A stilted heron labored up into the
air and pounded down river. For a moment the place was lifeless, and then two men emerged
from the path and came into the opening by the green pool.
They had walked in single file down the path, and even in the open one stayed behind the
other. Both were dressed in denim trousers and in denim coats with brass buttons. Both wore
black, shapeless hats and both carried tight blanket rolls slung over their shoulders. The first
man was small and quick, dark of face, with restless eyes and sharp, strong features. Every
part of him was defined: small, strong hands, slender arms, a thin and bony nose. Behind him
walked his opposite, a huge man, shapeless of face, with large, pale eyes, and wide, sloping
shoulders; and he walked heavily, dragging his feet a little, the way a bear drags his paws. His
arms did not swing at his sides, but hung loosely.
The first man stopped short in the clearing, and the follower nearly ran over him. He took
off his hat and wiped the sweat-band with his forefinger and snapped the moisture off. His
huge companion dropped his blankets and flung himself down and drank from the surface of
the green pool; drank with long gulps, snorting into the water like a horse. The small man
stepped nervously beside him.
"Lennie!" he said sharply. "Lennie, for God' sakes don't drink so much." Lennie continued
to snort into the pool. The small man leaned over and shook him by the shoulder. "Lennie.
You gonna be sick like you was last night."
Lennie dipped his whole head under, hat and all, and then he sat up on the bank and his
hat dripped down on his blue coat and ran down his back. "That's good," he said. "You drink
some, George. You take a good big drink." He smiled happily.
George unslung his bindle and dropped it gently on the bank. "I ain't sure it's good water,"
he said. "Looks kinda scummy."
Lennie dabbled his big paw in the water and wiggled his fingers so the water arose in little
splashes; rings widened across the pool to the other side and came back again. Lennie watched
them go. "Look, George. Look what I done."
George knelt beside the pool and drank from his hand with quick scoops. "Tastes all right,"
he admitted. "Don't really seem to be running, though. You never oughta drink water when it
ain't running, Lennie," he said hopelessly. "You'd drink out of a gutter if you was thirsty." He
threw a scoop of water into his face and rubbed it about with his hand, under his chin and
around the back of his neck. Then he replaced his hat, pushed himself back from the river,
drew up his knees and embraced them. Lennie, who had been watching, imitated George
exactly. He pushed himself back, drew up his knees, embraced them, looked over to George
to see whether he had it just right. He pulled his hat down a little more over his eyes, the way
George's hat was.
George stared morosely at the water. The rims of his eyes were red with sun glare. He said
angrily, "We could just as well of rode clear to the ranch if that bastard bus driver knew what
he was talkin' about. 'Jes' a little stretch down the highway,' he says. 'Jes' a little stretch.' God
damn near four miles, that's what it was! Didn't wanta stop at the ranch gate, that's what. Too
God damn lazy to pull up. Wonder he isn't too damn good to stop in Soledad at all. Kicks us
out and says 'Jes' a little stretch down the road.' I bet it was more than four miles. Damn hot
day."
Lennie looked timidly over to him. "George?"
"Yeah, what ya want?"
"Where we goin', George?"
The little man jerked down the brim of his hat and scowled over at Lennie. "So you forgot
that awready, did you? I gotta tell you again, do I? Jesus Christ, you're a crazy bastard!"
"I forgot," Lennie said softly. "I tried not to forget. Honest to God I did, George."
"O.K.- O.K. I'll tell ya again. I ain't got nothing to do. Might jus' as well spen' all my time
tellin' you things and then you forget 'em, and I tell you again."
"Tried and tried," said Lennie, "but it didn't do no good. I remember about the rabbits,
George."
"The hell with the rabbits. That's all you ever can remember is them rabbits. O.K.! Now you
listen and this time you got to remember so we don't get in no trouble. You remember settin'
in that gutter on Howard Street and watchin' that blackboard?"
Lennie's face broke into a delighted smile. "Why sure, George. I remember that... but...
what'd we do then? I remember some girls come by and you says... you says..."
"The hell with what I says. You remember about us goin' in to Murray and Ready's, and they
give us work cards and bus tickets?"
"Oh, sure, George. I remember that now." His hands went quickly into his side coat pockets.
He said gently, "George... I ain't got mine. I musta lost it." He looked down at the ground in
despair.
"You never had none, you crazy bastard. I got both of 'em here. Think I'd let you carry your
own work card?"
Lennie grinned with relief. "I... I thought I put it in my side pocket." His hand went into the
pocket again.
George looked sharply at him. "What'd you take outa that pocket?"
"Ain't a thing in my pocket," Lennie said cleverly.
"I know there ain't. You got it in your hand. What you got in your hand- hidin' it?"
"I ain't got nothin', George. Honest."
"Come on, give it here."
Lennie held his closed hand away from George's direction. "It's on'y a mouse, George."
"A mouse? A live mouse?"
"Uh-uh. Jus' a dead mouse, George. I didn't kill it. Honest! I found it. I found it dead."
"Give it here!" said George.
"Aw, leave me have it, George."
"Give it here!"
Lennie's closed hand slowly obeyed. George took the mouse and threw it across the pool
to the other side, among the brush. "What you want of a dead mouse, anyways?"
"I could pet it with my thumb while we walked along," said Lennie.
"Well, you ain't petting no mice while you walk with me. You remember where we're goin'
now?"
Lennie looked startled and then in embarrassment hid his face against his knees. "I forgot
again."
"Jesus Christ," George said resignedly. "Well- look, we're gonna work on a ranch like the
one we come from up north."
"Up north?"
"In Weed."
"Oh, sure. I remember. In Weed."
"That ranch we're goin' to is right down there about a quarter mile. We're gonna go in an'
see the boss. Now, look- I'll give him the work tickets, but you ain't gonna say a word. You jus'
stand there and don't say nothing. If he finds out what a crazy bastard you are, we won't get
no job, but if he sees ya work before he hears ya talk, we're set. Ya got that?"
"Sure, George. Sure I got it."
"O.K. Now when we go in to see the boss, what you gonna do?"
"I... I..." Lennie thought. His face grew tight with thought. "I... ain't gonna say nothin'. Jus'
gonna stan' there."
"Good boy. That's swell. You say that over two, three times so you sure won't forget it."
End of Document
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