Of Mice and Men by Steinbeck (Epilogue)

Epilogue

Epilogue

 

George

 

The days seemed to move by in a blur. I had no where, and no reason, to go after Lennie…..went away. So I stayed, Slim at my right hand, and fell into a purgatory of sorts upon the farm. Days went by, weeks, months, and years. A good three years of my life spent in a repetitive cycle of getting through the six day work week before spending Sunday night drunk with a Jezebel.

I wasn’t a drunkard, but I wasn’t far off either. At that point it didn’t make a difference. I wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Weather I became a drunkard or not was between me and myself.

After Lennie it seemed all my inhibitions returned. Without a drive to proceed in life I found I was not opposed to staying on the farm with two men, myself three,  an angry brat, his string of loo loos, and a negro.

Candy had died not a year after Curley’s wife. His funeral was a shame. I can recall being the one to find him face down in the field. The next day he was tossed.

 

We stood in a line, heads bowed in solidarity for our fallen comrade. Looking up for a moment I noticed that none of us shed a tear.  It struck me as odd that we’d all gotten too the point that tears unnecessary. With every soul lost it seemed you were closer to being next lost. Though I could tell us men were ready for it.

Slim was the one to aid Carlson in lowering him into the ground. Curley stood, glaring down the plot we had dug, his father looking at his pocket watch as the minutes went on.  Crooks was standing a foot or two  away from us, looking unusually phlegmatic. Of course that was the  precept of one attending such an occasion.

I had never been one to believe in a deity,  my years of plight only strengthen my disbelief. One almighty being with the power to aid those in need but instead bestowed upon us free will, in return requiring every being to kowtow to His greatness. I had suppressed a glimmer of hope that one day I could be a man to spend Sunday in a church instead of a whore house. After Lennie went away, that small hope crumbled at my feet, replaced with a maelstrom of thoughts.

“Anyone wanna talk?” Carlson asked, shovel in hand as he prepared to fill the ditch. No one responded, only looked at one another.

The boss cleared his throat, “Dandy was a good man--”

“Candy. His name  was Candy.”  Carlson corrected solemnly.

The boss shook his head. “I’ve known Sandy for three decades and he was a good worker. He was always here on time and worked well. He was a close friend of mine. Sandy will be missed.” No one said anything. His words were specious, almost a slap in the face of his oldest employee.  

No one else spoke, instead Slim and Carlson began filling the shallow ditch,

 

“George.” Slim pulled me away from my thoughts, towering over me. I laid in my bed, it was perhaps midnight, as he looked down expectantly. In his hand he held a bottle on what I hoped was liquor. It

“You come to share that?” I gave a side smirk, my head tilting up at him. Over the past few months, I’d developed a bond with the man, as though he were the reason I stayed. It was as though he grounded me. I can recall I had attempted to leave a month after Lennie went away, hoping to convince him to accompany me. Slim had derided the proposal, saying the truth that there was nowhere to go; I was an idiot for thinking it. I attempted my first and last attempt to leave.