…see, I got you to look after me, but you got me to look after you
Lennie, Of Mice and men
I am caught by surprise, once more, reading Of Mice and Men out loud to a new group of students. I feel my face lurch into an ugly cry, made even uglier by the humour I see in the situation and my desire to laugh at myself.
I have read this book out loud more times than I can remember and every time George tells Lennie to think about the rabbits right before George kills him, I am struck again by the impossibility of the situation and the utmost kindness that this murder is. Lennie has accidentally killed a girl and the vengeful mob are on their way to lynch him. George must decide whether to kill him himself or let the mob do it.
What adds humour to this humourless moment is that I can feel the emotion coming and still cannot hold back the tears. I don’t normally cry and here I am crying about something I know happens, in a story that isn’t even real, that I have read out loud multiple times.
Kindness is like that. Even in fiction. It knocks you sideways. The kindness between these two characters, particularly from George to Lennie, is something I admire.
The cool of the evening was yet to descend, yet to ease the ache of walking all that way, yet to restore the tension stretching across the divide between George and Lennie.
Standing awkwardly, Lennie watched George, watched him rub his forehead and shake his head.
‘No,’ said George, ‘I don’t want you to go away.
You should know that Lennie has an intellectual disability. He’s big and strong but easily startled and overcome by his own strength. He keeps accidentally killing things, until the thing he kills is a girl, Curley’s wife. This, too, happens in a moment of kindness, a moment that goes badly wrong.
The pup Lennie was gifted has died. He shook it a little too hard after it bit him—as puppies do—and now he is worried that George will take away his role in their shared dream. A dream in itself that is an act of kindness.
They, George and Lennie, have come up with a plan. They will buy a little farm and grow a garden and keep animals. Lennie is to look after the rabbits. That is his special job, a job he is looking forward to and talks about whenever the opportunity allows. This hope is a kindness they offer to themselves, a way of easing the burden of being homeless and outside of society. This kindness sees them through times of deprivation and hardship, providing energy for persevering. The ‘now’ can be tolerated because the ‘then’ is coming.
Friends aren’t the only ones giving us a kindness that soothes, hope does, too. This kindness, the kindness of hope, is something we offer to ourselves as a means to see our way through the difficulties life throws at us.
Heartache comes, however, when the two collide. When the kindest thing a friend can do is take away a hope—a kindness to ourselves that we have been holding onto—we are faced with the reality of loss.
George’s hand shook. This man had been there for him, worked alongside him, kept him company, and made him laugh. Tears filled George’s eyes. He blinked them away. Now wasn’t the time.
‘Think about the rabbits, Lennie,’ he instructed, a lump in his throat.
Lennie turned away to look at the hoped-for rabbits.
George heard Carlson’s voice, ‘in the back of the head, right there,’ and then Candy, ‘I shoulda done it myself’.
He squeezed the trigger.
It was a tragic kindness that took not only George’s friend but his dream. Kindness is like that—it comes at a cost.
The kindness that got Curley’s wife killed came from loneliness. She was lonely, so lonely that she didn’t even have a name. Lennie told her he liked soft things and she offered her hair as something soft to touch. He startled and out of fright held on. The rest is, as they say, history.
Kindness hides itself in unusual places. Sometimes it pays off, offers hope and encouragement, fills us up and binds us together. Sometimes it goes wrong. Badly wrong.
The trick is to hang in there, to trust the life changing power of kindness. The kindest thing George could do for Lennie was cut his suffering short. I hope beyond hope that none of us are ever in George’s position, but it is likely that at some point in our lives, the kindest thing we can do is the right thing.
This Writer's Life 