Giving The Eye

Domenick Sframeli

Wind blows strong today. The long bunkhouse creaked with each gust of wind blowing through one out of the three small windows. The walls were very white washed and the floor unpainted, making the bunkhouse morosely miserable today. After dinner, all the guys and George were playing a game of solitare. Suddenly, Curley walks in towards the middle of the room where a big square table stood with grouped boxes around it so the guys can sit on them. Curly seemed intense and sore as hell, almost picking scraps. “Hey, big guy. The boss wants to see you face to face,” he said pointin’ to Lennie, “and the rest of ya, I’ll give a fresh bottle of Whiskey to the first man who catches that damn raccoon that has been tearin’ up the trash.” As the guys rushed out, Curly stopped George in his dead man tracks and asks, “So… you’ve been giving my wife the eye….”

  George had pants full of ants, getting apprehensive with each breath Curly took. George knew that he had no interest in his wife, but couldn’t move his flapper to stand up for himself. Curly leaned close and slightly bent his arms forward and said “Do you know what happens to fellas that got the eye for my wife?” George and Curly stood in silence as the wind became strong enough to blow the playing cards all over the bunkhouse. George looked around to make sure if anyone was there, not a single soul. George jumped right to it and swung at Curly.

  Curley and George kept boxing each other into the ground next to eight bunks with five of the bunks having blankets. Then Curley tried to pick up George, but he managed to get a punch to the jaw. Curly laid still near the black cast-iron stove with a pipe on the top going straight up to the ceiling. George couldn’t believe what he had done and was mimicking his movement.

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