"Hell's that matter? Go on, Lennie, an' jump in, will ya?"
Lennie relented, voice barely heard, with a soft ‘Awright, George’. He jumped. The men around George roared with laughter for a hilarious split second. And then Lennie sank beneath the water with a tremendous splash followed by a deafening silence; the appendix had burst; it was suddenly not funny at all.
"We oughta drag him out," George said with a calm that was strange for his heart's sudden jackrabbit beating. "Can't swim a lick."
The men and George stood there for a second longer, just staring ahead, frozen. It was unnaturally quiet and they watched as Lennie began to drown in front of them. The world itself was right then drawing in its breath in anticipation; the only sound they could hear, from where they stood far up along the bank where there was grass instead of mud, was Lennie’s gurgling as the Sacramento River replaced his air. The dawning came across George first; the surrealism broke and he sprinted down to the river‘s edge. He leapt gracelessly, his shirt ballooned up around him comically, the way he landed into the water. The rest were close behind him, splashes making the water slosh up against him in waves that felt higher than they were. He wrapped his arms around Lennie from behind, grabbing right around Lennie’s chest, but they were both soaked wet and bobbing like corks and Lennie was thrashing like a madman, and so George‘s grasp slipped until it was around Lennie‘s stomach. Lennie wailed, kicked and struggled and dragged them both down. Their heads burst above the water, George managed a gasp of breath and Lennie exhaled a strangled sob before he dragged them both down again. "Quit stugglin', you crazy bastard," George tried yelling, his mouth filling up with water and the air only collecting a fraction of his sound. "You's gonna be fine, quit yer kickin'--" Lennie dragged them both back down; the other men pulled them back up-- "quit yer blubberin', you’re fine, Lennie. I's got ya, I've got you, quit it, will ya?" The water went up over his head again, and in the midst of his fear George was suddenly aware he’d lost his hat--an odd detail that stuck out even as air bubbled from his mouth and nose. He was drowning and he’d lost his god damn hat. He took in deep lungfuls of water, then surfaced once again, dizzy with lack of oxygen. Slowly they managed. Their guts were filled with filth and water. Their eyes were red. Water bugs and mosquitoes caught in limp hair. But they managed. They managed. All swimming backwards, they pulled Lennie ashore. Lennie lay still, then, head thrown backwards into the dirt, his throat working as he swallowed a make-believe lump, muscles twitching desperately all about his neck--laying there in perpetual half-death before letting out an audible breath.
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Lennie relented, voice barely heard, with a soft ‘Awright, George’. He jumped. The men around George roared with laughter for a hilarious split second. And then Lennie sank beneath the water with a tremendous splash followed by a deafening silence; the appendix had burst; it was suddenly not funny at all.
"We oughta drag him out," George said with a calm that was strange for his heart's sudden jackrabbit beating. "Can't swim a lick."
The men and George stood there for a second longer, just staring ahead, frozen. It was unnaturally quiet and they watched as Lennie began to drown in front of them. The world itself was right then drawing in its breath in anticipation; the only sound they could hear, from where they stood far up along the bank where there was grass instead of mud, was Lennie’s gurgling as the Sacramento River replaced his air. The dawning came across George first; the surrealism broke and he sprinted down to the river‘s edge. He leapt gracelessly, his shirt ballooned up around him comically, the way he landed into the water. The rest were close behind him, splashes making the water slosh up against him in waves that felt higher than they were. He wrapped his arms around Lennie from behind, grabbing right around Lennie’s chest, but they were both soaked wet and bobbing like corks and Lennie was thrashing like a madman, and so George‘s grasp slipped until it was around Lennie‘s stomach. Lennie wailed, kicked and struggled and dragged them both down. Their heads burst above the water, George managed a gasp of breath and Lennie exhaled a strangled sob before he dragged them both down again. "Quit stugglin', you crazy bastard," George tried yelling, his mouth filling up with water and the air only collecting a fraction of his sound. "You's gonna be fine, quit yer kickin'--" Lennie dragged them both back down; the other men pulled them back up-- "quit yer blubberin', you’re fine, Lennie. I's got ya, I've got you, quit it, will ya?" The water went up over his head again, and in the midst of his fear George was suddenly aware he’d lost his hat--an odd detail that stuck out even as air bubbled from his mouth and nose. He was drowning and he’d lost his god damn hat. He took in deep lungfuls of water, then surfaced once again, dizzy with lack of oxygen. Slowly they managed. Their guts were filled with filth and water. Their eyes were red. Water bugs and mosquitoes caught in limp hair. But they managed. They managed. All swimming backwards, they pulled Lennie ashore. Lennie lay still, then, head thrown backwards into the dirt, his throat working as he swallowed a make-believe lump, muscles twitching desperately all about his neck--laying there in perpetual half-death before letting out an audible breath.
With Lennie’s breath, they all came to life.