Eigentlich wollte John Steinbeck seinen Roman, der die Geschichte zweier Wanderarbeiter zeigt, die von ihrem ganz eigenen American Dream träumen, völlig anders betiteln; die Lektüre des Gedichts To A Mouse des schottischen Dichters Robert Burns ließ ihn aber zuletzt diesen Titel wählen.
Still thou art blest, compared wi‘ me! The present only toucheth thee:
2017, Acryl auf Faserplatte, 59 x 84 cm.
But, och! I backward cast my e’e
On prospects drear!
And forward, though I canna see,
I guess and fear
„Wir sind dem endgültigen Sieg über die Armut heute näher als je zuvor in unserer Geschichte“ versprach der US-Präsident Herbert Hoover noch 1928 während seines Wahlkampfes. Mit dem Börsencrash am 24. Oktober 1929, dem zu trauriger Berühmtheit gelangten Schwarzen Donnerstag fand für die allermeisten Amerikaner der Traum vom eigenen Auto und einem eigenen Kühlschrank in der Küche ein jähes Ende. Panik brach aus an diesem Tag unter den Anlegern der New York Stock Exchange, die Börsenkurse brachen von Minute zu Minute schneller ein und viele Aktien waren nach Börsenschluss das Papier nicht mehr Wert, auf dem sie gedruckt waren. Der Dow-Jones stürzte ab, die Wirtschaft schrumpfte dramatisch. Weit mehr als dreitausend Bankhäuser gingen in den Konkurs. 1932 herrschte eine Arbeitslosigkeit von über 30% in Amerika, die Durchschnittslöhne waren auf ein Drittel geschrumpft. Hinzu kam eine Naturkatastrophe: wegen einer mehrjährigen Dürre bestand fast der gesamte Mittlere Westen nur noch aus einer roten Staubwüste. Unzählige Farmer verloren dadurch ihr Land. Heftige Stürme trieben die rote Erde der „Dust Bowl“ bis an die Ostküste vor sich her. Viele hunderttausend Farmer, die alles verloren hatten, zogen auf der Suche nach einer neuen Zukunft westwärts nach Kalifornien. Ihre Träume wurden aber zerstört: die meisten der Flüchtlinge und Migranten wurden in Camps kaserniert, Seite an Seite mit den vielen tausenden rechtlosen Wanderarbeitern, die ohne Hoffnung auf ein besseres Leben in den kalifornischen Obstplantagen unter sklavenähnlichen Bedingungen schufteten.
Der Börsencrash war der Auslöser der Great Depression in den USA und der Weltwirtschaftskrise. Das Einzige, was den Menschen blieb, war die Hoffnung. Und die stirbt zuletzt…
Lennie said, „Tell how it’s gonna be.“
George had been listening to the distant sounds. For a moment he was business-like. „Look acrost the river, Lennie, an‘ I’ll tell you so you can almost see it.“
Lennie turned his head and looked off across the pool and up the darkening slopes of the Gabilans. „We gonna get a little place,“ George began. He reached in his side pocket and brought out Carlson’s Luger; he snapped off the safety, and the hand and gun lay on the ground behind Lennie’s back. He looked at the back of Lennie’s head, at the place where the spine and skull were joined.
A man’s voice called from up the river, and an-other man
answered.“Go on,“ said Lennie.
George raised the gun and his hands shook, and he dropped his hand to the ground again.
„Go on,“ said Lennie. „How’s it gonna be. We gonna get a little place.“
„We’ll have a cow,“ said George. „An‘ we’ll have maybe a pig an‘ chickens . . . . an‘ down the flat we’ll have a . . . . little piece alfalfa- “
„For the rabbits,“ Lennie shouted.“For the rabbits,“ George repeated.“And I get to tend the rabbits.““An‘ you get to tend the rabbits.“Lennie giggled with happiness. „An‘ live on the fatta the lan‘.“ „Yes.“
Lennie turned his head.
„No, Lennie. Look down there acrost the river, like you can almost see the place.“
Lennie obeyed him. George looked down at the gun.
There were crashing footsteps in the brush now. George turned and looked toward them.
„Go on, George. When we gonna do it?“
„Gonna do it soon.“
„Me an‘ you.“
„You . . . . an‘ me. Ever’body gonna be nice to you. Ain’t gonna be no more trouble. Nobody gonna hurt nobody nor steal from ‚em.“
Lennie said, „I thought you was mad at me, George.“
„No,“ said George. „No, Lennie. I ain’t mad. I never been mad, an‘ I ain’t now. That’s a thing I want ya to know.“
The voices came close now. George raised the gun and listened to the voices.
Lennie begged, „Le’s do it now. Le’s get that place now.“
„Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta.“
And George raised the gun and steadied it, and he brought the muzzle of it close to the back of Lennie’s head. The hand shook violently, but his face set and his hand steadied. He pulled the trigger. The crash of the shot rolled up the hills and rolled down again. Lennie jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the sand, and he lay without quivering.
George shivered and looked at the gun, and then he threw it from him, back up on the bank, near the pile of old ashes.
The brush seemed filled with cries and with the sound of running feet. Slim’s voice shouted, „George. Where you at, George?“
But George sat stify on the bank and looked at his right hand that had thrown the gun away. The group burst into the clearing, and Curley was ahead. He saw Lennie lying on the sand. „Got him, by God.“ He went over and looked down at Lennie, and then he looked back at George. „Right in the back of the head,“ he said softly.
Slim came directly to George and sat down beside him, sat very close to him. „Never you mind,“ said Slim. „A guy got to sometimes.“
But Carlson was standing over George. „How’d you do it?“ he asked.
„I just done it,“ George said tiredly.
„Did he have my gun?“
„Yeah. He had your gun.“
„An‘ you got it away from him and you took it an‘ you killed him?“
„Yeah. Tha’s how.“ George’s voice was almost a whisper. He looked steadily at his right hand that had held the gun.
Slim twitched George’s elbow. „Come on, George. Me an‘ you’ll go in an‘ get a drink.“
George let himself be helped to his feet. „Yeah, a drink.“
Slim said, „You hadda, George. I swear you had-da. Come on with me.“ He led George into the entrance of the trail and up toward the highway.
Curley and Carlson looked after them. And Carlson said, „Now what the hell ya suppose is eatin‘ them two guys?“
aus: John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men, 1937