绿里奇迹(英文版)-第23部分

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When　I　walked　back　up　the　path　twenty　minutes　later；　I　could　feel　a　worm　of　hunger　stirring　in　my　belly；　and　thought　I　could　eat　something　a　little　more　substantial　than　toast。　A　dish　of　oatmeal；　perhaps　even　a　scrambled　egg　with　a　sausage　on　the　side。　I　love　sausage；　always　have；　but　if　I　eat　more　than　one　these　days；　I'm　apt　to　get　the　squitters。　One　would　be　safe　enough；　though。　Then；　with　my　belly　full　and　with　the　damp　air　still　perking　up　my　brain　（or　so　I　hoped）；　I　would　go　up　to　the　solarium　and　write　about　the　execution　of　Eduard　Delacroix。　I　would　do　it　as　fast　as　I　could；　so　as　not　to　lose　my　courage。　
It　was　Mr。　Jingles　I　was　thinking　about　as　I　crossed　the　croquet　course　to　the　kitchen　door　…　how　Percy　Wetmore　had　stamped　on　him　and　broken　his　back；　and　how　Delacroix　had　screamed　when　he　realized　what　his　enemy　had　done　…　and　I　didn't　see　Brad　Dolan　standing　there；　half…hidden　by　the　Dumpster；　until　he　reached　out　and　grabbed　my　wrist。　
〃Out　for　a　little　stroll；　Paulie？〃　he　asked。　
I　jerked　back　from　him；　yanking　my　wrist　out　of　his　hand。　Some　of　it　was　just　being　startled　…　anyone　will　jerk　when　they're　startled　…　but　that　wasn't　all　of　it。　I'd　been　thinking　about　Percy　Wetmore；　remember；　and　it's　Percy　that　Brad　always　reminds　me　of。　Some　of　it's　how　Brad　always　goes　around　with　a　paperback　stuffed　into　his　pocket　（with　Percy　it　was　always　a　men's　adventure　magazine；　with　Brad　it's　books　of　jokes　that　are　only　funny　if　you're　stupid　and　mean…hearted）；　some　of　it's　how　he　acts　like　he's　King　Shit　of　Turd　Mountain；　but　mostly　it's　that　he's　sneaky；　and　he　likes　to　hurt。　
He'd　just　gotten　to　work；　I　saw；　hadn't　even　changed　into　his　orderly's　whites　yet。　He　was　wearing　jeans　and　a　cheesy…looking　Western…style　shirt。　In　one　hand　was　the　remains　of　a　Danish　he'd　hooked　out　of　the　kitchen。　He'd　been　standing　under　the　leave；　eating　it　where　he　wouldn't　get　wet。　And　where　he　could　watch　for　me；　I'm　pretty　sure　of　that　now。　I'm　pretty　sure　of　something　else；　as　well：　I'll　have　to　watch　out　for　Mr。　Brad　Dolan。　He　doesn't　like　me　much。　I　don't　know　why；　but　I　never　knew　why　Percy　Wetmore　didn't　like　Delacroix；　either。　And　dislike　is　really　too　weak　a　word。　Percy　hated　Del's　guts　from　the　very　first　moment　the　little　Frenchman　came　onto　the　Green　Mile。　
'〃What's　with　this　poncho　you　got　on；　Paulie？〃　he　asked；　flicking　the　collar。　〃This　isn't　yours。〃　
〃I　got　it　in　the　hall　outside　the　kitchen；〃　I　said。　I　hate　it　when　he　calls　me　Paulie；　and　I　think　he　knows　it；　but　I　was　damned　if　I'd　give　him　the　satisfaction　of　seeing　it。　〃There's　a　whole　row　of　them。　I'm　not　hurting　it　any；　would　you　say？　Rain's　what　it's　made　for；　after　all。〃　
〃But　it　wasn't　made　for　you；　Paulie；〃　he　said；　giving　it　another　little　flick。　〃That's　the　thing。　Those　slickers're　for　the　employees；　not　the　residents。〃　
〃I　still　don't　see　what　harm　it　does。〃　
He　gave　me　a　thin　little　smile。　〃It's　not　about　harm；　it's　about　the　rules。　What　would　life　be　without　rules？　Paulie；　Paulie；　Paulie。〃　He　shook　his　head；　as　if　just　looking　at　me　made　him　feel　sorry　to　be　alive。　〃You　probably　think　an　old　fart　like　you　doesn't　have　to　mind　about　the　rules　anymore；　but　that's　just　not　true。　Paulie。〃　
Smiling　at　me。　Disliking　me。　Maybe　even　hating　me。　And　why？　I　don't　know。　Sometimes　there　is　no　why。　That's　the　scary　part。　
〃Well；　I'm　sorry　if　I　broke　the　rules；〃　I　said。　It　came　out　sounding　whiney；　a　little　shrill；　and　I　hated　myself　for　sounding　that　way；　but　I'm　old；　and　old　people　whine　easily。　Old　people　scare　easily。　
Brad　nodded。　〃Apology　accepted。　Now　go　hang　that　back　up。　You　got　no　business　out　walking　in　the　rain；　anyway。　Specially　not　in　those　woods。　What　if　you　were　to　slip　and　fall　and　break　your　damned　hip？　Huh？　Who　do　you　think'd　have　to　hoss　your　elderly　freight　back　up　the　hill？〃　
〃I　don't　know；〃　I　said。　I　just　wanted　to　get　away　from　him。　The　more　I　listened　to　him；　the　more　he　sounded　like　Percy。　William　Wharton；　the　crazyman　who　came　to　the　Green　Mile　in　the　fall　of　‘32；　once　grabbed　Percy　and　scared　him　so　bad　that　Percy　squirted　in　his　pants。　You　talk　about　this　to　anyone；　Percy　told　the　rest　of　us　afterward；　and　you'll　all　be　on　the　breadlines　in　a　week。　Now；　these　many　years　later；　I　could　almost　hear　Brad　Dolan　saying　those　same　words；　in　that　same　tone　of　voice。　It's　as　if；　by　writing　about　those　old　times；　I　have　unlocked　some　unspeakable　door　that　connects　the　past　to　the　present　…　Percy　Wetmore　to　Brad　Dolan；　Janice　Edgebe　to　Elaine　Connelly；　Cold　Mountain　Penitentiary　to　the　Georgia　Pines　old　folks'　home。　And　if　that　thought　doesn't　keep　me　awake　tonight；　I　guess　nothing　will。　
I　made　as　if　to　go　in　through　the　kitchen　door　and　Brad　grabbed　me　by　the　wrist　again。　I　don't　know　about　the　first　one；　but　this　time　he　was　doing　it　on　purpose；　squeezing　to　hurt。　His　eyes　shifting　back　and　forth；　making　sure　no　one　was　around　in　the　early…morning　wet；　no　one　to　see　he　was　abusing　one　of　the　old　folks　he　was　supposed　to　be　taking　care　of。　
〃What　do　you　do　down　that　path？〃　he　asked。　〃I　know　you　don't　go　down　there　and　jerk　off；　those　days　are　long　behind　you；　so　what　do　you　do？〃　
〃Nothing；〃　I　said；　telling　myself　to　be　calm；　not　to　show　him　how　bad　he　was　hurting　me　and　to　be　calm；　to　remember　he'd　only　mentioned　the　path；　he　didn't　know　about　the　shed。　〃I　just　walk。　To　clear　my　mind〃　
〃Too　late　for　that；　Paulie；　your　mind's　never　gonna　be　clear　again！'　He　squeezed　my　thin　old　mares　wrist　again；　grinding　the　brittle　bones；　eyes　continually　shifting　from　side　to　side；　wanting　to　make　sure　he　was　safe。　Brad　wasn't　afraid　of　breaking　the　rules；　he　was　only　afraid　of　being　caught　breaking　them。　And　in　that；　too；　he　was　like　Percy　Wetmore；　who　would　never　let　you　forget　he　was　the　governor's　nephew。　〃Old　as　you　are；　its　a　miracle　you　can　remember　who　you　are。　You're　too　goddam　old。　Even　for　a　museum　like　this。　You　give　me　the　fucking　creeps；　Paulie。〃　
〃Let　go　of　me；〃　I　said；　trying　to　keep　the　whine　out　of　my　voice。　It　wasn't　just　pride；　either。　I　thought　if　he　heard　it；　it　might　inflame　him；　the　way　the　smell　of　sweat　can　sometimes　inflame　a　bad…tempered　dog　…　one　which　would　otherwise　only　growl　…　to　bite。　That　made　me　think　of　a　reporter　who'd　covered　John　Coffey's　trial。　The　reporter　was　a　terrible　man　named　Hammersmith；　and　the　most　terrible　thing　about　him　was　that　he　hadn't　known　he　was　terrible。　
Instead　of　letting　go；　Dolan　squeezed　my　wrist　again。　I　groaned。　I　didn't　want　to；　but　I　couldn't　help　it。　It　hurt　all　the　way　down　to　my　ankles。　
〃What　do　you　do　down　there；　Paulie？　Tell　me。〃　
〃Nothing！〃　I　said。　I　wasn't　crying；　not　yet；　but　I　was　afraid　I'd　start　soon　if　he　kept　bearing　down　like　that。　〃Nothing；　I　just　walk；　I　like　to　walk；　let　go　of　me！〃　
He　did；　but　only　long　enough　so　he　could　grab　my　other　hand。　That　one　was　rolled　closed。　〃Open　up；〃　he　said。　〃Let　Poppa　see。〃　
I　did；　and　he　grunted　with　disgust。　It　was　nothing　but　the　remains　of　my　second　piece　of　toast。　I'd　clenched　it　in　my　right　hand　y　left　wrist；　and　there　was　butter　…　well；　oleo；　they　don't　have　real　butter　here；　of　course　…　on　my　fingers。　
〃Go　on　inside　and　wash　your　damned　hands；〃　he　said；　stepping　back　and　taking　another　bite　of　his　Danish。　〃Jesus　Christ。〃　
I　went　up　the　steps。　My　legs　were　shaking；　my　heart　pounding　like　an　engine　with　leaky　valves　and　shaky　old　pistons。　As　I　grasped　the　knob　that　would　let　me　into　the　kitchen　…　and　safety　…　Dolan　said：　〃If　you　tell　anyone　I　squeezed　your　po'　old　wrist；　Paulie；　I'll　tell　them　you're　having　delusions。　Onset　of　senile　dementia；　likely。　And　you　know　they'll　believe　me。　If　there　are　bruises；　they'll　think　you　made　them　yourself。〃　
Yes。　Those　things　were　true。　And　once　again；　it　could　have　been　Percy　Wetmore　saying　them；　a　Percy　that　had　somehow　stayed　young　and　mean　while　I'd　grown　old　and　brittle。　
〃I'm　not　going　to　say　anything　to　anyone；〃　I　mutered。　〃Got　nothing　to　say。〃　
〃That's　right；　you　old　sweetie。〃　His　voice　light　and　mocking；　the　voice　of　a　lugoon　（to　use　Percy's　word）　who　thought　he　was　going　to　be　young　forever。　〃And　I'm　going　to　find　out　what　you're　up　to。　I'm　going　to　make　it　my　business。　You　hear？〃　
I　heard；　all　right；　but　wouldn't　give　him　the　satisfaction　of　saying　so。　I　went　in；　passed　through　the　kitchen　（I　could　now　smell　eggs　and　sausage　cooking；　but　no　longer　wanted　any）；　and　hung　the　poncho　back　up　on　its　hook。　Then　I　went　upstairs　to　my　room　…　resting　at　every　step；　giving　my　heart　time　to　slow　…　and　gathered　my　writing　materials　together。　
I　went　down　to　the　solarium　and　was　just　sitting　at　the　little　table　by　the　windows　when　my　friend　Elaine　poked　her　head　in。　She　looked　tired；　and；　I　thought；　unwell。　She'd　bed　her　hair　out　but　was　still　in　her　robe。　We　old　sweeties　don't　stand　much　on　ceremony；　for　the　most　part；　we　can't　afford　to。　
〃I　won't　disturb　you；〃　she　said；　〃I　see　you're　getting　set　to　write…〃　
〃Don't　be　silly；〃　I　said。　〃I've　got　more　time　than　Carter's　got　liver　pills。　e　on　in。〃　
She　did；　but　stood　by　the　door。　〃It's　just　that　I　couldn't　sleep　…　again　…　and　happened　to　be　looking　out　my　window　a　little　earlier　。。。　and　。。。〃　
〃And　you　saw　Mr。　Dolan　and　me　having　our　pleasant　little　chat；〃　I　said。　I　hoped　seeing　was　all　she'd　done；　that　her　window　had　been　closed　and　she　hadn't　heard　me　whining　to　be　let　go。　
〃It　didn't　look　pleasant　and　it　didn't　look　friendly；〃　she　said。　〃Paul；　that　Mr。　Dolan's　been　asking　around　about　you。　He　asked　me　about　you　…　last　week；　this　was。　I　didn't　think　much　about　it　then；　just　that　he's　got　himself　a　nasty　long　nose　for　other　people's　business；　but　now　I　wonder。〃　
〃Asking　about　me？〃　I　hoped　I　didn't　sound　as　uneasy　as　I　felt。　〃Asking　what？〃　
〃Where　you　go　walking；　for　one　thing。　And　why　you　go　walking。〃　
I　tried　to　laugh。　〃There's　a　man　who　doesn't　believe　in　exercise；　that　much　is　clear。〃　
〃He　thinks　you've　got　a　secret。〃　She　paused。　〃So　do　I。〃　
I　opened　my　mouth　…　to　say　what；　I　don't　know　…　but　Elaine　raised　one　of　her　gnarled　but　oddly　beautiful　hands　before　I　could　get　a　single　word　out。　〃If　you　do；　I　don't　want　to　know　what　it　is；　Paul。　Your　business　is　your　business。　I　was　raised　to　think　that　way；　but　not　everyone　was。　Be　careful。　That's　all　I　want　to　tell　you。　And　now　I'll　let　you　alone　to　do　your　work。〃　
She　turned　to　go；　but　before　she　could　get　out　the　door；　I　called　her　name。　She　turned　back；　eyes　questioning。　
〃When　I　finish　what　I'm　writing…〃　I　began；　then　shook　my　head　a　little。　That　was　wrong。　〃If　I　finish　what　I'm　writing；　would　you　read　it？〃　
She　seemed　to　consider；　then　gave　me　the　sort　of　smile　a　man　could　easily　fall　in　love　with；　even　a　man　as　old　as　me。　〃That　would　be　my　honor。〃　
〃You'd　better　wait　until　you　read　it　before　you　talk　about　honor；〃　I　said；　and　it　was　Delacroix's　death　I　was　thinking　of。　
〃I'll　read　it；　though；〃　she　said。　〃Every　word。　I　promise。　But　you　have　to　finish　writing　it；　first。〃　
She　left　me　to　it；　but　it　was　a　long　time　before　I　wrote　anything。　I　sat　staring　out　the　windows　for　almost　an　hour；　tapping　my　pen　against　the　side　of　the　table；　watching　the　gray　day　brighten　a　little　at　a　time；　thinking　about　Brad　Dolan；　who　calls　me　Paulie　and　never　tires　of　jokes　about　chinks　and　slopes　and　spicks　and　micks；　thinking　about　what　Elaine　Connelly　had　said。　He　thinks　you've　got　a　secret。　So　do　I。　
And　maybe　I　do。　Yes；　maybe　I　do。　And　of　course　Brad　Dolan　wants　it。　Not　because　he　thinks　it's　important　（and　it's　not；　I　guess；　except　to　me）；　but　because　he　doesn't　think　very　old　men　like　myself　should　have　secrets。　No　taking　the　ponchos　off　the　hook　outside　the　kitchen；　no　secrets；　either。　No　getting　the　idea　that　the　likes　of　us　are　still　human。　And　why　shouldn't　we　be　allowed　such　an　idea？　He　doesn't　know。　And　in　that；　too；　he　is　like　Percy。　
So　my　thoughts；　like　a　river　that　takes　an　oxbow　turn；　finally　led　back　to　where　they　had　been　when　Brad　Dolan　reached　out　from　beneath　the　kitchen　eave　and　grabbed　my　wrist：　to　Percy；　mean…spirited　Percy　Wetmore；　and　how　he　had　taken　his　revenge　on　the　man　who　had　laughed　at　him。　Delacroix　had　been　throwing　the　colored　spool　he　had　…　the　one　Mr。　Jingles　would　fetch　…　and　it　bounced　out　of　the　cell　and　into　the　corridor。　That　was　all　it　took；　Percy　saw　his　chance。　
2。　
〃No　you　fool！〃　Brutal　yelled；　but　Percy　paid　no　attention。　Just　as　Mr。　Jingles　reached　the　spool　…　too　intent　on　it　to　realize　his　old　enemy　was　at　hand　…　Percy　brought　the　sole　of　one　hard　black　workshoe　down　on　him。　There　was　an　audible　snap　as　Mr。　Jingles's　back　broke；　and　blood　gushed　from　his　mouth。　His　tiny　black　eyes　bulged　in　their　sockets；　and　in　them　I　read　an　expression　of　surprised　agony　that　was　all　too　human。　
Delacroix　screamed　with　horror　and　grief。　He　threw　himself　at　the　door　of　his　cell　and　thrust　his　arms　out　through　the　bars；　reaching　as　far　as　he　could；　crying　the　mouse's　name　over　and　over。　
Percy　turned　toward　him；　smiling。　Toward　me　and　Brutal；　as　well。　〃There；〃　he　said。　〃I　knew　I'd　get　him；　sooner　or　later。　just　a　matter　of　time；　really。〃　He　turned　and　walked　back　up　the　Green　Mile；　leaving　Mr。　Jingles　lying　on　the　linoleum；　his　spreading　blood　red　over　green。　
Dean　got　up　from　the　duty　desk；　hitting　the　side　of　it　with　his　knee　and　knocking　the　cribbage　board　to　the　floor。　The　pegs　spilled　out　of　their　holes　and　rolled　in　all　directions。　Neither　Dean　nor　Harry；　who　had　been　just　about　to　go　out；　paid　the　slightest　attention　to　the　overturn　of　the　game。　〃What'd　you　do　this　time？〃　Dean　shouted　at　Percy。　〃What　the　hell'd　you　do　this　time；　you　stoopnagel？〃　
Percy　didn't　answer。　He　strode　past　the　desk　without　saying　a　word；　patting　his　hair　with　his　fingers。　He　went　through　my　office　and　into　the　storage　shed。　William　Wharton　answered　for　him。　〃Boss　Dean？　I　think　what　he　did　was　teach　a　certain　french…fry　it　ain't　smart　to　laugh　at　him；〃　he　said；　and　then　began　to　laugh　himself。　It　was　a　good　laugh；　a　country　laugh；　cheery　and　deep。　There　were　people　I　met　during　that　period　of　my　life　（very　scary　people；　for　the　most　part）　who　only　sounded　normal　when　they　laughed。　Wild　Bill　Wharton　was　one　of　those。　
I　looked　down　at　the　mouse　again；　stunned。　It　was　still　breathing；　but　there　were　little　minute　beads　of　blood　caught　in　the　filaments　of　its　whiskers；　and　a　dull　glaze　was　creeping　over　its　previously　brilliant　oildrop　eyes。　Brutal　picked　up　the　colored　spool；　looked　at　it；　then　looked　at　me。　He　looked　as　dumbfounded　as　I　felt。　Behind　us；　Delacroix　went　on　screaming　out　his　grief　and　horror。　It　wasn't　just　the　mouse；　of　course；　Percy　had　smashed　a　hole　in　Delacroix's　defenses　and　all　his　terror　was　pouring　out。　But　Mr。　Jingles　was　the　focusing　point　for　those　pent…up　feelings；　and　it　was　terrible　to　listen　to　him。　
〃Oh　no；〃　he　cried　over　and　over　again；　amid　the　screams　and　the　garbled　pleas　and　prayers　in　Cajun　French。　〃Oh　no；　oh　no；　poor　Mr。　Jingles；　poor　old　Mr。　Jingles；　oh　no。〃　
〃Give　im　to　me。〃　
I　looked　up；　puzzled　by　that　deep　voice；　at　first　not　sure　who　it　belonged　to。　I　saw　John　Coffey。　Like　Delacroix；　he　had　put　his　arms　through　the　bars　of　his　cell　door；　but　unlike　Del；　he　wasn't　waving　them　around。　He　simply　held　them　out　as　far　as　he　could；　the　hands　at　the　ends　of　them　open。　It　was　a　purposeful　pose；　an　almost　urgent　pose。　And　his　voice；　had　the　same　quality；　which　was　why；　I　suppose；　I　didn't　recognize　it