绿里奇迹(英文版)-第19部分

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I　went　out　to　the　privy　to　do　my　business　…　this　was　at　least　three　years　before　we　put　in　our　first　water…closet　…　and　had　gotten　no　further　than　the　woodpile　at　the　er　of　the　house　when　I　realized　I　couldn't　hold　it　any　longer。　I　lowered　my　pajama　pants　just　as　the　urine　started　to　flow；　and　that　flow　was　acpanied　by　the　most　excruciating。　pain　of　my　entire　life。　I　passed　a　gall…stone　in　1956；　and　I　know　people　say　that　is　the　worst；　but　that　gall…stone　was　like　a　touch　of　acid　indigestion　pared　to　this　outrage。　
My　knees　came　unhinged　and　I　fell　heavily　onto　them；　tearing　out　the　seat　of　my　pajama　pants　when　I　spread　my　legs　to　keep　from　losing　my　balance　and　going　face…first　into　a　puddle　of　my　own　piss。　I　still　might　have　gone　over　if　I　hadn't　grabbed　one　of　the　woodpile　logs　with　my　left　hand。　All　that；　though；　could　have　been　going　on　in　Australia；　or　even　on　another　pla。　All　I　was　concerned　with　was　the　pain　that　had　set　me　on　fire；　my　lower　belly　was　burning；　and　my　penis　…　an　organ　which　had　gone　mostly　forgotten　by　me　except　when　providing　me　the　most　intense　physical　pleasure　a　man　can　experience　…　now　felt　as　if　it　were　melting；　I　expected　to　look　down　and　see　blood　gushing　from　its　tip；　but　it　appeared　to　be　a　perfectly　ordinary　stream　of　urine。　
I　hung　onto　the　woodpile　with　one　hand　and　put　the　other　across　my　mouth；　concentrating　on　keeping　my　mouth　shut。　I　did　not　want　to　frighten　my　wife　awake　with　a　scream。　It　seemed　that　I　went　on　pissing　forever；　but　at　last　the　stream　dried　up。　By　then　the　pain　had　sunk　deep　into　my　stomach　and　my　testicles；　biting　like　rusty　teeth。　For　a　long　while　…　it　might　have　been　as　long　as　a　minute　…　I　was　physically　incapable　of　getting　up。　At　last　the　pain　began　to　abate；　and　I　struggled　to　my　feet。　I　looked　at　my　urine；　already　soaking　into　the　ground；　and　wondered　if　any　sane　God　could　make　a　world　where　such　a　little　bit　of　dampness　could　e　at　the　cost　of　such　horrendous　pain。　
I　would　call　in　sick；　I　thought；　and　go　see　Dr。　Sadler　after　all。　I　didn't　want　the　stink　and　the　queasiness　of　Dr。　Sadler's　sulfa　tablets；　but　anything　would　be　better　than　kneeling　beside　the　woodpile；　trying　not　to　scream　while　my　prick　was　reporting　that　it　had　apparently　been　doused　with　coal…oil　and　set　afire。　
Then；　as　I　was　swallowing　aspirin　in　our　kitchen　and　listening　to　Jan　snore　lightly　in　the　other　room；　I　remembered　that　today　was　the　day　William　Wharton　was　scheduled　on　the　block；　and　that　Brutal　wouldn't　be　there　…　the　roster　had　him　over　on　the　other　side　of　the　prison；　helping　to　move　the　rest　of　the　library　and　some　leftover　infirmary　equipment　to　the　new　building。　One　thing　I　didn't　feel　right　about　in　spite　of　my　pain　was　leaving　Wharton　to　Dean　and　Harry。　They　were　good　men；　but　Curtis　Anderson's　report　had　suggested　that　William　Wharton　was　exceptionally　bad　news。　This　man　just　doesn't　care；　he　had　written；　underlining　for　emphasis。　
By　then　the　pain　had　abated　some；　and　I　could　think。　The　best　idea；　it　seemed　to　me；　was　to　leave　for　the　prison　early。　I　could　get　there　at　six；　which　was　the　time　Warden　Moores　usually　came　in。　He　could　get　Brutus　Howell　reassigned　to　E　Block　long　enough　for　Wharton's　reception；　and　I'd　make　my　long…overdue　trip　to　the　doctor。　Cold　Mountain　was　actually　on　my　way。　
Twice　on　the　twenty…mile　ride　to　the　Penitentiary　that　sudden　need　to　urinate　overcame　me。　Both　times　I　was　able　to　pull　over　and　take　care　of　the　problem　without　embarrassing　myself　（for　one　thing；　traffic　on　country　roads　at　such　an　hour　was　all　but　nonexistent）。　Neither　of　these　two　voidings　was　as　painful　as　the　one　that　had　taken　me　off　my　feet　on　the　way　to　the　privy；　but　both　times　I　had　to　clutch　the　passenger…side　doorhandle　of　my　little　Ford　coupe　to　hold　myself　up；　and　I　could　feel　sweat　running　down　my　hot　face。　I　was　sick；　all　right；　good　and　sick。　
I　made　it；　though；　drove　in　through　the　south　gate；　parked　in　my　usual　place；　and　went　right　up　to　see　the　warden。　It　was　going　on　six　o'clock　by　then。　Miss　Hannah's　office　was　empty　…　she　wouldn't　be　in　until　the　relatively　civilized　hour　of　seven　…　but　the　light　was　on　in　Moores's　office；　I　could　see　it　through　the　pebbled　glass。　I　gave　a　perfunctory　knock　and　opened　the　door。　Moores　looked　up；　startled　to　see　anyone　at　that　unusual　hour；　and　I　would　have　given　a　great　deal　not　to　have　been　the　one　to　see　him　in　that　condition；　with　his　face　naked　and　unguarded。　His　white　hair；　usually　so　neatly　bed；　was　sticking　up　in　tufts　and　tangles；　his　hands　were　in　it；　yanking　and　pulling；　when　I　walked　in。　His　eyes　were　raw；　the　skin　beneath　them　puffy　and　swollen。　His　palsy　was　the　worst　I　had　ever　seen　it；　he　looked　like　a　man　who　had　just　e　inside　after　a　long　walk　on　a　terribly　cold　night。　
〃Hal；　I'm　sorry；　I'll　e　back！〃　I　began。　
〃No；〃　he　said。　〃Please；　Paul。　e　in。　Shut　the　door　and　e　in。　I　need　someone　now；　if　I　ever　needed　anyone　in　my　whole　life。　Shut　the　door　and　e　in。〃　
I　did　as　he　asked；　forgetting　my　own　pain　for　the　first　time　since　I'd　awakened　that　morning。　
〃It's　a　brain　tumor；〃　Moores　said。　〃They　got　X…ray　pictures　of　it。　They　seemed　real　pleased　with　their　pictures；　actually。　One　of　them　said　they　may　be　the　best　ones　anyone's　ever　gotten；　at　least　so　far；　said　they're　going　to　publish　them　in　some　biggety　medical　journal　up　in　New　England。　It's　the　size　of　a　lemon；　they　said；　and　way　down　deep　inside；　where　they　can't　operate。　They　say　she'll　be　dead　by　Christmas。　I　haven't　told　her。　I　can't　think　how。　I　can't　think　how　for　the　life　of　me。〃　
Then　he　began　to　cry；　big；　gasping　sobs　that　filled　me　with　both　pity　and　a　kind　of　terror　…　when　a　man　who　keeps　himself　as　tightly　guarded　as　Hal　Moores　finally　does　lose　control；　it's　frightening　to　watch。　I　stood　there　for　a　moment；　then　went　to　him　and　put　my　arm　around　his　shoulders。　He　groped　out　for　me　with　both　of　his　own　arms；　like　a　drowning　man；　and　began　to　sob　against　my　stomach；　all　restraint　washed　away。　Later；　after　he　got　himself　under　control；　he　apologized。　He　did　it　y　eyes；　as　a　man　does　when　he　feels　he　has　embarrassed　himself　dreadfully；　maybe　so　deeply　that　he　can　never　quite　live　it　down。　A　man　can　end　up　hating　the　fellow　who　has　seen　him　in　such　a　state。　I　thought　Warden　Moores　was　better　than　that；　but　it　never　crossed　my　mind　to　do　the　business　I　had　originally　e　for；　and　when　I　left　Moores's　office；　I　walked　over　to　E　Block　instead　of　back　to　my　car。　The　aspirin　was　working　by　then；　and　the　pain　in　my　midsection　was　down　to　a　low　throb。　I　would　get　through　the　day　somehow；　I　reckoned；　get　Wharton　settled　in；　check　back　with　Hal　Moores　that　afternoon；　and　get　my　sick…leave　for　tomorrow。　The　worst　was　pretty　much　over；　I　thought；　with　no　slightest　idea　that　the　worst　of　that　day's　mischief　hadn't　even　begun。　
11。　
〃We　thought　he　was　still　doped　from　the　tests；〃　Dean　said　late　that　afternoon。　His　voice　was　low；　rasping；　almost　a　bark；　and　there　were　blackish…purple　bruises　rising　on　his　neck。　I　could　see　it　was　hurting　him　to　talk　and　thought　of　telling　him　to　let　it　go；　but　sometimes　it　hurts　more　to　be　quiet。　I　judged　that　this　was　one　of　those　times；　and　kept　my　own　mouth　shut。　〃We　all　thought　he　was　doped；　didn't　we？〃　
Harry　Terwilliger　nodded。　Even　Percy；　sitting　off　by　himself　in　his　own　sullen　little　party　of　one；　nodded。　
Brutal　glanced　at　me；　and　for　a　moment　I　met　his　eyes。　We　were　thinking　pretty　much　that　same　thing；　that　this　was　the　way　it　happened。　You　were　cruising　along；　everything　going　according　to　Hoyle；　you　made　one　mistake；　and　bang；　the　sky　fell　down　on　you。　They　had　thought　he　was　doped；　it　was　a　reasonable　assumption　to　make；　but　no　one　had　asked　if　he　was　doped。　I　thought　I　saw　something　else　in　Brutal's　eyes；　as　well：　Harry　and　Dean　would　learn　from　their　mistake。　Especially　Dean；　who　could　easily　have　gone　home　to　his　family　dead。　Percy　wouldn't。　Percy　maybe　couldn't。　All　Percy　could　do　was　sit　in　the　corner　and　sulk　because　he　was　in　the　shit　again。　
There　were　seven　of　them　that　went　up　to　Indianola　to　take　charge　of　Wild　Bill　Wharton：　Harry；　Dean；　Percy；　two　other　guards　in　the　back　（I　have　forgotten　their　names；　although　I'm　sure　I　knew　them　once）；　plus　two　up　front。　They　took　what　we　used　to　call　the　stagecoach　…　a　Ford　panel…truck　which　had　been　steel…reinforced　and　equipped　with　supposedly　bulletproof　glass。　It　looked　like　a　cross　between　a　milk…wagon　and　an　armored　car。　
Harry　Terwilliger　was　technically　in　charge　of　the　expedition。　He　handed　his　paperwork　over　to　the　county　sheriff　（not　Homer　Cribus　but　some　other　elected　yokel　like　him；　I　imagine）；　who　in　turn　handed　over　Mr。　William　Wharton；　hellraiser　extraordinaire；　as　Delacroix　might　have　put　it。　A　Cold　Mountain　prison　uniform　had　been　sent　ahead；　but　the　sheriff　and　his　men　hadn't　bothered　to　put　Wharton　in　it；　they　left　that　to　our　boys。　Wharton　was　dressed　in　a　cotton　hospital　johnny　and　cheap　felt　slippers　when　they　first　met　him　on　the　second　floor　of　the　General　Hospital；　a　scrawny　man　with　a　narrow；　pimply　face　and　a　lot　of　long；　tangly　blond　hair。　His　ass；　also　narrow　and　also　covered　with　pimples；　stuck　out　the　back　of　the　johnny。　That　was　the　part　of　him　Harry　and　the　others　saw　first；　because　Wharton　was　standing　at　the　window　and　looking　out　at　the　parking　lot　when　they　came　in。　He　didn't　turn　but　just　stood　there；　holding　the　curtains　back　with　one　hand；　silent　as　a　doll　while　Harry　bitched　at　the　county　sheriff　about　being　too　lazy　to　get　Wharton　into　his　prison　blues　and　the　county　sheriff　lectured　…　as　every　county　official　I've　ever　met　seems　bound　to　do　…　about　what　was　his　job　and　what　was　not。　
When　Harry　got　tired　of　that　part　（I　doubt　it　took　him　long）；　he　told　Wharton　to　turn　around。　Wharton　did。　He　looked；　Dean　told　us　in　his　raspy　bark　of　a　half…choked　voice；　like　any　one　of　a　thousand　backcountry　stampeders　who　had　wound　their　way　through　Cold　Mountain　during　our　years　there。　Boil　that　look　down　and　what　you　got　was　a　dullard　with　a　mean　steak。　Sometimes　you　also　discovered　a　yellow　streak　in　them；　once　their　backs　were　to　the　wall；　but　more　often　there　was　nothing　there　but　fight　and　mean　and　then　more　fight　and　more　mean。　There　are　people　who　see　nobility　in　folks　like　Billy　Wharton；　but　I　am　not　one　of　them。　A　rat　will　fight；　too；　if　it　is　cornered。　This　man's　face　seemed　to　have　no　more　personality　than　his　acne…studded　backside；　Dean　told　us。　His　jaw　was　slack；　his　eyes　distant；　his　shoulders　slumped；　his　hands　dangling。　He　looked　shot　up　with　morphine；　all　right；　every　bit　as　coo…coo　as　any　dopefiend　any　of　them　had　ever　seen。　
At　this；　Percy　gave　another　of　his　sullen　nods。　
〃Put　this　on；〃　Harry　said；　indicating　the　uniform　on　the　foot　of　the　bed　…　it　had　been　taken　out　of　the　brown　paper　it　was　wrapped　in；　but　otherwise　not　touched…it　was　still　folded　just　as　it　had　been　in　the　prison　laundry；　with　a　pair　of　white　cotton　boxer　shorts　poking　out　of　one　shirtsleeve　and　a　pair　of　white　socks　poking　out　of　the　other。　
Wharton　seemed　willing　enough　to　ply；　but　wasn't　able　to　get　very　far　without　help。　He　managed　the　boxers；　but　when　it　came　to　the　pants；　he　kept　trying　to　put　both　legs　into　the　same　hole。　Finally　Dean　helped　him；　getting　his　feet　to　go　where　they　belonged　and　then　yanking　the　trousers　up；　do