绿里奇迹(英文版)-第2部分

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o　a　knowledge　of　their　deaths　from　the　ankles　up。　There　was　a　black　silk　bag　that　went　over　their　heads　after　they　had　finished　their　rambling　and　mostly　disjointed　last　remarks。　It　was　supposed　to　be　for　them；　but　I　always　thought：　it　was　really　for　us；　to　keep　us　from　seeing　the　awful　tide　of　dismay　in　their　eyes　as　they　realized　they　were　going　to　die　with　their　knees　bent。　
There　was　no　death　row　at　Cold　Mountain；　only　E　Block；　set　apart　from　the　other　four　and　about　a　quarter　their　size；　brick　instead　of　wood；　with　a　horrible　bare　metal　roof　that　glared　in　the　summer　sun　like　a　delirious　eyeball。　Six　cells　inside；　three　on　each　side　of　a　wide　center　aisle；　each　almost　twice　as　big　as　the　cells　in　the　other　four　blocks。　Singles；　too。　Great　acmodations　for　a　prison　（especially　in　the　thirties）；　but　the　inmates　would　have　traded　for　cells　in　any　of　the　other　four。　Believe　me；　they　would　have　traded。　
There　was　never　a　time　during　my　years　as　block　superintendent　when　all　six　cells　were　occupied　at　one　time…thank　God　for　small　favors。　Four　was　the　most；　mixed　black　and　white　（at　Cold　Mountain；　there　was　no　segregation　among　the　walking　dead）；　and　that　was　a　little　piece　of　hell。　One　was　a　woman；　Beverly　McCall。　She　was　black　as　the　ace　of　spades　and　as　beautiful　as　the　sin　you　never　had　nerve　enough　to　mit。　She　put　up　with　six　years　of　her　husband　beating　her；　but　wouldn't　put　up　with　his　creeping　around　for　a　single　day。　On　the　evening　after　she　found　out　he　was　cheating；　she　stood　waiting　for　the　unfortunate　Lester　McCall；　known　to　his　pals　（and；　presumably；　to　his　extremely　short…term　mistress）　as　Cutter；　at　the　top　of　the　stairs　leading　to　the　apartment　over　his　barber　shop。　She　waited　until　he　got　his　overcoat　half　off；　then　dropped　his　cheating　guts　onto　his　two…tone　shoes。　Used　one　of　Cutter's　own　razors　to　do　it。　Two　nights　before　she　was　due　to　sit　in　Old　Sparky；　she　called　me　to　her　cell　and　said　she　had　been　visited　by　her　African　spirit…father　in　a　dream。　He　told　her　to　discard　her　slave…name　and　to　die　under　her　free　name；　Matuomi。　That　was　her　request；　that　her　death　warrant　should　be　read　under　the　name　of　Beverly　Matuomi。　I　guess　her　spirit…father　didn't　give　her　any　first　name；　or　one　she　could　make　out；　anyhow。　I　said　yes；　okay；　fine。　One　thing　those　years　serving　as　the　bull…goose　screw　taught　me　was　never　to　refuse　the　condemned　unless　I　absolutely　had　to。　In　the　case　of　Beverly　Matuomi；　it　made　no　difference　anyway。　The　governor　called　the　next　day　around　three　in　the　afternoon；　muting　her　sentence　to　life　in　the　Grassy　Valley　Penal　Facility　for　Women…all　penal　and　no　penis；　we　used　to　say　back　then。　I　was　glad　to　see　Bev's　round　ass　going　left　instead　of　right　when　she　got　to　the　duty　desk；　let　me　tell　you。　
Thirty…five　years　or　so　later　…　had　to　be　at　least　thirty…five　…　I　saw　that　name　on　the　obituary　page　of　the　paper；　under　a　picture　of　a　skinny…faced　black　lady　with　a　cloud　of　white　hair　and　glasses　with　rhinestones　at　the　corners。　It　was　Beverly。　She'd　spent　the　last　ten　years　of　her　life　a　free　woman；　the　obituary　said；　and　had　rescued　the　small…town　library　of　Raines　Falls　pretty　much　single…handed。　She　had　also　taught　Sunday　school　and　had　been　much　loved　in　that　little　backwater。　LIBRARIAN　DIES　OF　HEART　FAILURE；　the　headline　said；　and　below　that；　in　smaller　type；　almost　as　an　afterthought：　Served　Over　Two　Decades　in　Prison　for　Murder。　Only　the　eyes；　wide　and　blazing　behind　the　glasses　with　the　rhinestones　at　the　corners；　were　the　same。　They　were　the　eyes　of　a　woman　who　even　at　seventy…whatever　would　not　hesitate　to　pluck　a　safety　razor　from　its　blue　jar　of　disinfectant；　if　the　urge　seemed　pressing。　You　know　murderers；　even　if　they　finish　up　as　old　lady　librarians　in　dozey　little　towns。　At　least　you　do　if　you've　spent　as　much　time　minding　murderers　as　I　did。　There　was　only　one　time　I　ever　had　a　question　about　the　nature　of　my　job。　That；　I　reckon；　is　why　I'm　writing　this。　
The　wide　corridor　up　the　center　of　E　Block　was　floored　with　linoleum　the　color　of　tired　old　limes；　and　so　what　was　called　the　Last　Mile　at　other　prisons　was　called　the　Green　Mile　at　Cold　Mountain。　It　ran；　I　guess；　sixty　long　paces　from　south　to　north；　bottom　to　top。　At　the　bottom　was　the　restraint　room。　At　the　top　end　was　a　T…junction。　A　left　turn　meant　life…if　you　called　what　went　on　in　the　sunbaked　exercise　yard　life；　and　many　did；　many　lived　it　for　years；　with　no　apparent　ill　effects。　Thieves　and　arsonists　and　sex　criminals；　all　talking　their　talk　and　walking　their　walk　and　making　their　little　deals。　
A　right　turn；　though　…　that　was　different。　First　you　went　into　my　office　（where　the　carpet　was　also　green；　a　thing　I　kept　meaning　to　change　and　not　getting　around　to）；　and　crossed　in　front　of　my　desk；　which　was　flanked　by　the　American　flag　on　the　left　and　the　state　flag　on　the　right。　On　the　far　side　were　two　doors。　One　led　into　the　small　W。C。　that　I　and　the　Block　E　guards　（sometimes　even　Warden　Moores）　used；　the　other　opened　on　a　kind　of　storage　shed。　This　was　where　you　ended　up　when　you　walked　the　Green　Mile。　
It　was　a　small　door　…　I　had　to　duck　my　head　when　I　went　through；　and　John　Coffey　actually　had　to　sit　and　scoot。　You　came　out　on　a　little　landing；　then　went　down　three　cement　steps　to　a　board　floor。　It　was　a　miserable　room　without　heat　and　with　a　metal　roof；　just　like　the　one　on　the　block　to　which　it　was　an　adjunct。　It　was　cold　enough　in　there　to　see　your　breath　during　the　winter；　and　stifling　in　the　summer。　At　the　execution　of　Elmer　Manfred　…　in　July　or　August　of　'30；　that　one　was；　I　believe…we　had　nine　witnesses　pass　out。　
On　the　left　side　of　the　storage　shed　…　again　…　there　was　life。　Tools　（all　locked　down　in　frames　criss…crossed　with　chains；　as　if　they　were　carbine　rifles　instead　of　spades　and　pickaxes）；　dry　goods；　sacks　of　seeds　for　spring　planting　in　the　prison　gardens；　boxes　of　toilet　paper；　pallets　cross…loaded　with　blanks　for　the　prison　plate…shop。。。　even　bags　of　lime　for　marking　out　the　baseball　diamond　and　the　football　gridiron　…　the　cons　played　in　what　was　known　as　The　Pasture；　and　fall　afternoons　were　greatly　looked　forward　to　at　Cold　Mountain。　
On　the　right　…　once　again　…　death。　Old　Sparky　his　ownself；　sitting　up　on　a　plank　platform　at　the　southeast　corner　of　the　store　room；　stout　oak　legs；　broad　oak　arms　that　had　absorbed　the　terrorized　sweat　of　scores　of　men　in　the　last　few　minutes　of　their　lives；　and　the　metal　cap；　usually　hung　jauntily　on　the　back　of　the　chair；　like　some　robot　kid's　beanie　in　a　Buck　Rogers　ic…strip。　A　cord　ran　from　it　and　through　a　gasket…circled　hole　in　the　cinderblock　wall　behind　the　chair。　Off　to　one　side　was　a　galvanized　tin　bucket。　If　you　looked　inside　it；　you　would　see　a　circle　of　sponge；　cut　just　right　to　fit　the　metal　cap。　Before　executions；　it　was　soaked　in　brine　to　better　conduct　the　charge　of　direct…current　electricity　that　ran　through　the　wire；　through　the　sponge；　and　into　the　condemned　man's　brain。　
2。　
1932　was　the　year　of　John　Coffey。　The　details　would　be　in　the　papers；　still　there　for　anyone　who　cared　enough　to　look　them　out　…　someone　with　more　energy　than　one　very　old　man　whittling　away　the　end　of　his　life　in　a　Georgia　nursing　home。　That　was
a　hot　fall；　I　remember　that；　very　hot；　indeed。　October　almost　like　August；　and　the　warden's　wife；　Melinda；　up　in　the　hospital　at　Indianola　for　a　spell。　It　was　the　fall　I　had　the　worst　urinary　infection　of　my　life；　not　bad　enough　to　put　me　in　the　hospital　myself；　but　almost　bad　enough　for　me　to　wish　I　was　dead　every　time　I　took　a　leak。　It　was　the　fall　of　Delacroix；　the　little　half…bald　Frenchman　with　the　mouse；　the　one　that　came　in　the　summer　and　did　that　cute　trick　with　the　spool。　Mostly；　though；　it　was　the　fall　that　John　Coffey　came　to　E　Block；　sentenced　to　death　for　the　rape…murder　of　the　Detterick　twins。　
There　were　four　or　five　guards　on　the　block　each　shift；　but　a　lot　of　them　were　floaters。　Dean　Stanton；　Harry　Terwilliger；　and　Brutus　Howell　（the　men　called　him　〃Brutal；〃　but　it　was　a　joke；　he　wouldn't　hurt　a　fly　unless　he　had　to；　in　spite　of　his　size）　are　all　dead　now；　and　so　is　Percy　Wetmore；　who　really　was　brutal　。。。　not　to　mention　stupid。　Percy　had　no　business　on　E　Block；　where　an　ugly　nature　was　useless　and　sometimes　dangerous；　but　he　was　related　to　the　governor　by　marriage；　and　so　he　stayed。　
It　was　Percy　Wetmore　who　ushered　Coffey　onto　the　block；　with　the　supposedly　traditional　cry　of　〃Dead　man　walking！　Dead　man　walking　here！〃　
It　was　still　as　hot　as　the　hinges　of　hell；　October　or　not。　The　door　to　the　exercise　yard　opened；　letting　in　a　flood　of　brilliant　light　and　the　biggest　man　I've　ever　seen；　except　for　some　of　the　basketball　fellows　they　have　on　the　TV　down　in　the　〃Resource　Room〃　of　this　home　for　wayward　droolers　I've　finished　up　in。　He　wore　chains　on　his　arms　and　across　his　water…barrel　of　a　chest；　he　wore　legirons　on　his　ankles　and　shuffled　a　chain　between　them　that　sounded　like　cascading　coins　as　it　ran　along　the　lime　…　colored　corridor　between　the　cells。　Percy　Wetmore　was　on　one　side　of　him；　skinny　little　Harry　Terwilliger　was　on　the　other；　and　they　looked　like　children　walking　along　with　a　captured　bear。　Even　Brutus　Howell　looked　like　a　kid　next　to　Coffey；　and　Brutal　was　over　six　feet　tall　and　broad　as　well；　a　football　tackle　who　had　gone　on　to　play　at　LSU　until　he　flunked　out　and　came　back　home　to　the　ridges。　
John　Coffey　was　black；　like　most　of　the　men　who　came　to　stay　for　awhile　in　E　Block　before　dying　in　Old　Sparky's　lap；　and　he　stood　six　feet；　eight　inches　tall。　He　wasn't　all　willowy　like　the　TV　basketball　fellows；　though　…　he　was　broad　in　the　shoulders　and　deep　through　the　chest；　laced　over　with　muscle　in　every　direction。　They'd　put　him　in　the　biggest　denims　they　could　find　in　Stores；　and　still　the　cuffs　of　the　pants　rode　halfway　up　on　his　bunched　and　scarred　calves。　The　shirt　was　open　to　below　his　chest；　and　the　sleeves　stopped　somewhere　on　his　forearms。　He　was　holding　his　cap　in　one　huge　hand；　which　was　just　as　well；　perched　on　his　bald　mahogany　ball　of　a　head；　it　would　have　looked　like　the　kind　of　cap　an　organgrinder's　monkey　wears；　only　blue　instead　of　red。　He　looked　like　he　could　have　snapped　the　chains　that　held　him　as　easily　as　you　might　snap　the　ribbons　on　a　Christmas　present；　but　when　you　looked　in　his　face；　you　knew　he　wasn't　going　to　do　anything　like　that。　It　wasn't　dull…although　that　was　what　Percy　thought；　it　wasn't　long　before　Percy　was　calling　him　the　ijit　…　but　lost。　He　kept　looking　around　as　if　to　make　out　where　he　was。　Maybe　even　who　he　was。　My　first　thought　was　that　he　looked　like　a　black　Samson　。。。　only　after　Delilah　had　shaved　him　smooth　as　her　faithless　little　hand　and　taken　all　the　fun　out　of　him。　
〃Dead　man　walking！〃　Percy　trumpeted；　hauling　on　that　bear　of　a　man's　wristcuff；　as　if　he　really　believed　he　could　move　him　if　Coffey　decided　he　didn't　want　to　move　anymore　on　his　own。　Harry　didn't　say　anything；　but　he　looked　embarrassed。　〃Dead　man………！'　
'That'll　be　enough　of　that；〃　I　said。　I　was　in　what　was　going　to　be　Coffey's　cell；　sitting　on　his　bunk。　I'd　known　he　was　ing；　of　course；　was　there　to　wele　him　and　take　charge　of　him；　but　had　no　idea　of　the　man's　pure　size　until　I　saw　him。　Percy　gave　me　a　look　that　said　we　all　knew　I　was　an　asshole　（except　for　the　big　dummy；　of　cou