绿里奇迹(英文版)-第23部分

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〃Hey！〃　I　cried。　〃Get　your　goddam　hand………〃　
A　jolt　slammed　through　me　then；　a　big　painless　whack　of　something。　It　made　me　jerk　on　the　cot　and　bow　my　back；　made　me　think　of　Old　Toot　shouting　that　he　was　frying；　he　was　frying；　he　was　a　done　tom　turkey。　There　was　no　heat；　no　feeling　of　electricity；　but　for　a　moment　the　color　seemed　to　jump　out　of　everything；　as　if　the　world　had　been　somehoade　to　sweat。　I　could　see　every　pore　on　john　Coffey's　face；　I　could　see　every　bloodshot　snap　in　his　haunted　eyes；　I　could　see　a　tiny　healing　scrape　on　his　chin。　I　was　aware　that　my　fingers　were　hooked　down　into　claws　on　thin　air；　and　that　my　feet　were　drumming　on　the　floor　of　Coffey's　cell。　
Then　it　was　over。　So　was　my　urinary　infection。　Both　the　heat　and　the　miserable　throbbing　pain　were　gone　from　my　crotch；　and　the　fever　was　likewise　gone　from　my　head。　I　could　still　feel　the　sweat　it　had　drawn　out　of　my　skin；　and　I　could　smell　it；　but　it　was　gone；　all　right。　
〃What's　going　on？〃　Delacroix　called　shrilly。　His　voice　still　came　from　far　away；　but　when　John　Coffey　bent　forward；　breaking　eye…contact　with　me；　the　little　Cajun's　voice　suddenly　came　clear。　It　was　as　if　someone　had　pulled　wads　of　cotton　or　a　pair　of　shooters'　plugs　out　of　my　ears。　〃What's　he　doing　to　you？〃　
I　didn't　answer。　Coffey　was　bent　forward　over　his　own　lap　with　his　face　working　and　his　throat　bulging。　His　eyes　were　bulging；　too。　He　looked　like　a　man　with　a　chicken　bone　caught　in　his　throat。　
〃John！〃　I　said。　I　clapped　him　on　the　back；　it　was　all　I　could　think　of　to　do。　〃John；　what's　wrong？〃　
He　hitched　under　my　hand；　then　made　an　unpleasant　gagging；　retching　sound。　His　mouth　opened　the　way　horses　sometimes　open　their　mouths　to　allow　the　bit　…　reluctantly；　with　the　lips　peeling　back　from　the　teeth　in　a　kind　of　desperate　sneer。　Then　his　teeth　parted；　too；　and　he　exhaled　a　cloud　of　tiny　black　insects　that　looked　like　gnats　or　noseeums。　They　swirled　furiously　between　his　knees；　turned　white；　and　disappeared。　
Suddenly　all　the　strength　went　out　of　my　middsection。　It　was　as　if　the　muscles　there　had　turned　to　water。　I　slumped　back　against　the　stone　side　of　Coffey's　cell。　I　remember　thinking　the　name　of　the　Savior　…　Christ；　Christ；　Christ；　over　and　over；　like　that　…　and　I　remember　thinking　that　the　fever　had　driven　me　delirious。　That　was　all。　
Then　I　became　aware　that　Delacroix　was　bawling　for　help；　he　was　telling　the　world　that　John　Coffey　was　killing　me；　and　telling　it　at　the　top　of　his　lungs。　Coffey　was　bending　over　me；　all　right；　but　only　to　make　sure　I　was　okay。　
〃Shut　up；　Del；〃　I　said；　and　got　on　my　feet。　I　waited　for　the　pain　to　rip　into　my　guts；　but　it　didn't　happen。　I　was　better。　Really。　There　was　a　moment　of　dizziness；　but　that　passed　even　before　I　was　able　to　reach　out　and　grab　the　bars　of　Coffey's　cell　door　for　balance。　〃I'm　totally　okey…doke。〃　
〃You　get　on　outta　here；〃　Delacroix　said；　sounding　like　a　nervy　old　woman　telling　a　kid　to　climb　down　out　of　that…ere　apple　tree。　〃You　ain't　suppose　to　be　in　there　wit　no　one　else　on　the　block。〃　
I　looked　at　John　Coffey；　who　sat　on　the　bunk　with　his　huge　hands　on　the　tree　stumps　of　his　knees。　John　Coffey　looked　back　at　me。　He　had　to　tilt　his　head　up　a　little；　but　not　much。　
〃What　did　you　do；　big　boy？〃　I　asked　in　a　low　voice。　〃What　did　you　do　to　me？〃　
〃Helped；〃　he　said。　〃I　helped　it；　didn't　I？〃　
〃Yeah；　I　guess；　but　how？　How　did　you　help　it？〃　
He　shook　his　head　…　right；　left；　back　to　dead　center。　He　didn't　know　how　he'd　helped　it　（how　he'd　cured　it）　and　his　placid　face　suggested　that　he　didn't　give　a　rat's　ass　…　any　more　than　I'd　give　a　rat's　ass　about　the　mechanics　of　running　when　I　was　leading　in　the　last　fifty　yards　of　a　Fourth　of　July　Two…Miler。　I　thought　about　asking　him　how　he'd　known　I　was　sick　in　the　first　place；　except　that　would　undoubtedly　have　gotten　the　same　headshake。　There's　a　phrase　I　read　somewhere　and　never　forgot；　something　about　〃an　enigma　wrapped　in　a　mystery。〃　That's　what　John　Coffey　was；　and　I　suppose　the　only　reason　he　could　sleep　at　night　was　because　he　didn't　care。　Percy　called　him　the　ijit；　which　was　cruel　but　not　too　far　off　the　mark。　Our　big　boy　knew　his　name；　and　knew　it　wasn't　spelled　like　the　drink；　and　that　was　just　about　all　he　cared　to　know。　
As　if　to　emphasize　this　for　me；　he　shook　his　head　m　that　deliberate　way　one　more　time；　then　lay　down　on　his　bunk　with　his　hands　clasped　under　his　left　cheek　like　a　pillow　and　his　face　to　the　wall。　His　legs　dangled　off　the　end　of　the　bunk　from　the　shins　on　down；　but　that　never　seemed　to　bother　him。　The　back　of　his　shirt　had　pulled　up；　and　I　could　see　the　scars　that　crisscrossed　his　skin。　
I　left　the　cell；　turned　the　locks；　then　faced　Delacroix；　who　was　standing　across　the　way　with　his　hands　wrapped　around　the　bars　of　his　cell；　looking　at　me　anxiously。　Perhaps　even　fearfully。　Mr。　Jingles　perched　on　his　shoulder　with　his　fine　ents。　〃What　dat　darkie…man　do　to　you？〃　Delacroix　asked。　〃Waddit　gris…gris？　He　th'ow　some　gris…gris　on　you？〃　Spoken　in　that　Cajun　accent　of　his；　gris…gris　rhymed　with　pee…pee。　
〃I　don't　know　what　you're　talking　about；　Del。〃　
〃Devil　you　don't！　Lookit　you！　All　change！　Even　walk　different；　boss！〃　
I　probably　was　walking　different；　at　that。　There　was　a　beautiful　feeling　of　calm　in　my　groin；　a　sense　of　peace　so　remarkable　it　was　almost　eestasy　…　anyone　who's　suffered　bad　pain　and　then　recovered　will　know　what　I'm　talking　about。　
〃Everything's　all　right；　Del；〃　I　insisted。　〃John　Coffey　had　a　nightmare；　that's　all。〃　
〃He　a　gris…gris　man！〃　Delacroix　said　vehemently。　There　was　a　nestle　of　sweat…beads　on　his　upper　lip。　He　hadn't　seen　much；　just　enough　to　scare　him　half　to　death。　〃He　a　hoodoo　man！〃　
〃What　makes　you　say　that？〃　
Delacroix　reached　up　and　took　the　mouse　in　one　hand。　He　cupped　it　in　his　palm　and　lifted　it　to　his　face。　From　his　pocket；　Delacroix　took　out　a　pink　fragment　…　one　of　those　peppermint　candies。　He　held　it　out；　but　at　first　the　mouse　ignored　it；　stretching　out　its　neck　toward　the　man　instead；　sniffing　at　his　breath　the　way　a　person　might　sniff　at　a　bouquet　of　flowers。　Its　little　oildrop　eyes　slitted　most　of　the　way　closed　in　an　expression　that　looked　like　ecstasy。　Delacroix　kissed　its　nose；　and　the　mouse　allowed　its　nose　to　be　kissed。　Then　it　took　the　offered　piece　of　candy　and　began　to　munch　it。　Delacroix　looked　at　it　a　moment　longer；　then　looked　at　me。　All　at　once　I　got　it。　
〃The　mouse　told　you；〃　I　said。　〃Am　I　right？〃　
〃Oui。〃　
〃Like　he　whispered　his　name　to　you。〃　
〃Oui；　in　my　ear　he　whisper　it。〃　
〃Lie　down；　Del；〃　I　said。　〃Have　you　a　little　rest。　All　that　whispering　back　and　forth　must　wear　you　out。〃　
He　said　something　else…accused　me　of　not　believing　him；　I　suppose。　His　voice　seemed　to　be　ing　from　a　long　way　off　again。　And　when　I　went　back　up　to　the　duty　desk；　I　hardly　seemed　to　be　walking　at　all　…　it　was　more　like　I　was　floating；　or　maybe　not　even　moving；　the　cells　just　rolling　past　me　on　either　side；　movie　props　on　hidden　wheels。　
I　started　to　sit　like　normal；　but　halfway　into　it　my　knees　unlocked　and　I　dropped　onto　the　blue　cushion　Harry　had　brought　from　home　the　year　before　and　plopped　onto　the　seat　of　the　chair。　If　the　chair　hadn't　been　there；　I　reckon　I　would　have　plopped　straight　to　the　floor　without　passing　Go　or　collecting　two　hundred　dollars。　
I　sat　there；　feeling　the　nothing　in　my　groin　where　a　forest　fire　had　been　blazing　not　ten　minutes　before。　I　helped　it；　didn't　I？　John　Coffey　had　said；　and　that　was　true；　as　far　as　my　body　went。　My　peace　of　mind　was　a　different　story；　though。　That　he　hadn't　helped　at　all。　
My　eyes　fell　on　the　stack　of　forms　under　the　tin　ashtray　we　kept　on　the　corner　of　the　desk。　BLOCK　REPORT　was　printed　at　the　top；　and　about　halfway　down　was　a　blank　space　headed　Report　All　Unusual　Occurrences。　I　would　use　that　space　in　tonight's　report；　telling　the　story　of　William　Wharton's　colorful　and　action…packed　arrival。　But　suppose　I　also　told　what　had　happened　to　me　in　John　Coffey's　cell？　I　saw　myself　picking　up　the　pencil　…　the　one　whose　tip　Brutal　was　always　licking　…　and　writing　a　single　word　in　big　capital　letters：　MIRACLE。　
That　should　have　been　funny；　but　instead　of　smiling；　all　at　once　I　felt　sure　that　I　was　going　to　cry　I　put　my　hands　to　my　face；　palms　against　my　mouth　to　stifle　the　sobs　…　I　didn't　want　to　scare　Del　again　just　when　he　was　starting　to　get　settled　down　…　but　no　sobs　came。　No　tears；　either。　After　a　few　moments　I　lowered　my　hands　back　to　the　desk　and　folded　them。　I　didn't　know　what　I　was　feeling；　and　the　only　clear　thought　in　my　head　was　a　wish　that　no　one　should　e　back　onto　the　block　until　I　was　a　little　more　in　control　of　myself。　I　was　afraid　of　what　they　might　see　in　my　face。　
I　drew　a　Block　Report　form　toward　me。　I　would　wait　until　I　had　settled　down　a　bit　more　to　write　about　how　my　latest　problem　child　had　almost　strangled　Dean　Stanton；　but　I　could　fill　out　the　rest　of　the　boilerplate　foolishness　in　the　meantime。　I　thought　my　handwriting　might　look　funny　…　trembly　…　but　it　came　out　about　the　same　as　always。　
About　five　minutes　after　I　started；　I　put　the　pencil　down　and　went　into　the　W。C。　adjacent　to　my　office　to　take　a　leak。　I　didn't　need　to　go　very　bad；　but　I　could　manage　enough　to　test　what　had　happened　to　me；　I　thought。　As　I　stood　there；　waiting　for　my　water　to　flow；　I　became　sure　that　it　would　hurt　just　the　way　it　had　that　morning；　as　if　I　were　passing　tiny　shards　of　broken　glass；　what　he'd　done　to　me　would　turn　out　to　be　only　hypnosis；　after　all；　and　that　might　be　a　relief　in　spite　of　the　pain。　
Except　there　was　no　pain；　and　what　went　into　the　bowl　was　clear；　with　no　sign　of　pus。　I　buttoned　my　fly；　pulled　the　chain　that　flushed　the　mode；　went　back　to　the　duty　desk；　and　sat　down　again。　
I　knew　what　had　happened；　I　suppose　I　knew　even　when　I　was　trying　to　tell　myself　I'd　been　hypnotized。　I'd　experienced　a　healing；　an　authentic　Praise　Jesus；　The　Lord　Is　Mighty。　As　a　boy　who'd　grown　up　going　to　whatever　Baptist　or　Pentecostal　church　my　mother　and　her　sisters　happened　to　be　in　favor　of　during　any　given　month；　I　had　heard　plenty　of　Praise　Jesus；　The　Lord　Is　Mighty　miracle　stories。　I　didn't　believe　all　of　them；　but　there　were　plenty　of　people　I　did　believe。　One　of　these　was　a　man　named　Roy　Delfines；　who　lived　with　his　family　about　two　miles　down　the　road　from　us　when　I　was　six　or　so。　Delfines　had　chopped　his　son's　little　finger　off　with　a　hatchet；　an　accident　which　had　occurred　when　the　boy　unexpectedly　moved　his　hand　on　a　log　he'd　been　holding　on　the　backyard　chopping　block　for　his　dad。　Roy　Delfines　said　he　had　practically　worn　out　the　carpet　with　his　knees　that　fall　and　winter；　and　in　the　spring　the　boy's　finger　had　grown　back。　Even　the　nail　had　grown　back。　I　believed　Roy　Delfines　when　he　testified　at　Thursday…night　rejoicing。　There　was　a　naked；　unplicated　honesty　in　what　he　said　as　he　stood　there　talking　with　his　hands　jammed　deep　into　the　pockets　of　his　biballs　that　was　impossible　not　to　believe。　〃It　itch　him　some　when　thet　finger　started　ing；　kep　him　awake　nights；〃　Roy　Delfines　said；　〃but　he　knowed　it　was　the　Lord's　itch　and　let　it　be。〃　Praise　Jesus；　The　Lord　Is　Mighty。　
Roy　Delfines's　story　was　only　one　of　many；　I　grew　up　in　a　tradition　of　miracles　and　healings。　I　grew　up　believing　in　gris…gris；　as　well　（only；　up　in　the　hills　w