绿里奇迹(英文版)-第40部分

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her　head？　Like　it　was　a　。。。　a　peach…pit？〃　
〃I　think　he　could。　It's　not　for　sure；　of　course；　but　after　what　he　did　to　me　。。。　and　to　Mr。　Jingles　。　。　。〃　
〃That　mouse　was　seriously　busted　up；　all　right；〃　Brutal　said。　
〃But　would　he　do　it？〃　Harry　mused。　〃Would　he？〃　
〃If　he　can；　he　will；〃　I　said。　
〃Why？　Coffey　doesn't　even　know　her！〃　
〃Because　it's　what　he　does。　It's　what　God　made　him　for。〃　
Brutal　made　a　show　of　looking　around；　reminding　us　all　that　someone　was　missing。　〃What　about　Percy？　You　think　he's　just　gonna　let　this　go　down？〃　he　asked；　and　so　I　told　them　what　I　had　in　mind　for　Percy　By　the　time　I　finished；　Harry　and　Dean　were　looking　at　me　in　amazement；　and　a　reluctant　grin　of　admiration　had　dawned　on　Brutal's　face。　
〃Pretty　audacious；　Brother　Paul！〃　he　said。　〃Fair　takes　my　breath　away！〃　
〃But　wouldn't　it　be　the　bee's　knees！〃　Dean　almost　whispered；　then　laughed　aloud　and　clapped　his　hands　like　a　child。　〃I　mean；　voh…doh…dee…oh…doh　and　twenty…three…skidoo！〃　You　want　to　remember　that　Dean　had　a　special　interest　in　the　part　of　my　plan　that　involved　Percy　…　Percy　…　Percy　could　have　gotten　Dean　killed；　after　all；　freezing　up　the　way　he　had。　
〃Yeah；　but　what　about　after？〃　Harry　said。　He　sounded　gloomy；　but　his　eyes　gave　him　away；　they　were　sparkling；　the　eyes　of　a　man　who　wants　to　be　convinced。　〃What　then？〃　
〃They　say　dead　men　tell　no　tales；〃　Brutal　rumbled；　and　I　took　a　quick　look　at　him　to　make　sure　he　was　joking。　
〃I　think　he'll　keep　his　mouth　shut；〃　I　said。　
〃Really？〃　Dean　looked　skeptical。　He　took　off　his　glasses　and　began　to　polish　them。　〃Convince　me。〃　
〃First；　he　won't　know　what　really　happened　…　he's　going　to　judge　us　by　himself　and　think　it　was　just　a　prank。　Second　…　and　more　important　…　he'll　be　afraid　to　say　anything。　That's　what　I'm　really　counting　on。　We　tell　him　that　if　he　starts　writing　letters　and　making　phone　calls；　we　start　writing　letters　and　making　phone　calls。〃　
〃About　the　execution；〃　Harry　said。　
〃And　about　the　way　he　froze　when　Wharton　attacked　Dean；〃　Brutal　said。　〃I　think　people　finding　out　about　that　is　what　Percy　Wetmore's　really　afraid　of。〃　He　nodded　slowly　and　thoughtfully。　〃It　could　work。　But　Paul。。。　wouldn't　it　make　more　sense　to　bring　Mrs。　Moores　to　Coffey　than　Coffey　to　Mrs。　Moores？　We　could　take　care　of　Percy　pretty　much　the　way　you　laid　it　out；　then　bring　her　in　through　the　tunnel　instead　of　taking　Coffey　out　that　way。〃　
I　shook　my　head。　〃Never　happen。　Not　in　a　million　years。〃　
〃Because　of　Warden　Moores？〃　
〃Mat's　right。　He's　so　hardheaded　he　makes　old　Doubting　Thomas　look　like　Joan　of　Arc。　If　we　bring　Coffey　to　his　house；　I　think　we　can　surprise　him　into　at　least　letting　Coffey　make　the　try。　Otherwise。。。〃　
〃What　were　you　thinking　about　using　for　a　vehicle？〃　Brutal　asked。　
〃My　first　thought　was　the　stagecoach；〃　I　said；　〃but　we'd　never　get　it　out　of　the　yard　without　being　noticed；　and　everyone　within　a　twenty…mile　radius　knows　what　it　looks　like；　anyway。　I　guess　maybe　we　can　use　my　Ford。〃　
〃Guess　again；〃　Dean　said；　popping　his　specs　back　onto　his　nose。　〃You　couldn't　get　John　Coffey　into　your　car　if　you　stripped　him　naked；　covered　him　with　lard；　and　used　a　shoehorn。　You're　so　used　to　looking　at　him　that　you've　forgotten　how　big　he　is。〃　
I　had　no　reply　to　that。　Most　of　my　attention　that　morning　had　been　focused　on　the　problem　of　Percy　…　and　the　lesser　but　not　inconsiderable　problem　of　Wild　Bill　Wharton。　Now　I　realized　that　transportation　wasn't　going　to　be　as　simple　as　I　had　hoped。　
Harry　Terwilliger　picked　up　the　remains　of　his　second　sandwich；　looked　at　it　for　a　second；　then　put　it　down　again。　〃If　we　was　to　actually　do　this　crazy　thing；〃　he　said；　〃I　guess　we　could　use　my　pickup　truck。　Sit　him　in　the　back　of　that。　Wouldn't　be　nobody　much　on　the　roads　at　that　hour。　We're　talking　about　well　after　midnight；　ain't　we？〃　
〃Yes；〃　I　said。　
〃You　guys're　forgetting　one　thing；〃　Dean　said。　〃I　know　Coffey's　been　pretty　quiet　ever　since　he　came　on　the　block；　doesn't　do　much　but　lay　there　on　his　bunk　and　leak　from　the　eyes；　but　he's　a　murderer。　Also；　he's　huge。　If　he　decided　he　wanted　to　escape　out　of　the　back　of　Harry's　truck；　the　only　way　we　could　stop　him　would　be　to　shoot　him　dead。　And　a　guy　like　that　would　take　a　lot　of　killing；　even　with　a　。45。　Suppose　we　weren't　able　to　put　him　down？　And　suppose　he　killed　someone　else？　I'd　hate　losing　my　job；　and　I'd　hate　going　to　jail　…　I　got　a　wife　and　kids　depending　on　me　to　put　bread　in　their　mouths　…　but　I　don't　think　I'd　hate　either　of　those　things　near　as　much　as　having　another　dead　little　girl　on　my　conscience。〃　
〃That　won't　happen；〃　I　said。　
〃How　in　God's　name　can　you　be　so　sure　of　that？〃　
I　didn't　answer。　I　didn't　know　just　how　to　begin。　I　had　known　this　would　e　up；　of　course　I　did；　but　I　still　didn't　know　how　to　start　telling　them　what　I　knew。　Brutal　helped　me。　
〃You　don't　think　he　did　it；　do　you；　Paul？〃　He　looked　incredulous。　〃You　think　that　big　lug　is　innocent。〃　
〃I'm　positive　he's　innocent；〃　I　said。　
〃How　in　the　name　of　Jesus　can　you　be？〃　
〃There　are　two　things；〃　I　said。　〃One　of　them　is　my　shoe。〃　I　leaned　forward　over　the　table　and　began　talking。　


Part　Five：
Night　Journey　
1。　
Mr。　H。　G。　Wells　once　wrote　a　story　about　a　man　who　invented　a　time　machine；　and　I　have　discovered　that；　in　the　writing　of　these　memoirs；　I　have　created　my　own　time　machine。　Unlike　Wells's；　it　can　only　travel　into　the　past　…　back　to　1932；　as　a　matter　of　fact；　when　I　was　the　bull…goose　screw　in　E　Block　of　Cold　Mountain　State　Penitentiary　…　but　it's　eerily　efficient；　for　all　that。　Still；　this　time　machine　reminds　me　of　the　old　Ford　I　had　in　those　days：　you　could　be　sure　that　it　would　start　eventually；　but　you　never　knew　if　a　turn　of　the　key　would　be　enough　to　fire　the　motor；　or　if　you　were　going　to　have　to　get　out　and　crank　until　your　arm　practically　fell　off。　
I've　had　a　lot　of　easy　starts　since　I　started　telling　the　story　of　John　Coffey；　but　yesterday　I　had　to　crank。　I　think　it　was　because　I'd　gotten　to　Delacroix's　execution；　and　part　of　my　mind　didn't　want　to　have　to　relive　that。　It　was　a　bad　death；　a　terrible　death；　and　it　happened　the　way　it　did　because　of　Percy　Wetmore；　a　young　man　who　loved　to　b　his　hair　but　couldn't　stand　to　be　laughed　at　…　not　even　by　a　half　bald　little　Frenchman　who　was　never　going　to　see　another　Christmas。　
As　with　most　dirty　jobs；　however；　the　hardest　part　is　just　getting　started。　It　doesn't　matter　to　an　engine　whether　you　use　the　key　or　have　to　crank；　once　you　get　it　going；　it'll　usually　run　just　as　sweet　either　way。　That's　how　it　worked　for　me　yesterday。　At　first　the　words　came　in　little　bursts　of　phrasing；　then　in　whole　sentences；　then　in　a　torrent。　Writing　is　a　special　and　rather　terrifying　form　of　remembrance；　I've　discovered　…　there　is　a　totality　to　it　that　seems　almost　like　rape。　Perhaps　I　only　feel　that　way　because　I've　bee　a　very　old　man　（a　thing　that　happened　behind　my　own　back；　I　sometimes　feel）；　but　I　don't　think　so。　I　believe　that　the　bination　of　pencil　and　memory　creates　a　kind　of　practical　magic；　and　magic　is　dangerous。　As　a　man　who　knew　John　Coffey　and　saw　what　he　could　do　…　to　mice　and　to　men　…　l　feel　very　qualified　to　say　that。　
Magic　is　dangerous。　
In　any　case；　I　wrote　all　day　yesterday；　the　words　simply　flooding　out　of　me；　the　sunroom　of　this　glorified　old　folks'　home　gone；　replaced　by　the　storage　room　at　the　end　of　the　Green　Mile　where　so　many　of　my　problem　children　took　their　last　sit…me…downs　and　the　bottom　of　the　stairs　which　led　to　the　tunnel　under　the　road。　That　was　where　Dean　and　Harry　and　Brutal　and　I　confronted　Percy　Wetmore　over　Eduard　Delacroix's　smoking　body　and　made　Percy　renew　his　promise　to　put　in　for　transfer　to　the　Briar　Ridge　state　mental　facility。　
There　are　always　fresh　flowers　in　the　sunroom；　but　by　noon　yesterday　all　I　could　smell　was　the　noxious　aroma　of　the　dead　man's　cooked　flesh。　The　sound　of　the　power　mower　on　the　lawn　down　below　had　been　replaced　by　the　hollow　plink　of　dripping　water　as　it　seeped　slowly　through　the　tunnel's　curved　roof。　The　trip　was　on。　I　had　travelled　back　to　1932；　in　soul　and　mind；　if　not　body。　
I　skipped　lunch；　wrote　until　four　o'clock　or　so；　and　when　I　finally　put　my　pencil　down；　my　hand　was　aching。　I　walked　slowly　down　to　the　end　of　the　second…floor　corridor。　There's　a　window　there　that　looks　out　on　the　employee　parking　lot。　Brad　Dolan；　the　orderly　who　reminds　me　of　Percy　…　and　the　one　who　is　altogether　too　curious　about　where　I　go　and　what　I　do　on　my　walks　…　drives　an　old　Chevrolet　with　a　bumper　sticker　that　says　I　HAVE　SEEN　GOD　AND　HIS　NAME　IS　NEWT。　It　was　gone；　Brad's　shift　was　over　and　he'd　taken　himself　off　to　whatever　garden　spot　he　calls　home。　I　envision　an　Airstream　trailer　with　Hustler　gatefolds　Scotch…taped　to　the　walls　and　Dixie　Beer　cans　in　the　corners。　
I　went　out　through　the　kitchen；　where　dinner　preparations　were　getting　started。　〃What　you　got　in　that　bag；　Mr。　Edgebe？〃　Norton　asked　me。　
〃It's　an　empty　bottle；〃　I　said。　〃I've　discovered　the　Fountain　of　Youth　down　there　in　the　woods。　I　pop　down　every　afternoon　about　this　time　and　draw　a　little。　I　drink　it　at　bedtime。　Good　stuff；　I　can　tell　you。〃　
〃May　be　keepin　you　young；〃　said　George；　the　other　cook；　〃but　it　ain't　doin　shit　for　your　looks。…〃　
We　all　had　a　laugh　at　that；　and　I　went　out。　I　found　myself　looking　around　for　Dolan　even　though　his　car　was　gone；　called　myself　a　chump　for　letting　him　get　so　far　under　my　skin；　and　crossed　the　croquet　course。　Beyond　it　is　a　scraggy　little　putting　green　that　looks　ever　so　much　nicer　in　the　Georgia　Pines　brochures；　and　beyond　that　is　a　path　that　winds　into　the　little　copse　of　woods　east　of　the　nursing　home。　There　are　a　couple　of　old　sheds　along　this　path；　neither　of　them　used　for　anything　these　days。　At　the　second；　which　stands　close　to　the　high　stone　wall　between　the　Georgia　Pines　grounds　and　Georgia　Highway　47；　I　went　in　and　stayed　for　a　little　while。　
I　ate　a　good　dinner　that　night；　watched　a　little　TV；　and　went　to　bed　early。　On　many　nights　I'll　wake　up　and　creep　back　down　to　the　TV　room；　where　I　watch　old　movies　on　the　American　Movie　Channel。　Not　last　night；　though；　last　night　I　slept　like　a　stone；　and　with　none　of　the　dreams　that　have　so　haunted　me　since　I　started　my　adventures　in　literature。　All　that　writing　must　have　worn　me　out；　I'm　not　as　young　as　I　used　to　be；　you　know。　
When　I　woke　and　saw　that　the　patch　of　sun　which　usually　lies　on　the　floor　at　six　in　the　morning　had　made　it　all　the　way　up　to　the　foot　of　my　bed；　I　hit　the　deck　in　a　hurry；　so　alarmed　I　hardly　noticed　the　arthritic　flare　of　pain　in　my　hips　and　knees　and　ankles。　I　dressed　as　fast　as　I　could；　then　hurried　down　the　hall　to　the　window　that　overlooks　the　employees'　parking　lot；　hoping　the　slot　where　Dolan　parks　his　old　Chevrolet　would　still　be　empty。　Sometimes　he's　as　much　as　half　an　hour　late　…　
No　such　luck。　The　car　was　there；　gleaming　rustily　in　the　morning　sun。　Because　Mr。　Brad　Dolan　has　something　to　arrive　on　time　for　these　days；　doesn't　he？　Yes。　Old　Paulie　Edgebe　goes　somewhere　in　the　early　mornings；　old　Paulie　Edgebe　is　up　to　something；　and　Mr。　Brad　Dolan　intends　to　find　out　what　it　is。　What　do　you　do　down　there；　Paulie？　Tell　me。　He　would　likely　be　watching　for　me　already。　It　would　be　smart　to　stay　right　where　I　was　。。。　except　I　cou