绿里奇迹(英文版)-第47部分

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He　walked　around　the　hood　of　the　truck；　still　muttering；　and　Brutal　tipped　me　a　wink。　As　far　as　Coffey　was　concerned；　we　had　ceased　to　exist。　His　head　was　tilted　back　and　he　was　drinking　in　the　sight　of　the　stars　sprawling　across　the　sky。　
〃I'll　ride　in　back　with　him；　if　you　want；〃　Brutal　offered。　Behind　us；　the　Farmall's　starter　whined　briefly；　sounding　like　an　old　dog　trying　to　find　its　feet　on　a　cold　winter　morning；　then　the　engine　exploded　into　life。　Harry　raced　it　once　and　let　it　settle　into　a　ragged　idle。　〃No　need　for　both　of　us　to　do　it。〃　
〃Get　up　front；〃　I　said。　〃You　can　ride　with　him　on　the　return　trip。　If　we　don't　end　up　making　that　one　locked　into　the　back　of　our　own　stagecoach；　that　is。〃　
〃Don't　talk　that　way；〃　he　said；　looking　genuinely　upset。　It　was　as　if　he　had　realized　for　the　first　time　how　serious　this　would　be　for　us　if　we　were　caught。　〃Christ；　Paul！〃　
〃Go　on；〃　I　said。　〃In　the　cab。〃　
He　did　as　he　was　told。　I　yanked　on　John　Coffey's　arm　until　I　could　get　his　attention　back　to　earth　for　a　bit；　then　led　him　around　to　the　rear　of　the　truck；　which　was　stake…sided。　Harry　had　draped　canvas　over　the　posts；　and　that　would　be　of　some　help　if　we　passed　cars　or　trucks　going　the　other　way。　He　hadn't　been　able　to　do　anything　about　the　open　back；　though。　
〃Upsy…daisy；　big　boy；〃　I　said。　
〃Goin　for　the　ride　now？〃　
〃That's　right。〃　
〃Good。〃　He　smiled。　It　was　sweet　and　lovely；　that　smile；　perhaps　the　more　so　because　it　wasn't　plicated　by　much　in　the　way　of　thought。　He　got　up　in　back。　I　followed　him；　went　to　the　front　of　the　truckbed；　and　banged　on　top　of　the　cab。　Harry　ground　the　transmission　into　first　and　the　truck　pulled　out　of　the　little　bower　he　had　hidden　it　in；　shaking　and　juddering。　
John　Coffey　stood　spread…legged　in　the　middle　of　the　truckbed　head　cocked　up　at　the　stars　again；　smiling　broadly；　unmindful　of　the　boughs　that　whipped　at　him　as　Harry　turned　his　truck　toward　the　highway。　〃Look；　boss！〃　he　cried　in　a　low；　rapturous　voice；　pointing　up　into　the　black　night。　〃It's　Cassie；　the　lady　in　the　rockin　chair！〃　
He　was　right；　I　could　see　her　in　the　lane　of　stars　between　the　dark　bulk　of　the　passing　trees。　But　it　wasn't　Cassiopeia　I　thought　of　when　he　spoke　of　the　lady　in　the　rocking　chair；　it　was　Melinda　Moores。　
〃I　see　her；　John；〃　I　said；　and　tugged　on　his　arm。　〃But　you　have　to　sit　down　now；　all　right？〃　
He　sat　with　his　back　against　the　cab；　never　taking　his　eyes　off　the　night　sky。　On　his　face　was　a　look　of　sublime　unthinking　happiness。　The　Green　Mile　fell　farther　behind　us　with　each　revolution　of　the　Farmall's　bald　tires；　and　for　the　time　being；　at　least；　the　seemingly　endless　flow　of　John　Coffey's　tears　had　stopped。　
7。　
It　was　twenty…five　miles　to　Hal　Moores's　house　on　Chimney　Ridge；　and　in　Harry　Terwilliger's　slow　and　rattly　farm　truck；　the　trip　took　over　an　hour。　It　was　an　eerie　ride；　and　although　it　seems　to　me　now　that　every　moment　of　it　is　still　etched　in　my　memory　…　every　turn；　every　bump；　every　dip；　the　scary　times　（two　of　them）　when　trucks　passed　us　going　the　other　way　…　I　don't　think　I　could　e　even　close　to　describing　how　I　felt；　sitting　back　there　with　John　Coffey；　both　of　us　bundled　up　like　Indians　in　the　old　blankets　Harry　had　been　thoughtful　enough　to　bring　along。　
It　was；　most　of　all；　a　sense　of　lostness　…　the　deep　and　terrible　ache　a　child　feels　when　he　realizes　he　has　gone　wrong　somewhere；　all　the　landmarks　are　strange；　and　he　no　longer　knows　how　to　find　his　way　home。　I　was　out　in　the　night　with　a　prisoner　…　not　just　any　prisoner；　but　one　who　had　been　tried　and　convicted　for　the　murder　of　two　little　girls；　and　sentenced　to　die　for　the　crime。　My　belief　that　he　was　innocent　wouldn't　matter　if　we　were　caught；　we　would　go　to　jail　ourselves；　and　probably　Dean　Stanton　would；　too。　I　had　thrown　over　a　life　of　work　and　belief　because　of　one　bad　execution　and　because　I　believed　the　overgrown　lummox　sitting　beside　me　might　be　able　to　cure　a　woman's　inoperable　brain　tumor。　Yet　watching　john　watch　the　stars；　I　realized　with　dismay　that　I　no　longer　did　believe　that；　if　I　ever　really　had；　my　urinary　infection　seemed　faraway　and　unimportant　now；　as　such　harsh　and　painful　things　always　do　once　they　are　past　（if　a　woman　could　really　remember　how　bad　it　hurt　to　have　her　first　baby；　my　mother　once　said；　she'd　never　have　a　second）。　As　for　Mr。　Jingles；　wasn't　it　possible；　even　likely；　that　we　had　been　wrong　about　how　badly　Percy　had　hurt　him？　Or　that　John　…　who　really　did　have　some　kind　of　hypnotic　power；　there　was　no　doubt　of　that　much；　at　least　…　had　somehow　fooled　us　into　thinking　we'd　seen　something　we　hadn't　seen　at　all？　Then　there　was　the　matter　of　Hal　Moores。　On　the　day　I'd　surprised　him　in　his　office；　I'd　encountered　a　palsied；　weepy　old　man。　But　I　didn't　think　that　was　the　truest　side　of　the　warden。　I　thought　the　real　Warden　Moores　was　the　man　who'd　once　broken　the　wrist　of　a　skatehound　who　tried　to　stab　him；　the　man　who　had　pointed　out　to　me　with　cynical　accuracy　that　Delacroix's　nuts　were　going　to　cook　no　matter　who　was　out　front　on　the　execution　team。　Did　I　think　that　Hal　Moores　would　stand　meekly　aside　and　let　us　bring　a　convicted　child…murderer　into　his　house　to　lay　hands　on　his　wife？　
My　doubt　grew　like　a　sickness　as　we　rode　along。　I　simply　did　not　understand　why　I　had　done　the　things　I　had；　or　why　I'd　persuaded　the　others　to　go　along　with　me　on　this　crazy　night　journey；　and　I　did　not　believe　we　had　a　chance　of　getting　away　with　it　…　not　a　hound's　chance　of　heaven；　as　the　oldtimers　used　to　say。　Yet　I　made　no　effort　to　cry　it　off；　either；　which　I　might　have　been　able　to　do；　things　wouldn't　pass　irrevocably　out　of　our　hands　until　we　showed　up　at　Moores's　house。　Something　…　I　think　it　might　have　been　no　more　than　the　waves　of　exhilaration　ing　off　the　giant　sitting　next　to　me　…　kept　me　from　hammering　on　top　of　the　cab　and　yelling　at　Harry　to　turn　around　and　go　back　to　the　prison　while　there　was　still　time。　
Such　was　my　frame　of　mind　as　we　passed　off　the　highway　and　onto　County　5；　and　from　County　5　onto　Chimney　Ridge　Road。　Some　fifteen　minutes　after　that；　I　saw　the　shape　of　a　roof　blotting　out　the　stars　and　knew　we　had　arrived。　
Harry　shifted　down　from　second　to　low　（I　think　he　only　made　it　all　the　way　into　top　gear　once　during　the　whole　trip）。　The　engine　lugged；　sending　a　shudder　through　the　whole　truck；　as　if　it；　too；　dreaded　what　now　lay　directly　ahead　of　us。　
Harry　swung　into　Moores's　gravelled　driveway　and　parked　the　grumbling　truck　behind　the　warden's　sensible　black　Buick。　Ahead　and　slightly　to　our　right　was　a　neat…as…a…pin　house　in　the　style　which　I　believe　is　called　Cape　Cod。　That　sort　of　house　should　have　looked　out　of　place　in　our　ridge　country；　perhaps；　but　it　didn't。　The　moon　had　e　up；　its　grin　a　little　fatter　this　morning；　and　by　its　light　I　could　see　that　the　yard；　always　so　beautifully　kept；　now　looked　uncared　for。　It　was　just　leaves；　mostly；　that　hadn't　been　raked　away。　Under　normal　circumstances　that　would　have　been　Melly's　job；　but　Melly　hadn't　been　up　to　any　leaf…raking　this　fall；　and　she　would　never　see　the　leaves　fall　again。　That　was　the　truth　of　the　matter；　and　I　had　been　mad　to　think　this　vacant…eyed　idiot　could　change　it。　
Maybe　it　still　wasn't　too　late　to　save　ourselves；　though。　I　made　as　if　to　get　up；　the　blanket　I'd　been　wearing　slipping　off　my　shoulders。　I　would　lean　over；　tap　on　the　driver's…side　window；　tell　Harry　to　get　the　hell　out　before　…　
John　Coffey　grabbed　my　forearm　in　one　of　his　hamhock　fists；　pulling　me　back　down　as　effortlessly　as　I　might　have　done　to　a　toddler。　〃Look；　boss；〃　he　said；　pointing。　〃Someone's　up。〃　
I　followed　the　direction　of　his　finger　and　felt　a　sinking　…　not　just　of　the　belly；　but　of　the　heart。　There　was　a　spark　of　light　in　one　of　the　back　windows。　The　room　where　Melinda　now　spent　her　days　and　nights；　most　likely；　she　would　be　no　more　capable　of　using　the　stairs　than　she　would　of　going　out　to　rake　the　leaves　which　had　fallen　during　the　recent　storm。　
They'd　heard　the　truck；　of　course　…　Harry　Terwilliger's　goddam　Farmall；　its　engine　bellowing　and　farting　down　the　length　of　an　exhaust　pipe　unencumbered　by　anything　so　frivolous　as　a　muffler。　Hell；　the　Mooreses　probably　weren't　sleeping　that　well　these　nights；　anyway。　
A　light　closer　to　the　front　of　the　house　went　on　（the　kitchen）；　then　the　living…room　overhead；　then　the　one　in　the　front　hall；　then　the　one　over　the　stoop。　I　watched　these　forward…marching　lights　the　way　a　man　standing　against　a　cement　wall　and　smoking　his　last　cigarette　might　watch　the　lockstep　approach　of　the　firing　squad。　Yet　I　did　not　entirely　acknowledge　to　myself　even　then　that　it　was　too　late　until　the　uneven　chop　of　the　Farmall's　engine　faded　into　silence；　and　the　doors　creaked；　and　the　gravel　crunched　as　Harry　and　Brutal　got　out。　
John　was　up；　pulling　me　with　him。　In　the　dim　light；　his　face　looked　lively　and　eager。　Why　not？　I　remember　thinking。　Why　shouldn't　he　look　eager？　He's　a　fool。　
Brutal　and　Harry　were　standing　shoulder　to　shoulder　at　the　foot　of　the　truck；　like　kids　in　a　thunderstorm；　and　I　saw　that　both　of　them　looked　as　scared；　confused；　and　uneasy　as　I　felt。　That　made　me　feel　even　worse。　
John　got　down。　For　him　it　was　more　of　a　step　than　a　jump。　I　followed；　stiff…legged　and　miserable。　I　would　have　sprawled　on　the　cold　gravel　if　he　hadn't　caught　me　by　the　arm。　
〃This　is　a　mistake；〃　Brutal　said　in　a　hissy　little　voice。　His　eyes　were　very　wide　and　very　frightened。　〃Christ　Almighty；　Paul；　what　were　we　thinking？〃　
〃Too　late　now；〃　I　said。　I　pushed　one　of　Coffey's　hips；　and　he　went　obediently　enough　to　stand　beside　Harry。　Then　I　grabbed　Brutal's　elbow　like　this　was　a　date　we　were　on　and　got　the　two　of　us　walking　toward　the　stoop　where　that　light　was　now　burning。　〃Let　me　do　the　talking。　Understand？〃　
〃Yeah；〃　Brutal　said。　〃Right　now　that's　just　about　the　only　thing　I　do　understand。〃　
I　looked　back　over　my　shoulder。　〃Harry；　stay　by　the　truck　with　him　until　I　call　for　you。　I　don't　want　Moores　to　see　him　until　I'm　ready。〃　Except　I　was　never　going　to　be　ready。　I　knew　that　now。　
Brutal　and　I　had　just　reached　the　foot　of　the　steps　when　the　front　door　was　hauled　open　hard　enough　to　flap　the　brass　knocker　against　its　plate。　There　stood　Hal　Moores　in　blue　pajama　pants　and　a　strapstyle　tee…shirt；　his　iron…gray　hair　standing　up　in　tufts　and　twists。　He　was　a　man　who　had　made　a　thousand　enemies　over　the　course　of　his　career；　and　he　knew　it。　Clasped　in　his　right　hand；　the　abnormally　long　barrel　not　quite　pointing　at　the　floor；　was　the　pistol　which　had　always　been　mounted　over　the　mantel。　It　was　the　sort　of　gun　known　as　a　Ned　Buntline　Special；　it　had　been　his　grandfather's；　and　right　then　（I　saw　this　with　a　further　sinking　in　my　gut）　it　was　fully　cocked。　
〃Who　the　hell　goes　there　at　two…thirty　in　the　goddam　morning？〃　he　asked。　I　heard　no　fear　at　all　in　his　voice。　And　…for　the　time　being；　at　least　…　his　shakes　had　stopped。　The　hand　holding　the　gun　was　as　steady　as　a　stone。　〃Answer　me；　or　…　〃　The　barrel　of　the　gun　began　to　rise。　
〃Stop　it；　Warden！〃　Brutal　raised　his　hands；　palms　out；　toward　the　man　with　the　gun。　I　have　never　heard　his　voice　sound　the　way　it　did　then；　it　was　as　if　the　shakes　turned　out　of　Moores's　hands　had　somehow　found　their　way　into　Brutus　Howell's　throat。　〃It's　us！　It's　Paul　and　me　a