绿里奇迹(英文版)-第74章

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John's　eyes　turned　to　me。　I　saw　no　resignation　in　them；　no　hope　of　heaven；　no　dawning　peace。　How　I　would　love　to　tell　you　that　I　did。　How　I　would　love　to　tell　myself　that。　What　I　saw　was　fear；　misery；　inpletion；　and　inprehension。　They　were　the　eyes　of　a　trapped　and　terrified　animal。　I　thought　of　what　he'd　said　about　how　Wharton　had　gotten　Cora　and　Kathe　Detterick　off　the　porch　without　rousing　the　house：　He　kill　them　with　they　love。　That's　how　it　is　every　day。　All　over　the　world。　
Brutal　took　the　new　mask　from　its　brass　hook　on　the　back　of　the　chair；　but　as　soon　as　John　saw　it　and　understood　what　it　was；　his　eyes　widened　in　horror。　He　looked　at　me；　and　now　I　could　see　huge　droplets　of　sweat　standing　out　on　the　curve　of　his　naked　skull。　As　big　as　robin's　eggs；　they　looked。　
〃Please；　boss；　don't　put　that　thing　over　my　face；〃　he　said　in　a　moaning　little　whisper。　〃Please　don't　put　me　in　the　dark；　don't　make　me　go　into　the　dark；　I's　afraid　of　the　dark。〃　
Brutal　was　looking　at　me；　eyebrows　raised；　frozen　in　place；　the　mask　in　his　hands。　His　eyes　said　it　was　my　call；　he'd　go　either　way。　I　thought　as　fast　as　I　could　and　as　well　as　I　could　…hard　to　do；　with　my　head　pounding　the　way　it　was。　The　mask　was　tradition；　not　law。　It　was；　in　fact；　to　spare　the　witnesses。　And　suddenly　I　decided　that　they　did　not　need　to　be　spared；　not　this　once。　John　；　after　all；　hadn't　done　a　damned　thing　in　his　life　to　warrant　dying　under　a　mask。　They　didn't　know　that；　but　we　did；　and　I　decided　I　was　going　to　grant　this　last　request。　As　for　Marjorie　Detterick；　she'd　probably　send　me　a　thank…you　note。　
〃All　right；　John　；〃　I　murmured。　
Brutal　put　the　mask　back。　From　behind　us；　Homer　Cribus　called　out　indignantly　in　his　deep…dish　cracker　voice：　〃Say；　boy！　Put　that…air　mask　on　him！　Think　we　want　to　watch　his　eyes　pop？〃　
〃Be　quiet；　sir；〃　I　said　without　turning。　〃This　is　an　execution；　and　you're　not　in　charge　of　it。〃　
〃Any　more　than　you　were　in　charge　of　catching　him；　you　tub　of　guts；〃　Harry　whispered。　Harry　died　in　1982；　close　to　the　age　of　eighty。　An　old　man。　Not　in　my　league；　of　course；　but　few　are。　It　was　intestinal　cancer　of　some　kind。　
Brutal　bent　over　and　plucked　the　disk　of　sponge　out　of　its　bucket。　He　pressed　a　finger　into　it　and　licked　the　tip；　but　he　hardly　had　to；　I　could　see　the　ugly　brown　thing　dripping。　He　tucked　it　into　the　cap；　then　put　the　cap　on　John　's　head。　For　the　first　time　I　saw　that　Brutal　was　pale；　too　…　pasty　white；　on　the　verge　of　passing　out。　I　thought　of　him　saying　that　he　felt；　for　the　first　time　in　his　life；　that　he　was　in　danger　of　hell；　because　we　were　fixing　to　kill　a　gift　of　God。　I　felt　a　sudden　strong　need　to　retch。　I　controlled　it；　but　only　with　an　effort。　Water　from　the　sponge　was　dripping　down　the　sides　of　John　's　face。　
Dean　Stanton　ran　the　strap　…　let　out　to　its　maximum　length　on　this　occasion　…　across　John　's　chest　and　gave　it　to　me。　We　had　taken　such　pains　to　try　and　protect　Dean　on　the　night　of　our　trip；　because　of　his　kids；　never　knowing　that　he　had　less　than　four　months　to　live。　After　John　Coffey；　he　requested　and　received　a　transfer　away　from　Old　Sparky；　over　to　C　Block；　and　there　a　prisoner　stabbed　him　in　the　throat　with　a　shank　and　let　out　his　life's　blood　on　the　dirty　board　floor。　I　never　knew　why。　I　don't　think　anyone　ever　knew　why。　Old　Sparky　seems　such　a　thing　of　perversity　when　I　look　back　on　those　days；　such　a　deadly　bit　of　folly。　Fragile　as　blown　glass；　we　are；　even　under　the　best　of　conditions。　To　kill　each　other　with　gas　and　electricity；　and　in　cold　blood？　The　folly。　The　horror。　
Brutal　checked　the　strap；　then　stood　back。　I　waited　for　him　to　speak；　but　he　didn't。　As　he　crossed　his　hands　behind　his　back　and　stood　at　parade　rest；　I　knew　that　he　wouldn't。　Perhaps　couldn't。　I　didn't　think　I　could；　either；　but　then　I　looked　at　John　's　terrified；　weeping　eyes　and　knew　I　had　to。　Even　if　it　damned　me　forever；　I　had　to。　
〃Roll　on　two；〃　I　said　in　a　dusty；　cracking　voice　I　hardly　recognized　as　my　own。　
The　cap　hummed。　Eight　large　fingers　and　two　large　thumbs　rose　from　the　ends　of　the　chair's　broad　oak　arms　and　splayed　tensely　in　ten　different　directions；　their　tips　jittering。　His　big　knees　made　caged　pistoning　motions；　but　the　clamps　on　his　ankles　held。　Overhead；　three　of　the　hanging　lights　blew　out　…　Pow！　Pow！　Pow！　Marjorie　Detterick　screamed　at　the　sound　and　fainted　in　her　husband's　arms。　She　died　in　Memphis；　eighteen　years　later。　Harry　sent　me　the　obit。　It　was　a　trolley…car　accident。　
John　surged　forward　against　the　chest…strap。　For　a　moment　his　eyes　met　mine。　They　were　aware；　I　was　the　last　thing　he　saw　as　we　tilted　him　off　the　edge　of　the　world。　Then　he　fell　against　the　seatback；　the　cap　ing　askew　on　his　head　a　little；　smoke　…　a　sort　of　charry　mist　…　drifting　out　from　beneath　it。　But　on　the　whole；　you　know；　it　was　quick。　I　doubt　if　it　was　painless；　the　way　the　chair's　supporters　always　claim　（it's　not　an　idea　even　the　most　rabid　of　them　ever　seems　to　want　to　investigate　personally）；　but　it　was　quick。　The　hands　were　limp　again；　the　formerly　bluish…white　moons　at　the　base　of　the　fingernails　now　a　deep　eggplant　hue；　a　tendril　of　smoke　rising　off　cheeks　still　wet　with　salt　water　from　the　sponge　。。。　and　his　tears。　
John　Coffey's　last　tears。　
11。　
I　was　all　right　until　I　got　home。　It　was　dawn　by　then；　and　birds　singing。　I　parked　my　flivver；　I　got　out；　I　walked　up　the　back　steps；　and　then　the　second　greatest　grief　I　have　ever　known　washed　over　me。　It　was　thinking　of　how　he'd　been　afraid　of　the　dark　that　did　it。　I　remembered　the　first　time　we'd　met；　how　he'd　asked　if　we　left　a　light　on　at　night；　and　my　legs　gave　out　on　me。　I　sat　on　my　steps　and　hung　my　head　over　my　knees　and　cried。　It　didn't　feel　like　that　weeping　was　just　for　John　；　either；　but　for　all　of　us。　
Janice　came　out　and　sat　down　beside　me。　She　put　an　arm　over　my　shoulders。　
〃You　didn't　hurt　him　any　more　than　you　could　help；　did　you？〃　
I　shook　my　head　no。　
〃And　he　wanted　to　go。〃　
I　nodded。　
〃e　in　the　house；〃　she　said；　helping　me　up。　It　made　me　think　of　the　way　John　had　helped　me　up　after　we'd　prayed　together。　〃e　in　and　have　coffee。〃　
I　did。　The　first　morning　passed；　and　the　first　afternoon；　then　the　first　shift　back　at　work。　Time　takes　it　all；　whether　you　want　it　to　or　not。　Time　takes　it　all；　time　bears　it　away；　and　in　the　end　there　is　only　darkness。　Sometimes　we　find　others　in　that　darkness；　and　sometimes　we　lose　them　there　again。　That's　all　I　know；　except　that　this　happened　in　1932；　when　the　state　penitentiary　was　still　at　Cold　Mountain。　
And　the　electric　chair；　of　course。　
12。　
A　round　quarter　past　two　in　the　afternoon；　my　friend　Elaine　Connelly　came　to　me　where　I　sat　in　the　sunroom；　with　the　last　pages　of　my　story　squared　up　neatly　in　front　of　me。　Her　face　was　very　pale；　and　there　were　shiny　places　under　her　eyes。　I　think　she　had　been　crying。　
Me；　I'd　been　looking。　Just　that。　Looking　out　the　window　and　over　the　hills　to　the　east；　my　right　hand　throbbing　at　the　end　of　its　wrist。　But　it　was　a　peaceful　throb；　somehow。　I　felt　empty；　husked　out。　A　feeling　that　was　terrible　and　wonderful　at　the　same　time。　
It　was　hard　to　meet　Elaine's　eyes　…　l　was　afraid　of　the　hate　and　contempt　I　might　see　there　…　but　they　were　all　right。　Sad　and　wondering；　but　all　right。　No　hate；　no　contempt；　and　no　disbelief。　
〃Do　you　want　the　rest　of　the　story？〃　I　asked。　I　tapped　the　little　pile　of　script　with　my　aching　hand。　
〃It's　here；　but　I'll　understand　if　you'd　just　as　soon　not　…　〃　
〃It　isn't　a　question　of　what　I　want〃；　she　said。　〃I　have　to　know　how　it　came　out；　although　I　guess　there　is　no　doubt　that　you　executed　him。　The　intervention　of　Providence…with…a…capital…P　is　greatly　overrated　in　the　lives　of　ordinary　humans；　I　think。　But　before　I　take　those　pages　。。。　Paul　。。。〃　
She　stopped；　as　if　unsure　how　to　go　on。　I　waited。　Sometimes　you　can't　help　people。　Sometimes　it's　better　not　even　to　try。　
〃Paul；　you　speak　in　here　as　though　you　had　two　grown　children　in　1932　…　not　just　one；　but　two。　If　you　didn't　get　married　to　your　Janice　when　you　were　twelve　and　she　was　eleven；　something　like　that　…　〃　
I　smiled　a　little。　〃We　were　young　when　we　married　…　a　lot　of　hill…people　are；　my　own　mother　was　…　but　not　that　young。〃　
〃Then　how　old　are　you？　I've　always　assumed　you　were　in　your　early　eighties；　my　age；　possibly　even　a　little　younger；　but　according　to　this。。。〃　
〃I　was　forty　the　year　John　walked　the　Green　Mile〃；　I　said。　〃I　was　born　in　1892。　That　makes　me　a　hundred　and　four；　unless　my　reckoning's　out。〃　
She　stared　at　me；　speechless。　
I　held　out　the　rest　of　the　manuscript；　remembering　again　how　John　had　touched　me；　there　in　his　cell。　
You　won't　'splode；　he'd　said；　smiling　a　bit　at　the　very　idea；　and　I　hadn't　。。。　but　something　had　happened　to　me；　all　the　same。　Something　lasting。　
〃Read　the　rest　of　it〃；　I　said。　〃What　answers　I　have　are　in　there。〃　
〃All　right〃；　she　almost　whispered。　〃I'm　a　little　afraid　to；　I　can't　lie　about　that；　but　。。。　all　right。　Where　will　you　be？〃　
I　stood　up；　stretched；　listened　to　my　spine　crackle　in　my　back。　One　thing　that　I　knew　for　sure　was　that　I　was　sick　to　death　of　the　sunroom。　〃Out　on　the　croquet　course。　There's　still　something　I　want　to　show　you；　and　it's　in　that　direction。〃　
〃Is　it　。。。　scary？〃　In　her