绿里奇迹(英文版)-第52部分

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med　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　and　。　。　。　it's　us！〃　
He　took　the　first　step　up；　so　that　the　light　over　the　stoop　could　fall　fully　on　his　face；　I　joined　him。　Hal　Moores　looked　back　and　forth　between　us；　his　angry　determination　giving　way　to　bewilderment。　〃What　are　you　doing　here？〃　he　asked。　〃Not　only　is　it　the　shank　of　the　morning；　you　boys　have　the　duty。　I　know　you　do；　I've　got　the　roster　pinned　up　in　my　workshop。　So　what　in　the　name　of　。。。　oh；　Jesus。　It's　not　a　lockdown；　is　it？　Or　a　riot？〃　He　looked　between　us；　and　his　gaze　sharpened。　〃Who　else　is　down　by　that　truck？〃　
Let　me　do　the　talking。　So　I　had　instructed　Brutal；　but　now　the　time　to　talk　was　here　and　I　couldn't　even　open　my　mouth。　On　my　way　into　work　that　afternoon　I　had　carefully　planned　out　what　I　was　going　to　say　when　we　got　here；　and　had　thought　that　it　didn't　sound　too　crazy。　Not　normal　…　nothing　about　it　was　normal　…　but　maybe　close　enough　to　normal　to　get　us　through　the　door　and　give　us　a　chance。　Give　John　a　chance。　But　now　all　my　carefully　rehearsed　words　were　lost　in　a　roaring　confusion。　Thoughts　and　images　…　Del　burning；　the　mouse　dying；　Toot　jerking　in　Old　Sparky's　lap　and　screaming　that　he　was　a　done　tom　turkey　…　whirled　inside　my　head　like　sand　caught　in　a　dust…devil。　I　believe　there　is　good　in　the　world；　all　of　it　flowing　in　one　way　or　another　from　a　loving　God。　But　I　believe　there's　another　force　as　well；　one　every　bit　as　real　as　the　God　I　have　prayed　to　my　whole　life；　and　that　it　works　consciously　to　bring　all　our　decent　impulses　to　ruin。　Not　Satan；　I　don't　mean　Satan　（although　I　believe　he　is　real；　too）；　but　a　kind　of　demon　of　discord；　a　prankish　and　stupid　thing　that　laughs　with　glee　when　an　old　man　sets　himself　on　fire　trying　to　light　his　pipe　or　when　a　much…loved　baby　puts　its　first　Christmas　toy　in　its　mouth　and　chokes　to　death　on　it。　I've　had　a　lot　of　years　to　think　on　this；　all　the　way　from　Cold　Mountain　to　Georgia　Pines；　and　I　believe　that　force　was　actively　at　work　among　us　on　that　morning；　swirling　everywhere　like　a　fog；　trying　to　keep　John　Coffey　away　from　Melinda　Moores。　
〃Warden　。。。　Hal　。。。　I　。。。〃　Nothing　I　tried　made　any　sense。　
He　raised　the　pistol　again；　pointing　it　between　Brutal　and　me；　not　listening。　His　bloodshot　eyes　had　gotten　very　wide。　And　here　came　Harry　Terwilliger；　being　more　or　less　pulled　along　by　our　big　boy；　who　was　wearing　his　wide　and　daffily　charming　smile。　
〃Coffey；〃　Moores　breathed。　〃John　Coffey。〃　He　pulled　in　breath　and　yelled　in　a　voice　that　was　reedy　but　strong：　〃Halt！　Halt　right　there；　or　I　shoot！〃　
From　somewhere　behind　him；　a　weak　and　wavery　female　voice　called：　〃Hal？　What　are　you　doing　out　there？　Who　are　you　talking　to；　you　fucking　cocksucker？〃　
He　turned　in　that　direction　for　just　a　moment；　his　face　confused　and　despairing。　Just　a　moment；　as　I　say；　but　it　should　have　been　long　enough　for　me　to　snatch　the　long…barrelled　gun　out　of　his　hand。　Except　I　couldn't　lift　my　own　hands。　They　might　have　had　weights　tied　to　them。　My　head　seemed　full　of　static；　like　a　radio　trying　to　broadcast　during　an　electrical　storm。　The　only　emotions　I　remember　feeling　were　fright