子浪小说

第7部分（第1页）

ine　of　lit　coal…oil。　Yet　I　thought　it　had　been　a　little　worse　that　afternoon；　and　knew　it　had　been　worse　the　two　or　three　days　before。　I　had　hopes　that　maybe　I　had　started　to　mend。　Never　was　a　hope　more　ill…founded。　No　one　had　told　me　that　sometimes　a　bug　that　gets　up　inside　there；　where　its　warm　and　wet；　can　take　a　day　or　two　off　to　rest　before　ing　on　strong　again。　I　would　have　been　surprised　to　know　it。　I　would　have　been　even　more　surprised　to　know　that；　in　another　fifteen　or　twenty　years；　there　would　be　pills　you　could　take　that　would　smack　that　sort　of　infection　out　of　your　system　in　record　time　。。。　and　while　those　pills　might　make　you　feel　a　little　sick　at　your　stomach　or　loose　in　your　bowels；　they　almost　never　made　you　vomit　the　way　Dr。　Sadlers　sulfa　pills　did。　Back　in　32；　there　wasnt　much　you　could　do　but　wait；　and　try　to　ignore　that　feeling　that　someone　had　spilled　coal…oil　inside　your　works　and　then　touched　a　match　to　it。

I　finished　my　butt；　went　into　the　bedroom；　and　finally　got　to　sleep。　I　dreamed　of　girls　with　shy　smiles　and　blood　in　their　hair。

6。

The　next　morning　there　was　a　pink　memo　slip　on　my　desk；　asking　me　to　stop　by　the　wardens　office　as　soon　as　I　could。　I　knew　what　that　was　about　…　there　were　unwritten　but　very　important　rules　to　the　game；　and　I　had　stopped　playing　by　them　for　awhile　yesterday　…　and　so　I　put　it　off　as　long　as　possible。　Like　going　to　the　doctor　about　my　waterworks　problem；　I　suppose。　Ive　always　thought　this　〃get…it…over…with〃　business　was　overrated。

Anyway；　I　didnt　hurry　to　Warden　Mooress　office。　I　stripped　off　my　wool　uniform　coat　instead；　hung　it　over　the　back　of　my　chair；　and　turned　on　the　fan　in　the　corner　…　it　was　another　hot　one。　Then　I　sat　down　and　went　over　Brutus　Howells　night…sheet。　There　was　nothing　there　to　get　alarmed　about。　Delacroix　had　wept　briefly　after　turning　in　…　he　did　most　nights；　and　more　for　himself　than　for　the　folks　he　had　roasted　alive；　I　am　quite　sure　…　and　then　had　take　Mr。　Jingles；　the　mouse；　out　of　the　cigar　box　he　slept　in。　That　had　calmed　Del；　and　he　had　slept　like　a　baby　the　rest　of　the　night。　Mr。　Jingles　had　most　likely　spent　it　on　Delacroixs　stomach；　with　his　tail　curled　over　his　paws；　eyes　unblinking。　It　was　as　if　God　had　decided　Delacroix　needed　a　guardian　angel；　but　had　decreed　in　His　wisdom　that　only　a　mouse　would　do　for　a　rat　like　our　homicidal　friend　from　Louisiana。　Not　all　that　was　in　Brutals　report；　of　course；　but　I　had　done　enough　night　watches　myself　to　fill　in　the　stuff　between　the　lines。　There　was　a　brief　note　about　Coffey：　〃Laid　aay　have　cried　some。　I　tried　to　get　some　talk　started；　but　after　a　few　grunted　replies　from　Coffey；　gave　up。　Paul　or　Harry　may　have　better　luck。〃

〃Getting　the　talk　started〃　was　at　the　center　of　our　job；　really。　I　didnt　know　it　then；　but　looking　back　from　the　vantage　point　of　this　strange　old　age　（I　think　all　old　ages　seem　strange　to　the　folk　who　must　endure　them）；　I　understand　that　it　was；　and　why　I　didnt　see　it　then　…　it　was　too　big；　as　central　to　our　work　as　our　respiration　was　to　our　lives。　It　wasnt　important　that　the　floaters　be　good　at　〃getting　the　talk　started；〃　but　it　was　vital　for　me　and　Harry　and　Brutal　and　Dean。。。　and　it　was　one　reason　why　Percy　Wetmore　was　such　a　disaster。　The　inmates　hated　him；　the　guards　hated　him　。。。　everyone　hated　him；　presumably；　except　for　his　political　connections；　Percy　himself；　and　maybe　（but　only　maybe）　his　mother。　He　was　like　a　dose　of　white　arsenic　sprinkled　into　a　wedding　cake；　and　I　think　I　knew　he　spelled　disaster　the　start。　He　was　an　accident　waiting　to　happen。　As　for　the　rest　of　us；　we　would　have　scoffed　at　the　idea　that　we　functioned　most　usefully　not　as　the　guards　of　the　condemned　but　as　their　psychiatrists　part　of　me　still　wants　to　scoff　at　that　idea　today　…　but　we　knew　about　getting　the　talk　started　。　。　。　and　without　the　talk；　men　facing　Old　Sparky　had　a　nasty　habit　of　going　insane。

I　made　a　note　at　the　bottom　of　Brutals　report　to　talk　to　John　Coffey　…　to　try；　at　least　…　and　then　passed　on　to　a　note　from　Curtis　Anderson；　the　wardens　chief　assistant。　It　said　that　he；　Anderson；　expected　a　DOE　order　for　Edward　Delacrois　（Andersons　misspelling；　the　mans　name　was　actually　Eduard　Delacroix）　very　soon。　DOE　stood　for　date　of　execution；　and　according　to　the　note；　Curtis　had　been　told　on　good　authority　that　the　little　Frenchman　would　take　the　walk　shortly　before　Halloween　…　October　27th　was　his　best　guess；　and　Curtis　Andersons　guesses　were　very　informed。　But　before　then　we　could　expect　a　new　resident；　name　of　William　Wharton。　〃Hes　what　you　like　to　call　a　problem　child；　〃　Curtis　had　written　　in　his　backslanting　and　somehow　prissy　script。　〃Crazy…wild　and　proud　of　it。　Has　rambled　all　over　the　state　for　the　last　year　or　so；　and　has　hit　the　big　time　at　last。　Killed　three　people　in　a　holdup；　one　a　pregnant　woman；　killed　a　fourth　in　the　getaway。　State　Patrolman。　All　he　missed　was　a　nun　and　a　blind　man！　I　smiled　a　little　at　that。　〃Wharton　is　19　years　old；　has　Billy　the　Kid　tattooed　on　upper　l。　forearm。　You　will　have　to　slap　his　nose　a　time　or　two；　I　guarantee　you　that；　but　be　careful　when　you　do　it。　This　man　just　doesnt　care。〃　He　had　underlined　this　last　sentiment　twice；　then　finished：　〃Also；　he　may　be　a　hang…arounder。　Hes　working　appeals；　and　theres　the　fact　that　he　is　a　minor。〃

A　crazy　kid；　working　appeals；　apt　to　be　around　for　awhile。　Oh；　that　all　sounded　just　fine。　Suddenly　the　day　seemed　hotter　than　ever；　and　I　could　no　longer　put　off　seeing　Warden　Moores。

I　worked　for　three　wardens　during　my　years　as　a　Cold　Mountain　guard；　Hal　Moores　was　the　last　and　best　of　them。　In　a　walk。　Honest；　straightforward；　lacking　even　Curtis　Andersons　rudimentary　wit；　but　equipped　with　just　enough　political　savvy　to　keep　his　job　during　those　grim　years　。。。　and　enough　integrity　to　keep　from　getting　seduced　by　the　game。　He　would　not　rise　any　higher；　but　that　seemed　all　right　with　him。　He　was　fifty…eight　or　…nine　back　then；　with　a　deeply　lined　bloodhound　face　that　Bobo　Marchant　probably　would　have　felt　right　at　home　with。　He　had　white　hair　and　his　hands　shook　with　some　sort　of　palsy；　but　he　was　strong。　The　year　before；　when　a　prisoner　had　rushed　him　in　the　exercise　yard　with　a　shank　whittled　out　of　a　crate…slat；　Moores　had　stood　his　ground；　grabbed　the　skatehounds　wrist；　and　had　twisted　it　so　hard　that　the　snapping　bones　had　sounded　like　dry　twigs　burning　in　a　hot　fire。　The　skatehound；　all　his　grievances　forgotten；　had　gone　down　on　his　knees　in　the　dirt　and　begun　screaming　for　his　mother。　〃Im　not　her；〃　Moores　said　in　his　cultured　Southern　voice；　〃But　if　I　was；　Id　raise　up　my　skirts　and　piss　on　you　from　the　loins　that　gave　you　birth。〃

When　I　came　into　his　office；　he　started　to　get　up　and　I　waved　him　back　down。　I　took　the　seat　across　the　desk　from　him；　and　began　by　asking　about　his　wife　。。。　except　in　our　part　of　the　world；　thats　not　how　you　do　it。　〃Hows　that　pretty　gal　of　yours〃　is　what　I　asked；　as　if　Melinda　had　seen　only　seventeen　summers　instead　of　sixty…two　or　…three。　My　concern　was　genuine　he　was　a　woman　I　could　have　loved　and　married　myself；　if　the　lines　of　our　lives　had　coincided　…　but　I　didnt　mind　diverting　him　a　little　from　his　main　business；　either。

He　sighed　deeply。　〃Not　so　well；　Paul。　Not　so　well　at　all。〃

〃More　headaches？〃

〃Only　one　this　week；　but　it　was　the　worst　yet　…　put　her　flat　on　her　back　for　most　of　the　day　before　yesterday。　And　now　shes　developed　this　weakness　in　her　right　hand…〃　He　raised　his　own　liverspotted　right　hand。　We　both　watched　it　tremble　above　his　blotter　for　a　moment　or　two；　and　then　he　lowered　it　again。　I　could　tell　he　would　have　given　just　about　anything　not　to　be　telling　me　what　he　was　telling　me；　and　I　would　have　given　just　about　anything　not　to　be　hearing　it。　Melindas　headaches　had　started　in　the　spring；　and　all　that　summer　her　doctor　had　been　saying　they　were　〃nervous…tension　migraines；〃　perhaps　caused　by　the　stress　of　Hals　ing　retirement。　Except　that　neither　of　them　could　wait　for　his　retirement；　and　my　own　wife　had　told　me　that　migraine　is　not　a　disease　of　the　old　but　the　young；　by　the　time　its　sufferers　reached　Melinda　Mooress　age；　they　were　usually　getting　better；　not　worse。　And　now　this　weakness　of　the　hand。　It　didnt　sound　like　nervous　tension　to　me；　it　sounded　like　a　damned　stroke。

〃Dr。　Haverstrom　wants　her　to　go　in　hospital　up　to　Indianola；〃　Moores　said。　〃Have　some　tests。　Head　X…rays；　he　means。　Who　knows　what　else。　She　is　scared　to　death！　He　paused；　then　added；　〃Truth　to　tell；　so　am　I。〃

〃Yeah；　but　you　see　she　does　it；〃　I　said。　〃Dont　wait。　If　it　turns　out　to　be　something　they　can　see　with　an　X…ray；　it　may　turn　out　to　be　something　they　can　fix。〃

〃Yes；〃　he　agreed；　and　then；　for　just　a　moment　…　the　only　one　during　that　part　of　our　interview；　as　I　recall　…　our　eyes　met　and　locked。　There　was　the　sort　of　nakedly　perfect　understanding　between　us　that　needs　no　words。　It　could　be　a　stroke；　yes。　It　could　also　be　a　cancer　growing　in　her　brain；　and　if　it　was　that；　the　chances　that　the　doctors　at　Indianola　could　do　anything　about　it　were　slim　going　on　none。　This　was　32；　remember；　when　even　something　as　relatively　simple　as　a　urinary　infection　was　either　sulfa　and　stink　or　suffer　and　wait。

〃I　thank　you　for　your　concern；　Paul。　Now　lets　talk　about　Percy　Wetmore！

I　groaned　and　covered　my　eyes。

〃I　had　a　call　from　the　state　capital　this　morning；〃　the　warden　said　evenly。　〃It　was　quite　an　angry　call；　as　Im　sure　you　can　imagine。　Paul；　the　governor　is　so　married　hes　almost　not　there；　if　you　take　my　meaning。　And　his　wife　has　a　brother　who　has　one　child。　That　child　is　Percy　Wetmore。　Percy　called　his　dad　last　night；　and　Percys　dad　called　Percys　aunt。　Do　I　have　to　trace　the　rest　of　this　out　for　you？〃

No；〃　I　said。　〃Percy　squealed。　Just　like　the　schoolroom　sissy　telling　teacher　he　saw　Jack　and　Jill　smooching　in　the　cloakroom。〃

〃Yep；〃　Moores　agreed；　〃thats　about　the　size　of　it。〃

〃You　know　what　happened　between　Percy　and　Delacroix　when　Delacroix　came　in？〃　I　asked。　〃Percy　and　his　damned　hickory　billy…club？〃

〃Yes；　but　…　〃

〃And　you　know　how　he　runs　it　along　the　bars　sometimes；　just　for　the　pure　hell　of　it。　Hes　mean；　and　hes　stupid；　and　I　dont　know　how　much　longer　I　can　take　him。　Thats　the　truth。〃

Wed　known　each　other　five　years。　That　can　be　a　long　time　for　men　who　get　on　well；　especially　when　part　of　the　job　is　trading　life　for　death。　What　Im　saying　is　that　he　understood　what　I　meant。　Not　that　I　would　quit；　not　with　the　Depression　walking　around　outside　the　prison　walls　like　a　dangerous　criminal；　one　that　couldnt　be　caged　as　our　charges　were。　Better　men　than　me　were　out　on　the　roads　or　riding　the　rods。　I　was　lucky　and　knew　it　…　children　grown　and　the　mortgage；　that　two…hundred…pound　block　of　marble；　had　been　off　my　chest　for　the　last　two　years。　But　a　mans　got　to　eat；　and　his　wife　has　to　eat；　too。　Also；　we　were　used　to　sending　our　daughter　and　son…in…law　twenty　bucks　whenever　we　could　afford　it　（and　sometimes　when　we　couldnt；　if　Janes　letters　sounded　particularly　desperate）。　He　was　an　out…of…work　high…school　teacher；　and　if　that　didnt　qualify　for　desperate　back　in　those　days；　then　the　word　had　no　meaning。　So　no；　you　didnt　walk　off　a　steady　paycheck　job　like　mine　。。。　not　in　cold　blood；　tha

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