子浪小说

第30部分（第2页）

〃Yeah；　yeah；　like　inna　cirque！　Do　you　gotta　pay　to　get　in？〃

〃You　shittin　me？　Course　you　gotta　pay　to　get　in。　A　dime　apiece；　two　cents　for　the　kiddies。　And　theres；　like；　this　whole　city　made　out　of　Bakelite　boxes　and　toilet…paper　rolls；　with　windows　made　out　of　isinglass　so　you　can　see　what　theyre　up　to　in　there…〃

〃Yeah！　Yeah！〃　Delacroix　was　in　ecstasy　now。　Then　he　turned　to　me。　〃What　ivy…glass？〃

〃Like　on　the　front　of　a　stove；　where　you　can　see　in；〃　I。　said。

〃Oh　sure！　Dat　shit！〃　He　cranked　his　hand　at　Brutal；　wanting　him　to　go　on；　and　Mr。　Jingless　little　oildrop　eyes　practically　spun　in　their　sockets；　trying　to　keep　that　spool　in　view。　It　was　pretty　funny。　Percy　came　a　little　closer；　as　if　wanting　to　get　a　better　look；　and　I　saw　John　Coffey　frowning　at　him；　but　I　was　too　wrapped　up　in　Brutals　fantasy　to　pay　much　attention。　This　took　telling　the　condemned　man　what　he　wanted　to　hear　to　new　heights；　and　I　was　all　admiration；　believe　me。

〃Well；〃　Brutal　said；　〃theres　the　mouse　city；　but　what　the　kids　really　like　is　the　Mouseville　All…Star　Circus；　where　theres　mice　that　swing　on　trapezes；　and　mice　that　roll　these　little　barrels；　and　mice　that　stack　coins…〃

〃Yeah；　dats　it！　Dats　the　place　for　Mr。　Jingles！〃　Delacroix　said。　His　eyes　sparkled　and　his　cheeks　were　high　with　color。　It　occurred　to　me　that　Brutus　Howell　was　a　kind　of　saint。　〃You　gonna　be　a　circus　mouse　after　all；　Mr。　Jingles！　Gonna　live　in　a　mouse　city　down　Florida！　All　ivy…glass　windows！　Hurrah！〃

He　threw　the　spool　extra…hard。　It　hit　low　on　the　wall；　took　a　crazy　bounce；　and　squirted　out　between　the　bars　of　his　cell　door　and　onto　the　Mile。　Mr。　Jingles　raced　out　after　it；　and　Percy　saw　his　chance。

〃No；　you　fool！〃　Brutal　yelled；　but　Percy　paid　no　attention。　Just　as　Mr。　Jingles　reached　the　spool　…　too　intent　on　it　to　realize　his　old　enemy　was　at　hand　…　Percy　brought　the　sole　of　one　hard　black　workshoe　down　on　it。　There　was　an　audible　snap　as　Mr。　Jingless　back　broke；　and　blood　gushed　from　his　mouth。　His　tiny　dark　eyes　bulged　in　their　sockets；　and　in　them　I　read　an　expression　of　surprised　agony　that　was　all　too　human。

Delacroix　screamed　with　horror　and　grief。　He　threw　himself　at　the　door　of　his　cell　and　thrust　his　arms　out　between　the　bars；　reaching　as　far　as　he　could；　crying　the　mouses　name　over　and　over。

Percy　turned　toward　him；　smiling。　Toward　the　three　of　us。　〃There；〃　he　said。　〃I　knew　Id　get　him；　sooner　or　later。　Just　a　matter　of　time；　really。〃　He　turned　and　walked　back　up　the　Green　Mile；　not　hurrying；　leaving　Mr。　Jingles　lying　on　the　linoleum　in　a　spreading　pool　of　his　own　blood。

Part　Four：

The　Bad　Death　of　Eduard　Delacroix

1。

All　this　other　writing　aside；　Ive　kept　a　little　diary　since　I　took　up　residence　at　Georgia　Pines　…　no　big　deal；　just　a　couple　of　paragraphs　a　day；　mostly　about　the　weather　…　and　I　looked　back　through　it　last　evening。　I　wanted　to　see　just　how　long　it　has　been　since　my　grandchildren；　Christopher　and　Danielle；　more　or　less　forced　me　into　Georgia　Pines。　〃For　your　own　good；　Gramps；〃　they　said。　Of　course　they　did。　Isnt　that　what　people　mostly　say　when　they　have　finally　figured　out　how　to　get　rid　of　a　problem　that　walks　and　talks？

Its　been　a　little　over　two　years。　The　eerie　thing　is　that　I　dont　know　if　it　feels　like　two　years；　or　longer　than　that；　or　shorter。　My　sense　of　time　seems　to　be　melting；　like　a　kids　snowman　in　a　January　thaw。　Its　as　if　time　as　it　always　was　…　Eastern　Standard　Time；　Daylight　Saving　Tune；　Working…Man　Time　…　doesnt　exist　anymore。　Here　there　is　only　Georgia　Pines　Time；　which　is　Old　Man　Time；　Old　Lady　Time；　and　Piss　the　Bed　Tune。　The　rest　。。。　all　gone。

This　is　a　dangerous　damned　place。　You　dont　you　think　its　only　a　boring　dangerous　as　a　nursery　school　at　naptime；　but　its　dangerous；　all　right。　Ive　seen　a　lot　of　people　slide　into　senility　since　I　came　here；　and　sometimes　they　do　more　than　slide　sometimes　they　go　down　with　the　speed　of　a　crash…diving　submarine。　They　e　here　mostly　all　right　…　dim…eyed　and　welded　to　the　cane；　maybe　a　little　loose　in　the　bladder；　but　otherwise　okay　…　and　then　something　happens　to　them。　A　month　later　theyre　just　sitting　in　the　TV　room；　staring　up　at　Oprah　Winfrey　on　the　TV　with　dull　eyes；　a　slack　jaw；　and　a　forgotten　glass　of　orange　juice　tilted　and　dribbling　in　one　hand。　A　month　after　that；　you　have　to　tell　them　their　kids　names　when　the　kids　e　to　visit。　And　a　month　after　that；　its　their　own　damned　names　you　have　to　refresh　them　on。　Something　happens　to　them；　all　right：　Georgia　Pines　Time　happens　to　them。　Time　here　is　like　a　weak　acid　that　erases　first　memory　and　then　the　desire　to　go　on　living。

You　have　to　fight　it。　Thats　what　I　tell　Elaine　Connelly；　my　special　friend。　Its　gotten　better　for　me　since　I　started　writing　about　what　happened　to　me　in　1932；　the　year　John　Coffey　came　on　the　Green　Mile。　Some　of　the　memories　are　awful；　but　I　can　feel　them　sharpening　my　mind　and　my　awareness　the　way　a　knife　sharpens　a　pencil；　and　that　makes　the　pain　worthwhile。　Writing　and　memory　alone　arent　enough；　though。　I　also　have　a　body；　ay　now　be；　and　I　exercise　it　as　much　as　I　can。　It　was　hard　at　first　…　old　fogies　like　me　arent　much　shakes　when　it　es　to　exercise　just　for　the　sake　of　exercise　…　but　its　easier　now　that　theres　a　purpose　to　my　walks。

I　go　out　before　breakfast　…　as　soon　as　its　light；　most　days　…　for　my　first　stroll。　It　was　raining　this　morning；　and　the　damp　makes　my　joints　ache；　but　I　hooked　a　poncho　from　the　rack　by　the　kitchen　door　and　went　out；　anyway。　When　a　man　has　a　chore；　he　has　to　do　it；　and　if　it　hurts；　too　bad。　Besides；　there　are　pensations。　The　chief　one　is　keeping　that　sense　of　Real　Time；　as　opposed　to　Georgia　Pines　Time。　And　I　like　the　rain；　aches　or　no　aches。　Especially　in　the　early　morning；　when　the　day　is　young　and　seems　full　of　possibilities；　even　to　a　washed…up　old　boy　like　me。

I　went　through　the　kitchen；　stopping　to　beg　two　slices　of　toast　from　one　of　the　sleepy…eyed　cooks；　and　then　went　out。　I　crossed　the　croquet　course；　then　the　weedy　little　putting　green。　Beyond　that　is　a　small　stand　of　woods；　with　a　narrow　path　winding　through　it　and　a　couple　of　sheds；　no　longer　used　and　mouldering　away　quietly；　along　the　way。　I　walked　down　this　path　slowly；　listening　to　the　sleek　and　secret　patter　of　the　rain　in　the　pines；　chewing　away　at　a　piece　of　toast　with　my　few　remaining　teeth。　My　legs　ached；　but　it　was　a　low　ache；　manageable。　Mostly　I　felt　pretty　well。　I　drew　the　moist　gray　air　as　deep　as　I　could；　taking　it　in　like　food。

And　when　I　got　to　the　second　of　those　old　sheds；　I　went　in　for　awhile；　and　I　took　care　of　my　business　there。

When　I　walked　back　up　the　path　twenty　minutes　later；　I　could　feel　a　worm　of　hunger　stirring　in　my　belly；　and　thoug

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