子浪小说

第31部分（第1页）

When　I　walked　back　up　the　path　twenty　minutes　later；　I　could　feel　a　worm　of　hunger　stirring　in　my　belly；　and　thought　I　could　eat　something　a　little　more　substantial　than　toast。　A　dish　of　oatmeal；　perhaps　even　a　scrambled　egg　with　a　sausage　on　the　side。　I　love　sausage；　always　have；　but　if　I　eat　more　than　one　these　days；　Im　apt　to　get　the　squitters。　One　would　be　safe　enough；　though。　Then；　with　my　belly　full　and　with　the　damp　air　still　perking　up　my　brain　（or　so　I　hoped）；　I　would　go　up　to　the　solarium　and　write　about　the　execution　of　Eduard　Delacroix。　I　would　do　it　as　fast　as　I　could；　so　as　not　to　lose　my　courage。

It　was　Mr。　Jingles　I　was　thinking　about　as　I　crossed　the　croquet　course　to　the　kitchen　door　…　how　Percy　Wetmore　had　stamped　on　him　and　broken　his　back；　and　how　Delacroix　had　screamed　when　he　realized　what　his　enemy　had　done　…　and　I　didnt　see　Brad　Dolan　standing　there；　half…hidden　by　the　Dumpster；　until　he　reached　out　and　grabbed　my　wrist。

〃Out　for　a　little　stroll；　Paulie？〃　he　asked。

I　jerked　back　from　him；　yanking　my　wrist　out　of　his　hand。　Some　of　it　was　just　being　startled　…　anyone　will　jerk　when　theyre　startled　…　but　that　wasnt　all　of　it。　Id　been　thinking　about　Percy　Wetmore；　remember；　and　its　Percy　that　Brad　always　reminds　me　of。　Some　of　its　how　Brad　always　goes　around　with　a　paperback　stuffed　into　his　pocket　（with　Percy　it　was　always　a　mens　adventure　magazine；　with　Brad　its　books　of　jokes　that　are　only　funny　if　youre　stupid　and　mean…hearted）；　some　of　its　how　he　acts　like　hes　King　Shit　of　Turd　Mountain；　but　mostly　its　that　hes　sneaky；　and　he　likes　to　hurt。

Hed　just　gotten　to　work；　I　saw；　hadnt　even　changed　into　his　orderlys　whites　yet。　He　was　wearing　jeans　and　a　cheesy…looking　Western…style　shirt。　In　one　hand　was　the　remains　of　a　Danish　hed　hooked　out　of　the　kitchen。　Hed　been　standing　under　the　leave；　eating　it　where　he　wouldnt　get　wet。　And　where　he　could　watch　for　me；　Im　pretty　sure　of　that　now。　Im　pretty　sure　of　something　else；　as　well：　Ill　have　to　watch　out　for　Mr。　Brad　Dolan。　He　doesnt　like　me　much。　I　dont　know　why；　but　I　never　knew　why　Percy　Wetmore　didnt　like　Delacroix；　either。　And　dislike　is　really　too　weak　a　word。　Percy　hated　Dels　guts　from　the　very　first　moment　the　little　Frenchman　came　onto　the　Green　Mile。

〃Whats　with　this　poncho　you　got　on；　Paulie？〃　he　asked；　flicking　the　collar。　〃This　isnt　yours。〃

〃I　got　it　in　the　hall　outside　the　kitchen；〃　I　said。　I　hate　it　when　he　calls　me　Paulie；　and　I　think　he　knows　it；　but　I　was　damned　if　Id　give　him　the　satisfaction　of　seeing　it。　〃Theres　a　whole　row　of　them。　Im　not　hurting　it　any；　would　you　say？　Rains　what　its　made　for；　after　all。〃

〃But　it　wasnt　made　for　you；　Paulie；〃　he　said；　giving　it　another　little　flick。　〃Thats　the　thing。　Those　slickersre　for　the　employees；　not　the　residents。〃

〃I　still　dont　see　what　harm　it　does。〃

He　gave　me　a　thin　little　smile。　〃Its　not　about　harm；　its　about　the　rules。　What　would　life　be　without　rules？　Paulie；　Paulie；　Paulie。〃　He　shook　his　head；　as　if　just　looking　at　me　made　him　feel　sorry　to　be　alive。　〃You　probably　think　an　old　fart　like　you　doesnt　have　to　mind　about　the　rules　anymore；　but　thats　just　not　true。　Paulie。〃

Smiling　at　me。　Disliking　me。　Maybe　even　hating　me。　And　why？　I　dont　know。　Sometimes　there　is　no　why。　Thats　the　scary　part。

〃Well；　Im　sorry　if　I　broke　the　rules；〃　I　said。　It　came　out　sounding　whiney；　a　little　shrill；　and　I　hated　myself　for　sounding　that　way；　but　Im　old；　and　old　people　whine　easily。　Old　people　scare　easily。

Brad　nodded。　〃Apology　accepted。　Now　go　hang　that　back　up。　You　got　no　business　out　walking　in　the　rain；　anyway。　Specially　not　in　those　woods。　What　if　you　were　to　slip　and　fall　and　break　your　damned　hip？　Huh？　Who　do　you　thinkd　have　to　hoss　your　elderly　freight　back　up　the　hill？〃

〃I　dont　know；〃　I　said。　I　just　wanted　to　get　away　from　him。　The　more　I　listened　to　him；　the　more　he　sounded　like　Percy。　William　Wharton；　the　crazyman　who　came　to　the　Green　Mile　in　the　fall　of　‘32；　once　grabbed　Percy　and　scared　him　so　bad　that　Percy　squirted　in　his　pants。　You　talk　about　this　to　anyone；　Percy　told　the　rest　of　us　afterward；　and　youll　all　be　on　the　breadlines　in　a　week。　Now；　these　many　years　later；　I　could　almost　hear　Brad　Dolan　saying　those　same　words；　in　that　same　tone　of　voice。　Its　as　if；　by　writing　about　those　old　times；　I　have　unlocked　some　unspeakable　door　that　connects　the　past　to　the　present　…　Percy　Wetmore　to　Brad　Dolan；　Janice　Edgebe　to　Elaine　Connelly；　Cold　Mountain　Penitentiary　to　the　Georgia　Pines　old　folks　home。　And　if　that　thought　doesnt　keep　me　awake　tonight；　I　guess　nothing　will。

I　made　as　if　to　go　in　through　the　kitchen　door　and　Brad　grabbed　me　by　the　wrist　again。　I　dont　know　about　the　first　one；　but　this　time　he　was　doing　it　on　purpose；　squeezing　to　hurt。　His　eyes　shifting　back　and　forth；　making　sure　no　one　was　around　in　the　early…morning　wet；　no　one　to　see　he　was　abusing　one　of　the　old　folks　he　was　supposed　to　be　taking　care　of。

〃What　do　you　do　down　that　path？〃　he　asked。　〃I　know　you　dont　go　down　there　and　jerk　off；　those　days　are　long　behind　you；　so　what　do　you　do？〃

〃Nothing；〃　I　said；　telling　myself　to　be　calm；　not　to　show　him　how　bad　he　was　hurting　me　and　to　be　calm；　to　remember　hed　only　mentioned　the　path；　he　didnt　know　about　the　shed。　〃I　just　walk。　To　clear　my　mind〃

〃Too　late　for　that；　Paulie；　your　minds　never　gonna　be　clear　again！　He　squeezed　my　thin　old　mares　wrist　again；　grinding　the　brittle　bones；　eyes　continually　shifting　from　side　to　side；　wanting　to　make　sure　he　was　safe。　Brad　wasnt　afraid　of　breaking　the　rules；　he　was　only　afraid　of　being　caught　breaking　them。　And　in　that；　too；　he　was　like　Percy　Wetmore；　who　would　never　let　you　forget　he　was　the　governors　nephew。　〃Old　as　you　are；　its　a　miracle　you　can　remember　who　you　are。　Youre　too　goddam　old。　Even　for　a　museum　like　this。　You　give　me　the　fucking　creeps；　Paulie。〃

〃Let　go　of　me；〃　I　said；　trying　to　keep　the　whine　out　of　my　voice。　It　wasnt　just　pride；　either。　I　thought　if　he　heard　it；　it　might　inflame　him；　the　way　the　smell　of　sweat　can　sometimes　inflame　a　bad…tempered　dog　…　one　which　would　otherwise　only　growl　…　to　bite。　That　made　me　think　of　a　reporter　whod　covered　John　Coffeys　trial。　The　reporter　was　a　terrible　man　named　Hammersmith；　and　the　most　terrible　thing　about　him　was　that　he　hadnt　known　he　was　terrible。

Instead　of　letting　go；　Dolan　squeezed　my　wrist　again。　I　groaned。　I　didnt　want　to；　but　I　couldnt　help　it。　It　hurt　all　the　way　down　to　my　ankles。

〃What　do　you　do　down　there；　Paulie？　Tell　me。〃

〃Nothing！〃　I　said。　I　wasnt　crying；　not　yet；　but　I　was　afraid　Id　start　soon　if　he　kept　bearing　down　like　that。　〃Nothing；　I　just　walk；　I　like　to　walk；　let　go　of　me！〃

He　did；　but　only　long　enough　so　he　could　grab　my　other　hand。　That　one　was　rolled　closed。　〃Open　up；〃　he　said。　〃Let　Poppa　see。〃

I　did；　and　he　grunted　with　disgust。　It　was　nothing　but　the　remains　of　my　second　piece　of　toast。　Id　clenched　it　in　my　right　hand　y　left　wrist；　and　there　was　butter　…　well；　oleo；　they　dont　have　real　butter　here；　of　course　…　on　my　fingers。

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