绿里奇迹(英文版)-第51章

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d　at　the　hour　of　our　death。　〃Sorry；　John　。〃　
〃Don't　be〃；　he　said。　He　squeezed　my　arm　and　smiled。　And　then；　as　I'd　thought　he　might　have　to　do；　he　helped　me　to　my　feet。　
10。　
There　weren't　many　witnesses　…　maybe　fourteen　in　all；　half　the　number　that　had　been　in　the　storage　room　for　the　Delacroix　execution。　Homer　Cribus　was　there；　overflowing　his　chair　as　per　usual；　but　I　didn't　see　Deputy　McGee。　Like　Warden　Moores；　he　had　apparently　decided　to　give　this　one　a　miss。　
Sitting　in　the　front　row　was　an　elderly　couple　I　didn't　recognize　at　first；　even　though　I　had　seen　their　pictures　in　a　good　many　newspaper　articles　by　that　day　in　the　third　week　of　November。　Then；　as　we　neared　the　platform　where　Old　Sparky　waited；　the　woman　spat；　〃Die　slow；　you　son　of　a　bitch！〃　and　I　realized　they　were　the　Dettericks；　Klaus　and　Marjorie。　I　hadn't　recognized　them　because　you　don't　often　see　elderly　people　who　haven't　yet　climbed　out　of　their　thirties。　
John　hunched　his　shoulders　at　the　sound　of　the　woman's　voice　and　Sheriff　Cribus's　grunt　of　approval。　Hank　Bitterman；　who　had　the　guard…post　near　the　front　of　the　meager　group　of　spectators；　never　took　his　eyes　off　Klaus　Detterick。　That　was　per　my　orders；　but　Detterick　never　made　a　move　in　John　's　direction　that　night。　Detterick　seemed　to　be　on　some　other　pla。　
Brutal；　standing　beside　Old　Sparky；　gave　me　a　small　finger…tilt　as　we　stepped　up　onto　the　platform。　He　holstered　his　sidearm　and　took　John　's　wrist；　escorting　him　toward　the　electric　chair　as　gently　as　a　boy　leading　his　date　out　onto　the　floor　for　their　first　dance　as　a　couple。　
〃Everything　all　right；　John　？〃　he　asked　in　a　low　voice。　
〃Yes；　boss；　but。　。　。〃　His　eyes　were　moving　from　side　to　side　in　their　sockets；　and　for　the　first　time　he　looked　and　sounded　scared。　〃But　they's　a　lot　of　folks　here　hate　me。　A　lot。　I　can　feel　it。　Hurts。　Bores　in　like　bee…stings　an；　hurts。〃　
〃Feel　how　we　feel；　then；〃　Brutal　said　in　that　same　low　voice。　〃We　don't　hate　you　…　can　you　feel　that？〃　
〃Yes；　boss。〃　But　his　voice　was　trembling　worse　now；　and　his　eyes　had　begun　to　leak　their　slow　tears　again。　
〃Kill　him　twice；　you　boys！〃　Marjorie　Detterick　suddenly　screamed。　Her　ragged；　strident　voice　was　like　a　slap。　John　cringed　against　me　and　moaned。　〃You　go　on　and　kill　that　raping　baby…killer　twice；　that'd　be　just　fine！〃　
Klaus；　still　looking　like　a　man　dreaming　awake；　pulled　her　against　his　shoulder。　She　began　to　sob。　
I　saw　with　dismay　that　Harry　Terwilliger　was　crying；　too。　So　far　none　of　the　spectators　had　seen　his　tears　…　his　back　was　to　them　…　but　he　was　crying；　all　right。　Still；　what　could　we　do？　Besides　push　on　with　it；　I　mean？　
Brutal　and　I　turned　John　around。　Brutal　pressed　on　one　of　the　big　man's　shoulders　and　John　sat。　He　gripped　Sparky's　wide　oak　arms；　his　eyes　moving　from　side　to　side；　his　tongue　darting　out　to　wet　first　one　corner　of　his　mouth；　then　the　other。　
Harry　and　I　dropped　to　our　knees。　The　day　before；　we'd　had　one　of　the　shop…trusties　weld　temporary　flexible　extensions　to　the　chair's　ankle　clamps；　because　John　Coffey's　ankles　were　nigh　on　the　size　of　an　ordinary　fellow's　calves。　Still；　I　had　a　nightmarish　moment　when　I　thought　they　were　still　going　to　e　up　small；　and　we'd　have　to　take　him　back　to　his　cell　while　Sam　Broderick；　who　was　head　of　the　shop　guys　in　those　days；　was　found　and　tinkered　some　more。　I　gave　a　final；　extra…hard　shove　with　the　heels　of　my　hands　and　the　clamp　on　my　side　closed。　John　's　leg　jerked　and　he　gasped。　I　had　pinched　him。　
〃Sorry；　John　；〃　I　murmured；　and　glanced　at　Harry。　He　had　gotten　his　clamp　fixed　more　easily　（either　the　extension　on　his　side　was　a　little　bigger　or　John　's　right　calf　was　a　little　smaller）；　but　he　was　looking　at　the　result　with　a　doubtful　expression。　I　guessed　I　could　understand　why；　the　modified　clamps　had　a　hungry　look；　their　jaws　seeming　to　gape　like　the　mouths　of　alligators。　
〃It'll　be　all　right〃；　I　said；　hoping　that　I　sounded　convincing　。。。　and　that　I　was　telling　the　truth。　〃Wipe　your　face；　Harry。〃　
He　swabbed　at　it　with　his　arm；　wiping　away　tears　from　his　cheeks　and　beads　of　sweat　from　his　forehead。　We　turned。　Homer　Cribus；　who　had　been　talking　too　loudly　to　the　man　sitting　next　to　him　（the　prosecutor；　judging　from　the　string　tie　and　rusty　black　suit）；　fell　silent。　It　was　almost　time。　
Brutal　had　clamped　one　of　John　's　wrists；　Dean　the　other。　Over　Dean's　shoulder　I　could　see　the　doctor；　unobtrusive　as　ever；　standing　against　the　wall　with　his　black　bag　between　his　feet。　Nowadays　I　guess　they　just　about　run　such　affairs；　especially　the　ones　with　the　IV　drips；　but　back　then　you　almost　had　to　yank　them　forward　if　you　wanted　them。　Maybe　back　then　they　had　a　clearer　idea　of　what　was　right　for　a　doctor　to　be　doing；　and　what　was　a　perversion　of　the　special　promise　they　make；　the　one　where　they　swear　first　of　all　to　do　no　harm。　
Dean　nodded　to　Brutal。　Brutal　turned　his　head；　seemed　to　glance　at　the　telephone　that　was　never　going　to　ring　for　the　likes　of　John　Coffey；　and　called　〃Roll　on　one！〃　to　Jack　Van　Hay。　
There　was　that　hum；　like　an　old　fridge　kicking　on；　and　the　lights　burned　a　little　brighter。　Our　shadows　stood　out　a　little　sharper；　black　shapes　that　climbed　the　wall　and　seemed　to　hover　around　the　shadow　of　the　chair　like　vultures。　John　drew　in　a　sharp　breath。　His　knuckles　were　white。　
〃Does　it　hurt　yet？〃　Mrs。　Detterick　shrieked　brokenly　from　against　her　husband's　shoulder。〃I　hope　it　does！　I　hope　it　hurts　like　hell！〃　Her　husband　squeezed　her。　One　side　of　his　nose　was　bleeding；　I　saw；　a　narrow　trickle　of　red　working　its　way　down　into　his　narrow…gauge　mustache。　When　I　opened　the　paper　the　following　March　and　saw　he'd　died　of　a　stroke；　I　was　about　the　least　surprised　man　on　earth。　
Brutal　stepped　into　John　's　field　of　vision。　He　touched　John　's　shoulder　as　he　spoke。　That　was　irregular；　but　of　the　witnesses；　only　Curtis　Anderson　knew　it；　and　he　did　not　seem　to　remark　it。　I　thought　he　looked　like　a　man　who　only　wants　to　be　done　with　his　current　job。　Desperately　wants　to　be　done　with　it。　He　enlisted　in　the　Army　after　Pearl　Harbor；　but　never　got　overseas；　he　died　at　Fort　Bragg；　in　a　truck　accident。　
John；　meanwhile；　relaxed　beneath　Brutal's　fingers。　I　don't　think　he　understood　much；　if　any；　of　what　Brutal　was　telling　him；　but　he　took　fort　from　Brutal's　hand　on　his　shoulder。　Brutal；　who　died　of　a　heart　attack　about　twenty…five　years　later　（he　was　eating　a　fish　sandwich　and　watching　TV　wrestling　when　it　happened；　his　sister　said）；　was　a　good　man。　My　friend。　Maybe　the　best　of　us。　He　had　no　trouble　understanding　how　a　man　could　simultaneously　want　to　go　and　still　be　terrified　of　the　trip。　
〃John　Coffey；　you　have　been　condemned　to　die　in　the　electric　chair；　sentence　passed　by　a　jury　of　your　peers　and　imposed　by　a　judge　of　good　standing　in　this　state。　God　save　the　people　of　this　state。　Do　you　have　anything　to　say　before　sentence　is　carried　out？〃　
John　wet　his　lips　again；　then　spoke　clearly。　Six　words。　〃I'm　sorry　for　what　I　am。〃　
〃You　ought　to　be！〃　the　mother　of　the　two　dead　girls　screamed。　〃Oh　you　monster；　you　ought　to　be！　YOU　DAMN　WELL　OUGHT　TO　BE！〃　
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　tak