绿里奇迹(英文版)-第22部分

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my　gut。　Bill　laughed　with　me；　then　turned　the　rest　of　his　coffee　out　in　the　yard；　which　was　empty　except　for　a　few　shuffling　trusties；　most　of　whom　had　been　there　for　a　thousand　years　or　so。　
Thunder　rumbled　somewhere　far　off；　and　unfocused　heat　lightning　flashed　in　the　darkening　sky　overhead。　Bill　looked　up　uneasily；　his　laughter　dying。　
〃I　tell　you　what；　though；〃　he　said；　〃I　don't　like　this　weather　much。　Feels　like　something's　gonna　happen。　Something　bad。〃　
About　that　he　was　right。　The　bad　thing　happened　right　around　quarter　of　ten　that　night。　That　was　when　Percy　killed　Mr。　Jingles。　
10。　
At　first　it　seemed　like　it　was　going　to　be　a　pretty　good　night　in　spite　of　the　heat　…　John　Coffey　was　being　his　usual　quiet　self；　Wild　Bill　was　making　out　to　be　Mild　Bill；　and　Delacroix　was　in　good　spirits　for　a　man　who　had　a　date　with　Old　Sparky　in　a　little　more　than　twenty…four　hours。　
He　did　understand　what　was　going　to　happen　to　him；　at　least　on　the　most　basic　level；　he　had　ordered　chili　for　his　last　meal　and　gave　me　special　instructions　for　the　kitchen。　〃Tell　em　to　lay　on　dat　hotsauce；〃　he　said。　〃Tell　em　the　kind　dat　really　jump　up　your　t'roat　an'　say　howdy　…　the　green　stuff；　none　of　dat　mild。　Dat　stuff　gripe　me　like　a　motherfucker；　I　can't　get　off　the　toilet　the　nex'　day；　but　I　don't　think　I　gonna　have　a　problem　this　time；　n'est…ce　pas？〃　
Most　of　them　worry　about　their　immortal　souls　with　a　kind　of　moronic　ferocity；　but　Delacroix　pretty　much　dismissed　my　questions　about　what　he　wanted　for　spiritual　fort　in　his　last　hours。　If　〃dat　fella〃　Schuster　had　been　good　enough　for　Big　Chief　Bitterbuck；　Del　reckoned；　Schuster　would　be　good　enough　for　him。　No；　what　he　cared　about　…　you've　guessed　already；　I'm　sure　…　was　what　was　going　to　happen　to　Mr。　Jingles　after　he；　Delacroix；　passed　on。　I　was　used　to　spending　long　hours　with　the　condemned　on　the　night　before　their　last　march；　but　this　was　the　first　time　I'd　spent　those　long　hours　pondering　the　fate　of　a　mouse。　
Del　considered　scenario　after　scenario；　patiently　working　the　possibilities　through　his　dim　mind。　And　while　he　thought　aloud；　wanting　to　provide　for　his　pet　mouse's　future　as　if　it　were　a　child　that　had　to　be　put　through　college；　he　threw　that　colored　spool　against　the　wall。　Each　time　he　did　it；　Mr。　Jingles　would　spring　after　it；　track　it　down；　and　then　roll　it　back　to　Del's　foot。　It　started　to　get　on　my　nerves　after　awhile　…first　the　clack　of　the　spool　against　the　stone　wall；　then　the　minute　clitter　of　Mr。　Jingles's　paws。　Although　it　was　a　cute　trick；　it　palled　after　niy　minutes　or　so。　And　Mr。　Jingles　never　seemed　to　get　tired。　He　paused　every　now　and　then　to　refresh　himself　with　a　drink　of　water　out　of　a　coffee　saucer　Delacroix　kept　for　just　that　purpose；　or　to　munch　a　pink　crumb　of　peppermint　candy；　and　then　back　to　it　he　went。　Several　times　it　was　on　the　tip　of　my　tongue　to　tell　Delacroix　to　give　it　a　rest；　and　each　time　I　reminded　myself　that　he　had　this　night　and　tomorrow　to　play　the　spool…game　with　Mr。　Jingles；　and　that　was　all。　Near　the　end；　though；　it　began　to　be　really　difficult　to　hold　onto　that　thought　…　you　know　how　it　is；　with　a　noise　that's　repeated　over　and　over。　After　a　while　it　shoots　your　nerve。　I　started　to　speak　after　all；　then　something　made　me　look　over　my　shoulder　and　out　the　cell　door。　John　Coffey　was　standing　at　his　cell　door　across　the　way；　and　he　shook　his　head　at　me：　right；　left；　back　to　center。　As　if　he　had　read　my　mind　and　was　telling　me　to　think　again。　
I　would　see　that　Mr。　Jingles　got　to　Delacroix's　maiden　aunt；　I　said；　the　one　who　had　sent　him　the　big　bag　of　candy。　His　colored　spool　could　go　as　well；　even　his　〃house〃　…　we'd　take　up　a　collection　and　see　that　Toot　gave　up　his　claim　on　the　Corona　box。　No；　said　Delacroix　after　some　consideration　（he　had　time　to　throw　the　spool　against　the　wall　at　least　five　times；　with　Mr。　Jingles　either　nosing　it　back　or　pushing　it　with　his　paws）；　that　wouldn't　do。　Aunt　Hermione　was　too　old；　she　wouldn't　understand　Mr。　Jingles's　frisky　ways；　and　suppose　Mr。　Jingles　outlived　her？　What　would　happen　to　him　then？　No；　no；　Aunt　Hermione　just　wouldn't　do。　
Well；　then；　I　asked；　suppose　one　of　us　took　it？　One　of　us　guards？　We　could　keep　him　right　here　on　E　Block。　No；　Delacroix　said；　he　thanked　me　kindly　for　the　thought；　certainement；　but　Mr。　Jingles　was　a　mouse　that　yearned　to　be　free。　He；　Eduard　Delacroix；　knew　this；　because　Mr。　Jingles　had　…　you　guessed　it　…　whispered　the　information　in　his　ear。　
〃All　right；〃　I　said；　〃one　of　us　will　take　him　home；　Del。　Dean；　maybe。　He's　got　a　little　boy　that　would　just　love　a　pet　mouse；　I　bet。〃　
Delacroix　actually　turned　pale　with　horror　at　the　thought。　A　little　kid　in　charge　of　a　rodent　genius　like　Mr。　Jingles？　How　in　the　name　of　le　bon　Dieu　could　a　little　kid　be　expected　to　keep　up　with　his　training；　let　alone　teach　him　new　tricks？　And　suppose　the　kid　lost　interest　and　forgot　to　feed　him　for　two　or　three　days　at　a　stretch？　Delacroix；　who　had　roasted　six　human　beings　alive　in　an　effort　to　cover　up　his　original　crime；　shuddered　with　the　delicate　revulsion　of　an　ardent　anti…vivisectionist。　
All　right；　I　said；　I'd　take　him　myself　（promise　them　anything；　remember；　in　their　last　forty…eight　hours；　promise　them　anything）。　How　would　that　be？　
〃No；　sir；　Boss　Edgebe；〃　Del　said　apologetically。　He　threw　the　spool　again。　It　hit　the　wall；　bounced；　spun；　then　Mr。　Jingles　was　on　it　like　white　on　rice　and　nosing　it　back　to　Delacroix。　〃Thank　you　kindly　…　merci　beaucoup　…　but　you　live　out　in　the　woods；　and　Mr。　Jingles；　he　be　scared　to　live　out　dans　la　foret。　I　know；　because…〃　
〃I　think　I　can　guess　how　you　know；　Del；〃　I　said。　
Delacroix　nodded；　smiling。　〃But　we　gonna　figure　this　out。　You　bet！〃　He　threw　the　spool。　Mr。　Jingles　clittered　after　it。　I　tried　not　to　wince。　
In　the　end　it　was　Brutal　who　saved　the　day。　He　had　been　up　by　the　duty　desk；　watching　Dean　and　Harry　play　cribbage。　Percy　was　there；　too；　and　Brutal　finally　tired　of　trying　to　start　a　conversation　with　him　and　getting　nothing　but　sullen　grunts　in　response。　He　strolled　down　to　where　I　sat　on　a　stool　outside　of　Delacroix's　cell　and　stood　there　listening　to　us　with　his　arms　folded。　
〃How　about　Mouseville？〃　Brutal　asked　into　the　considering　silence　which　followed　Del's　rejection　of　my　spooky　old　house　out　in　the　woods。　He　threw　the　ment　out　in　a　casual　just…an…idea　tone　of　voice。　
〃Mouseville？〃　Delacroix　asked；　giving　Brutal　a　look　both　startled　and　interested。　〃What　Mouseville？〃　
〃It's　this　tourist　attraction　down　in　Florida；〃　he　said。　〃Tallahassee；　I　think。　Is　that　right；　Paul？　Tallahassee？〃　
〃Yep；〃　I　said；　speaking　without　a　moment's　hesitation；　thinking　God　bless　Brutus　Howell。　〃Tallahassee。　Right　down　the　road　apiece　from　the　dog　university。〃　Brutal's　mouth　twitched　at　that；　and　I　thought　he　was　going　to　queer　the　pitch　by　laughing；　but　he　got　it　under　control　and　nodded。　I'd　hear　about　the　dog　university　later；　though；　I　imagined。　
This　time　Del　didn't　throw　the　spool；　although　Mr。　Jingles　stood　on　Del's　slipper　with　his　front　paws　raised；　clearly　lusting　for　another　chance　to　chase。　The　Cajun　looked　from　Brutal　to　me　and　back　to　Brutal　again。　〃What　dey　do　in　Mouseville？〃　he　asked。　
〃You　think　they'd　take　Mr。　Jingles？〃　Brutal　asked　me；　simultaneously　ignoring　Del　and　drawing　him　on。　〃Think　he's　got　the　stuff；　Paul？〃　
I　tried　to　appear　considering。　〃You　know；〃　I　said；　〃the　more　I　think　of　it；　the　more　it　seems　like　a　brilliant　idea。〃　From　the　er　of　my　eye　I　saw　Percy　e　partway　down　the　Green　Mile　（giving　Wharton's　cell　a　very　wide　berth）。　He　stood　with　one　shoulder　leaning　against　an　empty　cell；　listening　with　a　small；　contemptuous　smile　on　his　lips。　
〃What　dis　Mouseville？〃　Del　asked；　now　frantic　to　know。　
〃A　tourist　attraction；　like　I　told　you；〃　Brutal　said。　〃There's；　oh　I　dunno；　a　hundred　or　so　mice　there。　Wouldn't　you　say；　Paul？〃　
〃More　like　a　hundred　and　fifty　these　days；〃　I　said。　〃It's　a　big　success。　I　understand　they're　thinking　of　opening　one　out　in　California　and　calling　it　Mouseville　West；　that's　how　much　business　is　booming。　Trained　mice　are　the　ing　thing　with　the　smart　set；　I　guess　…　I　don't　understand　it；　myself。〃　
Del　sat　with　the　colored　spool　in　his　hand；　looking　at　us；　his　own　situation　forgotten　for　the　time　being。　
〃They　only　take　the　smartest　mice；〃　Brutal　cautioned；　〃the　ones　that　can　do　tricks。　And　they　can't　be　white　mice；　because　those　are　pet…shop　mice。〃　
〃Pet…shop　mice；　yeah；　you　bet！〃　Delacroix　said　fiercely。　〃I　hate　dem　pet…shop　mice！〃　
〃And　what　they　got；〃　Brutal　said；　his　eyes　distant　now　as　he　imagined　it；　〃is　this　tent　you　go　into…〃　
〃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　there's；　like；　this　whole　city　made　out　of　Bakelite　boxes　and　toilet…paper　rolls；　with　windows　made　out　of　isinglass　so　you　can　see　what　they're　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。　Jingles's　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　Brutal's　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；　〃there's　the　mouse　city；　but　what　the　kids　really　like　is　the　Mouseville　All…Star　Circus；　where　there's　mice　that　swing　on　trapezes；　and　mice　that　roll　these　little　barrels；　and　mice　that　stack　coins…〃　
〃Yeah；　dat's　it！　Dat's　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。　Jingles's　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　mouse's　name　over　and　over。　
Percy　turned　toward　him；　smiling。　Toward　the　three　of　us。　〃There；〃　he　said。　〃I　knew　I'd　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；　I've　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。　Isn't　that　what　people　mostly　say　when　they　have　finally　figured　out　how　to　get　rid　of　a　problem　that　walks　and　talks？　
It's　been　a　little　over　two　years。　The　eerie　thing　is　that　I　don't　know　if　it　feels　like　two　years；　or　longer　than　that；　or　shorter。　My　sense　of　time　seems　to　be　melting；　like　a　kid's　snowman　in　a　January　thaw。　It's　as　if　time　as　it　always　was　…　Eastern　Standard　Time；　Daylight　Saving　Tune；　Working…Man　Time　…　doesn't　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　don't　you　think　it's　only　a　boring　dangerous　as　a　nursery　school　at　naptime；　but　it's　dangerous；　all　right。　I've　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　they're　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；　it's　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。　That's　what　I　tell　Elaine　Connelly；　my　special　friend。　It's　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　aren't　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　aren't　much　shakes　when　it　es　to　exercise　just　for　the　sake　of　exercise　…　but　it's　easier　now　that　there's　a　purpose　to　my　walks。　
I　go　out　before　breakfast　…　as　soon　as　it's　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