绿里奇迹(英文版)-第41部分

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ti…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　spec