绿里奇迹(英文版)-第42部分

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hen　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　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；　I'm　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　didn't　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　they're　startled　…　but　that　wasn't　all　of　it。　I'd　been　thinking　about　Percy　Wetmore；　remember；　and　it's　Percy　that　Brad　always　reminds　me　of。　Some　of　it's　how　Brad　always　goes　around　with　a　paperback　stuffed　into　his　pocket　（with　Percy　it　was　always　a　men's　adventure　magazine；　with　Brad　it's　books　of　jokes　that　are　only　funny　if　you're　stupid　and　mean…hearted）；　some　of　it's　how　he　acts　like　he's　King　Shit　of　Turd　Mountain；　but　mostly　it's　that　he's　sneaky；　and　he　likes　to　hurt。　
He'd　just　gotten　to　work；　I　saw；　hadn't　even　changed　into　his　orderly's　whites　yet。　He　was　wearing　jeans　and　a　cheesy…looking　Western…style　shirt。　In　one　hand　was　the　remains　of　a　Danish　he'd　hooked　out　of　the　kitchen。　He'd　been　standing　under　the　leave；　eating　it　where　he　wouldn't　get　wet。　And　where　he　could　watch　for　me；　I'm　pretty　sure　of　that　now。　I'm　pretty　sure　of　something　else；　as　well：　I'll　have　to　watch　out　for　Mr。　Brad　Dolan。　He　doesn't　like　me　much。　I　don't　know　why；　but　I　never　knew　why　Percy　Wetmore　didn't　like　Delacroix；　either。　And　dislike　is　really　too　weak　a　word。　Percy　hated　Del's　guts　from　the　very　first　moment　the　little　Frenchman　came　onto　the　Green　Mile。　
'〃What's　with　this　poncho　you　got　on；　Paulie？〃　he　asked；　flicking　the　collar。　〃This　isn't　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　I'd　give　him　the　satisfaction　of　seeing　it。　〃There's　a　whole　row　of　them。　I'm　not　hurting　it　any；　would　you　say？　Rain's　what　it's　made　for；　after　all。〃　
〃But　it　wasn't　made　for　you；　Paulie；〃　he　said；　giving　it　another　little　flick。　〃That's　the　thing。　Those　slickers're　for　the　employees；　not　the　residents。〃　
〃I　still　don't　see　what　harm　it　does。〃　
He　gave　me　a　thin　little　smile。　〃It's　not　about　harm；　it's　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　doesn't　have　to　mind　about　the　rules　anymore；　but　that's　just　not　true。　Paulie。〃　
Smiling　at　me。　Disliking　me。　Maybe　even　hating　me。　And　why？　I　don't　know。　Sometimes　there　is　no　why。　That's　the　scary　part。　
〃Well；　I'm　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　I'm　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　think'd　have　to　hoss　your　elderly　freight　back　up　the　hill？〃　
〃I　don't　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　you'll　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。　It's　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　doesn't　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　don't　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　don't　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　he'd　only　mentioned　the　path；　he　didn't　know　about　the　shed。　〃I　just　walk。　To　clear　my　mind〃　
〃Too　late　for　that；　Paulie；　your　mind's　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　wasn't　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　governor's　nephew。　〃Old　as　you　are；　its　a　miracle　you　can　remember　who　you　are。　You're　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　wasn't　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　rep