绿里奇迹(英文版)-第24章

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t　was　the　part　of　him　Harry　and　the　others　saw　first；　because　Wharton　was　standing　at　the　window　and　looking　out　at　the　parking　lot　when　they　came　in。　He　didn't　turn　but　just　stood　there；　holding　the　curtains　back　with　one　hand；　silent　as　a　doll　while　Harry　bitched　at　the　county　sheriff　about　being　too　lazy　to　get　Wharton　into　his　prison　blues　and　the　county　sheriff　lectured　…　as　every　county　official　I've　ever　met　seems　bound　to　do　…　about　what　was　his　job　and　what　was　not。　
When　Harry　got　tired　of　that　part　（I　doubt　it　took　him　long）；　he　told　Wharton　to　turn　around。　Wharton　did。　He　looked；　Dean　told　us　in　his　raspy　bark　of　a　half…choked　voice；　like　any　one　of　a　thousand　backcountry　stampeders　who　had　wound　their　way　through　Cold　Mountain　during　our　years　there。　Boil　that　look　down　and　what　you　got　was　a　dullard　with　a　mean　steak。　Sometimes　you　also　discovered　a　yellow　streak　in　them；　once　their　backs　were　to　the　wall；　but　more　often　there　was　nothing　there　but　fight　and　mean　and　then　more　fight　and　more　mean。　There　are　people　who　see　nobility　in　folks　like　Billy　Wharton；　but　I　am　not　one　of　them。　A　rat　will　fight；　too；　if　it　is　cornered。　This　man's　face　seemed　to　have　no　more　personality　than　his　acne…studded　backside；　Dean　told　us。　His　jaw　was　slack；　his　eyes　distant；　his　shoulders　slumped；　his　hands　dangling。　He　looked　shot　up　with　morphine；　all　right；　every　bit　as　coo…coo　as　any　dopefiend　any　of　them　had　ever　seen。　
At　this；　Percy　gave　another　of　his　sullen　nods。　
〃Put　this　on；〃　Harry　said；　indicating　the　uniform　on　the　foot　of　the　bed　…　it　had　been　taken　out　of　the　brown　paper　it　was　wrapped　in；　but　otherwise　not　touched…it　was　still　folded　just　as　it　had　been　in　the　prison　laundry；　with　a　pair　of　white　cotton　boxer　shorts　poking　out　of　one　shirtsleeve　and　a　pair　of　white　socks　poking　out　of　the　other。　
Wharton　seemed　willing　enough　to　ply；　but　wasn't　able　to　get　very　far　without　help。　He　managed　the　boxers；　but　when　it　came　to　the　pants；　he　kept　trying　to　put　both　legs　into　the　same　hole。　Finally　Dean　helped　him；　getting　his　feet　to　go　where　they　belonged　and　then　yanking　the　trousers　up；　doing　the　fly；　and　snapping　the　waistband。。　Wharton　only　stood　there；　not　even　trying　to　help　once　he　saw　that　Dean　was　doing　it　for　him。　He　stared　vacantly　across　the　room；　hands　lax；　and　it　didn't　occur　to　any　of　them　that　he　was　shamming。　Not　in　hopes　of　escape　（at　least　I　don't　believe　that　was　it）　but　only　in　hopes　of　making　the　maximum　amount　of　trouble　when　the　right　time　came。　
The　papers　were　signed。　William　Wharton；　who　had　bee　county　property　when　he　was　arrested；　now　became　the　state's　property。　He　was　taken　down　the　back　stairs　and　through　the　kitchen；　surrounded　by　bluesuits。　He　walked　with　his　head　down　and　his　long…fingered　hands　dangling。　The　first　time　his　cap　fell　off；　Dean　put　it　back　on　him。　The　second　time；　he　just　tucked　it　into　his　own　back　pocket。　
He　had　another　chance　to　make　trouble　in　the　back　of　the　stagecoach；　when　they　were　shackling　him；　and　didn't。　If　he　thought　（even　now　I'm　not　sure　if　he　did；　or　if　he　did；　how　much）；　he　must　have　thought　that　the　space　was　too　small　and　the　numbers　too　great　to　cause　a　satisfactory　hooraw。　So　on　went　the　chains；　one　set　running　between　his　ankles　and　another　set　too　long；　it　turned　out；　between　his　wrists。　
The　drive　to　Cold　Mountain　took　an　hour。　During　that　whole　time；　Wharton　sat　on　the　lefthand　bench　up　by　the　cab；　head　lowered；　cuffed　hands　dangling　between　his　knees。　Every　now　and　then　he　hummed　a　little；　Harry　said；　and　Percy　roused　himself　enough　from　his　funk　to　say　that　the　lugoon　dripped　spittle　from　his　lax　lower　lip；　a　drop　at　a　time；　until　it　had　made　a　puddle　between　his　feet。　Like　a　dog　dripping　off　the　end　of　its　tongue　on　a　hot　summer　day。　
They　drove　in　through　the　south　gate　when　they　got　to　the　pen；　right　past　my　car；　I　guess。　The　guard　on　the　south　pass　tan　back　the　big　door　between　the　lot　and　the　exercise　yard；　and　the　stagecoach　drove　through。　It　was　a　slack　time　in　the　yard；　not　many　men　out　and　most　of　them　hoeing　in　the　garden。　Pumpkin　time；　it　would　have　been。　They　drove　straight　across　to　E　Block　and　stopped。　The　driver　opened　the　door　and　told　them　he　was　going　to　take　the　stagecoach　over　to　the　motor…pool　to　have　the　oil　changed；　it　had　been　good　working　with　them。　The　extra　guards　went　with　the　vehicle；　two　of　them　sitting　in　the　back　eating　apples；　the　doors　now　swinging　open。　
That　left　Dean；　Harry　and　Percy　with　one　shackled　prisoner。　It　should　have　been　enough；　would　have　been　enough；　if　they　hadn't　been　lulled　by　the　stick　thin　country　boy　standing　head…down　there　in　the　dirt　with　chains　on　his　wrists　and　ankles。　They　marched　him　the　twelve　or　so　paces　to　the　door　that　opened　into　E　Block；　falling　into　the　same　formation　we　used　when　escorting　prisoners　down　the　Green　Mile。　Harry　was　on　his　left；　Dean　was　on　his　right；　and　Percy　was　behind；　with　his　baton　in　his　hand。　No　one　told　me　that；　but　I　know　damned　well　he　had　it　out；　Percy　loved　that　hickory　stick。　As　for　me；　I　was　sitting　in　what　would　be　Wharton's　home　until　it　came　time　for　him　to　check　into　the　hot　place…first　cell　on　the　right　as　you　headed　down　the　corridor　toward　the　restraint　room。　I　had　my　clipboard　in　my　hands　and　was　thinking　of　nothing　but　making　my　little　set　speech　and　getting　the　hell　out。　The　pain　in　my　groin　was　building　up　again；　and　all　I　wanted　was　to　go　into　my　office　and　wait　for　it　to　pass。　
Dean　stepped　forward　to　unlock　the　door。　He　selected　the　right　key　from　the　bunch　on　his　belt　and　slid　it　into　the　lock。　Wharton　came　alive　just　as　Dean　turned　the　key　and　pulled　the　handle。　He　voiced　a　screaming；　gibbering　cry　…　a　kind　of　Rebel　yell　…　that　froze　Harry　to　temporary　immobility　and　pretty　much　finished　Percy　Wetmore　for　the　entire　encounter。　I　heard　that　scream　through　the　partly　opened　door　and　didn't　associate　it　with　anything　human　at　first；　I　thought　a　dog　had　gotten　into　the　yard　somehow　and　had　been　hurt；　that　perhaps　some　mean　tempered　con　had　hit　it　with　a　hoe。　
Wharton　lifted　his　arms；　dropped　the　chain　which　hung　between　his　wrists　over　Dean's　head；　and　menced　to　choke　him　with　it。　Dean　gave　a　strangled　cry　and　lurched　forward；　into　the　cool　electric　light　of　our　little　world。　Wharton　was　happy　to　go　with　him；　even　gave　him　a　shove；　all　the　time　yelling　and　gibbering；　even　laughing。　He　had　his　arms　cocked　at　the　elbows　with　his　fists　up　by　Dean's　ears；　yanking　the　chain　as　tight　as　he　could；　whipsawing　it　back　and　forth。　
Harry　landed　on　Wharton's　back；　wrapping　one　hand　in　our　new　boy's　greasy　blond　hair　and　slamming　his　other　fist　into　the　side　of　Wharton's　face　as　hard　as　he　could。　He　had　both　a　baton　of　his　own　and　a　sidearm　pistol；　but　in　his　excitement　drew　neither。　We'd　had　trouble　with　prisoners　before；　you　bet；　but　never　one　who'd　taken　any　of　us　by　surprise　the　way　that　Wharton　did。　The　man's　slyness　was　beyond　our　experience。　I　had　never　seen　its　like　before；　and　have　never　seen　it　again。　
And　he　was　strong。　All　that　slack　looseness　was　gone。　Harry　said　later　that　it　was　like　jumping　onto　a　coiled　nest　of　steel　springs　that　had　somehow　e　to　life。　Wharton；　now　inside　and　near　the　duty　desk；　whirled　to　his　left　and　flung　Harry　off。　Harry　hit　the　desk　and　went　sprawling。　
〃Whoooee；　boys！〃　Wharton　laughed。　〃Ain't　this　a　party；　now？　Is　it；　or　what？〃　
Still　screaming　and　laughing；　Wharton　went　back　to　choking　Dean　with　his　chain。　Why　not？　Wharton　knew　what　we　all　knew：　they　could　only　fry　him　once。　
〃Hit　him；　Percy；　hit　him！〃　Harry　screamed；　struggling　to　his　feet。　But　Percy　only　stood　there；　hickory　baton　in　hand；　eyes　as　wide　as　soup…plates。　Here　was　the　chance　he'd　been　looking　for；　you　would　have　said；　his　golden　opportunity　to　put　that　tallywhacker　of　his　to　good　use；　and　he　was　too　scared　and　confused　to　do　it。　This　wasn't　some　terrified　little　Frenchman　or　a　black　giant　who　hardly　seemed　to　be　in　his　own　body；　this　was　a　whirling　devil。　
I　came　out　of　Wharton's　cell；　dropping　my　clipboard　and　pulling　my　。38。　I　had　forgotten　the　infection　that　was　heating　up　my　middle　for　the　second　time　that　day。　I　didn't　doubt　the　story　the　others　told　of　Wharton's　blank　face　and　dull　eyes　when　they　told　it；　but　that　wasn't　the　Wharton　I　saw。　What　I　saw　was　the　face　of　an　animal　…　not　an　intelligent　animal；　but　one　filled　with　cunning　。。。　and　meanness　。。。　and　joy。　Yes。　He　was　doing　what　he　had　been　made　to　do。　The　place　and　the　circumstances　didn't　matter。　The　other　thing　I　saw　was　Dean　Stanton's　red；　swelling　face。　He　was　dying　in　front　of　my　eyes。　Wharton　saw　the　gun　and　turned　Dean　toward　it；　so　that　I'd　almost　certainly　have　to　hit　one　to　hit　the　other。　From　over　Dean's　shoulder；　one　blazing　blue　eye　dared　me　to　shoot。　


Part　Three：
Coffey's　Hands　
1。　
Looking　back　through　what　I've　written；　I　see　that　I　called　Georgia　Pines；　where　I　now　live；　a　nursing　home。　The　folks　who　run　the　place　wouldn't　be　very　happy　with　that！　According　to　the　brochures　they　keep　in　the　lobby　and　send　out　to　prospective　clients；　its　a　〃State…of…the…art　retirement　plex　for　the　elderly。〃　It　even　has　a　Resource　Center　…　the　brochure　says　so。　The　folks　who　have　to　live　here　（the　brochure　doesn't　call　us　〃inmates；〃　but　sometimes