绿里奇迹(英文版)-第58章

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cant…eyed　idiot　could　change　it。　
Maybe　it　still　wasn't　too　late　to　save　ourselves；　though。　I　made　as　if　to　get　up；　the　blanket　I'd　been　wearing　slipping　off　my　shoulders。　I　would　lean　over；　tap　on　the　driver's…side　window；　tell　Harry　to　get　the　hell　out　before　…　
John　Coffey　grabbed　my　forearm　in　one　of　his　hamhock　fists；　pulling　me　back　down　as　effortlessly　as　I　might　have　done　to　a　toddler。　〃Look；　boss；〃　he　said；　pointing。　〃Someone's　up。〃　
I　followed　the　direction　of　his　finger　and　felt　a　sinking　…　not　just　of　the　belly；　but　of　the　heart。　There　was　a　spark　of　light　in　one　of　the　back　windows。　The　room　where　Melinda　now　spent　her　days　and　nights；　most　likely；　she　would　be　no　more　capable　of　using　the　stairs　than　she　would　of　going　out　to　rake　the　leaves　which　had　fallen　during　the　recent　storm。　
They'd　heard　the　truck；　of　course　…　Harry　Terwilliger's　goddam　Farmall；　its　engine　bellowing　and　farting　down　the　length　of　an　exhaust　pipe　unencumbered　by　anything　so　frivolous　as　a　muffler。　Hell；　the　Mooreses　probably　weren't　sleeping　that　well　these　nights；　anyway。　
A　light　closer　to　the　front　of　the　house　went　on　（the　kitchen）；　then　the　living…room　overhead；　then　the　one　in　the　front　hall；　then　the　one　over　the　stoop。　I　watched　these　forward…marching　lights　the　way　a　man　standing　against　a　cement　wall　and　smoking　his　last　cigarette　might　watch　the　lockstep　approach　of　the　firing　squad。　Yet　I　did　not　entirely　acknowledge　to　myself　even　then　that　it　was　too　late　until　the　uneven　chop　of　the　Farmall's　engine　faded　into　silence；　and　the　doors　creaked；　and　the　gravel　crunched　as　Harry　and　Brutal　got　out。　
John　was　up；　pulling　me　with　him。　In　the　dim　light；　his　face　looked　lively　and　eager。　Why　not？　I　remember　thinking。　Why　shouldn't　he　look　eager？　He's　a　fool。　
Brutal　and　Harry　were　standing　shoulder　to　shoulder　at　the　foot　of　the　truck；　like　kids　in　a　thunderstorm；　and　I　saw　that　both　of　them　looked　as　scared；　confused；　and　uneasy　as　I　felt。　That　made　me　feel　even　worse。　
John　got　down。　For　him　it　was　more　of　a　step　than　a　jump。　I　followed；　stiff…legged　and　miserable。　I　would　have　sprawled　on　the　cold　gravel　if　he　hadn't　caught　me　by　the　arm。　
〃This　is　a　mistake；〃　Brutal　said　in　a　hissy　little　voice。　His　eyes　were　very　wide　and　very　frightened。　〃Christ　Almighty；　Paul；　what　were　we　thinking？〃　
〃Too　late　now；〃　I　said。　I　pushed　one　of　Coffey's　hips；　and　he　went　obediently　enough　to　stand　beside　Harry。　Then　I　grabbed　Brutal's　elbow　like　this　was　a　date　we　were　on　and　got　the　two　of　us　walking　toward　the　stoop　where　that　light　was　now　burning。　〃Let　me　do　the　talking。　Understand？〃　
〃Yeah；〃　Brutal　said。　〃Right　now　that's　just　about　the　only　thing　I　do　understand。〃　
I　looked　back　over　my　shoulder。　〃Harry；　stay　by　the　truck　with　him　until　I　call　for　you。　I　don't　want　Moores　to　see　him　until　I'm　ready。〃　Except　I　was　never　going　to　be　ready。　I　knew　that　now。　
Brutal　and　I　had　just　reached　the　foot　of　the　steps　when　the　front　door　was　hauled　open　hard　enough　to　flap　the　brass　knocker　against　its　plate。　There　stood　Hal　Moores　in　blue　pajama　pants　and　a　strapstyle　tee…shirt；　his　iron…gray　hair　standing　up　in　tufts　and　twists。　He　was　a　man　who　had　made　a　thousand　enemies　over　the　course　of　his　career；　and　he　knew　it。　Clasped　in　his　right　hand；　the　abnormally　long　barrel　not　quite　pointing　at　the　floor；　was　the　pistol　which　had　always　been　mounted　over　the　mantel。　It　was　the　sort　of　gun　known　as　a　Ned　Buntline　Special；　it　had　been　his　grandfather's；　and　right　then　（I　saw　this　with　a　further　sinking　in　my　gut）　it　was　fully　cocked。　
〃Who　the　hell　goes　there　at　two…thirty　in　the　goddam　morning？〃　he　asked。　I　heard　no　fear　at　all　in　his　voice。　And　…for　the　time　being；　at　least　…　his　shakes　had　stopped。　The　hand　holding　the　gun　was　as　steady　as　a　stone。　〃Answer　me；　or　…　〃　The　barrel　of　the　gun　began　to　rise。　
〃Stop　it；　Warden！〃　Brutal　raised　his　hands；　palms　out；　toward　the　man　with　the　gun。　I　have　never　heard　his　voice　sound　the　way　it　did　then；　it　was　as　if　the　shakes　turned　out　of　Moores's　hands　had　somehow　found　their　way　into　Brutus　Howell's　throat。　〃It's　us！　It's　Paul　and　me　and　。　。　。　it's　us！〃　
He　took　the　first　step　up；　so　that　the　light　over　the　stoop　could　fall　fully　on　his　face；　I　joined　him。　Hal　Moores　looked　back　and　forth　between　us；　his　angry　determination　giving　way　to　bewilderment。　〃What　are　you　doing　here？〃　he　asked。　〃Not　only　is　it　the　shank　of　the　morning；　you　boys　have　the　duty。　I　know　you　do；　I've　got　the　roster　pinned　up　in　my　workshop。　So　what　in　the　name　of　。。。　oh；　Jesus。　It's　not　a　lockdown；　is　it？　Or　a　riot？〃　He　looked　between　us；　and　his　gaze　sharpened。　〃Who　else　is　down　by　that　truck？〃　
Let　me　do　the　talking。　So　I　had　instructed　Brutal；　but　now　the　time　to　talk　was　here　and　I　couldn't　even　open　my　mouth。　On　my　way　into　work　that　afternoon　I　had　carefully　planned　out　what　I　was　going　to　say　when　we　got　here；　and　had　thought　that　it　didn't　sound　too　crazy。　Not　normal　…　nothing　about　it　was　normal　…　but　maybe　close　enough　to　normal　to　get　us　through　the　door　and　give　us　a　chance。　Give　John　a　chance。　But　now　all　my　carefully　rehearsed　words　were　lost　in　a　roaring　confusion。　Thoughts　and　images　…　Del　burning；　the　mouse　dying；　Toot　jerking　in　Old　Sparky's　lap　and　screaming　that　he　was　a　done　tom　turkey　…　whirled　inside　my　head　like　sand　caught　in　a　dust…devil。　I　believe　there　is　good　in　the　world；　all　of　it　flowing　in　one　way　or　another　from　a　loving　God。　But　I　believe　there's　another　force　as　well；　one　every　bit　as　real　as　the　God　I　have　prayed　to　my　whole　life；　and　that　it　works　consciously　to　bring　all　our　decent　impulses　to　ruin。　Not　Satan；　I　don't　mean　Satan　（although　I　believe　he　is　real；　too）；　but　a　kind　of　demon　of　discord；　a　prankish　and　stupid　thing　that　laughs　with　glee　when　an　old　man　sets　himself　on　fire　trying　to　light　his　pipe　or　when　a　much…loved　baby　puts　its　first　Christmas　toy　in　its　mouth　and　chokes　to　death　on　it。　I've　had　a　lot　of　years　to　think　on　this；　all　the　way　from　Cold　Mountain　to　Georgia　Pines；　and　I　believe　that　force　was　actively　at　work　among　us　on　that　morning；　swirling　everywhere　like　a　fog；　trying　to　keep　John　Coffey　away　from　Melinda　Moores。　
〃Warden　。。。　Hal　。。。　I　。。。〃　Nothing　I　tried　made　any　sense。　
He　raised　the　pistol　again；　pointing　it　between　Brutal　and　me；　not　listening。　His　bloodshot　eyes　had　gotten　very　wide。　And　here　came　Harry　Terwilliger；　being　more　or　less　pulled　along　by　our　big　boy；　who　was　wearing　his　wide　and　daffily　charming　smile。　
〃Coffey；〃　Moores　breathed。　〃John　Coffey。〃　He　pulled　in　breath　and　yelled　in　a　voice　that　was　reedy　but　strong：　〃Halt！　Halt　right　there；　or　I　shoot！〃　
From　somewhere　behind　him；　a　weak　and　wavery　female　voice　called：　〃Hal？　What　are　you　doing　out　there？　Who　are　you　talking　to；　you　fucking　cocksucker？〃　
He　turned　in　that　direction　for　just　a　moment；　his　face　confused　and　despairing。　Just　a　moment；　as　I　say；　but　it　should　have　been　long　enough　for　me　to　snatch　the　long…barrelled　gun　out　of　his　hand。　Except　I　couldn't　lift　my　own　hands。　They　might　have　had　weights　tied　to　them。　My　head　seemed　full　of　static；　like　a　radio　trying　to　broadcast　during　an　electrical　storm。　The　only　emotions　I　remember　feeling　were　fright　and　a　kind　of　dull　embarrassment　for　Hal。　
Harry　and　John　Coffey　reached　the　foot　of　the　steps。　Moores　turned　away　from　the　sound　of　his　wife's　voice　and　raised　the　gun　again。　He　said　later　that　yes；　he　fully　intended　to　shoot　Coffey；　he　suspected　we　were　all　prisoners；　and　that　the　brains　behind　whatever　was　happening　were　back　by　the　truck；　lurking　in　the　shadows。　He　didn't　understand　why　we　should　have　been　brought　to　his　house；　but　revenge　seemed　the　most　likely　possibility。　
Before　he　could　shoot；　Harry　Terwilliger　stepped　up　ahead　of　Coffey　and　then　moved　in　front　of　him；　shielding　most　of　his　body。　Coffey　didn't　make　him　do　it；　Harry　did　it　on　his　own。　
〃No；　Warden　Moores！〃　he　said。　〃It's　all　right！　No　one's　armed；　no　one's　going　to　get　hurt；　we're　here　to　help！〃　
〃Help？〃　Moores's　tangled；　tufted　eyebrows　drew　together。　His　eyes　blazed。　I　couldn't　take　my　eyes　off　the　cocked　hammer　of　the　Buntline。　〃Help　what？　Help　who？〃　
As　if　in　answer；　the　old　woman's　voice　rose　again；　querulous　and　certain　and　utterly　lost：　〃e　in　here　and　poke　my　mudhole；　you　son　of　a　bitch！　Bring　your　asshole　friends；　too！　Let　them　all　have　a　turn！〃　
I　looked　at　Brutal；　shaken　to　my　soul。　I'd　understood　that　she　swore　…　that　the　tumor　was　somehow　making　her　swear　…　but　this　was　more　than　swearing。　A　lot　more。　
〃What　are　you　doing　here？〃　Moores　asked　us　again。　A　lot　of　the　determination　had　gone　out　of　his　voice　…　his　wife's　wavering　cries　had　done　that。　〃I　don't　understand。　Is　it　a　prison　break；　or。。。〃　
John　set　Harry　aside　…　just　picked　him　up　and　moved　him　over　…　and　then　climbed　to　the　stoop。　He　stood　between　Brutal　and　me；　so　big　he　almost　pushed　us　off　either　side　and　into　Melly's　holly　bushes。　Moores's　eyes　turned　up　to　follow　him；　the　way　a　person's　eyes　do　when　he's　trying　to　see　the　top　of　a　tall　tree。　And　suddenly　the　world　fell　back　into　place　for　me。　That　spirit　of　discord；　which　had　jumbled　my　thoughts　like　powerful　fingers　sifting　through　sand　or　grains　of　rice；　was　gone。　I　thought　I　also　understood　why