绿里奇迹(英文版)-第77章

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s　fussing　at　me　for　not　buying　her　a　new　camera　to　record　the　blessed　event。　I　opened　my　mouth　to　tell　her　we　had　a　day　to　shop　in　after　we　got　down　there；　and　she　could　have　a　new　camera　if　she　wanted　one；　it　would　fit　the　budget　all　right；　and　furthermore　I　thought　she　was　just　fussing　because　she　was　bored　with　the　ride　and　didn't　like　the　book　she'd　brought。　A　Perry　Mason；　it　was。　That's　when　everything　in　my　memory　goes　white　for　a　bit；　like　film　that's　been　left　out　in　the　sun。　
Do　you　remember　that　accident？　I　suppose　a　few　folks　reading　this　might；　but　mostly　not。　Yet　it　made　front…page　headlines　from　coast　to　coast　when　it　happened。　We　were　outside　Birmingham　in　a　driving　rain；　Janice　plaining　about　her　old　camera；　and　a　tire　blew。　The　bus　waltzed　sideways　on　the　wet　pavement　and　was　hit　broadside　by　a　truck　hauling　fertilizer。　The　truck　slammed　the　bus　into　a　bridge　abutment　at　better　than　sixty　miles　an　hour；　crushed　it　against　the　concrete；　and　broke　it　in　half。　Two　shiny；　rain…streaked　pieces　spun　in　two　opposite　directions；　the　one　with　the　diesel　tank　in　it　exploding　and　sending　a　red…black　fireball　up　into　the　rainygray　sky。　At　one　moment　Janice　was　plaining　about　her　old　Kodak；　and　at　the　very　next　I　found　myself　lying　on　the　far　side　of　the　underpass　in　the　rain　and　staring　at　a　pair　of　blue　nylon　panties　that　had　spilled　out　of　someone's　suitcase。　WEDNESDAY　was　stitched　on　them　in　black　thread。　There　were　burst…open　suitcases　everywhere。　And　bodies。　And　parts　of　bodies。　There　were　seventy…three　people　on　that　bus；　and　only　four　survived　the　crash。　I　was　one　of　them；　the　only　one　not　seriously　hurt。　
I　got　up　and　staggered　among　the　burst…open　suitcases　and　shattered　people；　crying　out　my　wife's　name。　I　kicked　aside　an　alarm　clock；　I　remember　that；　and　I　remember　seeing　a　dead　boy　of　about　thirteen　lying　in　a　strew　of　glass　with　P。F。　Flyers　on　his　feet　and　half　his　face　gone。　I　felt　the　rain　beating　on　my　own　face；　then　I　went　through　the　underpass　and　it　was　gone　for　awhile。　When　I　came　out　on　the　other　side　it　was　there　again；　hammering　my　cheeks　and　forehead。　Lying　by　the　shattered　cab　of　the　overturned　fertilizer　truck；　I　saw　Jan。　I　recognized　her　by　her　red　dress　…　it　was　her　second…best。　The　best　she　had　been　saving　for　the　actual　graduation；　of　course。　
She　wasn't　quite　dead。　I　have　often　thought　it　would　have　been　better　…　for　me；　if　not　for　her　…　if　she　had　been　killed　instantly。　It　might　have　made　it　possible　for　me　to　let　her　go　a　little　sooner；　a　little　more　naturally。　Or　perhaps　I'm　only　kidding　myself　about　that。　All　I　know　for　sure　is　that　I　have　never　let　her　go；　not　really。　
She　was　trembling　all　over。　One　of　her　shoes　had　e　off　and　I　could　see　her　foot　jittering。　Her　eyes　were　open　but　blank；　the　left　one　full　of　blood；　and　as　I　fell　on　my　knees　next　to　her　in　the　smoky…smelling　rain；　all　I　could　think　of　was　that　jitter　meant　she　was　being　electrocuted；　she　was　being　electrocuted　and　I　had　to　hold　the　roll　before　it　was　too　late。　
〃Help　me！〃　I　screamed。　〃Help　me；　someone　help　me！〃　
No　one　helped；　no　one　even　came。　The　rain　pounded　down　…　a　hard；　soaking　rain　that　flattened　
My　still…black　hair　against　my　skull　…　and　I　held　her　in　my　arms　and　no　one　came。　Her　blank　eyes　looked　up　at　me　with　a　kind　of　dazed　intensity；　and　blood　poured　from　the　back　of　her　crushed　head　in　a　freshet。　Beside　one　trembling；　mindlessly　spasming　hand　was　a　piece　of　chromed　steel　with　the　letters　GREY　on　it。　Next　to　that　was　roughly　one　quarter　of　what　had　once　been　a　businessman　in　a　brown　Wool　suit。　
〃Help　me！〃　I　screamed　again；　and　turned　toward　the　underpass；　and　there　I　saw　John　Coffey　standing　in　the　shadows；　only　a　shadow　himself；　a　big　man　with　long；　dangling　arms　and　a　bald　head。　〃John！〃　I　screamed。　〃Oh　John　；　please　help　me！　Please　help　Janice！〃　
Rain　ran　into　my　eyes。　I　blinked　it　away；　and　he　was　gone。　I　could　see　the　shadows　I　had　mistaken　for　John　。。。　but　it　hadn't　been　only　shadows。　I'm　sure　of　that。　He　was　there。　Maybe　only　as　a　ghost；　but　he　was　there；　the　rain　on　his　face　mixing　with　the　endless　flow　of　his　tears。　
She　died　in　my　arms；　there　in　the　rain　beside　that　fertilizer　truck　with　the　smell　of　burning　diesel　fuel　in　my　nose。　There　was　no　moment　of　awareness　…　the　eyes　clearing；　the　lips　moving　in　some　whispered　final　declaration　of　love。　There　was　a　kind　of　shivery　clench　in　the　flesh　beneath　my　hands；　and　then　she　was　gone。　I　thought　of　Melinda　Moores　for　the　first　time　in　years；　then；　Melinda　sitting　up　in　the　bed　where　all　the　doctors　at　Indianola　General　Hospital　had　believed　she　would　die；　Melinda　Moores　looking　fresh　and　rested　and　peering　at　John　Coffey　with　bright；　wondering　eyes。　Melinda　saying　I　dreamed　you　were　wandering　in　the　dark；　and　so　was　I。　We　found　each　other。　
I　put　my　wife's　poor；　mangled　head　down　on　the　wet　pavement　of　the　interstate　highway；　got　to　my　feet　（it　was　easy；　I　had　a　little　cut　on　the　side　of　my　left　hand；　but　that　was　all）；　and　screamed　his　name　into　the　shadows　of　the　underpass。　
〃John！　JOHN　COFFEY！　WHERE　ARE　YOU；　BIG　BOY？〃　
I　walked　toward　those　shadows；　kicking　aside　a　teddy…bear　with　blood　on　its　fur；　a　pair　of　steel　rimmed　eyeglasses　with　one　shattered　lens；　a　severed　hand　with　a　gar　ring　on　the　pinky　finger。　〃You　saved　Hal's　wife；　why　not　my　wife？　Why　not　Janice？　WHY　NOT　MY　JANICE？〃　
No　answer；　only　the　smell　of　burning　diesel　and　burning　bodies；　only　the　rain　falling　ceaselessly　out　of　the　gray　sky　and　drumming　on　the　cement　while　my　wife　lay　dead　on　the　road　behind　me。　No　answer　then　and　no　answer　now。　But　of　course　it　wasn't　only　Melly　Moores　that　John　Coffey　saved　in　1932；　or　Del's　mouse；　the　one　that　could　do　that　cute　trick　with　the　spool　and　seemed　to　be　looking　for　Del　long　before　Del　showed　up　。。。　long　before　John　Coffey　showed　up；　either。　
John　saved　me；　too；　and　years　later；　standing　in　the　pouring　Alabama　rain　and　looking　for　a　man　who　wasn't　there　in　the　shadows　of　an　underpass；　standing　amid　the　spilled　luggage　and　the　ruined　dead；　I　learned　a　terrible　thing：　sometimes　there　is　absolutely　no　difference　at　all　between　salvation　and　damnation。　
I　felt　one　or　the　other　pouring　through　me　as　we　sat　together　on　his　bunk　…　November　the　eighteenth；　nieen　and　thirty…two。　Pouring　out　of　him　and　into　me；　whatever　strange　force　he　had　in　him　ing　through　our　joined　hands　in　a　way　our　love　and　hope　and　good　intentions　somehow　never　can；　a　feeling　that　began　as　a　tingle　and　then　turned　into　something　tidal　and　enormous；　a　force　beyond　anything　I　had　ever　experienced　before　or　have　ever　experienced　since。　Since　that　day　I　have　never　had　pneumonia；　or　the　flu；　or　even　a　strep　throat。　I　have　never　had　another　urinary　infection；　or　so　much　as　an　infected　cut。　I　have　had　colds；　but　they　have　been　infrequent　…　six　or　seven　years　apart；　and　although　people　who　don't　have　colds　often　are　supposed　to　suffer　more　serious　ones；　that　has　never　been　the　case　with　me。　Once；　earlier　on　in　that　awful　year　of　1956；　I　passed　a　gallstone。　And　although　I　suppose　it　will　sound　strange　to　some　reading　this　in　spite　of　all　I　have　said；　part　of　me　relished　the　pain　that　came　when　that　gallstone　went。　It　was　the　only　serious　pain　I'd　had　since　that　problem　with　my　waterworks；　twenty…four　years　before。　The　ills　that　have　taken　my　friends　and　same…generation　loved　ones　until　there　are　none　of　them　left　…　the　strokes；　the　cancers；　the　heart　attacks；　the　liver　diseases；　the　blood　diseases　…　have　all　left　me　untouched；　have　swerved　to　avoid　me　the　way　a　man　driving　a　car　swerves　to　avoid　a　deer　or　a　raccoon　in　the　road。　The　one　serious　accident　I　was　in　left　me　untouched　save　for　a　scratch　on　the　hand。　In　1932；　John　Coffey　inoculated　me　with　life。　Electrocuted　me　with　life；　you　might　say。　I　will　pass　on　eventually　…　of　course　I　will；　any　illusions　of　immortality　I　might　have　had　died　with　Mr。　Jingles　…　but　I　will　have　wished　for　death　long　before　death　finds　me。　Truth　to　tell；　I　wish　for　it　already　and　have　ever　since　Elaine　Connelly　died。　Need　I　tell　you？　
I　look　back　over　these　pages；　leafing　through　them　with　my　trembling；　spotted　hands；　and　I　wonder　if　there　is　some　meaning　here；　as　in　those　books　which　are　supposed　to　be　uplifting　and　ennobling。　I　think　back　to　the　sermons　of　my　childhood；　booming　affirmations　in　the　church　of　Praise　Jesus；　The　Lord　Is　Mighty；　and　I　recall　how　the　preachers　used　to　say　that　God's　eye　is　on　the　sparrow；　that　He　sees　and　marks　even　the　least　of　His　creations。　When　I　think　of　Mr。　Jingles；　and　the　tiny　scraps　of　wood　we　found　in　that　hole　in　the　beam；　I　think　that　is　so。　Yet　this　same　God　sacrificed　John　Coffey；　who　tried　only　to　do　good　in　his　blind　way；　as　savagely　as　any　Old　Testament　prophet　ever　sacrificed　a　defenseless　Iamb　。。。　as　Abraham　would　have　sacrificed　his　own　son　if　actually　called　upon　to　do　so。　I　think　of　John　saying　that　Wharton　killed　the　Detterick　twins　with　their　love　for　each　other；　and　that　it　happens　every　day；　all　over　the　world。　If　it　happens；　God　lets　it　happen；　and　when　we　say　〃I　don't　understand；〃　God　replies；　〃I　don't　care。〃　
I　think　of　Mr。　Jingles　dying　while　my　back　was　turned　and　my　attention　usurped　by　an　unkind　man　whose　finest　emotion　seemed　to　be　a　species　of　vindictive　curiosity。　I　thi