第23部分(第3/7 页)

his　placid　face　suggested　that　he　didn't　give　a　rat's　ass　…　any　more　than　I'd　give　a　rat's　ass　about　the　mechanics　of　running　when　I　was　leading　in　the　last　fifty　yards　of　a　Fourth　of　July　Two…Miler。　I　thought　about　asking　him　how　he'd　known　I　was　sick　in　the　first　place；　except　that　would　undoubtedly　have　gotten　the　same　headshake。　There's　a　phrase　I　read　somewhere　and　never　forgot；　something　about　〃an　enigma　wrapped　in　a　mystery。〃　That's　what　John　Coffey　was；　and　I　suppose　the　only　reason　he　could　sleep　at　night　was　because　he　didn't　care。　Percy　called　him　the　ijit；　which　was　cruel　but　not　too　far　off　the　mark。　Our　big　boy　knew　his　name；　and　knew　it　wasn't　spelled　like　the　drink；　and　that　was　just　about　all　he　cared　to　know。

As　if　to　emphasize　this　for　me；　he　shook　his　head　m　that　deliberate　way　one　more　time；　then　lay　down　on　his　bunk　with　his　hands　clasped　under　his　left　cheek　like　a　pillow　and　his　face　to　the　wall。　His　legs　dangled　off　the　end　of　the　bunk　from　the　shins　on　down；　but　that　never　seemed　to　bother　him。　The　back　of　his　shirt　had　pulled　up；　and　I　could　see　the　scars　that　crisscrossed　his　skin。

I　left　the　cell；　turned　the　locks；　then　faced　Delacroix；　who　was　standing　across　the　way　with　his　hands　wrapped　around　the　bars　of　his　cell；　looking　at　me　anxiously。　Perhaps　even　fearfully。　Mr。　Jingles　perched　on　his　shoulder　with　his　fine　ents。　〃What　dat　darkie…man　do　to　you？〃　Delacroix　asked。　〃Waddit　gris…gris？　He　th'ow　some　gris…gris　on　you？〃　Spoken　in　that　Cajun　accent　of　his；　gris…gris　rhymed　with　pee…pee。

〃I　don't　know　what　you're　talking　about；　Del。〃

〃Devil　you　don't！　Lookit　you！　All　change！　Even　walk　different；　boss！〃

I　probably　was　walking　different；　at　that。　There　was　a　beautiful　feeling　of　calm　in　my　groin；　a　sense　of　p