Chapter 16 Chapter nine

Dudu felt that it was not worth four cents to exchange for a beautiful crown humidor.He may be right, cigar boxes are expensive in prisons.There can be a thousand different gadgets in it, it smells good, and it reminds the prisoners of what it was like to be a free man.I think it's because cigarettes are allowed in prisons but cigars are forbidden. At that time, Dean Stanton was still in the district, and he put another penny in the jar, and I dropped a penny in it too.Toot still seemed reluctant, and Brutal came to persuade him, first telling him that he would be ashamed of this miser's behavior, and then assuring him that when Delacroix was executed, Brutal Tess Howell himself would return the crown humidor to him himself.

"If it's about selling that cigar box, it's paradoxical that six cents is enough and six cents isn't enough," Brutal said, "but you have to admit, it's a lot of money to rent a box for. .He's going to be on the Green Mile in a month, six weeks at best. You see, the box is back on the shelf under your car before you know it." "He could find a good judge, give him a break, and let him stay here and sing 'Old Friends Never Forget,'" said Toot, but he was sensible, and Brutal knew he would of.In fact, old Dudoo has been wheeling that battered car with the Bible citations around Cold Mountain since he was born, and he's seen a lot more... than we did, and that's what I was thought.He knew that Delacroix had just come out of the hand of a kind judge, and his only remaining hope was the governor, but the governor would not issue a pardon to the kind of person who burned half a dozen of his voters to death .

"Even without reprieve, the mouse still has to shit in the box until October, maybe get Thanksgiving," Dooto argued, but Brutal could see him softening. "Who's going to buy a cigar box where mice have shit?" "Oh, my God," said Brutal, "that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, toot, that's the pinnacle of it. First of all, Delacroix cleans the box Well, enough to have communion with it, he loves that mouse, and he'll lick it clean if it's dirty." "Easy to say," said Toot, wrinkling his nose. "Besides," continued Brutal, "rat droppings are nothing, anyway, just hard little balls that look like buckshot, and come out with a shake, nothing."

Old Dudu is a sensible person, so he no longer objected.He'd spent so much time in the compound that he knew it was possible to hold on to a mild wind and light rain, but it was best to compromise in the face of a hurricane.It wasn't exactly a hurricane, but we bruts like rats and approve of Delacroix keeping them, which means it's at least a hurricane.So Delacroix got the box, and Percy got what he said, and two days later the bottom of the box was covered with soft cotton batting from the infirmary. Percy also carried the cotton over himself, and I could see the fear in Delacroix's eyes as he reached over the iron bars to get the cotton.He was afraid Percy would grab his hand and break his fingers.

I was a little worried too, but it didn't happen.That was the closest I ever came to a liking for Percy, but even then it wasn't hard to see a tinge of cruel teasing in his eyes.Delacroix had a pet; Percy had one too.Delacroix kept the pet, petted and loved it as much as he could; Percy waited patiently (as patiently as a man of his kind, however, could), waiting to burn his life. things. "The Mouse Hilton, it's open," Harry said, "the only question is, will the damn little thing take it?" Delacroix had Mr. Jingle in his hands, and the moment he was placed in the box, the question was self-evident.The mouse was curled up in the white cotton as if in a woolen scarf, and it was his home there until... well, then I'll finish Mr. Jingle's story.

Old Toot's fear that the cigar box would be full of rat droppings turned out to be unfounded. I didn't see it once, and Delacroix said he never saw it, ... nor anywhere else in the cell.It wasn't until much later, probably when Brutal showed me the hole in the beam, that when we found the colored pieces, that I moved the chair out of the east corner of the brig, there was a bunch of rats there shit.It seemed that he always came back to the same place and did that thing, and kept as far away from us as possible.One more thing: I've never seen him pee, and generally rats have to run the tap at least once every two minutes, especially when they're eating.I think that damned guy is a mystery brought by God.

Mr. Jingle lived in the cigar box for about a week or so, and Delacroix called Brutal and me to his cell to have a look.It's annoying that he does it all the time.To that half-French descendant, the funniest thing in the world was Mr. Clank curled up on his back with his paws in mid-air, but this time he was a little funny. Delacroix has been almost forgotten by the world since his conviction, but he has a relative, I think, an aunt, an old maid, who writes to him once a week and sends him Here comes a big package filled with mints.In those days, the candy was marketed under the brand name Canada Mint.They look like large pink pills.The package weighed five pounds, and of course we couldn't allow Delacroix to take the whole package away at once, or he'd gobble it up until he had to go to the infirmary with stomach cramps.Like every murderer on the Green Mile, he had no idea what was enough.We only gave him six at a time, and only when he remembered to ask us.

When we got there, Delacroix was on the bed, and Mr. Jingle sat beside him, holding a pink sugar in his paw, munching contentedly.Delacroix was full of joy, like a classical pianist watching his five-year-old son play his first staccato etude.But don't get me wrong, it's funny, it's true.The candy was half the size of Mr. Jingle, and his white downy belly was already bulging. "Put the sugar away, Eddie," said Brutal, half amused, half alarmed, "Jesus Almighty, he's going to burst his stomach. I can smell peppermint, you make me How many did he eat?" "It's the second one," said Delacroix, looking nervously at Mr. Clank's belly. "Do you really think he's... going to burst his stomach?"

"It's possible," Brutal said. That was enough of an effect, and Delacroix reached for the remaining half of the pink mints.I thought the rats were going to bite him, but Mr. Jingle put down the mints, which were the remaining half anyway, and he was very good.I looked at Brutal, and Brutal shook his head slightly, as if to say: No, I don't understand either.Then Mr. Jingle hopped into the box and lay down on his side, looking so tired that we all three laughed.After that, we all got used to it. We often saw the mouse sitting next to Delacroix, holding a mint and chewing it, as elegant as an elderly lady drinking afternoon tea.They were surrounded by the smell I later smelled in the hole in the beam, the half-bitter, half-sweet smell of peppermint.

Before I get to William Wharton, the hurricane that actually hit Block E, I have one more thing to say about Mr. Clank.About a week after the mint incident, when we explicitly told Delacroix not to feed the rats to death, the Frenchman called us to the cell again.I was on duty at the time, and Brutal was in the supplies department. According to the rules, I should not approach the prisoner under such circumstances. However, considering that I might be able to throw Delacroix like a shot put Throwing it twenty yards like crazy, I decided to make an exception. "Look, Chief Edgecombe," he said, "look at what Jingle can do!" He took a little wooden spool out of the back of the cigar box.

"Where did you get that?" I asked him, though I could guess.He can only get it from one person. "Old Doodle," he answered, "look." I had been looking, and saw Mr. Jingle in the box, with his front paws resting on the rim, straightened up, his dark eyes fixed on the spool held between Delacroix's thumb and forefinger.At this time, a funny and cold feeling rose from the back of my spine. I have never seen a mouse pay such attention to something so eagerly and rationally.I don't really believe that Mr. Clank is a supernatural being, and I'm sorry if I make you think so, but I never doubted that he was a genius among rats. Delacroix stooped and flung the unwound spool onto the cell floor.The spool rolled quickly, like a pair of wheels attached to an axle.The mouse jumped out of the box, and ran after the spool like a puppy after a stick.I sighed in surprise, and Delacroix grinned happily. The spool hit the wall and bounced back.Mr. Clank went around and pushed it back in front of the bunk, and the mouse switched from one end of the spool to the other every time the spool seemed to go off course.Then he looked up at Delacroix for a moment, as if to make sure that his master would not give him another task (for example, to solve some arithmetic problems, or analyze some Latin or something).Ding Dong was obviously very satisfied with his performance, returned to the cigar box, and settled down again. "You taught me," I said. "Yes, sir, Chief Edgecombe," said Delacroix, unable to hide a faint smile. "He does it every time. Very clever, isn't he?" "What about the spool?" I asked. "How did you even think of giving him that, Eddie?" "He whispered in my ear what he wanted," Delacroix replied quietly, "like he whispered his name to me." Delacroix also showed the mouse skills to everyone else... except Percy.To Delacroix, Percy's suggestion of a cigar box, and the batting with which it was lined, was nothing.Delacroix is ​​a lot like a certain kind of dog, you kick him once and he never trusts you again, no matter how nice you are to him. At this point, I could hear Delacroix yelling, Hi guys!Let's see how capable Ding Dong is!So a bunch of bruts swarmed up, including Brutal, Harry, Dean, and even Bill Dodge, who were probably as stunned as I was. About three or four days after Mr. Jingles played with the spool, Harry Twillig was rummaging through the pile of handicrafts we had kept in the brig.He found the crayon (Crayola) and gave it to Delacroix with a slightly awkward smile. "I thought you might use it to paint the spools different colors," he said, "and then your little friend would look like a circus mouse or something." "Circus rats!" said Delacroix, completely ecstatic.I think he was really overjoyed, perhaps for the first time in his whole miserable life. "That's what he's supposed to be! A circus rat! He'll make me rich when I get out, like a circus business! You'll see." If it had been Percy Wetmore, he would have told Delacroix that he would be lying in the ambulance when he left Cold Mountain, and that car would not have had to have its lights on or its horn on.Not Harry, though, who just told Delacroix to paint the spool more colorfully as soon as possible, because he was going to get the crayons back after supper. Del, of course, painted it in color.After painting, one end of the spool is yellow, the other end is green, and the cylinder in the middle is fire red.We are also used to Delacroix's trumpet-like cry, "" The wording is not entirely accurate, anyway, it leaves a little impression of his stew-like French.As he said this, he made a sound from the back of his throat (I think it was for drumming effect) and threw the spool out.Mr. Clank would go after it fast, and either snout it or roll it back with its paws.I think the latter is really worth your money to go to the circus to watch.During the days when John Coffey was guarded and imprisoned, Delacroix and his mouse, with its brightly colored spool, were our principal pleasures, and remained so for some time.Then my UTI, which had been dormant for a while, came back, and so did William Wharton.All the trouble started.

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