Chapter 42 chapter Five

At about 8:35, Old Dudu pushed the cart and finished the last trip of the night in District E.We patiently listened to his load of nonsense and made him laugh greedily. "Listen, did you guys see that mouse?" he asked. We all shook our heads. "Maybe the nice guy has seen it," said Toot, pointing his head a little in the direction of the storage room, where Percy was mopping floors, writing reports, or picking assholes. "What's your concern? Whoever sees him, it's none of your business," Brutal said, "Doo, push the cart and go, you're making this place smell like hell."

Dudu put on a unique and uncomfortable smile, opened his big toothless mouth, and his cheeks were sunken and thin.He took a feigned breath. "It's not me you're smelling," he said. "It's Del. Goodbye Del." After speaking, he creaked and pushed the cart out the door, and went to the training ground.Then he pushed it for another ten years, selling pies and sodas to guards and prisoners who could still afford something, long after I left, and long after Cold Mountain closed, man.Even now I hear him cry now and then in my dreams, he's burnt, he's burnt, he's a roast turkey.

After Toot left, time grew longer and the clock seemed to be crawling.We had the radio on for an hour and a half, and it was playing "Fred Ellen" and "Ellen's Trail," and Wharton let out a fit of maniacal laughter, but I very much doubt he understood many of the jokes. .John Coffey was still sitting on the head of the bed, his hands clasped, his eyes barely leaving the person sitting at the duty desk.I've seen this look before, the look of waiting for a bus at a bus station. At quarter to ten Percy came from the pantry and handed me a report, painstakingly written in pencil.Eraser crumbs and smudges all over the page.Seeing me rub one of the smudges with my thumb, he said hastily, "This is only the first draft. I'll copy it again. What do you think?"

I think this is the most fucking whitewashed report I've ever read.But what I said to him was, well written.Satisfied, he walked away. Dean and Harry were playing cards, making loud noises, constantly arguing over points, looking up at the slowly crawling clock every five or six seconds.In at least one hand of the night, they appeared to have gone three back and forth on the scoreboard instead of two.The air was so tense that I felt like I could almost mold the tension into yellow clay, and the only people who didn't feel it were Percy and Wild Billy. At ten-twenty I couldn't stand it any longer and gave Dean a little nod.He walked into my office with a bottle of Coke he'd bought from Tuk Tuk's cart, and came out a minute or two later.

At this time, the Coke has been poured into a tin cup, so that the cup will not be smashed by the prisoners as a sharp weapon. I took the glass and looked around.Harry, Dean, and Brutal were all watching me.John Coffey was looking at me too.Percy wasn't among them, though.He had gone back to the storage room, perhaps feeling more comfortable there that night.I picked up the glass and sniffed it. There was nothing but the smell of Coke, a cinnamony smell that was strange but pleasant at the time. I took the cup to Wharton's cell, where he was asleep on the bed.He wasn't masturbating, but there was something hard against the inside of his shorts, and he fiddled with his fingers once or twice, like a clumsy fiddler strumming an extra-thick E string.

"Dude," I said. "Leave me alone," he said. "Okay," I said along the way, "I made you a Coke, and you looked like a man tonight, which is almost a record. But I'll drink it myself." I lifted the glass to my mouth as if I wanted to drink it.The sides of the cup were angrily smashed on the iron bars of the cell, making it uneven.In an instant, Wharton jumped off the plank, but that didn't surprise me.This is not a high-risk move.Most prisoners, be they indeterminates or rapists, and sure-fire dudes, would give up on sweets, and this guy was no exception.

"Give me, you nerd," Wharton said as if he were a foreman and I was a coolie, "give me the Coke, man." I held the cup near the bars and let him reach out for it.If you want to do it the other way around, then wait for bad luck. After you have been in prison for a long time, everyone will tell you so.We do this without even thinking about it, just as we never allow a prisoner to call us by our first name, just as we know when we hear a key jingle. There was something wrong in the prison, because that was the sound of the guards running, and the guards would never run if the prison was safe.

Such things Percy Wetmore never understood. This night, however, Wharton had no intention of choking himself to death.He grabbed the glass, drank the drink in three long gulps, and belched loudly. "Brilliant!" he said. I held out my hand, "Cup." He held the cup and kept teasing in his eyes, "What if I don't give it?" I shrugged, "We'll come in and get it. Then you'll have to go to the little room. Then what you drank just now will be the last Coke in your life, unless there are Cokes in hell." His smile faded, "Don't joke about hell with me, shut up." He threw the cup over the bars. "Here you go, go on."

I catch the cup.Percy said behind my back, "God, why are you giving soda to this idiot?" Because it's mixed with enough sleeping pills to make him sleep for two days and two nights without food or drink, I thought. "Paul," said Brutal, "" "Huh?" Percy frowned puzzled. "Meaning he's a soft-hearted fellow, always has been, always has been. Percy, would you like to play a game of Crazy Eights?" Percy breathed out his nostrils. "Except, it's the stupidest card game ever." "That's why I thought you might want to play a little," Brutal said with a broad smile.

"Everyone thinks they're smart," Percy said, and walked into my office with a straight face.This bastard is sitting at my desk, my boss doesn't like it, but I don't make a sound. The clock is crawling.At twelve-twenty, twelve-thirty, at twelve-forty, John Coffey got up from his bed and stood in front of the cell door with his hands on the bars.Brutal and I walked up to the Wharton cell and looked in.He was lying on his back, smiling, on his back.The eyes are open, and the eyeballs are like two big glass balls.He rested one hand on his chest, the other drooping on the edge of the bed, wiping his wrists on the floor.

"Jesus," said Brutal, "in less than an hour, Billy the Kid was Willy the Tears. Wonder how many morphine tablets Dean put in his soda." "Enough," I said with a tremor in my voice.Don't know if Brutal heard it, but he certainly heard "Come on, we'll make it". "Aren't you going to wait for that handsome boy to get lost?" "Brutal, he's already lost his mind. He's so dizzy that he can't even close his eyes." "You're the boss." He looked around, looking for Harry, but Harry was already there.Dean was sitting upright at the duty desk, shuffling the cards back and forth, with such power and speed, it was a little surprising that the cards didn't burn.Every time he washes, he glances slightly to the left, toward my office.He had been watching Percy's actions. "Is it time?" Harry asked.His long horse face was pale against the blue uniform, but his expression was very determined. "Yes," I said, "if we are going to act, the time has come." Harry crossed himself and kissed his thumb.Then, he walked to the front of the confinement room, unlocked it, went in, took a straitjacket and came back.He handed the straitjacket to Brutal.The three of us walked along the Green Mile.Coffey stood by the cell door and watched us go by without saying a word.When we got to the duty desk, Brutal tucked the straitjacket back. His back was wide enough to hide the straitjacket behind. "Good luck," Dean said, his face as pale as Harry's, the expression on his face just as determined. Percy was sitting at my desk, in my chair, frowning, staring at a book.In recent evenings, the book has not left his side.Not Merchant Marine, or Men's Party, but Mental Asylum Care.But when we walked in, he gave us a look mingled with guilt and anxiety that made it seem like he was looking. "What's the matter?" He hurriedly closed the book and asked, "What are you going to do?" "Want to talk to you, Percy," I said, "nothing else." But he saw from our looks that it was much more than a talk, and he got up and rushed, not quite as much as a run, toward the open door leading into the storeroom.He thought we were going to at least play tricks on him and probably give him a good one. Harry turned to stop him, blocking the door, arms folded across his chest. "Hey—!" Percy turned to look at me, panicked but trying to hide his panic, "what's going on?" "Don't ask, Percy," I said.I always thought that once this crazy operation started, I would be fine and return to normal anyway, but that was not the case.I can't believe I'm doing something like this.It was almost like a dream.I wish the wife would come and shake me awake and say I've been moaning in my sleep. "You'll be fine if you do everything." "What's behind Howell's back?" Percy asked hoarsely, turning to Brutal for a closer look. "Nothing," said Brutal, "well... this, I think..." He pulled out the straitjacket and swung it on the side of his body, like a matador waving his red cape, provoking the bull to charge. Percy's eyes widened and he jumped to his feet.He tried to run, but Harry grabbed his arm and all he did was jump. "Let go of me!" Percy yelled, trying desperately to free himself from Harry's grasp.This is impossible, because Harry is almost a hundred pounds heavier than him, and because of the long-term plowing and chopping wood, he has the bulging muscles of a strong man, but Percy still struggled so hard that he dragged Harry across the room and me. The ugly green carpet that I've been trying to replace is crumpled.I think he's almost breaking free with an arm. Fear can really inspire people sometimes. "Stay still, Percy," I said, "it's all right if you..." "Hold someone, you idiots!" Percy yelled loudly, twisting his shoulders, trying to free his arms, "Let go! Let go! I have someone! It's a big shot! If you If you don't stop, just wait until you go all the way to South Carolina to ask for gruel!" He struggled forward again, bumping the top of his hip against my desk.The "Nursing of Patients in Mental Hospitals" he was reading just now flew up, and a brochure-sized book jumped out. It turned out that this small book had been hidden in the big book.No wonder Percy looked suspicious when we went in.That's not The Last Days of Sodom and Gomorrah, but that's the book we sometimes give prisoners, either to reward them for a period of good behavior, or to appease them when they're going through a torment of sexual urges.I think what I mentioned earlier, is, Oliver Oyle in the book fucked everybody, except that kid, Sweetie. I think it's pathetic that Percy should be reading this shitty porn in my office.Over Percy's tense shoulders, I saw Harry's look of mild disdain, but Brutal laughed, which stopped Percy from struggling, at least temporarily. "Why, Percy," he said, "what's your mother going to say? What's the Governor going to say about that?" Percy's face turned purple, "Shut up and don't mention my mother." Brutal waved the straitjacket at me and leaned towards Percy, "Of course. Just stick your arms out." Percy's lips were trembling, and his eyes were particularly bright.I realized he was about to cry. "Never," he said in a childlike tone, trembling slightly, "don't try to force me." Then he raised his voice and called for help.Harry cringes a little, and so do I.If we are going to call it quits, now is the time.We almost backed off, but Brutal was firm.He didn't hesitate.He walked behind Percy, standing shoulder to shoulder with Harry, who was twisting Percy's hands behind his back.Brutal reached out and squeezed Percy's ears with each other. "Don't bark," said Brutal, "unless you want a pair of teabags, the only ones in the world." There was a pause in Percy's shouting, and he stood trembling, looking down at the crude comic book cover on the floor, which showed Poppy and Olive doing the thing in a novel way, in that pose. I've only heard of it, but never tried it.The balloon above Oliver's head reads "Ooooh, Poppy!" The balloon above Poppy's head reads "Hum-Hum-Hum-Hum", smoking a pipe. "Put your arms out," said Brutal. "Don't be a fool, come on." "No," said Percy, "I won't stretch. Don't try to make me." "Then you'd be dead wrong, you know," Brutal said, pinching Percy's ear and twisting it, like turning a switch on a microwave, and a microwave that didn't work.Percy let out a scream of pain and terror that I wish I had never heard.It conveys not only pain and horror, but also understanding.For the first time in his life, Percy understood that terrible things didn't just happen to other people, and didn't just happen to people who weren't lucky enough to get involved with the Governor.I wanted Brutal to stop, but of course I couldn't.We have gone too far.I just kept telling myself that Percy made Delacroix suffer so much just because he laughed at him.But thinking about it didn't make me feel much better.Perhaps it would have been different if there had been more Percy in my nature. "Put your arms out, honey," said Brutal, "or do it again." Harry had let go of young Mr. Wetmore.Percy was sobbing like a child, and the tears that had been in the corners of his eyes were now streaming down his cheeks, and he stretched his hands straight forward like a sleepwalker in a comedy movie.In the blink of an eye I slipped the straitjacket over his arm.As soon as I pulled the dress over Percy's shoulders, Brutal let go of Percy's ears and grabbed the straps of the straitjacket cuffs.He jerked Percy's hands aside so that his arms were locked tightly across his chest.Meanwhile, Harry fastened the straps on the back of the straitjacket.It took less than ten seconds from when Percy reached out his hands to when the whole job was done. "Well, boy," said Brutal, "move on." But he didn't move, he looked at Brutal, then turned his terrified, tearful eyes to me.Don't mention his head relationship anymore, and don't mention that we were sent to South Carolina to beg for food. That's not the case. "Please," he said in a hoarse, weeping voice, "don't put me with him, Paul." Now I understand why he is afraid and why he desperately resists us.He thinks we're going to lock him up with Wild Boy Billy Wharton, he thinks we're going to punish him for not getting his sponge wet, and make that cell maniac poke him up the ass with a dry corn cob.Thinking of this, instead of feeling pitiful for Percy, I felt disgusted and strengthened my determination.In the final analysis, he still judges the belly of a gentleman with the heart of a villain. "Not to Wharton," I said, "to the brig, Percy. You're going to be there for three or four hours, alone in the dark, to reflect on what you did to Del. Maybe it's too late." Let you learn the lesson and learn how to do things, that's what Brutal thinks anyway, but I'm optimistic. Now, let's go." He started walking, muttering something we regretted, big regrets, we'll see, but on the whole he was relieved and relieved. We wheeled him into the hall, and Dean looked at us with wide-eyed, innocent eyes, so amazed that I'd have laughed out loud if it weren't for the seriousness of the job.Even the satirical skits in the barn in the woods are better than him. "Hey, isn't that a big enough joke?" Dean asked. "You shut up, unless you don't know what to do," growled Brutal.These were lines we made up over lunch, and that's what I heard to the effect, made up lines, but if Percy had been frightened enough and confused enough, those few lines might still have made Dean Stanton kept his job.I personally don't believe this to be the case, but anything is possible.Whenever I doubt anything, then or later, I think of John Coffey, of Delacroix's mice. We pushed Percy through the Green Mile, stumbling and panting as we walked, telling us to go slower, saying that if we didn't slow down, he'd be pissed off.Wharton was lying in bed, but we passed his cell so quickly that I didn't have time to see if he was asleep or awake.John Coffey was watching from his cell door, "You're a badass, you deserved to go to that dark place," he said, but I don't think Percy heard. We walked into the brig, Percy's cheeks flushed and teary, his eyes rolling in their sockets, his hair plastered to his forehead.Harry took Percy's pistol with one hand and his beloved walnut baton with the other. "It'll be returned to you, don't worry," Harry said, his voice a little awkward. "I wish I could say the same of your work," replied Percy, "of all of you. How dare you do this to me! How dare you!" Evidently, he had been prepared to yell like this for a while, but we didn't care to listen to him.I keep a roll of electrical tape in my pocket, a 1930s precursor to the tape people use today.When Percy saw it, he tried desperately to get away.Brutal grabbed him from behind and hugged him tightly. I taped his mouth shut and wrapped it around his neck just in case.He'll definitely lose a few clumps of hair when the tape comes off, and he'll have a badly cracked lip, but that's out of my control. I've had enough of Percy Wetmore. We backed away from him.I saw him standing in the middle of the room, with a lamp with a protective cover on above his head, his upper body was stretched with a straitjacket, breathing with his nostrils propped up, and a dull "Woo! Woo!" sound came out from his mouth covered with tape.From head to toe he looked like a ridiculous prisoner whom we had dragged into this room. "The less you talk, the sooner you get out," I said. "Percy, remember that." "If you're feeling lonely, just think of Olive Oyle," Harry persuaded, "huh-huh-huh-huh." After that, we all left the room.I close the door and Brutal locks it.Dean was standing on the Green Mile a little further away, just outside Coffey's cell.He has inserted the master key into the lock.The four of us looked at each other, but no one spoke.It's not necessary anymore.We have started the locomotive, and all we can do now is hope that it will go along the track we have laid, and not get derailed halfway. "John, do you still want to take a ride?" Brutal asked. "Yes, sir," said Coffey, "I think so." "Okay," Dean said.He turned the first lock, took out the key, and put it in the second lock. "Shall we tie you up, John?" I asked. Coffey seemed to think about it. "You can tie it up if you want," he said finally, "but it doesn't have to be." I nod to Brutal, who opens the cell door, and then turns to Harry, who is aiming Percy's F45 at Coffey, watching him come out of the cell. "Give the guy to Dean," I said. Harry blinked, as if awakened from a brief doze, and found that Percy's pistol was still in his hand, and quickly handed it to Dean.Meanwhile, Coffey plods up the aisle, his bald head almost brushing the lamp shade above his head.Standing there with his hands folded in front of him, his shoulders hanging loosely on either side of his broad chest, he reminded me of a great captive bear just as I had seen him the first time. "Lock Percy's toys in the duty desk until we get back," I said. "If we come back," Harry added. "Okay," Dean said to me, ignoring Harry. "If someone comes...maybe no one will come, but if someone does come...what do you say?" "Say Coffey made trouble in the middle of the night," Dean replied, with the earnest expression on his face like a student answering an exam question. "We'll just have to put him in a restraint and put him in the brig. One would think that was him." He pointed his chin up at John Coffey. "What about us?" Brutal asked. "Paul went to management and looked at Del's papers and witness list," Dean said. Xidu went to the laundry room to wash clothes." Well, that's what people say anyway.The laundry room sometimes has a game of craps in the evening, sometimes blackjack or poker or .Whatever it was, the guard who went to play said he was doing laundry.At such gatherings, there is always a bright moonlight, and sometimes, they take turns smoking a round of pipes. I think that's the way it's been in prisons for as long as there have been prisons.When you've spent your life managing dirty people, you're bound to get a little dirty yourself.Anyway, it is unlikely that anyone will take our kind of activities too seriously.At Cold Mountain Prison, things like "laundry" were handled with great leniency. "Exactly," I said, turning Coffey to start. "Dean, if something goes wrong, just say you don't know anything." "It's easy to say, but..." At that moment, a thin arm protruded from the bars of Wharton's cell and grabbed a muscle in Coffey's arm.We gasped.Wharton was supposed to be in a drowsy sleep, but he stood there in front of him, shaking his body back and forth, as if he was being hit continuously, with a sleepy smile on his face. Coffey's reaction was amazing.He didn't try to break free, but he also clenched his teeth and gasped, as if he'd touched something cold or disgusting.His eyes were wide open, and for a moment, his expression seemed to indicate that he had never been dull, and it was even more impossible for him to be dull from getting up in the morning to going to bed at night.When he asked me to go into his cell and let him treat me, he burst into life.In Coffey's words, he helped me.It was the same expression he had when he reached out to catch the mouse.Now, for the third time, his face glowed, as if a spotlight had suddenly turned on in his brain.Only this time it's a little different.This time it was cold light.For the first time, I wondered what would happen if John Coffey suddenly turned into a murderous maniac.We have guns, we can shoot him, but it's not that easy to actually subdue him. I saw the same thought on Brutal's face, but Wharton just grinned stiffly. "Where are you going?" he asked.But the sound was like a series of grunts. Coffey stood still, looking first at Wharton, then at his hands, then back at Wharton's face.I don't understand what that look means.I mean, I can see it's an intelligent look, but I can't read the meaning.As for Wharton, I'm not worried at all.He can't remember anything afterward, he's like a drunkard who's moving around without feeling anything. "You're a badass," Coffey said into his ear.I couldn't tell what was in his voice: pain, anger, fear, maybe all three.Coffey looked down again at the hand that was clutching his arm, as if he were looking at a little bug that would bite, if bugs had brains. "Yeah, nigger," said Wharton, still sleepy-eyed, with a haughty smile, "it's too bad." I was suddenly certain that something was going to happen, that everything planned this morning would go awry, like a catastrophic earthquake that would completely change the course of the river.Something is going to happen, and neither I nor any of us can prevent it from happening. At this moment, Brutal stretched out his hand and pulled Wharton's hand away from Coffey's arm. The feeling just now was gone.It was as if some potentially dangerous circuit had been cut.I felt a rush of relief run through me as Brutal pulled Wharton's hand away from the big man next to me.I'll tell you, in all my time in District E, the Governor's Line never rang.True, but I feel like I would still feel the same relief if the phone actually rang at that moment.Coffey's eyes immediately became dull, as if the searchlight in his mind had been turned off. "Lie down, Billy," Brutal said, "go get some rest." That's my jargon, but in this case I don't mind Brutal using it. "Okay," Wharton agreed.He took a step back, staggered, nearly fell, and finally regained his balance. "Oh, daddy, the whole room is spinning, as if drunk." He retreated to his bed, staring sleepily at Coffey as he retreated. "Niggers should have their own electric chair," he was still commenting.Then, his legs touched the edge of the bed and he sat down. He was fast asleep before his head touched the little prison pillow, with dark blue shadows in the eyeballs and the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth. "God, how can he get up after all the drugs?" Dean whispered. "It's all right, he's asleep now," I said, "and if he wakes up again, give him another tablet and dissolve it in a glass of water. But just put it in. We can't kill him." "Who would believe that," Brutal grumbled gruffly, casting a contemptuous glance at Wharton, "a single pill wouldn't kill a monkey like him anyway, they grew up on that stuff." "He's a badass," Coffey said, though his voice was lower this time, as if he didn't understand what he was saying, or what it meant. "That's all right," said Brutal, "heinous crime. But it's none of our business now, let's just leave him alone." We started off again, and the four of us surrounded Coffey like admirers around a Stumbled into some kind of Half-Life icon. "John, tell me, do you know where we're taking you?" "Helping someone," he said, "I think . . . helping a . . . lady?" He looked at Brutal with eyes half hopeful, half uneasy. Brutal nodded, "That's right, but how did you know? How did you know?" John Coffey thought it over, then shook his head. "I don't know," he said to Brutal. "To tell you the truth, sir, I don't know anything, never." And we had no choice but to accept that answer.

---

Notes: Act IV, Scene 4, Portia's exhortation to Sherlock.