Chapter 11 Section ten

So in 1950, we, a group of prisoners who were in charge of renovating the roof, sat in a row on the roof at ten o'clock in the morning before the end of the work, drinking beer. as supplied.The beer was lukewarm, but still the best tasting beer I've ever had in my life.We sat there drinking beer, feeling the warmth of the sun on our shoulders, and even the half-contemptuous, half-joking look on Harry's face, as if he were watching an orangutan drinking beer, couldn't spoil our enjoyment.We drank for twenty minutes, and for twenty minutes we felt like free men again, as if laying asphalt on our roof and drinking beer.

Only Andy didn't drink. I said he usually doesn't drink.He squatted in the shade, shaking his hands between his knees, smiling slightly, looking at us.It's amazing how many people remember Andy like this; even more amazing is how many people say that when Andy fought Harry, they were also laying the roof on the spot.I think there were only nine or ten prisoners who went to work that day, but by 1955 the number of staff had ballooned to at least two hundred, maybe more...if you really believe what people say . In short, if you ask me to say whether I am describing an ordinary person or a legend who is like a pearl in the sand, I think the answer is somewhere in between.Anyway, all I know is that Andy Dufresne isn't like me, or anyone I've ever met since I was in prison.He smuggled $500 up his anus and smuggled it in, but it seemed he was bringing in something else as well—perhaps a deep belief in his own worth, or a belief that he would eventually win...or just a A sense of freedom, even inside this damned gray wall, he still has an inner light.I know he lost that light only once, and that's part of the story.