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第24部分（第1页）

Roy　Delfiness　story　was　only　one　of　many；　I　grew　up　in　a　tradition　of　miracles　and　healings。　I　grew　up　believing　in　gris…gris；　as　well　（only；　up　in　the　hills　we　said　it　to　rhyme　with　kiss…kiss）：　stump…water　for　warts；　moss　under　your　pillow　to　ease　the　heartache　of　lost　love；　and；　of　course；　what　we　used　to　call　haints　…　but　I　did　not　believe　John　Coffey　was　a　gris…gris　man。　I　had　looked　into　his　eyes。　More　important；　I　had　felt　his　touch。　Being　touched　by　him　was　like　being　touched　by　some　strange　and　wonderful　doctor。

I　helped　it；　didnt　I？

That　kept　chiming　in　my　head；　like　a　snatch　of　song　you　cant　get　rid　of；　or　words　youd　speak　to　set　a　spell。

I　helped　it；　didnt　I？

Except　he　hadnt。　God　had。　John　Coffeys　use　of　〃I〃　could　be　chalked　up　to　ignorance　rather　than　pride；　but　I　knew　…　believed；　at　least　…　what　I　had　learned　about　healing　in　those　churches　of　Praise　Jesus；　The　Lord　Is　Mighty；　piney…woods　amen　corners　much　beloved　by　my　twenty…two…year…old　mother　and　my　aunts：　that　healing　is　never　about　the　healed　or　the　healer；　but　about　Gods　will。　For　one　to　rejoice　at　the　sick　made　well　is　normal；　quite　the　expected　thing；　but　the　person　healed　has　an　obligation　to　then　ask　why　…　to　meditate　on　Gods　will；　and　the　extraordinary　lengths　to　which　God　has　gone　to　realize　His　will。

What　did　God　want　of　me；　in　this　case？　What　did　He　want　badly　enough　to　put　healing　power　in　the　hands　of　a　child…murderer？　To　be　on　the　block；　instead　of　at　home；　sick　as　a　dog；　shivering　in　bed　with　the　stink　of　sulfa　running　out　of　my　pores？　Perhaps；　I　was　maybe　supposed　to　be　here　instead　of　home　in　case　Wild　Bill　Wharton　decided　to　kick　up　more　dickens；　or　to　make　sure　Percy　Wetmore　didnt　get　up　to　some　foolish　and　potentially　destructive　piece　of　fuckery　All　right；　then。　So　be　it。　I　would　keep　my　eyes　open　…　and　my　mouth　shut；　especially　about　miracle　cures。

No　one　y　looking　and　sounding　better；　Id　been　telling　the　world　I　was　getting　better；　and　until　that　very　day　Id　honestly　believed　it。　I　had　even　told　Warden　Moores　that　I　was　on　the　mend。　Delacroix　had　seen　something；　but　I　thought　he　would　keep　his　mouth　shut；　too　（probably　afraid　John　Coffey　would　throw　a　spell　on　him　if　he　didnt）。　As　for　Coffey　himself；　hed　probably　already　forgotten　it。　He　was　nothing　but　a　conduit；　after　all；　and　there　isnt　a　culvert　in　the　world　that　remembers　the　water　that　flowed　through　it　once　the　rain　has　stopped。　So　I　resolved　to　keep　my　mouth　pletely　shut　on　the　subject；　with　never　an　idea　of　how　soon　Id　be　telling　the　story；　or　who　Id　be　telling　it　to。

But　I　was　curious　about　my　big　boy；　and　theres　no　sense　not　admitting　it。　After　what　had　happened　to　me　there　in　his　cell；　I　was　more　curious　than　ever。

4。

Before　leaving　that　night；　I　arranged　with　Brutal　to　cover　for　me　the　next　day；　should　I　e　in　a　little　late；　and　when　I　got　up　the　following　morning；　I　set　out　for　Tefton；　down　in　Trapingus　County。

〃Im　not　sure　I　like　you　worrying　so　much　about　this　fellow　Coffey；〃　my　wife　said；　handing　me　the　lunch　shed　put　up　for　me…Janice　never　believed　in　roadside　hamburger　stands；　she　used　to　say　there　was　a　bellyache　waiting　in　every　one。　〃Its　not　like　you；　Paul。〃

〃Im　not　worried　about　him；〃　I　said。　〃Im　curious；　thats　all。〃

〃In　my　experience；　one　leads　to　the　other；〃　Janice　said　tartly；　then　gave　me　a　good；　hearty　kiss　on　the　mouth。　〃You　look　better；　at　least；　Ill　say　that。　For　awhile　there；　you　had　me　nervous。　Waterworks　all　cured　up？〃

〃All　cured　up；〃　I　said；　and　off　I　went；　singing　songs　like　〃e；　Josephine；　in　My　Flying　Machine〃　and　Were　in　the　Money〃　to　keep　myself　pany。

I　went　to　the　offices　of　the　Tefton　Intelligencer　first；　and　they　told　me　that　Burt　Hammersmith；　the　fellow　I　was　looking　for；　was　most　likely　over　at　the　county　courthouse。　At　the　courthouse　they　told　me　that　Hammersmith　had　been　there　but　had　left　when　a　burst　waterpipe　had　closed　down　the　main　proceedings；　which　happened　to　be　a　rape　trial　（in　the　pages　of　the　Intelligencer　the　crime　would　be　referred　to　as　〃assault　on　a　woman；〃　which　was　how　such　things　were　done　in　the　days　before　Ricki　Lake　and　Carnie　Wilson　came　on　the　scene）。　They　guessed　hed　probably　gone　on　home。　I　got　some　directions　out　a　dirt　road　so　rutted　and　narrow　I　just　about　didnt　dare　take　my　Ford　up　it；　and　there　I　found　my　man。　Hammersmith　had　written　most　of　the　stories　on　the　Coffey　trial；　and　it　was　from　him　I　found　out　most　of　the　details　about　the　brief　manhunt　that　had　ted　Coffey　in　the　first　place。　The　details　the　Intelligencer　considered　too　gruesome　to　print　is　what　I　mean；　of　course。

Mrs。　Hammersmith　was　a　young　woman　with　a　tired；　pretty　face　and　hands　red　from　lye　soap。　She　didnt　ask　my　business；　just　led　me　through　a　small　house　fragrant　with　the　smell　of　baking　and　onto　the　back　porch；　where　her　husband　sat　with　a　bottle　of　pop　in　his　hand　and　an　unopened　copy　of　Liberty　magazine　on　his　lap。　There　was　a　small；　sloping　backyard；　at　the　foot　of　it；　two　little　ones　were　squabbling　and　laughing　over　a　swing。　From　the　porch；　it　was　impossible　to　tell　their　sexes；　but　I　thought　they　were　boy　and　girl。　Maybe　even　twins；　which　cast　an　interesting　sort　of　light　on　their　fathers　part；　peripheral　as　it　had　been；　in　the　Coffey　trial。　Nearer　at　hand；　set　like　an　island　in　the　middle　of　a　turdstudded　patch　of　bare；　beatup…looking　ground；　was　a　doghouse。　No　sign　of　Fido；　it　was　another　unseasonably　hot　day；　and　I　guessed　he　was　probably　inside；　snoozing。

〃Burt；　yew…all　got　you　a　cumpny；〃　Mrs。　Hammersmith　said。

〃Allright；〃　he　said。　He　glanced　at　me；　glanced　at　his　wife；　then　looked　back　at　his　kids；　which　was　where　his　heart　obviously　lay。　He　was　a　thin　man　…　almost　painfully　thin；　as　if　he　had　just　begun　to　recover　from　a　serious　illness　…　and　his　hair　had　started　to　recede。　His　wife　touched　his　shoulder　tentatively　with　one　of　her　red；　wash…swollen　hands。　He　didnt　look　at　it　or　reach　up　to　touch　it；　and　after　a　moment　she　took　it　back。　It　occurred　to　me；　fleetingly；　that　they　looked　more　like　brother　and　sister　than　husband　and　wife　…　hed　gotten　the　brains；　shed　gotten　the　looks；　but　neither　of　them　had　escaped　some　underlying　resemblance；　a　heredity　that　could　never　be　escaped。　Later；　going　home；　I　realized　they　didnt　look　alike　at　all；　what　made　them　seem　to　was　the　aftermath　of　stress　and　the　lingering　of　sorrow。　Its　strange　how　pain　marks　our　faces；　and　makes　us　look　like　family。

She　said；　〃Yew…all　want　a　cold　drink；　Mr。　…　？〃

〃Its　Edgebe；〃　I　said。　〃Paul　Edgebe。　And　thank　you。　A　cold　drink　would　be　wonderful；　maam。〃

She　went　back　inside。　I　held　out　my　hand　to　Hammersmith；　who　gave　it　a　brief　shake。　His　grip　was　limp　and　cold。　He　never　took　his　eyes　off　the　kids　down　at　the　bottom　of　the　yard。

〃Mr。　Hammersmith；　Im　E　Block　superintendent　at　Cold　Mountain　State　Prison。　Thats…〃