Зеленая миля

Chapter 2

           

           ItwasPercyWetmorewhousheredCoffeyontotheblock,withthesupposedlytraditionalcryof"Deadmanwalking!Deadmanwalkinghere!"

           Itwasstillashotasthehingesofhell,Octoberornot.Thedoortotheexerciseyardopened,lettinginafloodofbrilliantlightandthebiggestmanI’veeverseen,exceptforsomeofthebasketballfellowstheyhaveontheTVdowninthe"ResourceRoom"ofthishomeforwaywarddroolersI’vefinishedupin.Heworechainsonhisarmsandacrosshiswater-barrelofachest;heworelegironsonhisanklesandshuffledachainbetweenthemthatsoundedlikecascadingcoinsasitranalongthelimecoloredcorridorbetweenthecells.PercyWetmorewasononesideofhim,skinnylittleHarryTerwilligerwasontheother,andtheylookedlikechildrenwalkingalongwithacapturedbear.EvenBrutusHowelllookedlikeakidnexttoCoffey,andBrutalwasoversixfeettallandbroadaswell,afootballtacklewhohadgoneontoplayatLSUuntilheflunkedoutandcamebackhometotheridges.

           JohnCoffeywasblack,likemostofthemenwhocametostayforawhileinEBlockbeforedyinginOldSparky’slap,andhestoodsixfeet,eightinchestall.Hewasn’tallwillowyliketheTVbasketballfellows,thoughhewasbroadintheshouldersanddeepthroughthechest,lacedoverwithmuscleineverydirection.They’dputhiminthebiggestdenimstheycouldfindinStores,andstillthecuffsofthepantsrodehalfwayuponhisbunchedandscarredcalves.

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