Зеленая миля

Chapter 6

           IfI’dknownthestorywasgoingtogoonthislong,Imightneverhavestarted.WhatIdidn’trealizewashowmanydoorstheactofwritingunlocks,asifmyDad’soldfountainpenwasn’treallyapenatall,butsomestrangevarietyofskeletonkey.ThemouseisprobablythebestexampleofwhatI’mtalkingaboutSteamboatWilly,Mr.Jingles,themouseontheMile.UntilIstartedtowrite,Ineverrealizedhowimportanthe(yes,he)was.ThewayheseemedtobelookingforDelacroixbeforeDelacroixarrived,forinstanceIdon’tthinkthateveroccurredtome,nottomyconsciousmind,anyway,untilIbegantowriteandremember.

           IguesswhatI’msayingisthatIdidn’trealizehowfarbackI’dhavetogoinordertotellyouaboutJohnCoffey,orhowlongI’dhavetoleavehimthereinhiscell,amansohugehisfeetdidn’tjuststickofftheendofhisbunkbuthungdownallthewaytothefloor.Idon’twantyoutoforgethim,allright?Iwantyoutoseehimthere,lookingupattheceilingofhiscell,weepinghissilenttears,orputtinghisarmsoverhisface.Iwantyoutohearhim,hissighsthattrembledlikesobs,hisoccasionalwaterygroan.Theseweren’tthesoundsofagonyandregretwesometimesheardonEBlock,sharpcrieswithsplintersofremorseinthem;likehisweteyes,theyweresomehowremovedfromthepainwewereusedtodealingwith

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