Зеленая миля

Chapter 3

           Icouldstillfeelthesweatithaddrawnoutofmyskin,andIcouldsmellit,butitwasgone,allright.

           "What’sgoingon?"Delacroixcalledshrilly.Hisvoicestillcamefromfaraway,butwhenJohnCoffeybentforward,breakingeye-contactwithme,thelittleCajun’svoicesuddenlycameclear.Itwasasifsomeonehadpulledwadsofcottonorapairofshooters"plugsoutofmyears."What’shedoingtoyou?"

           Ididn’tanswer.Coffeywasbentforwardoverhisownlapwithhisfaceworkingandhisthroatbulging.Hiseyeswerebulging,too.Helookedlikeamanwithachickenbonecaughtinhisthroat.

           "John!"Isaid.Iclappedhimontheback;itwasallIcouldthinkoftodo."John,what’swrong?"

           Hehitchedundermyhand,thenmadeanunpleasantgagging,retchingsound.Hismouthopenedthewayhorsessometimesopentheirmouthstoallowthebitreluctantly,withthelipspeelingbackfromtheteethinakindofdesperatesneer.Thenhisteethparted,too,andheexhaledacloudoftinyblackinsectsthatlookedlikegnatsornoseeums.Theyswirledfuriouslybetweenhisknees,turnedwhite,anddisappeared.

           Suddenlyallthestrengthwentoutofmymiddsection.Itwasasifthemusclestherehadturnedtowater.IslumpedbackagainstthestonesideofCoffey’scell.IrememberthinkingthenameoftheSaviorChrist,Christ,Christ,overandover,likethatandIrememberthinkingthatthefeverhaddrivenmedelirious.Thatwasall.

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