Зеленая миля

Chapter 3

           

           ThenIbecameawarethatDelacroixwasbawlingforhelp;hewastellingtheworldthatJohnCoffeywaskillingme,andtellingitatthetopofhislungs.Coffeywasbendingoverme,allright,butonlytomakesureIwasokay.

           "Shutup,Del,"Isaid,andgotonmyfeet.Iwaitedforthepaintoripintomyguts,butitdidn’thappen.Iwasbetter.Really.Therewasamomentofdizziness,butthatpassedevenbeforeIwasabletoreachoutandgrabthebarsofCoffey’scelldoorforbalance."I’mtotallyokey-doke."

           "Yougetonouttahere,"Delacroixsaid,soundinglikeanervyoldwomantellingakidtoclimbdownoutofthat-ereappletree."Youain’tsupposetobeintherewitnooneelseontheblock."

           IlookedatJohnCoffey,whosatonthebunkwithhishugehandsonthetreestumpsofhisknees.JohnCoffeylookedbackatme.Hehadtotilthisheadupalittle,butnotmuch.

           "Whatdidyoudo,bigboy?"Iaskedinalowvoice."Whatdidyoudotome?"

           "Helped,"hesaid."Ihelpedit,didn’tI?"

           "Yeah,Iguess,buthow?Howdidyouhelpit?"

           Heshookhisheadright,left,backtodeadcenter.Hedidn’tknowhowhe’dhelpedit(howhe’dcuredit)andhisplacidfacesuggestedthathedidn’tgivearat’sassanymorethanI’dgivearat’sassaboutthemechanicsofrunningwhenIwasleadinginthelastfiftyyardsofaFourthofJulyTwo-Miler.

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