Зеленая миля

Chapter 4

           

           Sittingontheriverbankinafaded,bloodstainedjumperwasthebiggestmananyofthemhadeverseenJohnCoffey.Hisenormous,splay-toedfeetwerebare.Onhisheadheworeafadedredbandanna,thewayacountrywomanwouldwearakerchiefintochurch.Gnatscircledhiminablackcloud.Curledineacharmwasthebodyofanakedgirl.Theirblondehair,oncecurlyandlightasmilkweedfluff,wasnowmattedtotheirheadsandstreakedred.Themanholdingthemsatbawlingupattheskylikeamoonstruckcalf,hisdarkbrowncheeksslickedwithtears,hisfacetwistedinamonstrouscrampofgriefHedrewbreathinhitches,hischestrisinguntilthesnapsholdingthestrapsofhisjumperwerestrained,andthenletthatvastcatchofairoutinanotherofthosehowls.Sooftenyoureadinthepaperthat"thekillershowednoremorse,"butthatwasn’tthecasehere.JohnCoffeywastornopenbywhathehaddone...buthewouldlive.Thegirlswouldnot.Theyhadbeentornopeninamorefundamentalway.

           Nooneseemedtoknowhowlongtheystoodthere,lookingatthehowlingmanwhowas,inhisturn,lookingacrossthegreatstillplateoftheriveratatrainontheotherside,stormingdownthetrackstowardthetrestlethatcrossedtheriver.Itseemedtheylookedforanhourorforforever,andyetthetraingotnofartheralong,itseemedtostormonlyinoneplace,likeachilddoingatantrum,andthesundidnotgobehindacloud,andthesightwasnotblottedfromtheireyes.

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