Зеленая миля

Chapter 6

           Inawalk.Honest,straightforward,lackingevenCurtisAnderson’srudimentarywit,butequippedwithjustenoughpoliticalsavvytokeephisjobduringthosegrimyears...andenoughintegritytokeepfromgettingseducedbythegame.Hewouldnotriseanyhigher,butthatseemedallrightwithhim.Hewasfifty-eightorninebackthen,withadeeplylinedbloodhoundfacethatBoboMarchantprobablywouldhavefeltrightathomewith.Hehadwhitehairandhishandsshookwithsomesortofpalsy,buthewasstrong.Theyearbefore,whenaprisonerhadrushedhimintheexerciseyardwithashankwhittledoutofacrate-slat,Mooreshadstoodhisground,grabbedtheskatehound’swrist,andhadtwisteditsohardthatthesnappingboneshadsoundedlikedrytwigsburninginahotfire.Theskatehound,allhisgrievancesforgotten,hadgonedownonhiskneesinthedirtandbegunscreamingforhismother."I’mnother,"MooressaidinhisculturedSouthernvoice,"ButifIwas,I’draiseupmyskirtsandpissonyoufromtheloinsthatgaveyoubirth."

           WhenIcameintohisoffice,hestartedtogetupandIwavedhimbackdown.Itooktheseatacrossthedeskfromhim,andbeganbyaskingabouthiswife...exceptinourpartoftheworld,that’snothowyoudoit."How’sthatprettygalofyours"iswhatIasked,asifMelindahadseenonlyseventeensummersinsteadofsixty-twoorthree.

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