按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
to me and back to Brutal again。 〃What dey do in Mouseville？〃 he asked。
〃You think they'd take Mr。 Jingles？〃 Brutal asked me； simultaneously ignoring Del and drawing him on。 〃Think he's got the stuff； Paul？〃
I tried to appear considering。 〃You know；〃 I said； 〃the more I think of it； the more it seems like a brilliant idea。〃 From the er of my eye I saw Percy e partway down the Green Mile （giving Wharton's cell a very wide berth）。 He stood with one shoulder leaning against an empty cell； listening with a small； contemptuous smile on his lips。
〃What dis Mouseville？〃 Del asked； now frantic to know。
〃A tourist attraction； like I told you；〃 Brutal said。 〃There's； oh I dunno； a hundred or so mice there。 Wouldn't you say； Paul？〃
〃More like a hundred and fifty these days；〃 I said。 〃It's a big success。 I understand they're thinking of opening one out in California and calling it Mouseville West； that's how much business is booming。 Trained mice are the ing thing with the smart set； I guess … I don't understand it； myself。〃
Del sat with the colored spool in his hand； looking at us； his own situation forgotten for the time being。
〃They only take the smartest mice；〃 Brutal cautioned； 〃the ones that can do tricks。 And they can't be white mice； because those are pet…shop mice。〃
〃Pet…shop mice； yeah； you bet！〃 Delacroix said fiercely。 〃I hate dem pet…shop mice！〃
〃And what they got；〃 Brutal said； his eyes distant now as he imagined it； 〃is this tent you go into…〃
〃Yeah； yeah； like inna cirque！ Do you gotta pay to get in？〃
〃You shittin me？ Course you gotta pay to get in。 A dime apiece； two cents for the kiddies。 And there's； like； this whole city made out of Bakelite boxes and toilet…paper rolls； with windows made out of isinglass so you can see what they're up to in there…〃
〃Yeah！ Yeah！〃 Delacroix was in ecstasy now。 Then he turned to me。 〃What ivy…glass？〃
〃Like on the front of a stove； where you can see in；〃 I。 said。
〃Oh sure！ Dat shit！〃 He cranked his hand at Brutal； wanting him to go on； and Mr。 Jingles's little oildrop eyes practically spun in their sockets； trying to keep that spool in view。 It was pretty funny。 Percy came a little closer； as if wanting to get a better look； and I saw John Coffey frowning at him； but I was too wrapped up in Brutal's fantasy to pay much attention。 This took telling the condemned man what he wanted to hear to new heights； and I was all admiration； believe me。
'〃Well；〃 Brutal said； 〃there's the mouse city； but what the kids really like is the Mouseville All…Star Circus； where there's mice that swing on trapezes； and mice that roll these little barrels； and mice that stack coins…〃
〃Yeah； dat's it！ Dat's the place for Mr。 Jingles！〃 Delacroix said。 His eyes sparkled and his cheeks were high with color。 It occurred to me that Brutus Howell was a kind of saint。 〃You gonna be a circus mouse after all； Mr。 Jingles！ Gonna live in a mouse city down Florida！ All ivy…glass windows！ Hurrah！〃
He threw the spool extra…hard。 It hit low on the wall； took a crazy bounce； and squirted out between the bars of his cell door and onto the Mile。 Mr。 Jingles raced out after it； and Percy saw his chance。
〃No； you fool！〃 Brutal yelled； but Percy paid no attention。 Just as Mr。 Jingles reached the spool … too intent on it to realize his old enemy was at hand … Percy brought the sole of one hard black workshoe down on it。 There was an audible snap as Mr。 Jingles's back broke； and blood gushed from his mouth。 His tiny dark eyes bulged in their sockets； and in them I read an expression of surprised agony that was all too human。
Delacroix screamed with horror and grief。 He threw himself at the door of his cell and thrust his arms out between the bars； reaching as far as he could； crying the mouse's name over and over。
Percy turned toward him； smiling。 Toward the three of us。 〃There；〃 he said。 〃I knew I'd get him； sooner or later。 Just a matter of time； really。〃 He turned and walked back up the Green Mile； not hurrying； leaving Mr。 Jingles lying on the linoleum in a spreading pool of his own blood。
Part Four：
The Bad Death of Eduard Delacroix
1。
All this other writing aside； I've kept a little diary since I took up residence at Georgia Pines … no big deal； just a couple of paragraphs a day； mostly about the weather … and I looked back through it last evening。 I wanted to see just how long it has been since my grandchildren； Christopher and Danielle； more or less forced me into Georgia Pines。 〃For your own good； Gramps；〃 they said。 Of course they did。 Isn't that what people mostly say when they have finally figured out how to get rid of a problem that walks and talks？
It's been a little over two years。 The eerie thing is that I don't know if it feels like two years； or longer than that； or shorter。 My sense of time seems to be melting； like a kid's snowman in a January thaw。 It's as if time as it always was … Eastern Standard Time； Daylight Saving Tune； Working…Man Time … doesn't exist anymore。 Here there is only Georgia Pines Time； which is Old Man Time； Old Lady Time； and Piss the Bed Tune。 The rest 。。。 all gone。
This is a dangerous damned place。 You don't you think it's only a boring dangerous as a nursery school at naptime； but it's dangerous； all right。 I've seen a lot of people slide into senility since I came here； and sometimes they do more than slide sometimes they go down with the speed of a crash…diving submarine。 They e here mostly all right … dim…eyed and welded to the cane； maybe a little loose in the bladder； but otherwise okay … and then something happens to them。 A month later they're just sitting in the TV room； staring up at Oprah Winfrey on the TV with dull eyes； a slack jaw； and a forgotten glass of orange juice tilted and dribbling in one hand。 A month after that； you have to tell them their kids' names when the kids e to visit。 And a month after that； it's their own damned names you have to refresh them on。 Something happens to them； all right： Georgia Pines Time happens to them。 Time here is like a weak acid that erases first memory and then the desire to go on living。
You have to fight it。 That's what I tell Elaine Connelly； my special friend。 It's gotten better for me since I started writing about what happened to me in 1932； the year John Coffey came on the Green Mile。 Some of the memories are awful； but I can feel them sharpening my mind and my awareness the way a knife sharpens a pencil； and that makes the pain worthwhile。 Writing and memory alone aren't enough； though。 I also have a body； ay now be； and I exercise it as much as I can。 It was hard at first … old fogies like me aren't much shakes when it es to exercise just for the sake of exercise … but it's easier now that there's a purpose to my walks。
I go out before breakfast … as soon as it's light； most days … for my first stroll。 It was raining this morning； and the damp makes my joints ache； but I hooked a poncho from the rack by the kitchen door and went out； anyway。 When a man has a chore； he has to do it； and if it hurts； too bad。 Besides； there are pensations。 The chief one is keeping that sense of Real Time； as opposed to Georgia Pines Time。 And I like the rain； ache