绿里奇迹(英文版)-第39部分

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f　course。　There　was　nothing　I　could　do　about　it；　not　in　front　of　the　witnesses；　not　with　Delacroix　now　sitting　on　the　furthest　edge　of　life。　There　was　nothing　to　do　now　but　go　on　with　it；　finish　it。　
Percy　took　the　mask　from　its　hook　and　rolled　it　down　over　Del's　face；　snugging　it　tight　under　the　little　man's　undershot　chin　so　as　to　stretch　the　hole　in　the　top。　Taking　the　sponge　from　the　bucket　and　putting　it　in　the　cap　was　the　next；　and　it　was　here　that　Percy　diverged　from　the　routine　for　the　first　time：　instead　of　just　bending　over　and　fishing　the　sponge　out；　he　took　the　steel　cap　from　the　back　of　the　chair；　and　bent　over　with　it　in　his　hands。　Instead　of　bringing　the　sponge　to　the　cap；　in　other　words…which　would　have　been　the　natural　way　to　do　it　…　he　brought　the　cap　to　the　sponge。　I　should　have　realized　something　was　wrong；　but　I　was　too　upset。　It　was　the　only　execution　I　ever　took　part　in　where　I　felt　totally　out　of　control。　As　for　Brutal；　he　never　looked　at　Percy　at　all；　not　as　Percy　bent　over　the　bucket　（moving　so　as　to　partially　block　what　he　was　doing　from　our　view）；　not　as　he　straightened　up　and　turned　to　Del　with　the　cap　in　his　hands　and　the　brown　circle　of　sponge　already　inside　it。　Brutal　was　looking　at　the　cloth　which　had　replaced　Del's　face；　watching　the　way　the　black　silk　mask　drew　in；　outlining　the　circle　of　Del's　open　mouth；　and　then　puffed　out　again　with　his　breath。　There　were　big　beads　of　perspiration　on　Brutal's　forehead；　and　at　his　temples；　just　below　the　hairline。　I　had　never　seen　him　sweat　at　an　execution　before。　Behind　him；　Dean　looked　distracted　and　W；　as　if　he　was　fighting　not　to　lose　his　supper。　We　all　understood　that　something　was　wrong；　I　know　that　now。　We　just　couldn't　tell　what　it　was。　No　one　knew　…　not　then　…　about　the　questions　Percy　had　been　asking　Jack　Van　Hay。　There　were　a　lot　of　them；　but　I　suspect　most　were　just　camouflage。　What　Percy　wanted　to　know　about　…　the　only　thing　Percy　wanted　to　know　about；　I　believe　…　was　the　sponge。　The　purpose　of　the　sponge。　Why　it　was　soaked　in　brine　。。。　and　what　would　happen　if　it　was　not　soaked　in　brine。　
What　would　happen　if　the　sponge　was　dry。　
Percy　jammed　the　cap　down　on　Del's　head。　The　little　man　jumped　and　moaned　again；　this　time　louder。　Some　of　the　witnesses　stirred　uneasily　on　their　folding　chairs。　Dean　took　a　half…step　forward；　meaning　to　help　with　the　chin…strap；　and　Percy　motioned　him　curtly　to　step　back。　Dean　did；　hunching　a　little　and　wincing　as　another　blast　of　thunder　shook　the　storage　shed。　This　time　it　was　followed　by　the　first　spatters　of　rain　across　the　roof。　They　sounded　hard；　like　someone　flinging　handfuls　of　goobers　onto　a　washboard。　
You've　heard　people　say　〃My　blood　ran　cold〃　about　things；　haven't　you？　Sure。　All　of　us　have；　but　the　only　time　in　all　my　years　that　I　actually　felt　it　happen　to　me　was　on　that　new　and　thunderstruck　morning　in　October　of　1932；　at　about　ten　seconds　past　midnight。　It　wasn't　the　look　of　poison　triumph　on　Percy　Wetmore's　face　as　he　stepped　away　from　the　capped；　clamped；　and　hooded　figure　sitting　there　in　Old　Sparky；　it　was　what　I　should　have　seen　and　didn't。　There　was　no　water　running　down　Del's　cheeks　from　out　of　the　cap。　That　was　when　I　finally　got　it。　
〃Edward　Delacroix；〃　Percy　was　saying；　〃electricity　shall　now　be　passed　through　your　body　until　you　are　dead；　according　to　state　law。〃　
I　looked　over　at　Brutal　in　an　agony　that　made　my　urinary　infection　seem　like　a　bumped　finger　The　sponge　is　dry！　I　mouthed　at　him；　but　he　only　shook　his　head；　not　understanding；　and　looked　back　at　the　mask　over　the　Frenchman's　face；　where　the　man's　last　few　breaths　were　pulling　the　black　silk　in　and　then　blousing　it　out　again。　
I　reached　for　Percy's　elbow　and　he　stepped　away　from　me；　giving　me　a　flat　look　as　he　did　so。　It　was　only　a　momentary　glance；　but　it　told　me　everything。　Later　he　would　tell　his　lies　and　his　half…truths；　and　most　would　be　believed　by　the　people　who　mattered；　but　I　knew　a　different　story。　Percy　was　a　good　student　when　he　was　doing　something　he　cared　about；　we'd　found　that　out　at　the　rehearsals；　and　he　had　listened　carefully　when　Jack　Van　Hay　explained　how　the　brine…soaked　sponge　conducted　the　juice；　channelling　it；　turning　the　charge　into　a　kind　of　electric　bullet　to　the　brain。　Oh　yes；　Percy　knew　exactly　what　he　was　doing。　I　think　I　believed　him　later　when　he　said　I　didn't　know　how　far　it　would　go；　but　that　doesn't　even　count　in　the　good…intentions　column；　does　it？　I　don't　think　so。　Yet；　short　of　screaming　in　front　of　the　assistant　warden　and　all　the　witnesses　for　Jack　Van　Hay　not　to　pull　the　switch；　there　was　nothing　I　could　do。　Given　another　five　seconds；　I　think　I　might　have　screamed　just　that；　but　Percy　didn't　give　me　another　five　seconds。　
〃May　God　have　mercy　on　your　soul；〃　he　told　the　panting；　terrified　figure　in　the　electric　chair；　then　looked　past　him　at　the　mesh…covered　rectangle　where　Harry　and　Jack　were　standing；　Jack　with　his　hand　on　the　switch　marked　MABEL'S　HAIR　DRIER。　The　doctor　was　standing　to　the　right　of　that　window；　eyes　fixed　on　the　black　bag　between　his　feet；　as　silent　and　selfeffacing　as　ever。　〃Roll　on　two！〃　
At　first　it　was　the　same　as　always　…　the　humming　that　was　a　little　louder　than　the　original　cycle…up；　but　not　much；　and　the　mindless　forward　surge　of　Del's　body　as　his　muscles　spasmed。　
Then　things　started　going　wrong。　
The　humming　lost　its　steadiness　and　began　to　waver。　It　was　joined　by　a　crackling　sound；　like　cellophane　being　crinkled。　I　could　smell　something　horrible　that　I　didn't　identify　as　a　mixture　of　burning　hair　and　organic　sponge　until　I　saw　blue　tendrils　of　smoke　curling　out　from　beneath　the　edges　of　the　cap。　More　smoke　was　streaming　out　of　the　hole　in　the　top　of　the　cap　that　the　wire　came　in　through；　it　looked　like　smoke　ing　out　of　the　hole　in　an　Indian's　teepee。　
Delacroix　began　to　jitter　and　twist　in…the　chair；　his　mask…covered　face　snapping　from　side　to　side　as　if　in　some　vehement　refusal。　His　legs　began　to　piston　up　and　down　in　short　strokes　that　were　hampered　by　the　clamps　on　his　ankles。　Thunder　banged　overhead；　and　now　the　rain　began　to　pour　down　harder。　
I　looked　at　Dean　Stanton；　he　stared　wildly　back。　There　was　a　muffled　pop　from　under　the　cap；　like　a　pine　knot　exploding　in　a　hot　fire；　and　now　I　could　see　smoke　ing　through　the　mask；　as　well；　seeping　out　in　little　curls。　
I　lunged　toward　the　mesh　between　us　and　the　switch　room；　but　before　I　could　open　my　mouth；　Brutus　Howell　seized　my　elbow。　His　grip　was　hard　enough　to　make　the　nerves　in　there　tingle。　He　was　as　white　as　tallow　but　not　in　a　panic　…　not　even　close　to　being　in　a　panic。　〃Don't　you　tell　Jack　to　stop；〃　he　said　in　a　low　voice。　〃Whatever　you　do；　don't　tell　him　that。　It's　too　late　to　stop。〃　
At　first；　when　Del　began　to　scream；　the　witnesses　didn't　hear　him。　The　rain　on　the　tin　roof　had　swelled　to　a　roar；　and　the　thunder　was　damned　near　continuous。　But　those　of　us　on　the　platform　heard　him；　all　right　…　choked　howls　of　pain　from　beneath　the　smoking　mask；　sounds　an　animal　caught　and　mangled　in　a　hay…baler　might　make。　
The　hum　from　the　cap　was　ragged　and　wild　now；　broken　by　bursts　of　what　sounded　like　radio　static。　Delacroix　began　to　slam　back　and　forth　in　the　chair　like　a　kid　doing　a　tantrum。　The　platform　shook；　and　he　hit　the　leather　restraining　belt　almost　hard　enough　to　pop　it。　The　current　was　also　twisting　him　from　side　to　side；　and　I　heard　the　crunching　snap　as　his　right　shoulder　either　broke　or　dislocated。　It　went　with　a　sound　like　someone　hitting　a　wooden　crate　with　a　sledgehammer。　The　crotch　of　his　pants；　no　more　than　a　blur　because　of　the　short　pistoning　strokes　of　his　legs；　darkened。　Then　he　began　to　squeal；　horrible　sounds；　high…pitched　and　ratlike；　that　were　audible　even　over　the　rushing　downpour。　
〃What　the　hell's　happening　to　him？〃　someone　cried。　
〃Are　those　clamps　going　to　hold？〃　
〃Christ；　the　smell！　Phew！〃　
Then；　one　of　the　two　women：　〃Is　this　normal？〃　
Delacroix　snapped　forward；　dropped　back；　snapped　forward；　fell　back。　Percy　was　staring　at　him　with　slack…jawed　horror。　He　had　expected　something；　sure；　but　not　this。　
The　mask　burst　into　flame　on　Delacroix's　face。　The　smell　of　cooking　hair　and　sponge　was　now　joined　by　the　smell　of　cooking　flesh。　Brutal　grabbed　the　bucket　the　sponge　had　been　in　…　it　was　empty　now；　of　course　…　and　charged　for　the　extra…deep　janitor's　sink　in　the　corner。　
〃Shouldn't　I　kill　the　juice；　Paul？〃　Van　Hay　called　through　the　mesh。　He　sounded　pletely　rattled。　〃Shouldn't…〃　
〃No！〃　I　shouted　back。　Brutal　had　understood　it　first；　but　I　hadn't　been　far　behind：　we　had　to　finish　it。　Whatever　else　we　might　do　in　all　the　rest　of　our　lives　was　secondary　to　that　one　thing：　we　had　to　finish　with　Delacroix。　〃Roll；　for　Christ's　sake！　Roll；　roll；　roll！〃　
I　turned　to　Brutal；　hardly　aware　of　the　people　talking　behind　us　now；　some　on　their　feet；　a　couple　screaming。　〃Quit　that！〃　I　yelled　at　Brutal。　〃No　water！　No　water！　Are　you　nuts？〃　
Brutal　turned　toward　me；　a　kind　of　dazed　understanding　on　his　face。　Throw　water　on　a　man　who　was　getting　the　juice。　Oh　yes。　That　would　be　very　smart。　He　looked　around；　saw　the　chemical　fire　extinguisher　hanging　on　the　wall；　and　got　that　instead。　Good　boy。　
The　mask　had　peeled　away　from　Delacroix's　face　enough　to　reveal　features　that　had　gone　blacker　than　John　Coffey's。　His　eyes；　now　nothing　but　misshapen　globs　of　white；　filmy　jelly；　had　been　blown　out　of　their　sockets　and　lay　on　his　cheeks。　His　eyelashes　were　gone；　and　as　I　looked；　the　lids　themselves　caught　fire　and　began　to　burn。　Smoke　puffed　from　the　open　V　of　his　shirt。　And　still　the　humming　of　the　electricity　went　on　and　on；　filling　my　head；　vibrating　in　there。　I　think　it's　the　sound　mad　people　must　hear；　that　or　something　like　it。　
Dean　started　forward；　thinking　in　some　dazed　way　that　he　could　beat　the　fire　out　of　Del's　shirt　with　his　hands；　and　I　yanked　him　away　almost　hard　enough　to　pull　him　off　his　feet。　Touching　Delacroix　at　that　point　would　have　been　like　Brer　Rabbit　punching　into　the　Tar…Baby。　An　electrified　Tar…Baby；　in　this　case。　
I　still　didn't　turn　around　to　see　what　was　going　on　behind　us；　but　it　sounded　like　pandemonium；　chairs　falling　over；　people　bellowing；　a　woman　crying　〃Stop　it；　stop　it；　oh　can't　you　see　he's　had　enough？〃　at　the　top　of　her　lungs。