Зеленая миля/Green Mile (Стивен Кинг). Страница 126 из 304

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"

Nothing

!

"

I

said

.

I

was

n't

crying

,

not

yet

,

but

I

was

afraid

I

'd

start

soon

if

he

kept

bearing

down

like

that

.

"

Nothing

,

I

just

walk

,

I

like

to

walk

,

let

go

of

me

!

"

He

did

,

but

only

long

enough

so

he

could

grab

my

other

hand

.

That

one

was

rolled

closed

.

"

Open

up

,

"

he

said

.

"

Let

Poppa

see

.

"

I

did

,

and

he

grunted

with

disgust

.

It

was

nothing

but

the

remains

of

my

second

piece

of

toast

.

I

'd

clenched

it

in

my

right

hand

when

he

started

squeezing

my

left

wrist

,

and

there

was

butter

--

well

,

oleo

,

they

do

n't

have

real

butter

here

,

of

course

--

on

my

fingers

.

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"

Go

on

inside

and

wash

your

damned

hands

,

"

he

said

,

stepping

back

and

taking

another

bite

of

his

Danish

.

"

Jesus

Christ

.

"

I

went

up

the

steps

.

My

legs

were

shaking

,

my

heart

pounding

like

an

engine

with

leaky

valves

and

shaky

old

pistons

.

As

I

grasped

the

knob

that

would

let

me

into

the

kitchen

--

and

safety

--

Dolan

said

:

"

If

you

tell

anyone

I

squeezed

your

po

"

old

wrist

,

Paulie

,

I

'll

tell

them

you

're

having

delusions

.

Onset

of

senile

dementia

,

likely

.

And

you

know

they

'll

believe

me

.

If

there

are

bruises

,

they

'll

think

you

made

them

yourself

.

"

Yes

.

Those

things

were

true

.

And

once

again

,

it

could

have

been

Percy

Wetmore

saying

them

,

a

Percy

that

had

somehow

stayed

young

and

mean

while

I

'd

grown

old

and

brittle

.

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"

I

'm

not

going

to

say

anything

to

anyone

,

"

I

mutered

.

"

Got

nothing

to

say

.

"

"

That

's

right

,

you

old

sweetie

.

"

His

voice

light

and

mocking

,

the

voice

of

a

lugoon

(

to

use

Percy

's

word

)

who

thought

he

was

going

to

be

young

forever

.

"

And

I

'm

going

to

find

out

what

you

're

up

to

.

I

'm

going

to

make

it

my

business

.

You

hear

?

"

I

heard

,

all

right

,

but

would

n't

give

him

the

satisfaction

of

saying

so

.

I

went

in

,

passed

through

the

kitchen

(

I

could

now

smell

eggs

and

sausage

cooking

,

but

no

longer

wanted

any

)

,

and

hung

the

poncho

back

up

on

its

hook

.

Then

I

went

upstairs

to

my

room

--

resting

at

every

step

,

giving

my

heart

time

to

slow

--

and

gathered

my

writing

materials

together

.

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