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

Понятно

Понятно

Для того чтобы воспользоваться закладками, необходимо

Войти или зарегистрироваться

Отмена

Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо

Войти или зарегистрироваться

Отмена

Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа

Купить PRO-доступ

Отмена

Предыдущая страница

And

although

I

suppose

it

will

sound

strange

to

some

reading

this

in

spite

of

all

I

have

said

,

part

of

me

relished

the

pain

that

came

when

that

gallstone

went

.

It

was

the

only

serious

pain

I

'd

had

since

that

problem

with

my

waterworks

,

twenty-four

years

before

.

The

ills

that

have

taken

my

friends

and

same-generation

loved

ones

until

there

are

none

of

them

left

--

the

strokes

,

the

cancers

,

the

heart

attacks

,

the

liver

diseases

,

the

blood

diseases

--

have

all

left

me

untouched

,

have

swerved

to

avoid

me

the

way

a

man

driving

a

car

swerves

to

avoid

a

deer

or

a

raccoon

in

the

road

.

The

one

serious

accident

I

was

in

left

me

untouched

save

for

a

scratch

on

the

hand

.

In

1932

,

John

Coffey

inoculated

me

with

life

.

Electrocuted

me

with

life

,

you

might

say

.

I

will

pass

on

eventually

--

of

course

I

will

,

any

illusions

of

immortality

I

might

have

had

died

with

Mr.

Jingles

--

but

I

will

have

wished

for

death

long

before

death

finds

me

.

Truth

to

tell

,

I

wish

for

it

already

and

have

ever

since

Elaine

Connelly

died

.

Need

I

tell

you

?

I

look

back

over

these

pages

,

leafing

through

them

with

my

trembling

,

spotted

hands

,

and

I

wonder

if

there

is

some

meaning

here

,

as

in

those

books

which

are

supposed

to

be

uplifting

and

ennobling

.

I

think

back

to

the

sermons

of

my

childhood

,

booming

affirmations

in

the

church

of

Praise

Jesus

,

The

Lord

Is

Mighty

,

and

I

recall

how

the

preachers

used

to

say

that

God

's

eye

is

on

the

sparrow

,

that

He

sees

and

marks

even

the

least

of

His

creations

.

When

I

think

of

Mr.

Jingles

,

and

the

tiny

scraps

of

wood

we

found

in

that

hole

in

the

beam

,

I

think

that

is

so

.

Yet

this

same

God

sacrificed

John

Coffey

,

who

tried

only

to

do

good

in

his

blind

way

,

as

savagely

as

any

Old

Testament

prophet

ever

sacrificed

a

defenseless

lamb

...

as

Abraham

would

have

sacrificed

his

own

son

if

actually

called

upon

to

do

so

.

I

think

of

John

saying

that

Wharton

killed

the

Detterick

twins

with

their

love

for

each

other

,

and

that

it

happens

every

day

,

all

over

the

world

.

If

it

happens

,

God

lets

it

happen

,

and

when

we

say

"

I

do

n't

understand

,

"

God

replies

,

"

I

do

n't

care

.

"

Отключить рекламу

I

think

of

Mr.

Jingles

dying

while

my

back

was

turned

and

my

attention

usurped

by

an

unkind

man

whose

finest

emotion

seemed

to

be

a

species

of

vindictive

curiosity

.

I

think

of

Janice

,

jittering

away

her

last

mindless

seconds

as

I

knelt

with

her

in

the

rain

.

Stop

it

,

I

tried

to

tell

John

that

day

in

his

cell

.

Let

go

of

my

hands

,

I

'm

going

to

drown

if

you

do

n't

.

Drown

or

explode

.

"

You

wo

n't

"

splode

,

"

he

answered

,

hearing

my

thought

and

smiling

at

the

idea

.

And

the

horrible

thing

is

that

I

did

n't

.

I

have

n't

.

I

have

at

least

one

old

man

's

ill

:

I

suffer

from

insomnia

.

Late

at

night

I

lie

in

my

bed

,

listening

to

the

dank

and

hopeless

sound

of

infirm

men

and

women

coughing

their

courses

deeper

into

old

age

.

Sometimes

I

hear

a

call-bell

,

or

the

squeak

of

a

shoe

in

the

corridor

,

or

Mrs.

Javits

's

little

TV

tuned

to

the

late

news

.

I

lie

here

,

and

if

the

moon

is

in

my

window

,

I

watch

it

Отключить рекламу

I

lie

here

and

think

about

Brutal

,

and

Dean

,

and

sometimes

William

Wharton

saying

That

's

right

,

nigger

,

bad

as

you

'd

want

.

I

think

of

Delacroix

saying

Watch

this

Boss

Edgecombe

,

I

teach

Mr.

Jingles

a

new

trick

.

I

think

of

Elaine

,

standing

in

the

door

of

the

sunroom

and

telling

Brad

Dolan

to

leave

me

alone

.

Sometimes

I

doze

and

see

that

underpass

in

the

rain

,

with

John

Coffey

standing

beneath

it

in

the

shadows

.

It

's

never

just

a

trick

of

the

eye

,

in

these

little

dreams

;

it

's

always

him

for

sure

,

my

big

boy

,

just

standing

there

and

watching

.

I

lie

here

and

wait

.

I

think

about

Janice

,

how

I

lost

her

,

how

she

ran

away

red

through

my

fingers

in

the

rain

,

and

I

wait

.

We

each

owe

a

death

,

there

are

no

exceptions

,

I

know

that

,

but

sometimes

,

oh

God

,

the

Green

Mile

is

so

long

.

Предыдущая страница

Предыдущая