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"
I
do
n't
know
,
"
I
said
.
I
just
wanted
to
get
away
from
him
.
The
more
I
listened
to
him
,
the
more
he
sounded
like
Percy
.
William
Wharton
,
the
crazyman
who
came
to
the
Green
Mile
in
the
fall
of
'
32
,
once
grabbed
Percy
and
scared
him
so
bad
that
Percy
squirted
in
his
pants
.
You
talk
about
this
to
anyone
,
Percy
told
the
rest
of
us
afterward
,
and
you
'll
all
be
on
the
breadlines
in
a
week
.
Now
,
these
many
years
later
,
I
could
almost
hear
Brad
Dolan
saying
those
same
words
,
in
that
same
tone
of
voice
.
It
's
as
if
,
by
writing
about
those
old
times
,
I
have
unlocked
some
unspeakable
door
that
connects
the
past
to
the
present
--
Percy
Wetmore
to
Brad
Dolan
,
Janice
Edgecombe
to
Elaine
Connelly
,
Cold
Mountain
Penitentiary
to
the
Georgia
Pines
old
folks
"
home
.
And
if
that
thought
does
n't
keep
me
awake
tonight
,
I
guess
nothing
will
.
I
made
as
if
to
go
in
through
the
kitchen
door
and
Brad
grabbed
me
by
the
wrist
again
.
I
do
n't
know
about
the
first
one
,
but
this
time
he
was
doing
it
on
purpose
,
squeezing
to
hurt
.
His
eyes
shifting
back
and
forth
,
making
sure
no
one
was
around
in
the
early-morning
wet
,
no
one
to
see
he
was
abusing
one
of
the
old
folks
he
was
supposed
to
be
taking
care
of
.
"
What
do
you
do
down
that
path
?
"
he
asked
.
"
I
know
you
do
n't
go
down
there
and
jerk
off
,
those
days
are
long
behind
you
,
so
what
do
you
do
?
"
"
Nothing
,
"
I
said
,
telling
myself
to
be
calm
,
not
to
show
him
how
bad
he
was
hurting
me
and
to
be
calm
,
to
remember
he
'd
only
mentioned
the
path
,
he
did
n't
know
about
the
shed
.
"
I
just
walk
.
To
clear
my
mind
"
"
Too
late
for
that
,
Paulie
,
your
mind
's
never
gon
na
be
clear
again
!
"
He
squeezed
my
thin
old
mares
wrist
again
,
grinding
the
brittle
bones
,
eyes
continually
shifting
from
side
to
side
,
wanting
to
make
sure
he
was
safe
.
Brad
was
n't
afraid
of
breaking
the
rules
;
he
was
only
afraid
of
being
caught
breaking
them
.
And
in
that
,
too
,
he
was
like
Percy
Wetmore
,
who
would
never
let
you
forget
he
was
the
governor
's
nephew
.
"
Old
as
you
are
,
its
a
miracle
you
can
remember
who
you
are
.
You
're
too
goddam
old
.
Even
for
a
museum
like
this
.
You
give
me
the
fucking
creeps
,
Paulie
.
"
"
Let
go
of
me
,
"
I
said
,
trying
to
keep
the
whine
out
of
my
voice
.
It
was
n't
just
pride
,
either
.
I
thought
if
he
heard
it
,
it
might
inflame
him
,
the
way
the
smell
of
sweat
can
sometimes
inflame
a
bad-tempered
dog
--
one
which
would
otherwise
only
growl
--
to
bite
.
That
made
me
think
of
a
reporter
who
'd
covered
John
Coffey
's
trial
.
The
reporter
was
a
terrible
man
named
Hammersmith
,
and
the
most
terrible
thing
about
him
was
that
he
had
n't
known
he
was
terrible
.
Instead
of
letting
go
,
Dolan
squeezed
my
wrist
again
.
I
groaned
.
I
did
n't
want
to
,
but
I
could
n't
help
it
.
It
hurt
all
the
way
down
to
my
ankles
.
"
What
do
you
do
down
there
,
Paulie
?
Tell
me
.
"
