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Only
God
could
forgive
sins
,
could
and
did
,
washing
them
away
in
the
agonal
blood
of
His
crucified
Son
,
but
that
did
not
change
the
responsibility
of
His
children
to
atone
for
those
sins
(
and
even
their
simple
errors
of
judgement
)
whenever
possible
.
Atonement
was
powerful
;
it
was
the
lock
on
the
door
you
closed
against
the
past
.
I
fell
asleep
thinking
of
piney-woods
atonement
,
and
Eduard
Delacroix
on
fire
as
he
rode
the
lightning
,
and
Melinda
Moores
,
and
my
big
boy
with
the
endlessly
weeping
eyes
.
These
thoughts
twisted
their
way
into
a
dream
.
In
it
,
John
Coffey
was
sitting
on
a
riverbank
and
bawling
his
inarticulate
mooncalf
's
grief
up
at
the
early-summer
sky
while
on
the
other
bank
a
freight-train
stormed
endlessly
toward
a
rusty
trestle
spanning
the
Trapingus
.
In
the
crook
of
each
arm
the
black
man
held
the
body
of
a
naked
,
blonde-haired
girlchild
.
His
fists
,
huge
brown
rocks
at
the
ends
of
those
arms
"
were
closed
.
All
around
him
crickets
chirred
and
noseeums
flocked
;
the
day
hummed
with
heat
.
In
my
dream
I
went
to
him
,
knelt
before
him
,
and
took
his
hands
.
His
fists
relaxed
and
gave
up
their
secrets
.
In
one
was
a
spool
colored
green
and
red
and
yellow
.
In
the
other
was
a
prison
guard
's
shoe
.
"
I
could
n't
help
it
,
"
John
Coffey
said
.
"
I
tried
to
take
it
back
,
but
it
was
too
late
.
"
And
this
time
,
in
my
dream
,
I
understood
him
.
At
nine
o'clock
the
next
morning
,
while
I
was
having
a
third
cup
of
coffee
in
the
kitchen
(
my
wife
said
nothing
,
but
I
could
see
disapproval
large
on
her
face
when
she
brought
it
to
me
)
,
the
telephone
rang
.
I
went
into
the
parlor
to
take
it
,
and
Central
told
someone
that
their
party
was
holding
the
line
.
She
then
told
me
to
have
a
birdlarky
day
and
rang
off
...
presumably
.
With
Central
,
you
could
never
quite
tell
for
sure
.
Hal
Moores
's
voice
shocked
me
.
Wavery
and
hoarse
,
it
sounded
like
the
voice
of
an
octogenarian
.
It
occurred
to
me
that
it
was
good
that
things
had
gone
all
right
with
Curtis
Anderson
in
the
tunnel
last
night
,
good
that
he
felt
about
the
same
as
we
did
about
Percy
,
because
this
man
I
was
talking
to
would
very
likely
never
work
another
day
at
Cold
Mountain
.
"
Paul
,
I
understand
there
was
trouble
last
night
.
I
also
understand
that
our
friend
Mr.
Wetmore
war
,
involved
.
"
"
A
spot
of
trouble
,
"
I
admitted
,
holding
the
receiver
tight
to
my
ear
and
leaning
in
toward
the
horn
,
"
but
the
job
got
done
.
That
's
the
important
thing
.
"
"
Yes
.
Of
course
.
"
"
Can
I
ask
who
told
you
?
"
So
I
can
tie
a
can
to
his
tail
?
I
did
n't
add
.
