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"
Just
to
help
,
"
John
Coffey
said
in
a
voice
so
low
it
was
hardly
more
than
a
whisper
.
He
ignored
the
woman
's
sobbing
and
profanity
equally
.
"
Just
to
help
,
boss
,
that
's
all
.
"
"
You
ca
n't
,
"
Moores
said
.
"
No
one
can
.
"
It
was
a
tone
I
'd
heard
before
,
and
after
a
moment
I
realized
it
was
how
I
'd
sounded
myself
when
I
'd
gone
into
Coffey
's
cell
the
night
he
cured
my
urinary
infection
.
Hypnotized
.
You
mind
your
business
and
I
'll
mind
mine
was
what
I
'd
told
Delacroix
...
except
it
had
been
Coffey
who
'd
been
minding
my
business
,
just
as
he
was
minding
Hal
Moores
's
now
.
"
We
think
he
can
,
"
Brutal
said
.
"
And
we
did
n't
risk
our
jobs
--
plus
a
stretch
in
the
can
ourselves
,
maybe
--
just
to
get
here
and
turn
around
and
go
back
without
giving
it
the
old
college
try
"
Only
I
had
been
ready
to
do
just
that
three
minutes
before
.
Brutal
,
too
.
John
Coffey
took
the
play
out
of
our
hands
.
He
pushed
into
the
entry
and
past
Moores
,
who
raised
a
single
strengthless
hand
to
stop
him
(
it
trailed
across
Coffey
's
hip
and
fell
off
;
I
'm
sure
the
big
man
never
even
felt
it
)
,
and
then
shuffled
down
the
hall
toward
the
living
room
,
the
kitchen
beyond
it
,
and
the
back
bedroom
beyond
that
where
that
shrill
unrecognizable
voice
raised
itself
again
:
"
You
stay
out
of
here
!
Whoever
you
are
,
just
stay
out
!
I
'm
not
dressed
,
my
tits
are
out
and
my
bitchbox
is
taking
the
breeze
!
"
John
paid
no
attention
,
just
went
stolidly
along
,
head
bent
so
he
would
n't
smash
any
of
the
light
fixtures
,
his
round
brown
skull
gleaming
,
his
hands
swinging
at
his
sides
.
After
a
moment
we
followed
him
,
me
first
,
Brutal
and
Hal
side
by
side
,
and
Harry
bringing
up
the
rear
.
I
understood
one
thing
perfectly
well
:
it
was
all
out
of
our
hands
now
,
and
in
John
's
.
The
woman
in
the
back
bedroom
,
propped
up
against
the
headboard
and
staring
wall-eyed
at
the
giant
who
had
come
into
her
muddled
sight
,
did
n't
look
at
all
like
the
Melly
Moores
I
had
known
for
twenty
years
;
she
did
n't
even
look
like
the
Melly
Moores
Janice
and
I
had
visited
shortly
before
Delacroix
's
execution
.
The
woman
propped
up
in
that
bed
looked
like
a
sick
child
got
up
as
a
Halloween
witch
.
Her
livid
skin
was
a
hanging
dough
of
wrinkles
.
It
was
puckered
up
around
the
eye
on
the
right
side
,
as
if
she
were
trying
to
wink
.
That
same
side
of
her
mouth
turned
down
,
one
old
yellow
eyetooth
hung
out
over
her
liverish
lower
lip
.
Her
hair
was
a
wild
thin
fog
around
her
skull
.
The
room
stank
of
the
stuff
our
bodies
dispose
of
with
such
decorum
when
things
are
running
right
.
The
chamberpot
by
her
bed
was
half
full
of
some
vile
yellowish
goo
.
We
had
come
too
late
anyway
,
I
thought
,
horrified
.
It
had
only
been
a
matter
of
days
since
she
had
been
recognizable
--
sick
but
still
herself
Since
then
,
the
thing
in
her
head
must
have
moved
with
horrifying
speed
to
consolidate
its
position
.
I
did
n't
think
even
John
Coffey
could
help
her
now
.
Her
expression
when
Coffey
entered
was
one
of
fear
and
horror
--
as
if
something
inside
her
had
recognized
a
doctor
that
might
be
able
to
get
at
it
and
pry
it
loose
,
after
all
...
to
sprinkle
salt
on
it
the
way
you
do
on
a
leech
to
make
it
let
go
its
grip
.
Hear
me
carefully
:
I
'm
not
saying
that
Melly
Moores
was
possessed
,
and
I
'm
aware
that
,
wrought
up
as
I
was
,
all
my
perceptions
of
that
night
must
be
suspect
.
But
I
have
never
completely
discounted
the
possibility
of
demonic
possession
,
either
.
There
was
something
in
her
eyes
,
I
tell
you
,
something
that
looked
like
fear
.
On
that
I
think
you
can
trust
me
;
it
's
an
emotion
I
've
seen
too
much
of
to
mistake
.
