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I
looked
up
and
saw
brightening
fans
of
light
on
the
road
.
My
keyring
almost
fell
out
of
my
hand
;
I
managed
to
clutch
it
at
the
last
second
.
"
Give
them
to
me
,
"
Brutal
said
.
"
I
'll
do
it
.
"
"
No
,
I
've
got
it
,
"
I
said
.
The
key
at
last
slipped
into
its
slot
and
turned
.
A
moment
later
we
were
in
.
We
crouched
behind
the
bulkhead
and
watched
as
a
Sunshine
Bread
truck
went
pottering
past
the
prison
.
Beside
me
I
could
hear
John
Coffey
's
tortured
breathing
.
He
sounded
like
an
engine
which
has
almost
run
out
of
oil
.
He
had
held
the
bulkhead
door
up
effortlessly
for
us
on
our
way
out
,
but
we
did
n't
even
ask
him
to
help
this
time
;
it
would
have
been
out
of
the
question
.
Brutal
and
I
got
the
door
up
,
and
Harry
led
john
down
the
steps
.
The
big
man
tottered
as
he
went
,
but
he
got
down
.
Brutal
and
I
followed
him
as
fast
as
we
could
,
then
lowered
the
bulkhead
behind
us
and
locked
it
again
.
"
Christ
,
I
think
we
're
gon
na
--
"
Brutal
began
,
but
I
cut
him
off
with
a
sharp
elbow
to
the
ribs
.
"
Do
n't
say
it
,
"
I
said
.
"
Do
n't
even
think
it
,
until
he
's
safe
back
in
his
cell
.
"
"
And
there
's
Percy
to
think
about
,
"
Harry
said
.
Our
voices
had
a
flat
,
echoey
quality
in
the
brick
tunnel
.
"
The
evening
ai
n't
over
as
long
as
we
got
him
to
contend
with
.
"
As
it
turned
out
,
our
evening
was
far
from
over
.
I
sat
in
the
Georgia
Pines
sunroom
,
my
father
's
fountain
pen
in
my
hand
,
and
time
was
lost
to
me
as
I
recalled
the
night
Harry
and
Brutal
and
I
took
John
Coffey
off
the
Mile
and
to
Melinda
Moores
,
in
an
effort
to
save
her
life
.
I
wrote
about
the
drugging
of
William
Wharton
,
who
fancied
himself
the
second
coming
of
Billy
the
Kid
;
I
wrote
of
how
we
stuck
Percy
in
the
straitjacket
and
jugged
him
in
the
restraint
room
at
the
end
of
the
Green
Mile
;
I
wrote
about
our
strange
night
journey
--
both
terrifying
and
exhilarating
--
and
the
miracle
that
befell
at
the
end
of
it
.
We
saw
John
Coffey
drag
a
woman
back
,
not
just
from
the
edge
of
her
grave
,
but
from
what
seemed
to
us
to
be
the
very
bottom
of
it
.
I
wrote
and
was
very
faintly
aware
of
the
Georgia
Pines
version
of
life
going
on
around
me
.
Old
folks
went
down
to
supper
,
then
trooped
off
to
the
Resource
Center
(
yes
,
you
are
permitted
a
chuckle
)
for
their
evening
dose
of
network
sitcoms
.
I
seem
to
remember
my
friend
Elaine
bringing
me
a
sandwich
,
and
thanking
her
,
and
eating
it
,
but
I
could
n't
tell
you
what
time
of
the
evening
she
brought
it
,
or
what
was
in
it
.
Most
of
me
was
back
in
1932
,
when
our
sandwiches
were
usually
bought
off
old
Toot-Toot
's
rolling
gospel
snack-wagon
,
cold
pork
a
nickel
,
corned
beef
a
dime
.
I
remember
the
place
quieting
down
as
the
relics
who
live
here
made
ready
for
another
night
of
thin
and
troubled
sleep
;
I
heard
Mickey
--
maybe
not
the
best
orderly
in
the
place
,
but
certainly
the
kindest
--
singing
"
Red
River
Valley
"
in
his
good
tenor
as
he
went
around
dispensing
the
evening
meds
:
"
From
this
valley
they
say
you
are
going
...
We
will
miss
your
bright
eyes
and
sweet
smile
...
"
The
song
made
me
think
of
Melinda
again
,
and
what
she
had
said
to
John
after
the
miracle
had
happened
.
I
dreamed
of
you
.
I
dreamed
you
were
wandering
in
the
dark
,
and
so
was
I
.
We
found
each
other
.
