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As
for
me
,
I
went
back
to
E
Block
to
start
another
day
.
There
was
paperwork
to
be
read
and
written
,
there
were
floors
to
be
mopped
,
there
were
meals
to
be
served
,
a
duty
roster
to
be
made
out
for
the
following
week
,
there
were
a
hundred
details
to
be
seen
to
.
But
mostly
there
was
waiting
--
in
prison
there
's
always
plenty
of
that
,
so
much
it
never
gets
done
.
Waiting
for
Eduard
Delacroix
to
walk
the
Green
Mile
,
waiting
for
William
Wharton
to
arrive
with
his
curled
lip
and
Billy
the
Kid
tattoo
,
and
,
most
of
all
,
waiting
for
Percy
Wetmore
to
be
gone
out
of
my
life
.
Delacroix
's
mouse
was
one
of
God
's
mysteries
.
I
never
saw
one
in
E
Block
before
that
summer
,
and
never
saw
one
after
that
fall
,
when
Delacroix
passed
from
our
company
on
a
hot
and
thundery
night
in
October
--
passed
from
it
in
a
manner
so
unspeakable
I
can
barely
bring
myself
to
recall
it
.
Delacroix
claimed
that
he
trained
that
mouse
,
which
started
its
life
among
us
as
Steamboat
Willy
,
but
I
really
think
it
was
the
other
way
around
.
Dean
Stanton
felt
the
same
way
,
and
so
did
Brutal
.
Both
of
them
were
there
the
night
the
mouse
put
in
its
first
appearance
,
and
as
Brutal
said
,
"
The
thing
"
us
half-tame
already
,
and
twice
as
smart
as
that
Cajun
what
thought
he
owned
it
.
"
Dean
and
I
were
in
my
office
,
going
over
the
record-box
for
the
last
year
,
getting
ready
to
write
follow-up
letters
to
witnesses
of
five
executions
,
and
to
write
follow-ups
to
follow-ups
in
another
six
stretching
all
the
way
back
to
"
29
.
Basically
,
we
wanted
to
know
just
one
thing
:
were
they
pleased
with
the
service
?
I
know
it
sounds
grotesque
,
but
it
was
an
important
consideration
.
As
taxpayers
they
were
our
customers
,
but
very
special
ones
.
A
man
or
a
woman
who
will
turn
out
at
midnight
to
watch
a
man
die
has
got
a
special
,
pressing
reason
to
be
there
,
a
special
need
,
and
if
execution
is
a
proper
punishment
,
then
that
need
ought
to
be
satisfied
.
They
've
had
a
nightmare
.
The
purpose
of
the
execution
is
to
show
them
that
the
nightmare
is
over
.
Maybe
it
even
works
that
way
.
Sometimes
.
"
Hey
!
"
Brutal
called
from
outside
the
door
,
where
he
was
manning
the
desk
at
the
head
of
the
hall
.
"
Hey
,
you
two
!
Get
out
here
!
"
Dean
and
I
gazed
at
each
other
with
identical
expressions
of
alarm
,
thinking
that
something
had
happened
to
either
the
Indian
from
Oklahoma
(
his
name
was
Arlen
Bitterbuck
,
but
we
called
him
The
Chief
...
or
,
in
Harry
Terwilliger
's
case
,
Chief
Coat
Cheese
,
because
that
was
what
Harry
claimed
Bitterbuck
smelled
like
)
,
or
the
fellow
we
called
The
President
.
But
then
Brutal
started
to
laugh
,
and
we
hurried
to
see
what
was
happening
.
Laughing
in
E
Block
sounded
almost
as
wrong
as
laughing
in
church
.
Old
Toot-Toot
,
the
trusty
who
ran
the
food-wagon
in
those
days
,
had
been
by
with
his
holy-rolling
cartful
of
goodies
,
and
Brutal
had
stocked
up
for
a
long
night
--
three
sandwiches
,
two
pops
,
and
a
couple
of
moon
pies
.
Also
a
side
of
potato
salad
Toot
had
undoubtedly
filched
from
the
prison
kitchen
,
which
was
supposed
to
be
off-limits
to
him
.
Brutal
had
the
logbook
open
in
front
of
him
,
and
for
a
wonder
he
had
n't
spilled
anything
on
it
yet
.
Of
course
,
he
was
just
getting
started
.
"
What
?
"
Dean
asked
.
"
What
is
it
?
"
"
State
legislature
must
have
opened
the
pursestrings
enough
to
hire
another
screw
this
year
after
all
,
"
Brutal
said
,
still
laughing
.
"
Lookie
yonder
.
"
He
pointed
and
we
saw
the
mouse
.
I
started
to
laugh
,
too
,
and
Dean
joined
in
.
You
really
could
n't
help
it
,
because
a
guard
doing
quarter-hour
check
rounds
was
just
like
that
mouse
looked
like
:
a
tiny
,
furry
guard
making
sure
no
one
was
trying
to
escape
or
commit
suicide
.
It
would
trot
a
little
way
toward
us
along
the
Green
Mile
,
then
turn
its
head
from
side
to
side
,
as
if
checking
the
cells
.
Then
it
would
make
another
forward
spurt
.
The
fact
that
we
could
hear
both
of
our
current
inmates
snoring
away
in
spite
of
the
yelling
and
the
laughter
somehow
made
it
even
funnier
.
