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"
Help
me
!
"
I
screamed
again
,
and
turned
toward
the
underpass
,
and
there
I
saw
John
Coffey
standing
in
the
shadows
,
only
a
shadow
himself
,
a
big
man
with
long
,
dangling
arms
and
a
bald
head
.
"
John
!
"
I
screamed
.
"
Oh
John
,
please
help
me
!
Please
help
Janice
!
"
Rain
ran
into
my
eyes
.
I
blinked
it
away
,
and
he
was
gone
.
I
could
see
the
shadows
I
had
mistaken
for
John
...
but
it
had
n't
been
only
shadows
.
I
'm
sure
of
that
.
He
was
there
.
Maybe
only
as
a
ghost
,
but
he
was
there
,
the
rain
on
his
face
mixing
with
the
endless
flow
of
his
tears
.
She
died
in
my
arms
,
there
in
the
rain
beside
that
fertilizer
truck
with
the
smell
of
burning
diesel
fuel
in
my
nose
.
There
was
no
moment
of
awareness
--
the
eyes
clearing
,
the
lips
moving
in
some
whispered
final
declaration
of
love
.
There
was
a
kind
of
shivery
clench
in
the
flesh
beneath
my
hands
,
and
then
she
was
gone
.
I
thought
of
Melinda
Moores
for
the
first
time
in
years
,
then
,
Melinda
sitting
up
in
the
bed
where
all
the
doctors
at
Indianola
General
Hospital
had
believed
she
would
die
;
Melinda
Moores
looking
fresh
and
rested
and
peering
at
John
Coffey
with
bright
,
wondering
eyes
.
Melinda
saying
I
dreamed
you
were
wandering
in
the
dark
,
and
so
was
I
.
We
found
each
other
.
I
put
my
wife
's
poor
,
mangled
head
down
on
the
wet
pavement
of
the
interstate
highway
,
got
to
my
feet
(
it
was
easy
;
I
had
a
little
cut
on
the
side
of
my
left
hand
,
but
that
was
all
)
,
and
screamed
his
name
into
the
shadows
of
the
underpass
.
"
John
!
JOHN
COFFEY
!
WHERE
ARE
YOU
,
BIG
BOY
?
"
I
walked
toward
those
shadows
,
kicking
aside
a
teddy-bear
with
blood
on
its
fur
,
a
pair
of
steel
rimmed
eyeglasses
with
one
shattered
lens
,
a
severed
hand
with
a
garnet
ring
on
the
pinky
finger
.
"
You
saved
Hal
's
wife
,
why
not
my
wife
?
Why
not
Janice
?
WHY
NOT
MY
JANICE
?
"
No
answer
;
only
the
smell
of
burning
diesel
and
burning
bodies
,
only
the
rain
falling
ceaselessly
out
of
the
gray
sky
and
drumming
on
the
cement
while
my
wife
lay
dead
on
the
road
behind
me
.
No
answer
then
and
no
answer
now
.
But
of
course
it
was
n't
only
Melly
Moores
that
John
Coffey
saved
in
1932
,
or
Del
's
mouse
,
the
one
that
could
do
that
cute
trick
with
the
spool
and
seemed
to
be
looking
for
Del
long
before
Del
showed
up
...
long
before
John
Coffey
showed
up
,
either
.
John
saved
me
,
too
,
and
years
later
,
standing
in
the
pouring
Alabama
rain
and
looking
for
a
man
who
was
n't
there
in
the
shadows
of
an
underpass
,
standing
amid
the
spilled
luggage
and
the
ruined
dead
,
I
learned
a
terrible
thing
:
sometimes
there
is
absolutely
no
difference
at
all
between
salvation
and
damnation
.
I
felt
one
or
the
other
pouring
through
me
as
we
sat
together
on
his
bunk
--
November
the
eighteenth
,
nineteen
and
thirty-two
.
Pouring
out
of
him
and
into
me
,
whatever
strange
force
he
had
in
him
coming
through
our
joined
hands
in
a
way
our
love
and
hope
and
good
intentions
somehow
never
can
,
a
feeling
that
began
as
a
tingle
and
then
turned
into
something
tidal
and
enormous
,
a
force
beyond
anything
I
had
ever
experienced
before
or
have
ever
experienced
since
.
Since
that
day
I
have
never
had
pneumonia
,
or
the
flu
,
or
even
a
strep
throat
.
I
have
never
had
another
urinary
infection
,
or
so
much
as
an
infected
cut
.
I
have
had
colds
,
but
they
have
been
infrequent
--
six
or
seven
years
apart
,
and
although
people
who
do
n't
have
colds
often
are
supposed
to
suffer
more
serious
ones
,
that
has
never
been
the
case
with
me
.
Once
,
earlier
on
in
that
awful
year
of
1956
,
I
passed
a
gallstone
.
