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Percy
Wetmore
would
no
doubt
have
pointed
out
to
Delacroix
that
when
he
left
Cold
Mountain
,
he
'd
be
riding
in
an
ambulance
that
did
n't
need
to
run
its
light
or
siren
,
but
Harry
knew
better
.
He
just
told
Delacroix
to
make
the
spool
as
colorful
as
he
could
as
quick
as
he
could
,
because
he
'd
have
to
take
the
crayons
back
after
dinner
.
Del
made
it
colorful
,
all
right
.
When
he
was
done
,
one
end
of
the
spool
was
yellow
,
the
other
end
was
green
,
and
the
drum
in
the
middle
was
firehouse
red
.
We
got
used
to
hearing
Delacroix
trumpet
,
"
Maintenant
,
m
's
ieurs
et
mesdames
!
Le
cirque
pr
sentement
le
mous
"
amusant
et
amazeant
!
"
That
was
n't
exactly
it
,
but
it
gives
you
an
idea
of
that
stewpot
French
of
his
.
Then
he
'd
make
this
sound
way
down
in
his
throat
--
I
think
it
was
supposed
to
represent
a
drumroll
--
and
fling
the
spool
.
Mr.
Jingles
would
be
after
it
in
a
flash
,
either
nosing
it
back
or
rolling
it
with
his
paws
.
That
second
way
really
was
something
you
would
have
paid
to
see
in
a
circus
,
I
think
.
Delacroix
and
his
mouse
and
his
mouse
's
brightly
colored
spool
were
our
chief
amusements
at
the
time
that
John
Coffey
came
into
our
care
and
custody
,
and
that
was
the
way
things
remained
for
awhile
.
Then
my
urinary
infection
,
which
had
lain
still
for
awhile
,
came
back
,
and
William
Wharton
arrived
,
and
all
hell
broke
loose
.
The
dates
have
mostly
slipped
out
of
my
head
.
I
suppose
I
could
have
my
granddaughter
,
Danielle
,
look
some
of
them
out
of
the
old
newspaper
files
,
but
what
would
be
the
point
?
The
most
important
of
them
,
like
the
day
we
came
down
to
Delacroix
's
cell
and
found
the
mouse
sitting
on
his
shoulder
,
or
the
day
William
Wharton
came
on
the
block
and
almost
killed
Dean
Stanton
,
would
not
be
in
the
papers
,
anyway
.
Maybe
it
's
better
to
go
on
just
as
I
have
been
;
in
the
end
,
I
guess
the
dates
do
n't
matter
much
,
if
you
can
remember
the
things
you
saw
and
keep
them
in
the
right
order
.
I
know
that
things
got
squeezed
together
a
little
.
When
Delacroix
's
DOE
papers
finally
came
to
me
from
Curtis
Anderson
's
office
,
I
was
amazed
to
see
that
our
Cajun
pal
's
date
with
Old
Sparky
had
been
advanced
from
when
we
had
expected
,
a
thing
that
was
almost
unheard
of
,
even
in
those
days
when
you
did
n't
have
to
move
half
of
heaven
and
all
the
earth
to
execute
a
man
.
It
was
a
matter
of
two
days
,
I
think
,
from
the
twenty-seventh
of
October
to
the
twenty-fifth
.
Do
n't
hold
me
to
it
exactly
,
but
I
know
that
's
close
;
I
remember
thinking
that
Toot
was
going
to
get
his
Corona
box
back
even
sooner
than
he
had
expected
.
Wharton
,
meanwhile
,
got
to
us
later
than
expected
.
For
one
thing
,
his
trial
ran
longer
than
Anderson
's
usually
reliable
sources
had
thought
it
would
(
when
it
came
to
Wild
Billy
,
nothing
was
reliable
,
we
would
soon
discover
,
including
our
time-tested
and
supposedly
foolproof
methods
of
prisoner
control
)
.
Then
,
after
he
had
been
found
guilty
--
that
much
,
at
least
,
went
according
to
the
script
--
he
was
taken
to
Indianola
General
Hospital
for
tests
.
He
had
had
a
number
of
supposed
seizures
during
the
trial
,
twice
serious
enough
to
send
him
crashing
to
the
floor
,
where
he
lay
shaking
and
flopping
and
drumming
his
feet
on
the
boards
.
Wharton
's
court-appointed
lawyer
claimed
he
suffered
from
"
epilepsy
spells
"
and
had
committed
his
crimes
while
of
unsound
mind
;
the
prosecution
claimed
the
fits
were
the
sham
acting
of
a
coward
desperate
to
save
his
own
life
.
After
observing
the
so-called
"
epilepsy
spells
"
at
first
hand
,
the
jury
decided
the
fits
were
an
act
.
The
judge
concurred
but
ordered
a
series
of
pre-sentencing
tests
after
the
verdict
came
down
.
God
knows
why
;
perhaps
he
was
only
curious
.
It
's
a
blue-eyed
wonder
that
Wharton
did
n't
escape
from
the
hospital
(
and
the
irony
that
Warden
Moore
's
wife
,
Melinda
,
was
in
the
same
hospital
at
the
same
time
did
not
escape
any
of
us
)
,
but
he
did
n't
.
They
had
him
surrounded
by
guards
,
I
suppose
,
and
perhaps
he
still
had
hopes
of
being
declared
incompetent
by
reason
of
epilepsy
,
if
there
is
such
a
thing
.
He
was
n't
.
The
doctors
found
nothing
wrong
with
his
brain
--
physiologically
,
at
least
--
and
Billy
"
the
Kid
"
Wharton
was
at
last
bound
for
Cold
Mountain
.
That
might
have
been
around
the
sixteenth
or
the
eighteenth
;
it
's
my
recollection
that
Wharton
arrived
about
two
weeks
after
John
Coffey
and
a
week
or
ten
days
before
Delacroix
walked
the
Green
Mile
.
The
day
our
new
psychopath
joined
us
was
an
eventful
one
for
me
.
I
woke
up
at
four
that
morning
with
my
groin
throbbing
and
my
penis
feeling
hot
and
clogged
and
swollen
.
Even
before
I
swung
my
feet
out
of
bed
,
I
knew
that
my
urinary
infection
was
n't
getting
better
,
as
I
had
hoped
.
It
had
been
a
brief
turn
for
the
better
,
that
was
all
,
and
it
was
over
.
I
went
out
to
the
privy
to
do
my
business
--
this
was
at
least
three
years
before
we
put
in
our
first
water-closet
--
and
had
gotten
no
further
than
the
woodpile
at
the
comer
of
the
house
when
I
realized
I
could
n't
hold
it
any
longer
.
I
lowered
my
pajama
pants
just
as
the
urine
started
to
flow
,
and
that
flow
was
accompanied
by
the
most
excruciating
.
pain
of
my
entire
life
.
I
passed
a
gall-stone
in
1956
,
and
I
know
people
say
that
is
the
worst
,
but
that
gall-stone
was
like
a
touch
of
acid
indigestion
compared
to
this
outrage
.
