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I
started
to
sit
like
normal
,
but
halfway
into
it
my
knees
unlocked
and
I
dropped
onto
the
blue
cushion
Harry
had
brought
from
home
the
year
before
and
plopped
onto
the
seat
of
the
chair
.
If
the
chair
had
n't
been
there
,
I
reckon
I
would
have
plopped
straight
to
the
floor
without
passing
Go
or
collecting
two
hundred
dollars
.
I
sat
there
,
feeling
the
nothing
in
my
groin
where
a
forest
fire
had
been
blazing
not
ten
minutes
before
.
I
helped
it
,
did
n't
I
?
John
Coffey
had
said
,
and
that
was
true
,
as
far
as
my
body
went
.
My
peace
of
mind
was
a
different
story
,
though
.
That
he
had
n't
helped
at
all
.
My
eyes
fell
on
the
stack
of
forms
under
the
tin
ashtray
we
kept
on
the
corner
of
the
desk
.
BLOCK
REPORT
was
printed
at
the
top
,
and
about
halfway
down
was
a
blank
space
headed
Report
All
Unusual
Occurrences
.
I
would
use
that
space
in
tonight
's
report
,
telling
the
story
of
William
Wharton
's
colorful
and
action-packed
arrival
.
But
suppose
I
also
told
what
had
happened
to
me
in
John
Coffey
's
cell
?
I
saw
myself
picking
up
the
pencil
--
the
one
whose
tip
Brutal
was
always
licking
--
and
writing
a
single
word
in
big
capital
letters
:
MIRACLE
.
That
should
have
been
funny
,
but
instead
of
smiling
,
all
at
once
I
felt
sure
that
I
was
going
to
cry
I
put
my
hands
to
my
face
,
palms
against
my
mouth
to
stifle
the
sobs
--
I
did
n't
want
to
scare
Del
again
just
when
he
was
starting
to
get
settled
down
--
but
no
sobs
came
.
No
tears
,
either
.
After
a
few
moments
I
lowered
my
hands
back
to
the
desk
and
folded
them
.
I
did
n't
know
what
I
was
feeling
,
and
the
only
clear
thought
in
my
head
was
a
wish
that
no
one
should
come
back
onto
the
block
until
I
was
a
little
more
in
control
of
myself
.
I
was
afraid
of
what
they
might
see
in
my
face
.
I
drew
a
Block
Report
form
toward
me
.
I
would
wait
until
I
had
settled
down
a
bit
more
to
write
about
how
my
latest
problem
child
had
almost
strangled
Dean
Stanton
,
but
I
could
fill
out
the
rest
of
the
boilerplate
foolishness
in
the
meantime
.
I
thought
my
handwriting
might
look
funny
--
trembly
--
but
it
came
out
about
the
same
as
always
.
About
five
minutes
after
I
started
,
I
put
the
pencil
down
and
went
into
the
W.C.
adjacent
to
my
office
to
take
a
leak
.
I
did
n't
need
to
go
very
bad
,
but
I
could
manage
enough
to
test
what
had
happened
to
me
,
I
thought
.
As
I
stood
there
,
waiting
for
my
water
to
flow
,
I
became
sure
that
it
would
hurt
just
the
way
it
had
that
morning
,
as
if
I
were
passing
tiny
shards
of
broken
glass
;
what
he
'd
done
to
me
would
turn
out
to
be
only
hypnosis
,
after
all
,
and
that
might
be
a
relief
in
spite
of
the
pain
.
Except
there
was
no
pain
,
and
what
went
into
the
bowl
was
clear
,
with
no
sign
of
pus
.
I
buttoned
my
fly
,
pulled
the
chain
that
flushed
the
commode
,
went
back
to
the
duty
desk
,
and
sat
down
again
.
I
knew
what
had
happened
;
I
suppose
I
knew
even
when
I
was
trying
to
tell
myself
I
'd
been
hypnotized
.
I
'd
experienced
a
healing
,
an
authentic
Praise
Jesus
,
The
Lord
Is
Mighty
.
As
a
boy
who
'd
grown
up
going
to
whatever
Baptist
or
Pentecostal
church
my
mother
and
her
sisters
happened
to
be
in
favor
of
during
any
given
month
,
I
had
heard
plenty
of
Praise
Jesus
,
The
Lord
Is
Mighty
miracle
stories
.
I
did
n't
believe
all
of
them
,
but
there
were
plenty
of
people
I
did
believe
.
One
of
these
was
a
man
named
Roy
Delfines
,
who
lived
with
his
family
about
two
miles
down
the
road
from
us
when
I
was
six
or
so
.
Delfines
had
chopped
his
son
's
little
finger
off
with
a
hatchet
,
an
accident
which
had
occurred
when
the
boy
unexpectedly
moved
his
hand
on
a
log
he
'd
been
holding
on
the
backyard
chopping
block
for
his
dad
.
Roy
Delfines
said
he
had
practically
worn
out
the
carpet
with
his
knees
that
fall
and
winter
,
and
in
the
spring
the
boy
's
finger
had
grown
back
.
Even
the
nail
had
grown
back
.
I
believed
Roy
Delfines
when
he
testified
at
Thursday-night
rejoicing
.
