第2部分(第7/8頁)

shuffled　a　chain　between　them　that　sounded　like　cascading　coins　as　it　ran　along　the　lime　…　colored　corridor　between　the　cells。　Percy　Wetmore　was　on　one　side　of　him；　skinny　little　Harry　Terwilliger　was　on　the　other；　and　they　looked　like　children　walking　along　with　a　captured　bear。　Even　Brutus　Howell　looked　like　a　kid　next　to　Coffey；　and　Brutal　was　over　six　feet　tall　and　broad　as　well；　a　football　tackle　who　had　gone　on　to　play　at　LSU　until　he　flunked　out　and　came　back　home　to　the　ridges。

John　Coffey　was　black；　like　most　of　the　men　who　came　to　stay　for　awhile　in　E　Block　before　dying　in　Old　Sparky's　lap；　and　he　stood　six　feet；　eight　inches　tall。　He　wasn't　all　willowy　like　the　TV　basketball　fellows；　though　…　he　was　broad　in　the　shoulders　and　deep　through　the　chest；　laced　over　with　muscle　in　every　direction。　They'd　put　him　in　the　biggest　denims　they　could　find　in　Stores；　and　still　the　cuffs　of　the　pants　rode　halfway　up　on　his　bunched　and　scarred　calves。　The　shirt　was　open　to　below　his　chest；　and　the　sleeves　stopped　somewhere　on　his　forearms。　He　was　holding　his　cap　in　one　huge　hand；　which　was　just　as　well；　perched　on　his　bald　mahogany　ball　of　a　head；　it　would　have　looked　like　the　kind　of　cap　an　organgrinder's　monkey　wears；　only　blue　instead　of　red。　He　looked　like　he　could　have　snapped　the　chains　that　held　him　as　easily　as　you　might　snap　the　ribbons　on　a　Christmas　present；　but　when　you　looked　in　his　face；　you　knew　he　wasn't　going　to　do　anything　like　that。　It　wasn't　dull…althou