The Green Mile(115)

Now I stepped into the cell, followed by Dean and Harry, both of them pale and downcast. 'Are you ready, John?' I asked.

He nodded. 'Yes, boss. Guess so.'

'All right, then. I got a piece to say before we go out.'

'You say what you need to, boss.'

'John Coffey, as an officer of the court... '

I said it right to the end, and when I'd finished, Harry Terwilliger stepped up beside me and held out his hand. John looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and shook it. Dean, looking paler than ever, offered his next. 'You deserve better than this, Johnny' he said hoarsely. 'I'm sorry.'

'I be all right,' John said. 'This the hard part; I be all right in a little while.' He got up, and the St. Christopher's medal Melly had given him swung free of his shirt.

'John, I ought to have that,' I said. 'I can put it back on you after the... after, if you want, but I should take it for now.' It was silver, and if it was lying against his skin when Jack Van Hay switched on the juice, it might fuse itself into his skin. Even if it didn't do that, it was apt to electroplate, leaving a kind of charred photograph of itself on the skin of his chest. I had seen it before. I'd seen most everything during my years on the Mile. More than was good for me. I knew that now.

He slipped the chain over his head and put it in my hand. I put the medallion in my pocket and told him to step on out of the cell. There was no need to check his head and make sure the contact would be firm and the induction good; it was as smooth as the palm of my hand.

'You know, I fell asleep this afternoon and had a dream, boss,' he said. 'I dreamed about Del's mouse.'

'Did you, John?' I flanked him on the left. Harry took the right. Dean fell in behind, and then we were walking the Green Mile. For me, it was the last time I ever walked it with a prisoner.

'Yep,' he said. 'I dreamed he got down to that place Boss Howell talked about, that Mouseville place. I dreamed there was kids, and how they laughed at his tricks! My!' He laughed himself at the thought of it, then grew serious again. 'I dreamed those two little blond-headed girls were there. They us laughin, too. I put my arms around em and there us no blood comin out they hair and they 'us fine. We all watch Mr. Jingles roll that spool, and how we did laugh. Fit to bus,' we was.'

'Is that so?' I was thinking I couldn't go through with it, just could not, there was no way. I was going to cry or scream or maybe my heart would burst with sorrow and that would be an end to it.

We went into my office. John looked around for a moment or two, then dropped to his knees without having to be asked. Behind him, Harry was looking at me with haunted eyes. Dean was as white as paper.

I got down on my knees with John and thought there was a funny turnaround brewing here: after all the prisoners I'd had to help up so they could finish the journey, this time I was the one who was apt to need a hand. That's the way it felt, anyway.

'What should we pray for, boss?' John asked.

'Strength,' I said without even thinking. I closed my eyes and said, 'Lord God of 'Hosts, please help us finish what we've started, and please welcome this man, John Coffey - like the drink but not spelled the same - into heaven and give him peace. Please help us to see him off the way he deserves and let nothing go wrong. Amen.' I opened my eyes and looked at Dean and Harry. Both of them looked a little better. Probably it was having a few moments to catch their breath. I doubt it was my praying.

I started to get up, and John caught my arm. He gave me a look that was both timid and hopeful. 'I 'member a prayer someone taught me when I 'us little,' he said. 'At least I think I do. Can I say it?'

'You go right on and do her,' Dean said. 'Lots of time yet, John.'

John closed his eyes and frowned with concentration. I expected now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep, or maybe a garbled version of the Lord's prayer, but I got neither; I had never heard what he came out with before, and have never heard it again, not that either the sentiments or expressions were particularly unusual. Holding his hands up in front of his closed eyes, John Coffey said: 'Baby Jesus, meek and mild, pray for me, an orphan child. Be my strength, be my friend, be with me until the end. Amen.' He opened his eyes, started to get up, then looked at me closely.

I wipe my arm across my eyes. As I listened to him, I had been thinking about Del; he had wanted to pray one more at the end, too. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. 'Sorry, John.'

'Don't be,' he said. He squeezed my arm and smiled. And then, as I'd thought he might have to do, he helped me to my feet.

10

There weren't many witnesses - maybe fourteen in all, half the number that had been in the storage room for the Delacroix execution. Homer Cribus was there, overflowing his chair as per usual, but I didn't see Deputy McGee. Like Warden Moores, he had apparently decided to give this one a miss.

Sitting in the front row was an elderly couple I didn't recognize at first, even though I had seen their pictures in a good many newspaper articles by that day in the third week of November. Then, as we neared the platform where Old Sparky waited, the woman spat, 'Die slow, you son of a bitch!' and I realized they were the Dettericks, Klaus and Marjorie. I hadn't recognized them because you don't often see elderly people who haven't yet climbed out of their thirties.