The Green Mile(65)

'No, Del. I won't.' The question was, what was I supposed to do with him right then? I couldn't very well march Delacroix past the witnesses with a mouse perched on my shoulder.

'I'll take him, boss,' a voice rumbled from behind me. It was John Coffey's voice, and it was eerie the way it came right then, as though he had read my mind. 'Just for now. If Del don't mind.'

Del nodded, relieved. 'Yeah, you take im, John, 'til dis foolishment done - bien! And den after... ' His gaze shifted back to Brutal and me. 'You gonna take him down to Florida. To dat Mouseville Place.'

'Yeah, most likely Paul and I will do it together,' Brutal said, watching with a troubled and unquiet eye as Mr. Jingles stepped off my shoulder and into Coffey's huge outstretched palm. Mr. Jingles did this with no protest or attempt to run; indeed, he scampered as readily up John Coffey's arm as he had stepped onto my shoulder. 'We'll take some of our vacation time. Won't we, Paul?'

I nodded. Del nodded, too, eyes bright, just a trace of a smile on his lips. 'People pay a dime apiece to see him. Two cents for the kiddies. Ain't dat right, Boss, Howell?'

'That's right, Del.'

'You a good man, Boss Howell,' Del said. 'You, too, Boss Edgecombe. You yell at me sometimes, oui, but not 'less you have to. You all good men except for dat Percy. I wish I coulda met you someplace else. Mauvais temps, mauvaise chance.'

'I got something to say to you, Del,' I told him. 'They're just the words I have to say to everyone before we walk. No big deal, but it's part of my job. Okay?'

'Oui, monsieur,' he said, and looked at Mr. Jingles, perched on John Coffey's broad shoulder, for the last time. 'Au revoir, mon ami,' he said, beginning to cry harder. 'le t'aime, mon petit.' He blew the mouse a kiss. It should have been funny, that blown kiss, or maybe just grotesque, but it wasn't. I met Dean's eye for a moment, then had to look away. Dean stared down the corridor toward the restraint room and smiled strangely I believe he was on the verge of tears. As for me, I said what I had to say, beginning with the part about how I was an officer of the court, and when I was done, Delacroix stepped out of his cell for the last time.

'Hold on a second longer, hoss,' Brutal said, and checked the crown of Del's head, where the cap would go. He nodded at me, then clapped Del on the shoulder. 'Right with Eversharp. We're on our way.'

So Eduard Delacroix took his last walk on the Green Mile with little streams of mingled sweat and tears running down his cheeks and big thunder rolling in the sky overhead. Brutal walked on the condemned man's left, I was on his right, Dean was to the rear.

Schuster was in my office, with guards Ringgold and Battle standing in the corners and keeping watch. Schuster looked up at Del, smiled, and then addressed him in French. It sounded stilted to me, but it worked wonders. Del smiled back, then went to Schuster, put his arms around him, hugged him. Ringgold and Battle tensed, but I raised my hands to them and shook my head.

Schuster listened to Del's flood of tear-choked French, nodded as if he understood perfectly, and patted him on the back. He looked at me over the little man's shoulder and said, 'I hardly understand a quarter of what he's saying.'

'Don't think it matters,' Brutal rumbled.

'Neither do I, son,' Schuster said with a grin. He was the best of them, and now I realize I have no idea what became of him. I hope he kept his faith, whatever else befell.

He urged Delacroix onto his knees, then folded his hands. Delacroix did the same.

'Not' P re, qui tes aux cieux,' Schuster began, and Delacroix joined him. They spoke the Lord's Prayer together in that liquid-sounding Cajun French, all the way to 'mais d liverez-nous du mal, ainsi soit-il.' By then, Del's tears had mostly stopped and he looked calm. Some Bible verses (in English) followed, not neglecting the old standby about the still waters. When that was done, Schuster started to get up, but Del held onto the sleeve of his shirt and said something in French. Schuster listened carefully, frowning. He responded. Del said something else, then just looked at him hopefully.

Schuster turned to me and said: 'He's got something else, Mr. Edgecombe. A prayer I can't help him with, because of my faith. Is it all right?'

I looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was seventeen minutes to midnight. 'Yes,' I said, 'but it'll have to be quick. We've got a schedule to keep here, you know.'

'Yes. I do.' He turned to Delacroix and gave him a nod.

Del closed his eyes as if to pray, but for a moment said nothing. A frown creased his forehead and I had a sense of him reaching far back in his mind, as a man may search a small attic room for an object which hasn't been used (or needed) for a long, long time. I glanced at the clock again and almost said something - would have, if Brutal hadn't twitched my sleeve and shaken his head.

Then Del began, speaking softly but quickly in that Cajun which was as round and soft and sensual as a young woman's breast: 'Marie! le vous salue, Marie, oui, pleine de gr ce; le Seigneur est avec vous; vous tes b nie entre toutes les femmes, et mon cher J sus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est b ni.' He was crying again, but I don't think he knew it. 'Sainte Marie,O ma mere, M re de Dieu, priez pour moi, priez pour nous, pauv' p cheurs, maint'ant et l'heure... l'heure de n tre mort. L'heure de mon mort.' He took a deep, shuddering breath. 'Ainsi soit-il.'