第47部分(第3/8 頁)

　still　etched　in　my　memory　…　every　turn；　every　bump；　every　dip；　the　scary　times　（two　of　them）　when　trucks　passed　us　going　the　other　way　…　I　don't　think　I　could　e　even　close　to　describing　how　I　felt；　sitting　back　there　with　John　Coffey；　both　of　us　bundled　up　like　Indians　in　the　old　blankets　Harry　had　been　thoughtful　enough　to　bring　along。

It　was；　most　of　all；　a　sense　of　lostness　…　the　deep　and　terrible　ache　a　child　feels　when　he　realizes　he　has　gone　wrong　somewhere；　all　the　landmarks　are　strange；　and　he　no　longer　knows　how　to　find　his　way　home。　I　was　out　in　the　night　with　a　prisoner　…　not　just　any　prisoner；　but　one　who　had　been　tried　and　convicted　for　the　murder　of　two　little　girls；　and　sentenced　to　die　for　the　crime。　My　belief　that　he　was　innocent　wouldn't　matter　if　we　were　caught；　we　would　go　to　jail　ourselves；　and　probably　Dean　Stanton　would；　too。　I　had　thrown　over　a　life　of　work　and　belief　because　of　one　bad　execution　and　because　I　believed　the　overgrown　lummox　sitting　beside　me　might　be　able　to　cure　a　woman's　inoperable　brain　tumor。　Yet　watching　john　watch　the　stars；　I　realized　with　dismay　that　I　no　longer　did　believe　that；　if　I　ever　really　had；　my　urinary　infection　seemed　faraway　and　unimportant　now；　as　such　harsh　and　painful　things　always　do　once　they　are　past　（if　a　woman　could　really　remember　how　bad　it　hurt　to　have　her　first　baby；　my　mother　once　said；　she'd　never　have　a　second）。　As　for　Mr。　Jingles；　wasn't　it　possible；　even　likely；　that　we　had　been　wrong　about　h