第7部分(第4/7 頁)

　crazy　kid；　working　appeals；　apt　to　be　around　for　awhile。　Oh；　that　all　sounded　just　fine。　Suddenly　the　day　seemed　hotter　than　ever；　and　I　could　no　longer　put　off　seeing　Warden　Moores。

I　worked　for　three　wardens　during　my　years　as　a　Cold　Mountain　guard；　Hal　Moores　was　the　last　and　best　of　them。　In　a　walk。　Honest；　straightforward；　lacking　even　Curtis　Anderson's　rudimentary　wit；　but　equipped　with　just　enough　political　savvy　to　keep　his　job　during　those　grim　years　。。。　and　enough　integrity　to　keep　from　getting　seduced　by　the　game。　He　would　not　rise　any　higher；　but　that　seemed　all　right　with　him。　He　was　fifty…eight　or　…nine　back　then；　with　a　deeply　lined　bloodhound　face　that　Bobo　Marchant　probably　would　have　felt　right　at　home　with。　He　had　white　hair　and　his　hands　shook　with　some　sort　of　palsy；　but　he　was　strong。　The　year　before；　when　a　prisoner　had　rushed　him　in　the　exercise　yard　with　a　shank　whittled　out　of　a　crate…slat；　Moores　had　stood　his　ground；　grabbed　the　skatehound's　wrist；　and　had　twisted　it　so　hard　that　the　snapping　bones　had　sounded　like　dry　twigs　burning　in　a　hot　fire。　The　skatehound；　all　his　grievances　forgotten；　had　gone　down　on　his　knees　in　the　dirt　and　begun　screaming　for　his　mother。　〃I'm　not　her；〃　Moores　said　in　his　cultured　Southern　voice；　〃But　if　I　was；　I'd　raise　up　my　skirts　and　piss　on　you　from　the　loins　that　gave　you　birth。〃

When　I　came　into　his　office；　he　started　to　get　up　and　I　waved　him　back　down。　I　took　the　seat　across　the　desk　from　him；　and　began　by　asking　about　his　wife　。。。　except　in　our　part　of　the　world；　that's　not　how　you　do　it。　〃How's　that　pretty　gal　of　yours〃　is　what　I　asked；　as　if　Melinda　had　seen　only　seventeen　summers　instead　of　sixty…two　or　…three。　My　concern　was　genuine　he　was　a　woman　I　could　have　loved　and　married　myself；