Chapter 10

'Take it easy, sure I can. Does a bear shit in the woods?' The audience was applauding and catcalling as the bugs came out of the walls to get Ray Milland, who was having a bad case of the DT's.
'How soon?'
'A week. Maybe less.'
'Okay.' But he sounded disappointed, as if he had been hoping I had one stuffed down my pants right then. 'How much?"
I quoted him the wholesale price. I could afford to give him this one at cost; he'd been a good customer, what with his rock-hammer and his rock-blankets. Furthermore, he'd been a good boy - on more than one night when he was having his problems with Bogs, Rooster, and the rest, I wondered how long it would be before he used the rock-hammer to crack someone's head open.
Posters are a big part of my business, just behind the booze and cigarettes, usually half a step ahead of the reefer. In the 60s the business exploded in every direction, with a lot of people wanting funky hang-ups like Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, that Easy Rider poster. But mostly it's girls; one pinup queen after another.
A few days after I spoke to Ernie, a laundry driver I did business with back then, brought in better than sixty posters, most of them Rita Hayworths. You may even remember the picture; I sure do. Rita is dressed - sort of- in a bathing suit, one hand behind her head, her eyes half closed, those full, sulky red lips parted. They called it Rita Hayworth, but they might as well have called it Woman in Heat.
The prison administration knows about the black market, in case you were wondering. Sure they do. They probably know as much about my business as I do myself.
They live with it because they know that a prison is like a big pressure cooker, and there have to be vents somewhere to let off steam. They make the occasional bust, and I've done time in solitary a time or three over the years, but when it's something like posters, they wink. Live and let live. And when a big Rita Hayworth went up in some fishie's cell, the assumption was that it came in the mail from a friend or a relative. Of course all the care-packages from friends and relatives are opened and the contents inventoried, but who goes back and re-checks the inventory sheets for something as harmless as a Rita Hayworth or an Ava Gardner pin-up? When you're in a pressure-cooker you learn to live and let live or somebody will carve you a brand-new mouth just above the Adam's apple. You learn to make allowances.
It was Ernie again who took the poster up to Andy's cell, 14, my own, 6. And it was Ernie who brought back the written in Andy's careful hand, just one word: Thanks.'
A little while later, as they filed us out for morning chow, I glanced into his ceil and saw Rita over his bunk in all her swimsuited glory, one hand behind her head, her eyes half-closed, those soft, satiny lips parted. It was over his bunk when he could look at her nights, after lights out, in the glow of the arc sodiums in the exercise yard.
But in the bright morning sunlight, there were dark slashes across her face - the shadow of the bars on his single slit-window.
Now I'm going to tell you what happened in mid-May of 1950 that finally ended Andy's three-year series of skirmishes with the sisters. It was also the incident which eventually got him out of the laundry and into the library, where he filled out his work-time until he left our happy little family earlier this year.
You may have noticed now much of what I've told you already is hearsay - someone saw something and told me and I told you. Well, in some cases I've simplified it even more than it really was, and have actually repeated (or will repeat) fourth- or fifth-hand information. That's the way it s here. The grapevine is very real, and you have to use it if you're going to stay ahead. Also, of course, you have to know how to pick out the grains of truth from the chaff of lies, rumours, and wish-it-had-beens.
You may also have gotten the idea that I'm describing someone who's more legend than man, and I would have to agree that there's some truth to that. To us long-timers who knew Andy over a space of years, there was an element of fantasy to him, a sense, almost, of myth-magic, if you get what I mean. That story I passed on about Andy refusing to give Bogs Diamond a head-job is part of that myth, and how he kept on fighting the sisters is part of it, and how he got the library job is part of it, too ... but with one important difference: I was there and I saw what happened, and I swear on my mother's name that it's all true. The oath of a convicted murderer may not be worth much, but believe this: I don't lie.
Andy and I were on fair speaking terms by then. The guy fascinated me. Looking back to the poster episode, I see there's one thing I neglected to tell you, and maybe I should. Five weeks after he hung Rita up (I'd forgotten all about it by then, and had gone on to other deals), Ernie passed a small white box through the bars of my cell.
'From Dufresne,' he said, low, and never missed a stroke with his push-broom.
'Thanks, Ernie,' I said, and slipped him half a pack of Camels.
Now what the hell was this, I was wondering as I slipped the cover from the box. There was a lot of white cotton inside, and below that...
I looked for a long time. For a few minutes it was like I didn't even dare touch them, they were so pretty. There's a crying shortage of pretty things in the slam, and the real pity of it is that a lot of men don't even seem to miss them.
There were two pieces of quartz in that box, both of them carefully polished. They had been chipped into driftwood shapes. There were little sparkles of iron pyrites in them like flecks of gold. If they hadn't been so heavy, they would have served as a fine pair of men's cufflinks - they were that close to being a matched set.
How much work went into creating those two pieces? Hours and hours after lights out, I knew that first the chipping and shaping, and then the almost endless polishing and finishing with those rock-blankets. Looking at them, I felt the warmth that any man or woman feels when he or she is looking at something pretty, something that has been worked and made - that's the thing that really separates us from the animals, I think - and I felt something else, too. A sense of awe for the man's brute persistence. But I never knew just how persistent Andy Dufresne could be until much later.

　　“当然可以，别紧张。”这时大家看到电影精彩处，开始拍手尖叫起来。
　　“多久可以弄到？”
　　“一个星期，也许可以更快点。”
　　“好吧，”他的声音透着失望，好像希望我马上就能从口袋里掏一张出来给他，“多少钱？”
　　这次我照批发价算给他。这点折扣，我还给得起；他一直是个好顾客，而且也是个乖宝宝——当博格斯、卢斯特和其他人一直找他麻烦时，我常常怀疑，他哪天会不会拿起他的石锤，敲破某个人的脑袋？
　　海报是我的大宗生意，抢手的程度仅次于酒和香烟，通常比大麻的需求量还多。二十世纪六十年代，各种海报的需求量都大增，例如，有不少人想要鲍勃·迪伦鲍勃·迪伦（BobDylan），二十世纪六十年代美国传奇摇滚民谣创作歌手。、吉米·亨德里克斯吉米·亨德里克斯（JimiHendrix），摇滚吉他大师。以及电影《逍遥骑士》的海报。但大多数人还是喜欢女人的海报，一个接一个的性感漂亮海报皇后。
　　在安迪和我谈过几天以后，和我有生意往来的洗衣房司机为我捎回六十多张海报，大多数是丽塔·海华丝的海报。你可能还记得那张有名的照片，我就记得清清楚楚，海报上的丽塔·海华丝身着泳装，一只手放在头后面，眼睛半闭，丰满的红唇微张，好一个喷火女郎。
　　也许你很好奇，监狱管理当局知道有黑市存在吗？当然知道啰。他们可能跟我一样清楚我的生意，但他们睁一只眼、闭一只眼，因为他们知道整个监狱就像个大压力锅，必须有地方透透气。他们偶尔会来次突击检查，我一年总要被关上两三次禁闭，不过像海报这种东西，他们看了眨眨眼便算了，放彼此一条生路嘛。当某个囚犯的牢房里出现了一张丽塔·海华丝的大张海报时，他们会假定大概是亲戚朋友寄来的。当然事实上亲友寄到监狱的包裹一律都会打开检查，然后登记到清单上，但如果是像丽塔·海华丝或艾娃·嘉娜这种完全无害的性感美女海报，谁又会回去重新审阅那张清单呢？当你生活在压力锅中时，你得学会如何生存，也学会放别人一条生路，否则会有人在你的喉咙上划开一道口子。你得学会体谅。
　　厄尼再度替我把海报拿去安迪的十四号牢房，同时替我带回一张字条到我的六号牢房来，上面是安迪一丝不苟的笔迹，只有两个字：“多谢。”
　　后来有一天，早上排队去吃早餐时，我找机会瞄了一下安迪的房间，看到丽塔·海华丝的泳装海报亮丽地贴在床头，这样他在每晚熄灯后，还可以借着运动场上的水银灯看着泳装打扮的丽塔·海华丝，她一手放在头后面，眼睛半闭，丰满的红唇微张。可是，白天她的脸上全是一条条黑杠，因为太阳光把铁窗栅栏的阴影印到海报上了。
　　现在我要告诉你一九五〇年五月中发生的事，这件事结束了安迪和那些姊妹之间持续三年的小冲突，而他也因为这次事件终于从洗衣房调到图书馆工作，他在图书馆一直待到今年初离开这个快乐小家庭为止。
　　你或许已经注意到，我告诉你的许多事情都是道听途说——某人看到某件事以后告诉我，而我再告诉你。在某些情况下，我已经把这些经过四五手传播后的故事简化了许多。不过在这里生活就是如此。这里的确有个秘密情报网，如果你要保持消息灵通，就得运用这个情报网。当然，你得懂得去芜存菁，知道怎么从一大堆谎言、谣传和子虚乌有的幻想中，挑出真正有用的消息。
　　还有，你也许会觉得我描述的是个传奇人物，而不是普通人，我不得不承认这多少是事实。对我们这些认识安迪多年的终身犯而言，安迪的确带着点传奇魔幻的色彩，如果你明白我的意思的话。监狱里流传的故事，包括他拒绝向博格斯屈服、不断抵抗其他姊妹，甚至弄到图书馆工作的过程，都带着传奇色彩。但是有一个很大的差别是，最后这件事是我亲眼目睹的，我敢以我妈妈的名字发誓，我说的话句句属实。杀人犯的誓言或许没有什么价值，但是请相信我：我绝不说谎。
　　当时我们已经建立起不错的交情，这家伙很有意思。我还忘了告诉你一件事，也许我应该提一下的。就在他挂上丽塔·海华丝的海报五周后，我早已忘记了这整件事，而忙着做其他生意。有一天厄尼从牢房的铁栅栏递给我一个白色小盒子。
　　“安迪给你的。”他低声说，两手依然不停地挥动扫把。
　　“多谢！”我说，偷偷递给他半包骆驼牌香烟。
　　当我打开盒子时，我在想里面会是什么怪东西？里面放了不少棉花，而下面是……
　　我看了很久，有几分钟，我甚至有点不敢去碰它们，实在是太美了。这里极端缺乏美好的东西，而真正令人遗憾的是，许多人甚至不怀念这些美丽的东西。
　　盒子里是两块石英，两块都经过仔细琢磨，削成浮木的形状，石英中的硫化铁发出闪闪金光。如果不是那么重的话，倒可以做成一对很不错的袖扣，这两块石英就有这么对称精致。
　　要琢磨这两块石头得花多少时间？可想而知，一定是在熄灯以后无数小时的苦工。首先得把石头削成想要的形状，然后才是用磨石布不断琢磨打光。看着它们，我内心升起一股暖意，这是任何人看到美丽东西之后都会涌现的感觉。这种美是花了时间和心血打造出来的，是人之所以异于禽兽的原因。我对他的毅力肃然起敬，但直到后来，我才真的了解他是多么坚持不懈。