Chapter 14

By World Series time of 1950 - this was the year Bobby Thompson hit his famous home run at the end of the season, you will remember - Andy was having no more trouble from the sisters. Stammas and Hadley had passed the word. If Andy Dufresne came to either of them or any of the other screws that formed a part of their coterie, and showed so much as a single drop of blood in his underpants, every sister in Shawshank would go to bed that night with a headache. They didn't fight it as I have pointed out, there was always an eighteen-year-old car thief or a firebug or some guy who'd gotten his kicks handling little children. After the day on the plate-shop roof, Andy went his way and the sisters went theirs.
He was working in the library then, under a tough old con named Brooks Hatlen. Hatlen had gotten the job back in the late 20s because he had a college education.
Brooksie's degree was in animal husbandry, true enough, but college educations in institutes of lower learning like The Shank are so rare that it's a case of beggars not being able to be choosers.
In 1952 Brooksie, who had killed his wife and daughter after a losing streak at poker back when Coolidge was President, was paroled. As usual, the state in all its wisdom had let him go long after any chance he might have had to become a useful part of society was gone. He was sixty-eight and arthritic when he tottered out of the main gate in his Polish suit and his French shoes, his parole papers in one 'and and a Greyhound bus ticket in the other. He was crying, then he left. Shawshank was his world. What lay beyond its vails was as terrible to Brooks as the Western Seas had been to superstitious 13th-century sailors. In prison, Brooksie had been a person of some importance. He was the head librarian, an educated man. If he went to the Kittery library and asked or a job, they wouldn't give him a library card. I heard he lied in a home for indigent old folks up Freeport way in 1952, and at that he lasted about six months longer than I thought he would. Yeah, I guess the state got its own back on Brooksie, all right. They trained him to like it inside the shithouse and then they threw him out.
Andy succeeded to Brooksie's job, and he was head librarian for twenty-three years. He used the same force of will I'd seen him use on Byron Hadley to get what he wanted for the library, and I saw him gradually turn one small room (which still smelled of turpentine because it had been a paint closet until 1922 and had never been properly aired) lined with Reader's Digest Condensed Books and National Geographic s into the best prison library in New England.
He did it a step at a time. He put a suggestion box by the door and patiently weeded out such attempts at humour as More Fuk-Boox Pleeze and Escape in 10 EZ Lesions. He got sold of the things the prisoners seemed serious about. He wrote to three major book clubs in New York and got two of them, The Literary Guild and The Book of the Month Club, to send editions of all their major selections to us at a special cheap rate. He discovered a hunger for information on such snail hobbies as soap-carving, woodworking, sleight of hand, and card solitaire. He got all the books he could on such subjects. And those two jailhouse staples, Erie Stanley Gardener and Louis L'Amour. Cons never seem to get enough of the courtroom or the open range. And yes, he did keep a box of fairly spicy paperbacks under the checkout desk, loaning them out carefully and making sure they always got back. Even so, each new acquisition of that type was quickly read to tatters.
He began to write to the state senate in Augusta in 1954. Staminas was warden by then, and he used to pretend Andy was some sort of mascot. He was always in the library, shooting the bull with Andy, and sometimes he'd even throw a paternal arm around Andy's shoulders or give him a goose. He didn't fool anybody. Andy Dufresne was no one's mascot.
He told Andy that maybe he'd been a banker on the outside, but that part of his life was receding rapidly into his past and he had better get a hold on the facts of prison life. As far as that bunch of jumped-up Republican Rotarians in Augusta was concerned, there were only three viable expenditures of the taxpayers' money in the field of prisons and corrections. Number one was more walls, number two was more bars, and number three was more guards. As far as the state senate was concerned, Stammas explained, the folks in Thomastan and Shawshank and Pittsfield and South Portland were the scum of the earth. They were there to do hard time, and by God and Sonny Jesus, it was hard time they were going to do. And if there were a few weevils in the bread, wasn't that just too fucking bad?
Andy smiled his small, composed smile and asked Stammas what would happen to a block of concrete if a drop of water fell on it once every year for a million years.
Stammas laughed and clapped Andy on the back. 'You got no million years, old horse, but if you did, I believe you'd do it with that same little grin on your face. You go on and write your letters. I'll even mail them for you if you pay for the stamps.'
Which Andy did. And he had the last laugh, although Stammas and Hadley weren't around to see it Andy's requests for library funds were routinely turned down until 1960, when he received a check for two hundred dollars - the senate probably appropriated it in hopes that he would shut up and go away. Vain hope. Andy felt that he had finally gotten one foot in the door and he simply redoubled his efforts; two letters a week instead of one. In 1962 he got four hundred dollars, and for the rest of the decade the library received seven hundred dollars a year like clockwork. By 1971 that had risen to an even thousand. Not much stacked up against what your average small-town library receives, I guess, but a thousand bucks can buy a lot of recycled Perry Mason stories and Jake Logan Westerns. By the time Andy left, you could go into the library (expanded from its original pa intlocker to three rooms), and find just about anything you'd want. And if you couldn't find it, chances were good that Andy could get it for you.
Now you're asking yourself if all this came about just because Andy told Byron Hadley how to save the taxes on his windfall inheritance. The answer is yes ... and no.
You can probably figure out what happened for yourself.

　　一九五〇年，美国职业棒球世界大赛开打的时候——如果你还记得的话，那年费城人队在冠亚军大赛中连输四场——总之，那些姊妹再也不来骚扰安迪了。史特马和哈力撂下狠话，如果安迪跑去向他们或其他警卫告状，让他们看到他的内裤里再有一滴血，肖申克每个姊妹当晚都得带着头痛上床。他们一点都没反抗。我在前面说过，总是不停会有十八岁的偷车贼、纵火犯或猥亵儿童的人被关进牢里。所以从翻修屋顶那天开始，安迪和那帮姊妹就井水不犯河水了。
　　那个时候，安迪已经调到图书馆，在一个叫布鲁克的老囚犯手下工作。布鲁克在二十世纪二十年代末期便进图书室工作，因为他受过大学教育，尽管布鲁克在大学念的是畜牧系，不过反正在肖申克这种地方，大学生如凤毛麟角，这跟乞丐没什么可以选择的余地是同一道理。
　　布鲁克是在柯立芝还在当总统的时候，赌输后失手杀了妻女而被关进来。他在一九五二年获得假释。像往常一样，政府绝不会在他还对社会有一点用处的时候放他出去。当罹患关节炎的布鲁克穿着波兰西装和法国皮鞋，蹒跚步出肖申克大门时，已经六十八岁高龄了。他一手拿着假释文件，一手拿着灰狗长途汽车车票，边走边哭。几十年来，肖申克已经变成他的整个世界，在布鲁克眼中，墙外的世界实在太可怕了，就好像迷信的十五世纪水手面对着大西洋时一样害怕。在狱中，布鲁克是个重要人物，他是图书馆管理员，是受过教育的知识分子。如果他到外面的图书馆求职的话，不要说图书馆不会用他，他很可能连借书证都申请不到。我听说他在一九五三年死于贫苦老人之家，比我估计的还多撑了半年。是呀，政府还蛮会报仇的：他们把他训练得习惯了这个粪坑之后，又把他扔了出去。
　　安迪接替了布鲁克的工作，他也干了二十三年的图书馆管理员，他用对付哈力的方法，为图书馆争取到他想要的东西。我看着他渐渐把这个原本只陈列《读者文摘》丛书和《国家地理杂志》的小房间（房间一直有个味道，因为直到一九二二年之前，这原本只是个放油漆的地方，从来也没有空调），扩充成新英格兰地区最好的监狱图书馆。
　　他一步一步慢慢来。他先在门边放了个意见箱，很有耐性地筛选掉纯粹开玩笑的提议，例如“请多买些黄色书刊”或“请订购《逃亡的十堂课》”，然后整理出囚犯似乎认真需要的书籍。接着，他写信给纽约主要的读书俱乐部，请他们以特惠价寄来他们的精选图书，并且得到文学协会和每月一书俱乐部的回应。他也发现肖申克的狱友很渴望得到有关休闲嗜好的资讯，例如，有关肥皂雕刻、木工、各种手工艺和单人牌戏的专业书，还有在各监狱都十分抢手的加德纳和拉摩尔的小说，狱友们好像永远看不厌有关法庭的书。还有，他还在借书柜台下藏了一箱比较辛辣的平装书，尽管他出借时很小心，而且确保每一本书都准时归还，不过这类新书几乎每一本都很快就被翻烂了。
　　他在一九五四年开始写信给州议会。史特马那时已当上典狱长，他老爱摆出一副安迪只不过是只吉祥物的样子，经常在图书馆里和安迪瞎扯，有时还搂着安迪的肩膀，跟他开玩笑。但是他谁也骗不了，安迪可不是任何人的吉祥物。
　　他告诉安迪，也许他在外面是个银行家，但那早已成为过去，他最好认清监狱中的现实。在州议会那些自大的共和党议员眼中，政府花在狱政和感化教育的经费只有三个用途：第一是建造更多的围墙，第二是建造更多的铁窗，第三是增加更多的警卫。而且在州议会诸公眼中，被关在汤玛森、肖申克、匹兹费尔和南波特兰监狱的囚犯，都是地球上的人渣，是进来受苦的。假如面包里出现了几条象鼻虫，那还真他妈的不幸啊！
　　安迪依旧神色自若地微笑着。他问史特马，如果每年滴一滴水在坚硬的水泥块上，持续滴上一百万年，会怎么样？史特马大笑，拍拍安迪的背，“你可活不了一百万年，老兄，但如果你真能活这么久，我相信到时候，你还是老样子，脸上还是挂着同样的微笑。你就继续写你的信吧，只要你自己付邮资，我会替你把信寄出去。”
　　于是安迪继续写信。最后，终于开怀大笑的人是他，虽然史特马和哈力都没机会看见。安迪不断写信给州议会，要求拨款补助监狱图书馆，也一再遭到拒绝。但是到了一九六〇年，他收到一张两百元的支票。州议会也许希望用这两百元堵住他的嘴，让他别再烦他们了。但安迪认为自己的努力已收到初步成效，于是加倍努力。他开始每周写两封信，而不是一封信。到了一九六二年，他收到四百元，此后十年中，图书馆每年都会准时收到七百元。到了一九七一年，补助款甚至提高到整整一千元。当然这无法与一般小镇图书馆的经费相比，但一千元至少可以采购不少二手侦探小说和西部小说。到安迪离开之前，你在肖申克图书馆中几乎可以找到任何你想看的书，即使找不到，安迪很可能也会为你找到。这时候的图书馆已经从一个油漆储藏室扩展为三个房间了。
　　你会问，难道这一切全因为安迪告诉哈力那笔意外之财该如何节税吗？答案是：对……也不对。或许你自己也猜到是怎么回事了。