Chapter 23

'Nope.'
'Zihuatanejo,' he said, rolling the word softly from his tongue like music. 'Down in Mexico. It's a little place maybe twenty miles from Playa Azul and Mexico Highway 37. It's a hundred miles north-west of Acapulco on the Pacific Ocean. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific?'
I told him I didn't.
They say it has no memory. And that's where I want to finish out my life, Red. In a warm place that has no memory.'
He had picked up a handful of pebbles as he spoke; now he tossed them, one by one, and watched them bounce and roll across the baseball diamond's dirt infield, which would be under a foot of snow before long.
'Zihuatanejo. I'm going to have a little hotel down there. Six cabanas along the beach, and six more set further back, for the highway trade. I'll have a guy who'll take my guests out charter fishing. There'll be a trophy for the guy who catches the biggest marlin of the season, and I'll put his picture up in the lobby. It won't be a family place. It'll be a place for people on their honeymoons ... first or second varieties.'
'And where are you going to get the money to buy this fabulous place?' I asked. 'Your stock account?'
He looked at me and smiled. 'That's not so far wrong,' he said. 'Sometimes you startle me, Red.'
'What are you talking about?'
'There are really only two types of men in the world when it comes to bad trouble,' Andy said, cupping a match between his hands and lighting a cigarette. 'Suppose there was a house full of rare paintings and sculptures and fine old antiques, Red? And suppose the guy who owned the house heard that there was a monster of a hurricane headed right at it. One of those two kinds of men just hopes for the best. The hurricane will change course, he says to himself. No right-thinking hurricane would ever dare wipe out all these Rembrandts, my two Degas horses, my Jackson Pollocks and my Paul Klees. Furthermore, God wouldn't allow it. And if worst comes to worst, they're insured. That's one sort of man. The other sort just assumes that hurricane is going to tear right through the middle of his house. If the weather bureau says the hurricane just changed course, this guy assumes it'll change back in order to put his house on ground zero again. This second type of guy knows there's no harm in hoping for the best as long as you're prepared for the worst.'
I lit a cigarette of my own. 'Are you saying you prepared for the eventuality?'
'Yes. I prepared for the hurricane. I knew how bad it looked. I didn't have much time, but in the time I had, I operated. I had a friend - just about the only person who stood by me - who worked for an investment company in Portland. He died about six years ago.'
'Sorry.'
'Yeah.' Andy tossed his butt away. 'Linda and I had about fourteen thousand dollars. Not a big bundle, but hell, we were young. We had our whole lives ahead of us.' He grimaced a little, then laughed. 'When the shit hit the fan, I started lugging my Rembrandts out of the path of the hurricane. I sold my stocks and paid the capital gains tax just like a good little boy. Declared everything. Didn't cut any corners.'
'Didn't they freeze your estate?'
'I was charged with murder, Red, not dead! You can't freeze the assets of an innocent man - thank God. And it was a while before they even got brave enough to charge me with the crime. Jim - my friend - and I, we had some time. I got hit pretty good, just dumping everything like that. Got my nose skinned. But at the time I had worse things to worry about than a small skinning on the stock market.'
'Yeah, I'd say you did.'
'But when I came to Shawshank it was all safe. It's still safe. Outside these walls, Red, there's a man that no living soul has ever seen face to face. He has a Social Security card and a Maine driver's license. He's got a birth certificate. Name of Peter Stevens. Nice, anonymous name, huh?'
'Who is he?' I asked. I thought I knew what he was going to say, but I couldn't believe it.
'Me.'
'You're not going to tell me that you had time to set up a false identity while the bulls were sweating you,' I said, 'or that you finished the job while you were on trial for -' 'No, I'm not going to tell you that. My friend Jim was the one who set up the false identity. He started after my appeal was turned down, and the major pieces of identification were in his hands by the spring of 1950.'
'He must have been a pretty close friend,' I said. I was not sure how much of this I believed - a little, a lot, or none. But the day was warm and the sun was out, and it was one hell of a good story. 'All of that's one hundred per cent illegal, setting up a false ID like that.'
'He was a close friend,' Andy said. 'We were in the war together. France, Germany, the occupation. He was a good friend. He knew it was illegal, but he also knew that setting up a false identity in this country is very easy and very safe. He took my money my money with all the taxes on it paid so the IRS wouldn't get too interested - and invested it for Peter Stevens. He did that in 1950 and 1951. Today it amounts to three hundred and seventy thousand dollars, plus change.'
I guess my jaw made a thump when it dropped against my chest, because he smiled.
'Think of all the things people wish they'd invested in since 1950 or so, and two or three of them will be things Peter Stevens was into. If I hadn't ended up in here, I'd probably be worth seven or eight million bucks by now. I'd have a Rolls ... and probably an ulcer as big as a portable radio.'
His hands went to the dirt and began sifting out more pebbles. They moved gracefully, restlessly.
'I was hoping for the best and expecting the worst -nothing but that The false name was just to keep what little capital I had untainted. It was lugging the paintings out of the path of the hurricane. But I had no idea that the hurricane ... that it could go on as long as it has.'
I didn't say anything for a while. I guess I was trying to absorb the idea that this small, spare man in prison grey next to me could be worth more money than Warden Norton would make in the rest of his miserable life, even with the scams thrown in.

　　“不知道。”
　　“齐华坦尼荷，”他说，轻轻吐出这几个字，像是唱歌似的，“在墨西哥，距墨西哥三十七号公路和仆拉雅阿苏约二十英里，距太平洋边的阿卡波哥约一百英里的小镇，你知道墨西哥人怎么形容太平洋吗？”
　　我说我不知道。
　　“他们说太平洋是没有记忆的，所以我要到那儿去度我的余生。雷德，在一个没有记忆、温暖的地方。”
　　他一面说，一面捡起一把小石头，然后再一个个扔出去，看着石头滚过棒球场的内野地带。不久以后，这里就会覆上一英尺白雪。
　　“齐华坦尼荷。我要在那里经营一家小旅馆。在海滩上盖六间小屋，另外六间靠近公路。我会找个人驾船带客人出海钓鱼，钓到最大一条马林鱼的人还可以获得奖杯，我会把他的照片放在大厅中，这不会是给全家老少住的那种旅馆，而是专给来度蜜月的人住的……。”
　　“你打哪来的钱去买这么一个像仙境的地方？”我问道，“你的股票吗？”
　　他看着我微笑道，“差不多耶，”他说，“雷德，你有时真令我吃惊。”
　　“你在说什么呀？”
　　“陷入困境时，人的反应其实只有两种，”安迪说，他圈起手，划了一根火柴，点燃香烟。“假设有间屋子里满是稀有的名画古董，雷德？再假设屋主听说有飓风要来？他可能会有两种反应：第一种人总是怀抱最乐观的期望，认为飓风或许会转向，老天爷不会让该死的飓风摧毁了伦勃朗、德加的名画；万一飓风真的来了，反正这些东西也都保过险了。另一种人认定飓风一定会来，他的屋子绝对会遭殃。如果气象局说飓风转向了，这个家伙仍然假定飓风会回过头来摧毁他的房子。因此他做了最坏的打算，因为他知道只要为最坏的结果预先做好准备，那么抱着乐观的期望就没关系。”
　　我也点燃了根烟。“你是说你已经为未来做好准备了吗？”
　　“是的，我是预备飓风会来的那种人，我知道后果会有多糟，当时我没有多少时间，但在有限的时间里，我采取了行动。我有个朋友——差不多是惟一支持我的人——他在波特兰一家投资公司做事，六年前过世了。”
　　“我为你感到难过。”
　　“嗯，”安迪说，把烟蒂丢掉，“琳达和我有大约一万四千元的积蓄，数目不大，但那时我们都还年轻，大好前程摆在我们面前。”他做了个鬼脸，然后大笑，“起风时，我开始把伦勃朗的名画移到没有飓风的地方。所以我卖掉股票，像一般好公民一样乖乖付税，丝毫不敢有所隐瞒或抄捷径。”
　　“他们没有冻结你的财产吗？”
　　“我是被控谋杀，雷德，我不是死掉！感谢上苍，他们不能随意冻结无辜者的财产，而且当时他们也还没有以谋杀的罪名指控我。我的朋友吉米和我当时还有一点时间，我的损失还不小，匆匆忙忙地卖掉了所有的股票什么的。不过当时我需要担心的问题，比在股市小小失血要严重多了。”
　　“是呀，我猜也是。”
　　“我来到肖申克时，这笔钱很安全，现在也仍然很安全。雷德，在外面的世界里有一个人，从来没有人亲眼见过他，但是他有一张社会保险卡和缅因州的驾照，还有出生证明。他叫彼得·斯蒂芬，这个匿名还不错吧？”
　　“这个人是谁？”我问。我想我知道他要说什么，但我觉得难以置信。
　　“我。”
　　“你要跟我说在这些人对付你的时候，你还有时间弄一个假身份？”我说，“还是在你受审的时候，一切已经都弄妥了——”
　　“我不会这样跟你说，是我的朋友吉米帮我弄的，他是在我上诉被驳回以后开始办的，直到一九五〇年春天，他都还保管着这些身份证件。”
　　“你们的交情一定很深，因为这样做绝对犯法。”我说，我不敢确定他的话有多少可信——大部分是真的，只有一点点可以相信，还是全部都不能相信。但那天太阳露脸了，是个暖和的好天气，而这又是个好故事。
　　“他和我是很好的朋友，”安迪说，“我们打仗时就在一起，去过法国、德国，他是个好朋友。他知道这样做是不合法的，但他也知道在美国要假造身份很容易，而且也很安全。他把我所有的钱都投资在彼得·斯蒂芬名下——所有该付的税都付了，因此国税局不会来找麻烦。他把这笔钱拿去投资时，是一九五〇年和一九五一年，到今天，这笔钱已经超过三十七万元了。”
　　我猜我讶异得下巴落到胸口时，一定发出了“砰”的一声，因为他笑了。
　　“想想看，很多人常常惋惜，假如他们在一九五〇年就懂得投资这个那个就好了，而彼得·斯蒂芬正是把钱投资在其中的两三个项目。如果我不是被关在这里，我早就有七八百万的身价了，可以开着劳斯莱斯汽车……说不定还有严重的胃溃疡。”
　　他又抓起一把尘土，优雅地让小砂子在指尖慢慢流过。
　　“怀抱着最好的希望，但预做最坏的打算——如此而已。捏造假名只是为了保存老本，只不过是在飓风来临之前，先把古董字画搬走罢了。但是我从来不曾料想到，这飓风……竟然会吹这么久。”
　　我有好一阵子没说话。我在想，蹲在我身旁这个穿灰色囚衣的瘦小男子，他所拥有的财富恐怕是诺顿一辈子都赚不到的，即使加上他贪污来的钱，都还是望尘莫及。