Chapter 27

Anyhow, the day of that conversation about Mexico, and about Mr Peter Stevens ...
that was the day I began to believe that Andy had some idea of doing a disappearing act. I hoped to God he would be careful if he did, and still, I wouldn't have bet money on his chances of succeeding. Warden Norton, you see, was watching Andy with a special close eye. Andy wasn't just another deadhead with a number to Norton; they had a working relationship, you might say. Also, he had brains and he had heart Norton was determined to use the one and crush the other.
As there are honest politicians on the outside - ones who stay bought - there are honest prison guards, and if you are a good judge of character and if you have some loot to spread around, I suppose it's possible that you could buy enough look-the-other-way to make a break. I'm not the man to tell you such a thing has never been done, but Andy Dufresne wasn't the man who could do it because, as I've said, Norton was watching. Andy knew it, and the screws knew it, too.
Nobody was going to nominate Andy for the Inside-Out programme, not as long as Warden Norton was evaluating the nominations. And Andy was not the kind of man to try acasual Sid Nedeau type of escape.
If I had been him, the thought of that key would have tormented me endlessly. I would have been lucky to get two hours' worth of honest shuteye a night. Buxton was less than thirty miles from Shawshank. So near and yet so far.
I still thought his best chance was to engage a lawyer and try for the retrial. Anything to get out from under Norton's thumb. Maybe Tommy Williams could be shut up by nothing more than a cushy furlough programme, but I wasn't entirely sure. Maybe a good old Mississippi hardass lawyer could crack him ... and maybe that lawyer wouldn't even have to work that hard. Williams had honestly liked Andy. Every now and then I'd bring these points up to Andy, who would only smile, his eyes far away, and say he was thinking about it.
Apparently he'd been thinking about a lot of other things, as well.
In 1975, Andy Dufresne escaped from Shawshank. He hasn't been recaptured, and I don't think he ever will be. In fact, I don't think Andy Dufresne even exists anymore.
But I think there's a man down in Zihuatanejo, Mexico named Peter Stevens. Probably running a very new small hotel in this year of our Lord 1977.
I'll tell you what I know and what I think; that's about all I can do, isn't it?
On 12 March 1975, the cell doors in Cellblock 5 opened at 6.30 a.m., as they do every morning around here except Sunday. And as they do every day except Sunday, the inmates of those cells stepped forward into the corridor and formed two lines as the cell doors slammed shut behind them. They walked up to the main cellblock gate, where they were counted off by two guards before being sent on down to the cafeteria for a breakfast of oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and fatty bacon.
All of this went according to routine until the count at the cellblock gate. There should have been twenty-nine. Instead, there were twenty-eight. After a call to the Captain of the Guards, Cellblock 5 was allowed to go to breakfast.
The Captain of the Guards, a not half-bad fellow named Richard Gonyar, and his assistant, a jolly prick named Dave Burkes, came down to Cellblock 5 right away. Gonyar reopened the cell doors and he and Burkes went down the corridor together, dragging their sticks over the bars, their guns out. In a case like that what you usually have is someone who has been taken sick in the night, so sick he can't even step out of his cell in the morning. More rarely, someone has died... or committed suicide.
But this time, they found a mystery instead of a sick man or a dead man. They found no man at all. There were fourteen cells in Cellblock 5, seven to a side, all fairly neat restriction of visiting privileges is the penalty for a sloppy cell at Shawshank - and all very empty.
Gonyar's first assumption was that there had been a miscount or a practical joke. So instead of going off to work after breakfast, the inmates of Cellblock 5 were sent back to their cells, joking and happy. Any break in the routine was always welcome.
Cell doors opened; prisoners stepped in; cell doors closed. Some clown shouting, 'I want my lawyer, I want my lawyer, you guys run this place just like a frigging prison.'
Burkes: 'Shut up in there, or I'll rank you.'
The clown: 'I ranked your wife, Burkie,'
Gonyar: 'Shut up, all of you, or you'll spend the day in there.'
He and Burkes went up the line again, counting noses. They didn't have to go far.
'Who belongs in this cell?' Gonyar asked the rightside night guard.
'Andrew Dufresne,' the rightside answered, and that was all it took. Everything stopped being routine right then. The balloon went up.
In all the prison movies I've seen, this wailing horn goes off when there's been a break. That never happens at Shawshank. The first thing Gonyar did was to get in touch with the warden. The second thing was to get a search of the prison going. The third was to alert the State Police in Scarborough to the possibility of a breakout.
That was the routine. It didn't call for them to search the suspected escapee's cell, and so no one did. Not then. Why would they? It was a case of what you see is what you get. It was a small square room, bars on the window and bars on the sliding door. There was a toilet and an empty cot. Some pretty rocks on the windowsill.
And the poster, of course. It was Linda Ronstadt by then. The poster was right over his bunk. There had been a poster there, in that exact same place, for twenty-six years.
And when someone - it was Warden Norton himself, as it turned out, poetic justice if there ever was any - looked behind it, they got one hell of a shock.
But that didn't happen until 6.30 that night, almost twelve hours after Andy had been reported missing, probably twenty hours after he had actually made his escape.
Norton hit the roof.
I have it on good authority - Chester, the trustee, who was waxing the hall floor in the Admin Wing that day. He didn't have to polish any keyplates with his ear that day; he said you could hear the warden clear down to Records & Files as he chewed on Rich Gonyar's ass.

　　总而言之，自从那天安迪谈到墨西哥和彼得·斯蒂芬以后，我开始相信安迪有逃亡的念头。我只能祈祷上帝，让他谨慎行事，但是我不会把赌注押在他身上。典狱长诺顿特别注意他的一举一动，安迪不是普通囚犯。可以这么说，他们之间有密不可分的工作关系。安迪很有头脑，但也很有心，诺顿下定决心要利用他的头脑，同时也击溃他的心。
　　就好像外面有一些你永远可以买通的诚实政客一样，监狱里也有一些诚实的警卫，如果你很懂得看人，手头上也有一些钱可以撒的话，我猜你确实有可能买通几个警卫，他们故意放水，眼睛注视着其他地方，让你有机会逃脱。过去不是没有人做过这样的事情，但是安迪没有办法这么做，因为正如我刚才所说，诺顿紧紧盯着他，安迪知道这点，狱卒也都知道这点。
　　只要诺顿还继续审核外役监名单，就没有人会提名安迪参加外役监计划，而安迪也不像锡德，他绝不会那么随随便便地展开逃亡行动。
　　如果我是他，外面那把钥匙会使我痛苦万分，彻夜难眠。巴克斯登距离肖申克不到三十英里，却可望而不可及。
　　我仍然认为找律师要求重新审判的成功机会最大，只要能脱离诺顿的掌握就好。或许他们只不过多给汤米一些休假，就让他封口，我并不确定。或许那些律师神通广大，可以让汤米开口，甚至不用费太大的劲，因为汤米很钦佩安迪。每次我向安迪提出这些意见时，他总是微笑着，目光飘向远方，嘴里说他会考虑考虑。
　　看来他同时在考虑的事情还不少。
　　一九七五年，安迪从肖申克逃走了，他一直都没被逮到，我相信他永远也不会被逮到。事实上，我想，安迪早已不在这个世上了，而一九七六年这一年，在墨西哥的齐华坦尼荷，有一个叫彼得·斯蒂芬的人正在经营一家小旅馆。
　　我会把我所知道的和我猜想的全都告诉你，我也只能做到这样了，不是吗？
　　一九七五年三月十二日。当警卫在早上六点半打开第五区牢房的大门时，所有犯人都从自己的房间走出来，站到走廊上，排成两列，牢门砰的一声在他们身后关起。他们走到第五区大门时，会有两个警卫站在门口数人头，算完后便到餐厅去吃麦片、炒蛋和油腻的培根。
　　直到数人头之前，一切都是例行公事。第五区牢房的犯人应该有二十七个，但那天早上数来数去都只有二十六个人，于是警卫去报告队长，并先让第五区的囚犯去吃早餐。
　　警卫队长名叫理查·高亚，不是个很坏的人，他和助手戴夫·勃克一起来到第五区牢房。高亚打开大门，和勃克一起走进两排牢房中间的走道，手上拿着警棍和枪。像这种情形，通常都是有人在半夜病了，而且因为病得太重，早上根本没有力气走出牢房。更罕见的状况是他根本已经病死了，或自杀了。
　　但这次却出现了一个大谜团，他们既没有看到病人，也没有看到死人，里面根本空无一人。第五区共有十四间牢房，每边各七间，全都十分整洁——在肖申克，对牢房太过脏乱的惩罚是禁止会客——而且全都空荡荡的。
　　高亚第一个反应是警卫算错人数了，要不就是有人恶作剧，因此他叫第五区的所有囚犯吃完早餐后，都先回到牢房去。那些犯人一面开玩笑，一面高兴地跑回去，任何打破常规的事，他们都觉得很新鲜。
　　牢门再度打开，犯人一一走进去，牢门关起。爱开玩笑的犯人故意叫着：“我要找律师，我要找律师，你们怎么可以把监狱管理得像他妈的监狱一样！”
　　勃克叫道：“闭嘴，否则我会要你好看。”
　　那人喊道：“我操你老婆。”
　　高亚说：“你们全都闭嘴，否则今天一整天都待在这里，不准出去。”
　　他和勃克一间间检查，一个个数着，没走多远。“这间是谁住的？”高亚问值夜班的警卫。
　　“安迪·杜佛尼。”守卫答道。立刻，整个日常作息都乱掉了。监狱里一片哗然。
　　在我所看过的监狱电影里面，每当有人逃狱时，就会响起号角的哭号声，但是在肖申克，从来没有这回事。高亚做的第一件事是立刻联络典狱长，第二件事是派人搜索整个监狱，第三件事则是打电话警告州警，可能有人越狱了。
　　例行的做法就是如此，标准作业程序没有要求他们检查逃犯的牢房，因此也没有人这么做。何必如此呢？明明就亲眼看到人不在里面。这是个四方形的小房间，窗子上装了铁栅栏，门上也有铁栅栏，此外就是一套卫生设备和空荡荡的床。窗台上还有一些漂亮的石头。
　　当然还有那张海报。这时候已经换上了琳达·朗斯黛的海报，海报就贴在他的床头。二十六年来，同一个位置上一直都贴着海报。但是当有人查看海报后面时——结果是诺顿自己发现的，真是因果报应——简直魂飞魄散。
　　发现海报后面另有文章，已经是当晚六点半的事了，距离发现安迪失踪足足有十二小时，距离他真正逃亡的时间说不定有二十小时。
　　诺顿暴跳如雷。
　　我后来是从老柴士特口中知道的，他那天正在行政大楼为地板打蜡，事发当天他不必再把耳朵贴在钥匙孔上，因为他可以把诺顿的咆哮听得一清二楚。