Andy said quietly, 'If you went to jail for tax evasion, you'd go to a federal penitentiary, not Shawshank. But you won't. The tax-free gift to the spouse is a perfectly legal loophole. I've done dozens ... no, hundreds of them'. It's meant primarily for people with small businesses to pass on, or for people who come into one-time-only windfalls. Like yourself.'
'I think you're lying,' Hadley said, but he didn't - you could see he didn't. There was an emotion dawning on his face, something that was grotesque overlying that long, ugly countenence and that receding, sunburned brow. An almost obscene emotion when seen on the features of Byron Hadley. It was hope.
'No, I'm not lying. There's no reason why you should take my word for it, either. Engage a lawyer -'
'Ambulance-chasing highway-robbing cocksuckers!'Hadley cried.
Andy shrugged. "Then go to the IRS. They'll tell you the same thing for free. Actually, you don't need me to tell you at all. You would have investigated the matter for yourself.'
'You fucking-A. I don't need any smart wife-killing banker to show me where the bear shit in the buckwheat.'
'You'll need a tax lawyer or a banker to set up the gift for you and that will cost you something,' Andy said. 'Or ... if you were interested, I'd be glad to set it up for you nearly free of charge. The price would be three beers apiece for my co-workers -' 'Co-workers,' Mert said, and let out a rusty guffaw. He slapped his knee. A real kneeslapper was old Mert, and I hope he died of intestinal cancer in a part of the world were morphine is as of yet undiscovered. 'Co-workers, ain't that cute? Co-workers! You ain't got any -'
'Shut your friggin' trap,' Hadley growled, and Mert shut.
Hadley looked at Andy again. 'What was you saying?'
'I was saying that I'd only ask three beers apiece for my co-workers, if that seems fair,' Andy said. 'I think a man feels more like a man when he's working out of doors in the springtime if he can have a bottle of suds. That's only my opinion. It would go down smooth, and I'm sure you'd have their gratitude.'
I have talked to some of the other men who were up there that day - Rennie Martin, Logan St Pierre, and Paul Bonsaint were three of them - and we all saw the same thing then ...felt the same thing. Suddenly it was Andy who had the upper hand. It was Hadley who had the gun on his hip and the billy in his hand, Hadley who had his friend Greg Staminas behind him and the whole prison administration behind Stammas, the whole power of the state behind that, but all at once in that golden sunshine it didn't matter, and I felt my heart leap up in my chest as it never had since the truck drove me and four others through the gate back in 1938 and I stepped out into the exercise yard.
Andy was looking at Hadley with those cold, clear, calm eyes, and it wasn't just the thirty-five thousand then, we all agreed on that. I've played it over and over in my mind and I know. It was man against man, and Andy simply forced him, the way a strong man can force a weaker man's wrist to the table in a game of Indian wrestling.
There was no reason, you see, why Hadley couldn't be given Mert the nod at that very minute, pitched Andy overside onto his head, and still taken Andy's advice.
No reason. But he didn't.
'I could get you all a couple of beers if I wanted to,' Hadley said. 'A beer does taste good while you're workin'. The colossal prick even managed to sound magnanimous.
'I'd just give you one piece of advice the IRS wouldn't bother with,' Andy said. His eyes were fixed unwinkingly on Hadley's. 'Make the gift to your wife if you're sure. If you think there's even a chance she might double-cross you or backshoot you, we could work out something else -'
'Double-cross me?' Hadley asked harshly. 'Double-cross me! Mr Hotshot Banker, if she ate her way through a boxcar of Ex-Lax, she wouldn't dare fart unless I gave her the nod.'
Mert, Youngblood, and the other screws yucked it up dutifully. Andy never cracked a smile.
'I'll write down the forms you need,' he said. 'You can get them at the post office, and I'll fill them out for your signature.'
That sounded suitably important, and Hadley's chest swelled. Then he glared around at the rest of us and hollered, "What are you jimmies starin' at? Move your asses,
goddammit!' He looked back at Andy. 'You come over here with me, hotshot. And listen to me well: if you're Jewing me somehow, you're gonna find yourself chasing your head around Shower C before the week's out.'
'Yes, I understand that,' Andy said softly.
And he did understand it. The way it turned out, he understood a lot more than I did - more than any of us did. That's how, on the second-to-last day of the job, the convict crew that tarred the plate-factory roof in 1950 ending up sitting in a row at ten o'clock on a spring morning, drinking Black Label beer supplied by the hardest screw that ever walked a turn at Shawshank Prison. That beer was piss-warm, but it was still the best I ever had in my life. We sat and drank it and felt the sun on our shoulders, and not even the expression of half amusement, half-contempt on Hadley's face - as if he was watching apes drink beer instead of men -could spoil it. It lasted twenty minutes, that beer-break, and for those twenty minutes we felt like free men. We could have been drinking beer and tarring the roof of one of our own houses.
Only Andy didn't drink. I already told you about his drinking habits. He sat hunkered down in the shade, hands dangling between his knees, watching us and smiling a little. It's amazing how many men remember him that way, and amazing how many men were on that work-crew when Andy Dufresne faced down Byron Hadley. I thought there were nine or ten of us, but by 1955 there must have been two hundred of us, maybe more ... if you believed what you heard.
So, yeah - if you asked me to give you a flat-out answer to the question of whether I'm trying to tell you about a man or a legend that got made up around the man, like a pearl around a little piece of grit - I'd have to say that the answer lies somewhere in between. All I know for sure is that Andy Dufresne wasn't much like me or anyone else I ever knew since I came inside. He brought in five hundred dollars jammed up his back porch, but somehow that graymeat son of a bitch managed to bring in something else as well. A sense of his own worth, maybe, or a feeling that he would be the winner in the end ... or maybe it was only a sense of freedom, even inside these goddamned grey walls. It was a kind of inner light he carried around with him. I only knew him to lose that light once, and that is also a part of this story.

　　安迪静静地说：“如果你因为逃税而坐牢，你会被关在联邦监狱中，而不是肖申克，不过你不会坐牢。馈赠礼物给配偶是完全合法的法律漏洞，我办过好几十件……不，是几百件这种案子，这条法令主要是为了让小生意人把事业传下去，是为一生中只发一次横财的人，也就是像你这样的人，而开的后门。”
　　“我认为你在撒谎。”哈力说，但他只是嘴硬，由他脸上的表情可以看出他其实相信安迪的话。哈力丑陋的长脸上开始浮现些微激动，显得十分古怪，在哈力脸上出现这样的表情尤其可憎。他之所以激动，是因为看到了希望。
　　“不，我没撒谎。当然你也不必相信我，你可以去请律师——”
　　“你他妈的龟儿子！”哈力吼道。
　　安迪耸耸肩，“那你可以去问税捐处，他们会免费告诉你同样的事情，事实上，你不需要我来解说，你可以亲自去调查。”
　　“你他妈的，老子用不着谋杀老婆的聪明银行家来教我黑熊在哪里拉大便。”
　　“你只需找个律师或银行家帮你办理馈赠手续，不过要花点手续费。”安迪说，“或是……如果你愿意的话，我很乐意免费帮你办，只要你给我的每一位同事送三罐啤酒——”
　　“同事？”麦德说，一边拍着膝盖，捧腹大笑。我真希望他在吗啡还未发明的世界里因为肠癌而上西天。“同事，太可笑了？同事？你还有什么——”
　　“闭上你的鸟嘴！”哈力吼道，麦德闭嘴。哈力看了安迪一眼，“你刚才说什么？”
　　“我说我只要求你给每位同事三罐啤酒，如果你也认为这样公平的话，”安迪说，“我认为当一个人在春光明媚的户外工作了一阵子时，如果有罐啤酒喝喝，他会觉得更像个人。这只是我个人的意见，我相信他们一定会感激你的。”
　　我曾经和当天也在现场的几个人谈过——包括马丁、圣皮耶和波恩谢——当时我们都看到同样的事情，有同样的感觉。突然之间，就变成安迪占上风了。哈力腰间插着枪，手上拿着警棍，后面站着老友史特马，还有整个监狱的管理当局在背后撑腰，但是突然之间，在亮丽的金色阳光下，这一切都不算什么。我感到心脏快跳出来了，自从一九三八年，囚车载着我和其他四个人穿过肖申克的大门，我走出囚车踏上运动场以来，还不曾有过这种感觉。
　　安迪以冷静自若的眼神看着哈力，这已不只是三万五千元的事情了，我们几个都同意这点。我后来不断在脑海中重播这段画面，我很清楚，这是一个人和另一个人的角力，而且安迪步步进逼、强力推进的方式，就好像两个人在比腕力的时候，强者硬把弱者的手腕压在桌上的情形。哈力大可以向麦德点点头，让他把安迪扔下去，事后仍旧采纳安迪的建议。
　　他没有理由不这么做，但他没有这么做。
　　“如果我愿意，我是可以给你们每个人几罐啤酒，”哈力说，“工作的时候喝点啤酒是很不错。”这个讨厌鬼甚至还摆出一副宽宏大量的样子。
　　“我先给你一个不让税捐处找麻烦的法子，”安迪说。他的眼睛眨也不眨看着哈力。“如果你很有把握的话，就把这笔钱馈赠给你太太。如果你认为老婆会在背后动手脚或吞掉你的钱，我们还可以再想其他——”
　　“她敢出卖我？”哈力粗着声音问道，“出卖我？厉害的银行家先生，除非我点头，她连个屁都不敢放一个。”
　　麦德和其他人没有一个敢笑。而安迪脸上始终没有露出任何笑意。
　　“我会帮你列出所有需要的表格，表格在邮局里都有卖，我会帮你填好，你只要在上面签字就行了。”
　　这点很重要，哈力的胸部起伏着，然后他看了我们一眼，吼道：“该死！看什么？干你们的活儿去！”他面向安迪，“你过来，给我听好，如果你胆敢跟我耍什么花样，这礼拜还没过完，你会发现自己在淋浴间追着脑袋跑。”
　　“我懂。”安迪轻轻地说。
　　他当然懂，他懂得比我多，比其他任何人都多。
　　于是一九五〇年，我们这一伙负责翻修屋顶的囚犯，在工作结束前一天的早上十点钟，排排坐在屋顶上喝着啤酒，啤酒是由肖申克监狱有史以来最严苛的狱卒所供应的。啤酒是温的，不过仍然是我这辈子喝过的滋味最棒的啤酒。我们坐在那儿喝啤酒，感觉阳光暖烘烘地洒在肩膀上，尽管哈力脸上带着半轻视、半打趣的神情，好像在看猩猩喝啤酒似的，却都不能破坏我们的兴致。我们喝了二十分钟，这二十分钟让我们感到自己又像个自由人，好像在自家屋顶上铺沥青、喝啤酒。
　　只有安迪没喝，我说过他平常是不喝酒的。他蹲坐在阴凉的地方，双手搁在膝盖间摇晃，微微笑着，看着我们。惊人的是，竟然有这么多人记得安迪这副样子；更惊人的是，竟然有那么多人说安迪对抗哈力的时候，他们也在现场铺屋顶。我认为当天去工作的囚犯只有九个人或十个人，但是到了一九五五年，工作人员的人数至少已暴增到两百人，也许还更多……如果你真的人家说什么都信的话。
　　总之，如果你要我说，我描述的到底是普通人、还是在加油添醋地描绘一个仿佛沙砾中珍珠般的传奇人物，我想答案是介乎两者之间吧。反正我只知道安迪·杜佛尼不像我，也不像我入狱后见过的任何人。他把五百美金塞在肛门里，偷偷夹带了进来，但似乎他同时也夹带了其他东西进来——或许是对自己的价值深信不疑，或坚信自己终会获得最后胜利……或只是一种自由的感觉，即使被关在这堵该死的灰墙之内，他仍然有一种发自内在的光芒。我知道，他只有一次失去了那样的光芒，而那也是这个故事的一部分。