The years went past and Andy brought his wall out to the exercise yard cupful by cupful. He played the game with administrator after administrator, and they thought it was because he wanted to keep the library growing. I have no doubt that was part of it, but the main thing Andy wanted was to keep cell 14 in Cellblock 5 a single occupancy.
I doubt if he had any real plans or hopes of breaking out, at least not at first. He probably assumed the wall was ten feet of solid concrete, and that if he succeeded in boring all the way through it, he'd come out thirty feet over the exercise yard. But like I say, I don't think he was worried overmuch about breaking through. His assumption could have run this way: I'm only making a foot of progress every seven years or so; therefore, it would take me seventy years to break through; that would make me one hundred and seven years old.
Here's a second assumption I would have made, had I been Andy: that eventually I would be caught and get a lot of solitary time, not to mention a very large black mark on my record. After all, there was the regular weekly inspection and a surprise toss - which usually came at night - every second week or so. He must have decided that things couldn't go on for long. Sooner or later, some screw was going to peek behind Rita Hayworth just to make sure Andy didn't have a sharpened spoon-handle or some marijuana reefers Scotch-taped to the wall.
And his response to that second assumption must have been to hell with it. Maybe he even made a game out of it. How far in can I get before they find out? Prison is a goddam boring place, and the chance or being surprised by an unscheduled inspection in the middle of the night while he had his poster unstuck probably added some spice to his life during the early years.
And I do believe it would have been impossible for him to get away just on dumb luck. Not for twenty-seven years. Nevertheless, I have to believe that for the first two years -until mid-May of 1950, when he helped Byron Hadley get around the tax on his windfall inheritance - that's exactly what he did get by on.
Or maybe he had something more than dumb luck going for him even back then. He had money, and he might have been slipping someone a little squeeze every week to take it easy on him. Most guards will go along with that if the price is right; it's money in their pockets and the prisoner gets to keep his whack-off pictures or his tailormade cigarettes. Also, Andy was a model prisoner - quiet, well-spoken, respectful, non-violent. It's the crazies and the stampeders that get their cells turned upside-down at least once every six months, their mattresses unzipped, their pillows taken away and cut open, the outflow pipe from their toilets carefully probed.
Then, in 1950, Andy became something more than a model prisoner. In 1950, he became a valuable commodity, a murderer who did tax returns as well as H & R Block. He gave gratis estate-planning advice, set up tax-shelters, filled out loan applications (sometimes creatively). I can remember him sitting behind his desk in the library, patiently going over a car-loan agreement paragraph by paragraph with a screwhead who wanted to buy a used DeSoto, telling the guy what was good about the agreement and
what was bad about it, explaining to him that it was possible to shop for a loan and not get hit quite so bad, steering him away from the finance companies which in those days were sometimes little better than legal loan-sharks. When he'd finished, the screwhead started to put out his hand ... and then drew it back to himself  quickly. He'd forgotten for a moment, you see, that he was dealing with a mascot, not a man.
Andy kept up on the tax laws and the changes in the stock market, and so his usefulness didn't end after he'd been in cold storage for a while, as it might have done.
He began to get his library money, his running war with the sisters had ended, and nobody tossed his cell very hard. He was a good nigger.
Then one day, very late in the going - perhaps around October of 1967 - the long-time hobby suddenly turned into something else. One night while he was in the hole up to his waist with Raquel Welch hanging down over his ass, the pick end of his rock-hammer must have suddenly sunk into concrete past the hilt.
He would have dragged some chunks of concrete back, but maybe he heard others falling down into that shaft, bouncing back and forth, clinking off that standpipe. Did he know by then that he was going to come upon that shaft, or was he totally surprised? I don't know. He might have seen the prison blueprints by then or he might not have. If not, you can be damned sure he found a way to look at them not long after.
All at once he must have realized that, instead of just playing a game, he was playing for high stakes ... in terms of his own life and his own future, the highest.
Even then he couldn't have known for sure, but he must have had a pretty good idea because it was right around then that he talked to me about Zihuatanejo for the first time. All of a sudden, instead of just being a toy, that stupid hole in the wall became his master - if he knew about the sewer-pipe at the bottom, and that it led under the outer wall, it did, anyway.
He'd had the key under the rock in Buxton to worry about for years. Now he had to worry that some eager-beaver new guard would look behind his poster and expose the whole thing, or that he would get another cellmate, or that he would, after all those years, suddenly be transferred. He had all those things on his mind for the next seven years. All I can say is that he must have been one of the coolest men who ever lived. I would have gone completely nuts after a while, living with all that uncertainty. But Andy just went on playing the game.
He had to carry the possibility of discovery for another eight years - the probability of it, you might say, because no matter how carefully he stacked the cards in his favour, as an inmate of a state prison, he just didn't have that many to stack ... and the gods had been kind to him for a very long time; some eighteen years.
The most ghastly irony I can think of would have been if he had been offered a parole. Can you imagine it? Three days before the parolee is actually released, he is transferred into the light security wing to undergo a complete physical and a battery of vocational tests. While he's there, his old cell is completely cleaned out.
Instead of getting his parole, Andy would have gotten a long turn downstairs in solitary, followed by some more time upstairs ... but in a different cell.
If he broke into the shaft in 1967, how come he didn't escape until 1975?
I don't know for sure - but I can advance some pretty good guesses.

　　一年年过去，安迪就这么一袋袋把混凝土碎片运到操场倒掉。历经一任又一任的典狱长，无数的春去秋来，他替典狱长服务，他们都以为他是为了扩张图书馆而这么做，我也绝不怀疑这点，但是骨子里他真正要争取的是独居一室的特殊待遇。
　　我怀疑他一开始真的有什么具体的越狱计划或抱了什么希望，或许他以为这堵十英尺厚的墙里面扎实地填满了混凝土，或即使成功地把墙挖通了，也只能逃到三十英尺外的运动场上。但是，就像我说的，我不认为安迪很担心这个问题，因为他一定会这么想：我每七年才能前进一英尺，因此可能要花七十年才能把这堵墙挖通，到时候我已经一百零一岁了。
　　如果我是安迪，我的第二个假设是：我终究会被逮到，然后关禁闭很长一段时间，记录上也被画一个大叉。毕竟，他们每个星期都会来做例行检查，而且还有突击检查——通常都在晚上。他一定觉得他不可能挖太久，警卫迟早会查看丽塔·海华丝的海报后面有没有磨尖的汤匙柄，或把大麻烟用胶带贴在墙上。
　　而他对于第二个假设的反应一定是：管他的！或许他甚至把它当成一场游戏。在他们发现之前，我可以挖得多深？监狱是个非常沉闷的地方，在早年，海报还没贴好就在半夜遭到突击检查的可能性，说不定还为他的生活增添了些许趣味。
　　而我确实认为他不可能单靠运气就顺利逃出去，至少不会连续二十七年都这么好运。尽管如此，我不得不说，在一九五〇年五月中旬，他开始帮哈力处理遗产继承税务问题之前两年，他的确运气很好，才没被逮到。
　　也有可能，除了运气好以外，他还有其他法宝。反正有钱能使鬼推磨，也许他每个星期都偷偷塞几张钞票给警卫，让他们不要找他麻烦。如果价码还不错的话，大多数警卫都会合作。只要荷包有进账，让犯人拥有一张美女海报或一包香烟也不为过，何况安迪是个模范犯人，他很安静，讲话有条有理，为人谦恭有礼，不会动不动就拳头相向。通常逃不过监狱每半年一次大检查的，都是那些疯疯癫癫或行事冲动的囚犯，这时警卫会把整个牢房彻底搜查一遍，掀开床垫，拆开枕头，连马桶的排水管都要仔细戳一戳。
　　到了一九五〇年，安迪除了是模范犯人外，还成了极具价值的资产，他能帮他们退税，免费指导他们如何规划房地产投资、善用免税方案和申请贷款，比专业会计师还要高明。我还记得他坐在图书馆中，耐心地和警卫队长一段一段检查汽车贷款协议书中的条款，为他分析这份协议书的好处和坏处，教他如何找到最划算的贷款方案，引导他避开吸血的金融公司，那些公司几乎是在合法掩护下大放高利贷。当安迪解释完毕时，警卫队长伸出手来要和他握手……然后又很快缩回去。他一时之间忘记了他不是在和正常人打交道。
　　安迪一直注意股市动态和税法变动，因此尽管在监狱冷藏了一段时间，并未丝毫减损他的利用价值。他开始为图书馆争取经费补助，他和那群姊妹之间的战争已经停火，警卫不再那么认真地检查他的牢房，他是个模范囚犯。
　　然后有一天，可能是一九六七年十月左右，安迪长时间的嗜好突然变得不一样了。有一天晚上，他把海报掀起，整个上半身探入洞里，拉蔻儿·薇芝的海报则盖到他的臀部，石锤的尖头一定突然整个陷入混凝土中。
　　他本来已经准备把几块敲下来的混凝土拿走，但是可能在这时候听到有东西掉落，在竖立的管子间来回弹跳，叮当作响。他事先已经知道会挖到那个通道吗？还是当时大吃了一惊？那就不得而知了。他可能已经看过监狱的蓝图，但也可能没有看过。如果没有看过，我敢说他后来一定设法把蓝图找来看了。
　　他一定突然明白，他不只是在玩游戏而已，他这么做其实是在赌博，他的赌注下得很大，赌上了自己的生命和未来。即使他当时还不是那么确定，不过应该已经有相当的把握了，因为他第一次跟我谈起齐华坦尼荷，就差不多是在那段期间。在墙上挖洞原本只是好玩而已，突然之间，那个蠢洞却能主宰他的命运——如果他知道通道底部是污水管，以及污水管会一直通往监狱围墙外的话。
　　现在，他除了要担心压在巴克斯登石头下的那把钥匙外，还得担心某个力求表现的新警卫会掀开海报，发现这个伟大的工程，或是突然住进一个新室友，或是在这里待了这么多年以后，突然被调到其他监狱去。接下来八年中，他脑子里一直得操心这么多事情，我只能说，他是我所见过的最冷静的人之一。换作是我，在所有事情都这么不确定的情况下，我早就疯了，但安迪却继续赌下去。
　　很讽刺的是，还有一件事，我一想起来便不寒而栗，就是万一安迪获得假释的话，怎么办？你能想象吗？获得假释的囚犯在出狱前三天，会被送到另一个地方，接受完整的体检和技能测验。在这三天之中，他的牢房会被彻底清扫一遍，如此一来他的假释不但会成泡影，而且换来的是长时间单独监禁在禁闭室，再加上更长的刑期……但换到不同的牢房服刑。
　　如果他在一九六七年就已经挖到通道，为什么他直到一九七五年才越狱？
　　我不是很确定——但是我可以猜一猜。