On the second of December I was sentenced to death by lethal2 injection. Christmas on Death Row, boy. To be fair, ole Brian Dennehy tried his best. In the end, it doesn't look like they'll cast the real Brian in the TV-movie, I guess because he doesn't lose his cases. But my appeal will draw out the truth. There's a new fast-track appeals process that means I could be out by March. They reformed the system, so innocent folks don't have to spend years on the row. It can't be bad. The only news about me is that I put on twenty pounds since the sentence. It keeps out some of this January chill. Apart from that, my life hangs still while the seasons whip around me.
Taylor's eyes flicker4 brightly through the screen. TV makes them sparkle, but they move strangely, as if she holds them back on a leash6. Her grin is frozen like it came out of a jelly mold. I watch her almost-but-not-quite staring at me, until, after a minute, I realize she's reading something behind the camera. Her lines must be written there. After another moment I realize she's reading something about me. My skin cools as understanding dawns.
'Then, when the big day arrives,' she says, 'everybody else, including witnesses, will assemble at five fifty-five in the lounge next to the visiting room. The final meal will be served between three-thirty and four o'clock in the afternoon, then, sometime before six, he'll be allowed to shower, and dress in fresh clothes.'
A stray, impassive thought bubbles up through my mind: that Pam will have to supervise my last meal. 'Oh Lord, it's getting soggy . . .'
'Right after six o'clock,' says Taylor, 'he'll be taken from the cell area into the execution chamber8, and strapped9 down to a gurney. A medical officer will insert an intravenous catheter into his arm, and run a saline solution through it. Then the witnesses will be escorted to the execution chamber. When everyone is in place, the warden10 will ask him to make any last statement …'
The host of the show chuckles11 when she says that. 'Heck,' he says, 'I'd recite War and Peace as my last statement!' Taylor just laughs. She still has that killer13 laugh.
I've seen a whole lot of Taylor these last weeks, actually. First I saw her on Today, then she was with Letterman, talking about her bravery, and our kind of relationship together. I never realized we got so close, until I saw her talking about it. She came out in November Penthouse too, real pretty pictures taken at the prison museum. That's where they keep 'Old Sparky', the State's first electric chair. November Penthouse has these pictures of Taylor posing around Old Sparky, real fetching, if it's not too bold to say. I have one posted in my cell, not the whole body or anything, just the face. You can see a piece of the chair too, in back. I guess lethal injection wouldn't look so good for modeling, like with Taylor draped over the gurney or something.
On the bench in my cell I have one of those ole distractions14 with the metal balls that hang on fishing wire, in a row, and clack into each other. Next to it sits my towel, with my art project tools hidden under. Yeah, I still hide things under my laundry. Some habits are a real challenge to break. Then, next to my towel, is the baby TV Vaine Gurie loaned me. I reach up and change the channel.
'The Ledesma man is wrong, is criminel, they are many more fax hiden than come out in court.' It's my ole attorney, Abdini, speaking to a panel of ladies on local TV. Lookit ole Ricochet there, my man the underdog. He's dressed like for a Turkish disco.
'Vernon Little's appeal is in process now, isn't it?' asks the hostess.
'It is,' says another lady, 'but it's not looking good.'
'Police neber fine the other way-upon, for instants,' continues Abdini.
'Excuse me?' says one of the panel.
'I think he means they never found that other weapon,' prompts her colleague.
The ladies all laugh politely, but Abdini just scowls16 at the camera. 'I will fine it …'
I flick5 channels again, to see who else is on the gravy17 train. On another show, a reporter talks to Lally. 'But what do you say to those sectors18 of the community that accuse you of trash-mongering?'
'Tch, nonsense,' says Lally. 'First, the broadcast itself is a nonprofit venture. Revenues flow right back to the State, instead of taxpayers19' money flowing out to support some of the worst criminals in the land. Second, it upholds our basic right to see justice being done.'
'So you're effectively proposing to fund the State's penal20 system by selling broadcast rights to the prisoners' executions? I mean - isn't a prisoner's last hour a little personal?'
'Not at all - don't forget that all executions are witnessed, even today. We're simply expanding the audience to include anyone with an interest in the proper function of law.' Lally puts a hand on his hip3. 'Not so long ago, Bob, all executions were public - even held in the town square. Crime went down, public satisfaction went up. Throughout history it's been society's right to punish delinquents21 by its own hand. It makes plain sense to give that right back to society.'
'Hence the web-vote?'
'Exactly. And we're not just talking executions here - were talking the ultimate reality TV, where the public can monitor, via cable or internet, prisoners' whole lives on death row. They can live amongst them, so to speak, and make up their own minds about a convict's worthiness22 for punishment. Then each week, viewers across the globe can cast a vote to decide which prisoner is executed next. It's humanity in action - the next logical step toward true democracy.'
'But surely, due process dictates24 the fate of prisoners?'
'Absolutely, and we can't tamper25 with that. But the new fast-track appeals process means prisoners' last recourses at law are spent much sooner, after which I say the public should have a hand in the roster26 of final events.' Lally lets fly a hooshy laugh at the reporter, and spreads his hands wide. 'In the tradition of momentous27 progress, it's blindingly simple, Bob: criminals cost money. Popular TV makes money. Criminals are popular on TV. Put them together and, presto28 - problem solved.'
The reporter pauses as a helicopter settles in the background. Then he asks, 'What do you say to those who claim prisoners' rights will be breached29?'
'Oh please - prisoners, by definition, live in forfeit30 of their rights. Anyway, cons31 today can languish32 in institutions for years without knowing their fate - wouldn't you say that was cruel? We're finally giving them what the law has always promised but never delivered - expediency33. Not only that, they'll have greater access to spiritual counsel, and musical choices to accompany their final event. We'll even craft a special segment around their final statement, with the background imagery of their choice. Believe me - prisoners will welcome these changes.'
The reporter smiles and nods at Lally. 'And what of reports that you're gearing up for a shot at the senate?'
I switch off the set. I ain't looking forward to cameras in here. We just have an open toilet, see? I guess that's where the money gets made. Internet viewers will be able to choose which cells to watch, and change camera angles and all. On regular TV there'll be edited highlights of the day's action. Then the general public will vote by phone or internet. They'll vote for who should die next. The cuter we act, the more we entertain, the longer we might live. I heard one ole con1 say it'd be just like the life of a real actor.
Before lights-out I sit up to play with the clacking metal balls, something I've been doing a lot of lately. Ella Bouchard mailed me a pome that I sometimes read too, about true hearts and what-all. I know it's spelled poem, but she don't, not yet anyway. I avoid the pome tonight, and just play with the cause-and-effect balls. Then Jones the guard brings the phone to my cell. The cell-phone is one good thing about Lally's operation. That, and cubicle34 doors in the shower block, and electronic cigarette lighters35, even though they don't give a flame.
I take the phone from Jonesy. 'Hello?'
'Well,' says Mom, 'I don't know who's been talking to Lally …'
'Who hasn't been talking to him, more like it.'
'Well don't get snotty Vernon, God. I'm just saying, that's all. People came snooping about your father, and they've been hassling the gals36 as well. You'd think Lally'd be busy enough, what with everything. Meantime I have to scrape up the money to do something about that damn bench, it sinks more every day …'
'Snooping?'
'Well, you know, asking why they never found your daddy's body and all. Lally's been so antsy since he dumped Georgette - even Pam and Vaine noticed it.'
'Vaine's in your club now, huh?'
'Well she's been through a lot, what with Lalicom pulling out of the SWAT team. The sheriff's taking all his home troubles out on her, and she's under real pressure to prove herself - you just don't empathize, Vernon.'
'There ain't a whole lot I can do, Ma.'
'I know, I'm just saying, that's all. If he'd only come home, things'd be different.'
'Don't wait up for him.'
'Well there's love at stake, a woman senses these nancies.'
'Nuances, Ma.'
'Oops - I have to run, Pam and Vaine just arrived, and I haven't finished the zipper37 on Pam's pants. Harris's is floating the e-store today and there are specials galore. Promise me you'll be okay …'
'Palmyra's wearing pants . . .?'
She hangs up. Taylor's voice oozes38 out of a TV in the next cell, so I go back to clacking the balls, just watching them. I have too much pain right now to work on my art project. Maybe later.
'Jeezus, Little,' screams a con up the row. 'Fuck up with yer cunted fuckin noise!'
He's an okay guy, the con. They're all cool, actually. They all planned a beer together, with ribs39 and steak, when they get to heaven. Or wherever. I still plan to have some here on earth, to be honest. The truth's still out there, virginal and waiting. Anyway, I don't take much notice of the row. That's one thing about these balls, once you set them clacking. You focus right in. Drop two balls, and an equal two clack off the other side; just this one metal ball in the middle passes on all the shock.
'Burnem Little you motherfuckin scroted cunt-ass7 shitsucker,' screams the con.
'Je-sus Ch-risst,' hollers Jonesy, 'keep it down, willya?'
'Jones,' says the con, 'I swear I'm gonna waste my fuckin self if he don't quit clickin them fuckin balls.'
'Chill out, the kid's entitled to a little diversion,' says the guard. 'Y'all know what it's like with an appeal pending40.' He's actually okay, ole Jonesy, though he's none too smart. Stops by my cell sometimes to tell me my pardon came through. 'Little, your pardon came through,' he says. Then he just laughs. I laugh too, these days.
'Jonesy, I ain't kiddin,' calls the con. 'That fuckin click, click, click goes on day and fuckin night, the kid's losin his sense - fix him a little time with Lasalle for chrissakes.'
'Oh yeah, like you give the orders around here. Gimme a fuckin million dollars and I'll think about it,' says Jones. 'Anyway, he don't need Lasalle. He don't need no Lasalle at all, now shut the fuck up.'
'Little,' screams the con, 'fuck your goddam appeal, I'll ream your ass with a fuckin Roto-Rooter if you don't quit them balls.'
'Hey,' barks Jones. 'What am I now tellin you?'
'Jonesy, the kid's bended up, he need some Lasalle to help him face his God.'
'Take more'n damn Lasalle to straighten this boy out,' says Jones. 'Git some sleep now, go on.'
'I have some goddam basic fuckin human rights in this fuckin joint41!' screams the con.
'Git to sleep goddammit,' barks Jonesy. 'I'll see what I can do.'
I go real quiet. Who's Lasalle? The idea of facing my God sticks in my brain like a burr.
A guard comes for me after breakfast and takes me out of my cell.
'Yeah, yeah,' go the cons as I shuffle42 along the row.
We go down some stairs into the lower tract15 of the building, which is like the bowels43, if it's not too rough to say, and end up in a dark, wet kind of corridor with only three cells running off it. The cells have no bars or windows, just these bank-vault kind of doors, with reinforced peepholes.
'If you wuzn't who you wuz, you wun't even be comin down here,' says the guard. 'Only you celebrity44 killers45 git to come down here.'
'What's down here?' I ask.
'Pastor Lasalle's down here.' He stops at the last door, and unlocks it with a set of keys.
'You lock the pastor in there?' I ask.
'I lock you in there.'
The guard flicks48 a switch outside the door, and a pale green light glows into the shadows of the cell. It's empty except for two metal bunk49 frames that fold out of the wall on each side.
'Siddown. Lasalle be along just now.'
He steps back into the corridor, throwing an eye into the gloom of the stairwell. After a minute you hear clinking and shuffling50, and an ole black man appears in a beat-up mechanic's cap, and regular gray shirt and pants. He wears a bemused kind of smile. You sense it's been around awhile.
'Knock when you want out,' the guard tells him, locking the door.
The ole black man unfolds the opposite bunk, and squeaks51 down onto the bare springs, as if I wasn't here. Then he pulls his cap down low, folds his hands in his lap, and shuts his eyes, real comfortable.
'So - you're a preacher?' I ask.
He doesn't answer. After a minute you hear a gentle wheezing52 from his nostrils53, and see his tongue laze around his mouth. Then his face nods onto his chest. He's asleep. I study him for about six decades, until I get bored of the shadows and the damp, then I slide off the bunk, and step away to knock for the guard.
Lasalle stirs behind me. 'Crusty young outcast,' he says, 'all brave and lonely, older than his years …'
My feet weld to the floor.
'Lopin away to hop54 another bus outta town.' I turn to see a yellow eye pop open and shine at me. 'Only one bus leaves these parts, son - and you know where it's goin.'
'Excuse me?' I stare at his ole slumped55 form, watch his lip hang dopey from his jaw56.
'Know why you down here with me?' he asks.
'They didn't say.' I sit back down on the opposite bunk, and slouch to see under the shadow of his cap. His eyes glisten57 through the dark.
'Only one reason, boy. Becausen you ain't ready to die.'
'I guess not,' I say.
'Becausen you spent all these years tryin to figure things out, and in figurin them out you got tangled58 up worse'n before.'
'How do you know?
'Becausen I'm human.' Lasalle creaks to the edge of his bunk. He takes a big pair of glasses from his shirt pocket, and puts them on. Huge moon eyes swim through the glass. 'How you feel about us humans?'
'Heck, I don't know anymore. Everybody's just yelling their heads off about their rights, and stuff, and saying, "Nice to see you," when they'd rather see you in the river with your neck cut. I know that much.'
'Boy, ain't it the truth,' says Lasalle with a chuckle12.
'Ain't it just? Folks lie without even thinking about it, like every day of their lives, "Sir, I woke up with a fever," then they spend the whole rest of their lives telling you not to lie …'
Lasalle shakes his head. 'Amen. Sounds to me like you plain don't want to associate with those people no more, you rather not even be around.'
'You're right there, Pastor.'
'Well,' he says, eyeing up the cell. 'You got your wish.'
That kind of hits me sideways. I sit up.
'What else did you wish for, son? I bet you wished you could shut your mama up once or twice before, I bet you dreamed of quittin home.'
'I guess I did …'
'Presto,' he says, opening out his hands. 'You lookin more and more lucky.'
'But, wait - that ain't the right logic23 …'
His eyes bore through me, a hardness comes to his voice. 'Ahhh, so you a logical boy. You all strung out on everybody else's lies, and everybody else's habits that you hate, becausen you logical. I bet you can't even tell me a thing you love.'
'Uh …'
'That cos you such a big man, all crusty and independent? Or wait, lemme guess - it's probably cozza you ole lady - I bet she the type of lady makes you feel guilty about the leastest thing, the type who probably gives the same dumb ole cards on you birthday, with puppy-dogs, and steam trains on 'em …'
That's her.'
Lasalle nods, and blows a little air through his lips. 'Boy that woman must be one stupid cunt. Must be the dumbest fuckin snatch-rag that ever roamed this earth, probably is so butt-spastic …'
'Hey, hey - you sure you're a pastor?'
'Boy, she one selfish fuckin piss-flap …'
'Wait, goddammit!'
There's a noise at the door, the peephole darkens. 'Keep it down,' says the guard.
I realize I'm on my feet, with my fists clenched59 tight. When I look back to Lasalle, he's smiling. 'No love, huh, kid?'
I sit down on the bunk. Velcro maggots crawl up my spine60.
'Lemme tell you something for free - you'll have a honey of a life if you love the people who love you first. Ever see your ma choose a birthday card for you?'
'No.'
He laughs. 'That's becausen there ain't the hours in a boy's agenda to watch her stand and read every little word in those cards, turn every feeling over in her soul. You probably too busy hiding the thing in you closet to read the words inside, about rays of sunshine the day you came into the world. Huh, Vernon Gregory?'
Heat comes to my eyes.
'You messed up, son. Face it.'
'But I didn't mean for anything to happen …'
'Stuff needed to happen, kid. Different stuff from this. You just ain't faced your God.' Lasalle goes to his pants pocket and pulls out a rag for me to wipe my eyes. I use my sleeve instead. He reaches over and wraps a wrinkly hand around mine. 'Son,' he says, 'ole Lasalle gonna tell you how it all work. Lasalle gonna give you the secret of this human life, and you gonna wonder why you never saw it before …'
As he says it, I hear movement in the corridor outside. Footsteps. Then Lally's voice.
收听单词发音 |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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distractions
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| n.使人分心的事[人]( distraction的名词复数 )；娱乐，消遣；心烦意乱；精神错乱 | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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scowls
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| 不悦之色，怒容( scowl的名词复数 ) | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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sectors
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| n.部门( sector的名词复数 )；领域；防御地区；扇形 | |
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taxpayers
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| 纳税人，纳税的机构( taxpayer的名词复数 ) | |
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penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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delinquents
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| n.（尤指青少年）有过失的人，违法的人( delinquent的名词复数 ) | |
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worthiness
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| 价值，值得 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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tamper
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| v.干预，玩弄，贿赂，窜改，削弱，损害 | |
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roster
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| n.值勤表，花名册 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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presto
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| adv.急速地；n.急板乐段；adj.急板的 | |
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breached
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| 攻破( breach的现在分词 )； 破坏，违反 | |
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forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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cons
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| n.欺骗，骗局( con的名词复数 )v.诈骗，哄骗( con的第三人称单数 ) | |
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languish
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| vi.变得衰弱无力，失去活力，（植物等）凋萎 | |
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expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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cubicle
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| n.大房间中隔出的小室 | |
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lighters
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| n.打火机，点火器( lighter的名词复数 ) | |
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gals
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| abbr.gallons （复数）加仑（液量单位）n.女孩，少女( gal的名词复数 ) | |
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zipper
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| n.拉链；v.拉上拉链 | |
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oozes
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的第三人称单数 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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killers
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| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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flicks
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的第三人称单数 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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51
squeaks
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| n.短促的尖叫声，吱吱声( squeak的名词复数 )v.短促地尖叫( squeak的第三人称单数 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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52
wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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53
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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54
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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55
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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56
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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57
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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58
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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59
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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