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like a pillow and his face to the wall。 His legs dangled off the end of the bunk from the shins on down； but that never seemed to bother him。 The back of his shirt had pulled up； and I could see the scars that crisscrossed his skin。
I left the cell； turned the locks； then faced Delacroix； who was standing across the way with his hands wrapped around the bars of his cell； looking at me anxiously。 Perhaps even fearfully。 Mr。 Jingles perched on his shoulder with his fine ents。 〃What dat darkie…man do to you？〃 Delacroix asked。 〃Waddit gris…gris？ He th'ow some gris…gris on you？〃 Spoken in that Cajun accent of his； gris…gris rhymed with pee…pee。
〃I don't know what you're talking about； Del。〃
〃Devil you don't！ Lookit you！ All change！ Even walk different； boss！〃
I probably was walking different； at that。 There was a beautiful feeling of calm in my groin； a sense of peace so remarkable it was almost eestasy … anyone who's suffered bad pain and then recovered will know what I'm talking about。
〃Everything's all right； Del；〃 I insisted。 〃John Coffey had a nightmare； that's all。〃
〃He a gris…gris man！〃 Delacroix said vehemently。 There was a nestle of sweat…beads on his upper lip。 He hadn't seen much； just enough to scare him half to death。 〃He a hoodoo man！〃
〃What makes you say that？〃
Delacroix reached up and took the mouse in one hand。 He cupped it in his palm and lifted it to his face。 From his pocket； Delacroix took out a pink fra
