Andy wasn‘t that way, but I was. The idea of seeing the Pacific sounded good, but I was
afraid that actually being there would scare me to death - the bigness of it
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 a casual 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 rar

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