had been a week ago and for a few days things had been better； but since the
weekend things had been working back to normal — excuse me； abnormal。 It was bad
for the boy。
Her sense of grief washed over her again but she was on the walk now and she
smothered it。 Sweeping her dress under her and sitting down on the curb beside
him； she said： 〃What's up； doc？〃
He smiled at her but it was perfunctory。 〃Hi； Mom。〃
The glider was between his sneakered feet； and she saw that one of the wings
had started to splinter。
〃Want me to see what I can do with that； honey？〃
Danny had gone back to staring up the street。 〃No。 Dad will fix it。〃
〃Your daddy may not be back until suppertime； doc。 It's a long drive up into
those mountains。〃
〃Do you think the bug will break down？〃
〃No； I don't think so。〃 But he had just given her something new to worry
about。 Thanks； Danny。 I needed that。
〃Dad said it might；〃 Danny said in a matter…of…fact； almost bored manner。 〃He
said the fuel pump was all shot to shit。〃
〃Don't say that； Danny。〃
〃Fuel pump？〃 he asked her with honest surprise。
She sighed。 〃No； ‘All shot to shit。' Don't say that。〃
〃Why？〃
〃It's vulgar。〃
〃What's vulgar； Mom？〃
〃Like when you pick your nose at the table or pee with the bathroom door open。
Or saying things like ‘All shot to shit。' Shit is a vulgar word。 Nice people
don't say it。〃
〃Dad says it。 When he was looking at the bugmotor he said； ‘Christ this fuel
pump's all shot to sbit。' Isn't Dad nice？〃
How do you get into these things； Winnifred？ Do you practice？
〃He's nice； but he's also a grown…up。 And he's very careful not to say things
like that in front of people who wouldn't understand。〃
〃You mean like Uncle Al？〃
〃Yes； that's right。〃
〃Can I say it when I'm grown…up？〃
〃I suppose you will； whether I like it or not。〃
〃How old？〃
〃How does twenty sound； doc？〃
〃That's a long time to have to wait。〃
〃I guess it is； but will you try？〃
〃Hokay。〃
He went back to staring up the street。 He flexed a little； as if to rise； but
the beetle ing was much newer； and much brighter red。 He relaxed again。 She
wondered just how hard this move to Colorado had been on Danny。 He was
closemouthed about it； but it bothered her to see him spending so much time by
himself。 In Vermont three of Jack's fellow faculty members had had children
about Danny's age — and there had been the preschool — but in this neighborhood
there was no one for him to play with。 Most of the apartments were occupied by
students attending CU； and of the few married couples here on Arapahoe Street；
only a tiny percentage had children。 She had spotted perhaps a dozen of high
school or junior high school age； three infants； and that was all。
〃Mommy； why did Daddy lose his job？〃
She was jolted out of her reverie and floundering for an answer。 She and Jack
had discussed ways they might handle just such a question from Danny； ways that
had varied from evasion to the plain truth with no varnish on it。 But Danny had
never asked。 Not until now； when she was feeling low and least prepared for such
a question。 Yet he was looking at her； maybe reading the confusion on her face
and forming his own ideas about that。 She thought that to children adult motives
and actions must seem as bulking and ominous as dangerous animals seen in the
shadows of a dark forest。 They were jerked about like puppets； having only the
vaguest notions why。 The thought brought her dangerously close to tears again；
and while she fought them off she leaned over； picked up the disabled glider；
and turned it over in her hands。
〃Your daddy was coaching the debate team； Danny。 Do you remember that？〃
〃Sure；〃 he said。 〃Arguments for fun； right？〃
〃Right。〃 She turned the glider over and over； looking at the trade name
（SPEEDOGLIDE） and the blue star decals on the wings； and found herself telling
the exact truth to her son。
〃There was a boy named George Hatfield that Daddy had to cut from the team。
That means he wasn't as good as some of the others。 George said your daddy cut
him because he didn't like him and not because he wasn't good enough。 Then
George did a bad thing。 I think you know about that。〃
〃Was he the one who put the holes in our bug's tires？〃
〃Yes； he was。 It was after school and your daddy caught him doing it。〃 Now she
hesitated again； but there was no question of evasion now； it was reduced to
tell the truth or tell a lie。
〃Your daddy 。。。 sometimes he does things he's sorry for later。 Sometimes he
doesn't think the way he should。 That doesn't happen very often； but sometimes
it does。〃
〃Did he hurt George Hatfield like the time I spilled all his papers？〃
Sometimes —
（Danny with his arm in a cast）
— he does things he's sorry for later。
Wendy blinked her eyes savagely hard； driving her tears all the way back。
〃Something like that； honey。 Your daddy hit George to make him stop cutting
the tires and George hit his head。 Then the men who are in charge of the school
said that George couldn't go there anymore and your daddy couldn't teach there
anymore。〃 She stopped； out of words； and waited in dread for the deluge of
questions。
〃Oh；〃 Danny said； and went back to looking up the street。 Apparently the
subject was closed。 If only it could be closed that easily for her —
She stood up。 〃I'm going upstairs for a cup of tea； doc。 Want a couple of
cookies and a glass of milk？〃
〃I think I'll watch for Dad。〃
〃I don't think he'll be home much before five。〃
〃Maybe he'll be early。〃
〃Maybe；〃 she agreed。 〃Maybe he will。〃
She was halfway up the walk when he called； 〃Mommy？〃
〃What； Danny？〃
〃Do you want to go and live in that hotel for the winter？〃
Now； which of five thousand answers should she give to that one？ The way she
had felt yesterday or last night or this morning？ They were all different； they
crossed the spectrum from rosy pink to dead black。
She said： 〃If it's what your father wants； it's what I want。〃 She paused。
〃What about you？〃
〃I guess I do；〃 he said finally。 〃Nobody much to play with around here。〃
〃You miss your friends； don't you？〃
〃Sometimes I miss Scott and Andy。 That's about all。〃
She went back to him and kissed him； rumpled his lightcolored hair that was
just losing its baby…fineness。 He was such a solemn little boy； and sometimes
she wondered just how he was supposed to survive with her and Jack for parents。
The high hopes they had begun with came down to this unpleasant apartment
building in a city they didn't know。 The image of Danny in his cast rose up
before her again。 Somebody in the Divine Placement Service had made a mistake；
one she sometimes feared could never be corrected and which only the most
innocent bystander could pay for。
〃Stay out of the road； doc；〃 she said； and hugged him tight。
〃Sure； Mom。〃
She went upstairs and into the kitchen。 She put on the teapot and laid a
couple of Oreos on a plate for Danny in case he decided to e up while she was
lying down。 Sitting at the table with her big pottery cup in front of her； she
looked out the window at him； still sitting on the curb in his bluejeans and his
over…sized dark green Stovington Prep sweatshirt； the glider now lying beside
him。 The tears which had threatened all day now came in a cloudburst and she
leaned into the fragrant； curling steam of the tea and wept。 In grief and loss
for the past； and terror of the future。
》
WATSON
You lost your temper； Ullman had said。
〃Okay； here's your furnace；〃 Watson said； turning on a light in the dark；
musty…smelling room。 He was a beefy man with fluffy popcorn hair； white shirt；
and dark green chinos。 He swung open a small square grating in the furnace's
belly and he and Jack peered in together。 〃This here's the pilot light。〃 A
steady blue…white jet hissing steadily upward channeled destructive force； but
the key word； Jack thought； was destructive and not channeled： if you stuck your
hand in there； the barbecue would happen in three quick seconds。
Lost your temper。
（Danny； are you all right？）
The furnace filled the entire room； by far the biggest and oldest Jack had
ever seen。
〃The pilot's got a fail…safe；〃 Watson told him。 〃Little sensor in there
measures heat。 If the heat falls below a certain point； it sets off a buzzer in
your quarters。 Boiler's on the other side of the wall。 I'll take you around。〃 He
slammed the grating shut and led Jack behind the iron bulk of the furnace toward
another door。 The iron radiated a stuporous heat at them； and for some reason
Jack thought of a large； dozing cat。 Watson jingled his keys and whistled。
Lost your —
（When he went back into his study and saw Danny standing there； wearing
nothing but his training pants and a grin； a slow； red cloud of rage had
eclipsed Jack's reason。 It had seemed slow subjectively； inside his head； but it
must have all happened in less than a minute。 It only seemed slow the way some
dreams seem slow。 The bad ones。 Every door and drawer in his study seemed to
have been ransacked in the time he had been gone。 Closet； cupboards； the sliding
bookcase。 Every desk drawer yanked out to the stop。 His manuscript； the three…
act play he had been slowly developing from a novelette he had written seven
years ago as an under…graduate； was scattered all over the floor。 He had been
drinking a beer and doing the Act II corrections when Wendy said the phone was
for him； and Danny had poured the can of beer all over the pages。 Probably to
see it foam。 See it foam； see it foam； the words played over and over in his
mind like a single sick chord on an out…of…tune piano； pleting the circuit of
his rage。 He stepped deliberately toward his threeyear…old son； who was looking
up at him with that pleased grin； his pleasure at the job of work so
successfully and recently pleted in Daddy's study； Danny began to say
something and that was when he had grabbed Danny's hand and bent it to make him
drop the typewriter eraser and the mechanical pencil he was clenching in it。
Danny had cried out a little 。。。 no 。。。 no 。。。 tell the truth 。。。 he
screamed。 It was all hard to remember through the fog of anger； the sick single
thump of that one Spike Jones chord。 Wendy somewhere； asking what was wrong。 Her
voice faint； damped by the inner mist。 This was between the two of them。 He had
whirled Danny around to spank him； his big adult fingers digging into the scant
meat of the boy's forearm； meeting around it in a closed fist； and the snap of
the breaking bone had not been loud； not loud but it had been very loud； HUGE；
but not loud。 Just enough of a sound to slit through the red fog like an arrow —
but instead of letting in sunlight； that sound let in the dark clouds of shame
and remorse； the terror； the agonizing convulsion of the spirit。 A clean sound
with the past on one side of it and all the future on the other； a sound like a
breaking pencil lead or a small piece of kindling when you brought it down