快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

　　But　fear　had　settled　around　his　heart；　deep　and　dreadful；　around　his　heart　and　
around　that　indecipherable　word　he　had　seen　in　his　spirit's　mirror。　
　
　
　
　
》　
　
　
PHONEBOOTH　
　
　
　　Jack　parked　the　VW　in　front　of　the　Rexall　in　the　Table　Mesa　shopping　center　
and　let　the　engine　die。　He　wondered　again　if　he　shouldn't　go　ahead　and　get　the　
fuel　pump　replaced；　and　told　himself　again　that　they　couldn't　afford　it。　If　the　
little　car　could　keep　running　until　November；　it　could　retire　with　full　honors　


　
　
anyway。　By　November　the　snow　up　there　in　the　mountains　would　be　higher　than　the　
beetle's　roof　。。。　maybe　higher　than　three　beetles　stacked　on　top　of　each　
other。　
　　〃Want　you　to　stay　in　the　car；　doc。　I'll　bring　you　a　candy　bar。〃　
　　〃Why　can't　I　e　in？〃　
　　〃I　have　to　make　a　phone　call。　It's　private　stuff。〃　
　　〃Is　that　why　you　didn't　make　it　at　home？〃　
　　〃Check。〃　
　　Wendy　had　insisted　on　a　phone　in　spite　of　their　unraveling　finances。　She　had　
argued　that　with　a　small　child　—　especially　a　boy　like　Danny；　who　sometimes　
suffered　from　fainting　spells　—　they　couldn't　afford　not　to　have　one。　So　Jack　had　
forked　over　the　thirty…dollar　installation　fee；　bad　enough；　and　a　ninety…dollar　
security　deposit；　which　really　hurt。　And　so　far　the　phone　had　been　mute　except　
for　two　wrong　numbers。　
　　〃Can　I　have　a　Baby　Ruth；　Daddy？〃　
　　〃Yes。　You　sit　still　and　don't　play　with　the　gearshift；　right？〃　
　　〃Right。　I'll　look　at　the　maps。〃　
　　〃You　do　that。〃　
　　As　Jack　got　out；　Danny　opened　the　bug's　glovebox　and　took　out　the　five　
battered　gas　station　maps：　Colorado；　Nebraska；　Utah；　Wyoming；　New　Mexico。　He　
loved　road　maps；　loved　to　trace　where　the　roads　went　with　his　finger。　As　far　as　
he　was　concerned；　new　maps　were　the　best　part　of　moving　West。　
　　Jack　went　to　the　drugstore　counter；　got　Danny's　candy　bar；　and　newspaper；　and　
a　copy　of　the　October　Writer's　Digest。　He　gave　the　girl　a　five　and　asked　for　his　
change　in　quarters。　With　the　silver　in　his　hand　he　walked　over　to　the　telephone　
booth　by　the　keymaking　machine　and　slipped　inside。　From　here　he　could　see　Danny　
in　the　bug　through　three　sets　of　glass。　The　boy's　head　was　bent　studiously　over　
his　maps。　Jack　felt　a　wave　of　nearly　desperate　love　for　the　boy。　The　emotion　
showed　on　his　face　as　a　stony　grimness。　
　　He　supposed　he　could　have　made　his　obligatory　thank…you　call　to　Al　from　home；　
he　certainly　wasn't　going　to　say　anything　Wendy　would　object　to。　It　was　his　
pride　that　said　no。　These　days　he　almost　always　listened　to　what　his　pride　told　
him　to　do；　because　along　with　his　wife　and　son；　six　hundred　dollars　in　a　
checking　account；　and　one　weary　1968　Volkswagen；　his　pride　was　all　that　was　
left。　The　only　thing　that　was　his。　Even　the　checking　account　was　joint。　A　year　
ago　he　had　been　teaching　English　in　one　of　the　finest　prep　schools　in　New　
England。　There　had　been　friends　—　although　not　exactly　the　same　ones　he'd　had　
before　going　on　the　wagon　—　some　laughs；　fellow　faculty　members　who　admired　his　
deft　touch　in　the　classroom　and　his　private　dedication　to　writing。　Things　had　
been　very　good　six　months　ago。　All　at　once　there　was　enough　money　left　over　at　
the　end　of　each　two…week　pay　period　to　start　a　little　savings　account。　In　his　
drinking　days　there　had　never　been　a　penny　left　over；　even　though　Al　Shockley　
had　stood　a　great　many　of　the　rounds。　He　and　Wendy　had　begun　to　talk　cautiously　
about　finding　a　house　and　making　a　down　payment　in　a　year　or　so。　A　farmhouse　in　
the　country；　take　six　or　eight　years　to　renovate　it　pletely；　what　the　hell；　
they　were　young；　they　had　time。　
　　Then　he　had　lost　his　temper。　
　　George　Hatfield。　


　
　
　　The　smell　of　hope　had　turned　to　the　smell　of　old　leather　in　Crommert's　office；　
the　whole　thing　like　some　scene　from　his　own　play：　the　old　prints　of　previous　
Stovington　headmasters　on　the　walls；　steel　engravings　of　the　school　as　it　had　
been　in　1879；　when　it　was　first　built；　and　in　1895；　when　Vanderbilt　money　had　
enabled　them　to　build　the　field　house　that　still　stood　at　the　west　end　of　the　
soccer　field；　squat；　immense；　dressed　in　ivy。　April　ivy　had　been　rustling　
outside　Crommert's　slit　window　and　the　drowsy　sound　of　steam　heat　came　from　the　
radiator。　It　was　no　set；　he　remembered　thinking。　It　was　real。　His　life。　How　
could　he　have　fucked　it　up　so　badly？　
　　〃This　is　a　serious　situation；　Jack。　Terribly　serious。　The　Board　has　asked　me　
to　convey　its　decision　to　you。〃　
　　The　Board　wanted　lack's　resignation　and　Jack　had　given　it　to　them。　Under　
different　circumstances；　he　would　have　gotten　tenure　that　June。　
　　What　had　followed　that　interview　in　Crommert's　office　had　been　the　darkest；　
most　dreadful　night　of　his　life。　The　wanting；　the　needing　to　get　drunk　had　never　
been　so　bad。　His　hands　shook。　He　knocked　things　over。　And　he　kept　wanting　to　
take　it　out　on　Wendy　and　Danny。　His　temper　was　like　a　vicious　animal　on　a　frayed　
leash。　He　had　left　the　house　in　terror　that　he　might　strike　them。　Had　ended　up　
outside　a　bar；　and　the　only　thing　that　had　kept　him　from　going　in　was　the　
knowledge　that　if　he　did；　Wendy　would　leave　him　at　last；　and　take　Danny　with　
her。　He　would　be　dead　from　the　day　they　left。　
　　Instead　of　going　into　the　bar；　where　dark　shadows　sat　sampling　the　tasty　
waters　of　oblivion；　he　had　gone　to　Al　Shockley's　house。　The　Board's　vote　had　
been　six　to　one。　Al　had　been　the　one。　
　　Now　he　dialed　the　operator　and　she　told　him　that　for　a　dollar　eighty…five　he　
could　be　put　in　touch　with　Al　two　thousand　miles　away　for　three　minutes。　Time　is　
relative；　baby；　he　thought；　and　stuck　in　eight　quarters。　Faintly　he　could　hear　
the　electronic　boops　and　beeps　of　his　connection　sniffing　its　way　eastward。　
　　Al's　father　had　been　Arthur　Longley　Shockley；　the　steel　baron。　He　had　left　his　
only　son；　Albert；　a　fortune　and　a　huge　range　of　investments　and　directorships　
and　chairs　on　various　boards。　One　of　these　had　been　on　the　Board　of　Directors　
for　Stovington　Preparatory　Academy；　the　old　man's　favorite　charity。　Both　Arthur　
and　Albert　Shockley　were　alumni　and　Al　lived　in　Barre；　close　enough　to　take　a　
personal　interest　in　the　school's　affairs。　For　several　years　Al　had　been　
Stovington's　tennis　coach。　
　　Jack　and　Al　had　bee　friends　in　a　pletely　natural　and　uncoincidental　way：　
at　the　many　school　and　faculty　functions　they　attended　together；　they　were　
always　the　two　drunkest　people　there。　Shockley　was　separated　from　his　wife；　and　
Jack's　own　marriage　was　skidding　slowly　downhill；　although　he　still　loved　Wendy　
and　had　promised　sincerely　（and　frequently）　to　reform；　for　her　sake　and　for　baby　
Danny's。　
　　The　two　of　them　went　on　from　many　faculty　parties；　hitting　the　bars　until　they　
closed；　then　stopping　at　some　mom　'n'　pop）　store　for　a　case　of　beer　they　would　
drink　parked　at　the　end　of　some　back　road。　There　were　mornings　when　Jack　would　
stumble　into　their　leased　house　with　dawn　seeping　into　the　sky　and　find　Wendy　
and　the　baby　asleep　on　the　couch；　Danny　always　on　the　inside；　a　tiny　fist　curled　
under　the　shelf　of　Wendy's　jaw。　He　would　look　at　them　and　the　self…loathing　
would　back　up　his　throat　in　a　bitter　wave；　even　stronger　than　the　taste　of　beer　


　
　
and　cigarettes　and　martinis　—　martians；　as　Al　called　them。　Those　were　the　times　
that　his　mind　would　turn　thoughtfully　and　sanely　to　the　gun　or　the　rope　or　the　
razor　blade。　
　　If　the　bender　had　occurred　on　a　weeknight；　he　would　sleep　for　three　hours；　get　
up；　dress；　chew　four　Excedrins；　and　go　off　to　teach　his　nine　o'clock　American　
Poets　still　drunk。　Good　morning；　kids；　today　the　Red…Eyed　Wonder　is　going　to　
tell　you　about　how　Longfellow　lost　his　wife　in　the　big　fire。　
　　He　hadn't　believed　he　was　an　alcoholic；　Jack　thought　as　Al's　telephone　began　
ringing　in　his　ear。　The　classes　he　had　missed　or　taught　unshaven；　still　reeking　
of　last　night's　martians。　Not　me；　I　can　stop　anytime。　The　nights　he　and　Wendy　
had　passed　in　separate　beds。　Listen；　I'm　fine。　Mashed　fenders。　Sure　I'm　okay　to　
drive。　The　tears　she　always　shed　in　the　bathroom。　Cautious　looks　from　his　
colleagues　at　any　party　where　alcohol　was　served；　even　wine。　The　slowly　dawning　
realization　that　he　was　being　talked　about。　The　knowledge　that　he　was　producing　
nothing　at　his　Underwood　but　balls　of　mostly　blank　paper　that　ended　up　in　the　
wastebasket。　He　had　been　something　of　a　catch　for　Stovington；　a　slowly　blooming　
American　writer　perhaps；　and　certainly　a　man　well　qualified　to　teach　that　great　
mystery；　creative　writing。　He　had　published　two　dozen　short　stories。　He　was　
working　on　a　play；　and　thought　there　might　be　a　novel　incubating　in　some　mental　
back　room。　But　now　he　was　not　producing　and　his　teaching　had　bee　erratic。　
　　It　had　finally　ended　one　night　less　than　a　month　after　Jack　had　broken　his　
son's　arm。　That；　it　seemed　to　him；　had　ended　his　marriage。　All　that　remained　was　
for　Wendy　to　gather　her　will　。。。　if　her　mother　hadn't　been　such　a　grade　A　
bitch；　he　knew；　Wendy　would　have　taken　a　bus　back　to　New　Hampshire　as　soon　as　
Danny　had　been　okay　to　travel。　It　was　over。　
　　It　had　been　a　little　past　midnight。　Jack　and　Al　were　ing　into　Barre　on　U。S。　
31；　Al　behind　the　wheel　of　his　Jag；　shifting　fancily　on　the　curves；　sometimes　
crossing　the　double　yellow　line。　They　were　both　very　drunk；　the　martians　had　
landed　that　night　in　force。　They　came　around　the　last　curve　before　the　bridge　at　
seventy；　and　there　was　a　kid's　bike　in　the　road；　and　then　the　sharp；　hurt　
squealing　as　rubber　shredded　from　the　Jag's　tires；　and　Jack　remembered　seeing　
Al's　face　looming　over　the　steering　wheel　like　a　round　white　moon。　Then　the　
jingling　crashing　sound　as　they　hit　the　bike　at　forty；　and　it　had　flown　up　like　
a　bent　and　twisted　bird；　the　handlebars　striking　the　windshield；　and　then　it　was　
in　the　air　again；　leaving　the　starred　safety　glass　in　front　of　Jack's　bulging　
eyes。　A　moment　later　he　heard　the　final　dreadful　smash　as　it　landed　on　the　road　
behind　them。　Something　thumped　underneath　them　as　the　tires　passed　over　it。　The　
Jag　drifted　around　broadside；　Al　still　jockeying　the　wheel；　and　from　far　away　
Jack　heard　himself　saying：　〃Jesus；　Al。　We　ran　him　down。　I　felt　it。〃　
　　In　his　ear　the　phone　kept　ringing。　e　on；　Al。　Be　home。　Let　me　get　this　over　
with。　
　　Al　had　brought　the　car　to　a　smoking　halt　not　more　than　three　feet　from　a　
bridge　stanchion。　Two　of　the　Jag's　tires　were　flat。　They　had　left　zigzagging　
loops　of　burned　rubber　for　a　hundred　and　thirty　feet。　They　looked　at　each　other　
for　a　moment　and　then　ran　back　in　the　cold　darkness。　
　　The　bike　was　pletely　ruined。　One　wheel　was　gone；　and　looking　back　over　his　
shoulder　Al　had　seen　it　lying　in　the　middle　of　the　road；　half　a　dozen　spokes　
sticking　up　like　piano　wire。　Al　had　said　hesitantly：　〃I　think　that's　what　we　ran　


　
　
over；　Tacky…boy。〃　
　　〃Then　where's　the　kid？〃　
　　〃Did　you　see　a　kid？〃　
　　Jack　frowned。　It　had　all　happened　with　such　crazy　speed。　ing　around　the　
corner。　The　bike　looming　in　the　Jag's　headlights。　Al　yelling　something。　Then　the　
collision　and　the　long　skid。　
　　They　moved　the　bike　to　one　shoulder　of　the　road。　Al　went　back　to　the　Jag　and　
put　on　its　four…way　flashers。　For　the　next　two　hours　they　searched　the　sides　of　
the　road；　using　a　powerful　four…cell　flashlight。　Nothing。　Although　it　was　late；　
several　cars　passed　the　beached　Jaguar　and　the　two　men　with　the　bobbing　
flashlight。　None　of　them　stopped。　Jack　thought　later　that　some　queer　providence；　
bent　on　giving　them　both　a　last　chance；　had　kept　the　cops　away；　had　kept　any　of　
the　passersby　from　calling　them。　
　　At　quarter　past　two　they　returned　to　the　Jag；　sober　but　queasy。　〃If　there　was　
nobody　riding　it；　what　was　it　doing　in　the　middle　of　the　road？〃　Al　demanded。　〃It　
wasn't　parked　on　the　side；　it　was　right　in　the　fucking　middle！〃　
　　Jack　could　only　shake　his　head。　
　　〃Your　party　does　not　answer；〃　the　operator　said。　〃Would　you　like　me　to　keep　on　
trying？〃　
　　〃A　couple　more　rings；　operator。　Do　you　mind？〃　
　　〃No；　sir；〃　the　voice　said　dutifully。　
　　e　on；　Al！　
　　Al　had　hiked　across　the　bridge　to　the　nearest　pay　phone；　called　a　bachelor　
friend　and　told　him　it　would　be　worth　fifty　dollars　if　the　friend　would　get　the　
Jag's　snow　tires　out　of　the　garage　and　bring　them　down　to　the　High