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irreverent　and　very　private　glee。　The　job　was　good　for　forty　a　week；　and　
skyrocketed　all　the　way　up　to　sixty　during　the　two　months　she　spent　typing　the　
unsuccessful　novel。　They　had　their　first　car；　a　five…year…old　Buick　with　a　baby　
seat　in　the　middle。　Bright；　upwardly　mobile　young　marrieds。　Danny　forced　a　
reconciliation　between　her　and　her　mother；　a　reconciliation　that　was　always　
tense　and　never　happy；　but　a　reconciliation　all　the　same。　When　she　took　Danny　to　
the　house；　she　went　without　Jack。　And　she　didn't　tell　Jack　that　her　mother　
always　remade　Danny's　diapers；　frowned　over　his　formula；　could　always　spot　the　


　
　
accusatory　first　signs　of　a　rash　on　the　baby's　bottom　or　privates。　Her　mother　
never　said　anything　overtly；　but　the　message　came　through　anyway：　the　price　she　
had　begun　to　pay　（and　maybe　always　would）　for　the　reconciliation　was　the　feeling　
that　she　was　an　inadequate　mother。　It　was　her　mother's　way　of　keeping　the　
thumbscrews　handy。　
　　During　the　days　Wendy　would　stay　home　and　housewife；　feeding　Danny　his　bottles　
in　the　sunwashed　kitchen　of　the　four…room　second…story　apartment；　playing　her　
records　on　the　battered　portable　stereo　she　had　had　since　high　school。　Jack　
would　e　home　at　three　（or　at　two　if　he　felt　he　could　cut　his　last　class）；　and　
while　Danny　slept　he　would　lead　her　into　the　bedroom　and　fears　of　inadequacy　
would　be　erased。　
　　At　night　while　she　typed；　he　would　do　his　writing　and　his　assignments。　In　
those　days　she　sometimes　came　out　of　the　bedroom　where　the　typewriter　was　to　
find　both　of　them　asleep　on　the　studio　couch；　Jack　wearing　nothing　but　his　
underpants；　Danny　sprawled　fortably　on　her　husband's　chest　with　his　thumb　in　
his　mouth。　She　would　put　Danny　in　his　crib；　then　read　whatever　Jack　had　written　
that　night　before　waking　him　up　enough　to　e　to　bed。　
　　The　best　bed；　the　best　year。　
　
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Sun　gonna　shine　in　my　backyard　someday　。。。　
　
　　In　those　days；　Jack's　drinking　had　still　been　well　in　hand。　On　Saturday　nights　
a　bunch　of　his　fellow　students　would　drop　over　and　there　would　be　a　case　of　beer　
and　discussions　in　which　she　seldom　took　part　because　her　field　had　been　
sociology　and　his　was　English：　arguments　over　whether　Pepys's　diaries　were　
literature　or　history；　discussions　of　Charles　Olson's　poetry；　sometimes　the　
reading　of　works　in　progress。　Those　and　a　hundred　others。　No；　a　thousand。　She　
felt　no　real　urge　to　take　part；　it　was　enough　to　sit　in　her　rocking　chair　beside　
Jack；　who　sat　cross…legged　on　the　floor；　one　hand　holding　a　beer；　the　other　
gently　cupping　her　calf　or　braceleting　her　ankle。　
　　The　petition　at　UNH　had　been　fierce；　and　Jack　carried　an　extra　burden　in　
his　writing。　He　put　in　at　least　an　hour　at　it　every　night。　It　was　his　routine。　
The　Saturday　sessions　were　necessary　therapy。　They　let　something　out　of　him　that　
might　otherwise　have　swelled　and　swelled　until　he　burst。　
　　At　the　end　of　his　grad　work　he　had　landed　the　job　at　Stovington；　mostly　on　the　
strength　of　his　stories　—　four　of　them　published　at　that　time；　one　of　them　in　
Esquire。　She　remembered　that　day　clearly　enough；　it　would　take　more　than　three　
years　to　forget　it。　She　had　almost　thrown　the　envelope　away；　thinking　it　was　a　
subscription　offer。　Opening　it；　she　had　found　instead　that　it　was　a　letter　
saying　that　Esquire　would　like　to　use　Jack's　story　〃Concerning　the　Black　Holes〃　
early　the　following　year。　They　would　pay　nine　hundred　dollars；　not　on　
publication　but　on　acceptance。　That　was　nearly　half　a　year's　take　typing　papers　
and　she　had　flown　to　the　telephone；　leaving　Danny　in　his　high　chair　to　goggle　
ically　after　her；　his　face　lathered　with　creamed　peas　and　beef　puree。　
　　Jack　had　arrived　from　the　university　forty…five　minutes　later；　the　Buick　
weighted　down　with　seven　friends　and　a　keg　of　beer。　After　a　ceremonial　toast　
（Wendy　also　had　a　glass；　although　she　ordinarily　had　no　taste　for　beer）；　Jack　
had　signed　the　acceptance　letter；　put　it　in　the　return　envelope；　and　went　down　


　
　
the　block　to　drop　it　in　the　letter　box。　When　he　came　back　he　stood　gravely　in　
the　door　and　said；　〃Veni；　vidi；　vici。〃　There　were　cheers　and　applause。　When　the　
keg　was　empty　at　eleven　that　night；　Jack　and　the　only　two　others　who　were　still　
ambulatory　went　on　to　hit　a　few　bars。　
　　She　had　gotten　him　aside　in　the　downstairs　hallway。　The　other　two　were　already　
out　in　the　car；　drunkenly　singing　the　New　Hampshire　fight　song。　Jack　was　down　on　
one　knee；　owlishly　fumbling　with　the　lacings　of　his　moccasins。　
　　〃Jack；〃　she　said；　〃you　shouldn't。　You　can't　even　tie　your　shoes；　let　alone　
drive。〃　
　　He　stood　up　and　put　his　hands　calmly　on　her　shoulders。　〃Tonight　I　could　fly　to　
the　moon　if　I　wanted　to。〃　
　　〃No；〃　she　said。　〃Not　for　all　the　Esquire　stories　in　the　world。〃　
　　〃I'll　be　home　early。〃　
　　But　he　hadn't　been　home　until　four　in　the　morning；　stumbling　and　mumbling　his　
way　up　the　stairs；　waking　Danny　up　when　he　came　in。　He　had　tried　to　soothe　the　
baby　and　dropped　him　on　the　floor。　Wendy　had　rushed　out；　thinking　of　what　her　
mother　would　think　if　she　saw　the　bruise　before　she　thought　of　anything　else　—　　
God　help　her；　God　help　them　both　—　and　then　picked　Danny　up；　sat　in　the　rocking　
chair　with　him；　soothed　him。　She　had　been　thinking　of　her　mother　for　most　of　the　
five　hours　Jack　had　been　gone；　her　mother's　prophecy　that　Jack　would　never　e　
to　anything。　Big　ideas；　her　mother　had　said。　Sure。　The　welfare　lines　are　full　of　
educated　fools　with　big　ideas。　Did　the　Esquire　story　make　her　mother　wrong　or　
right？　Winnifred；　you're　not　holding　that　baby　right。　Give　him　to　me。　And　was　
she　not　holding　her　husband　right？　Why　else　would　he　take　his　joy　out　of　the　
house？　A　helpless　kind　of　terror　had　risen　up　in　her　and　it　never　occurred　to　
her　that　he　had　gone　out　for　reasons　that　had　nothing　to　do　with　her。　
　　〃Congratulations；〃　she　said；　rocking　Danny　—　he　was　almost　asleep　again。　〃Maybe　
you　gave　him　a　concussion。〃　
　　〃It's　just　a　bruise。〃　He　sounded　sulky；　wanting　to　be　repentant：　a　little　boy。　
For　an　instant　she　hated　him。　
　　〃Maybe；〃　she　said　tightly。　〃Maybe　not。〃　She　heard　so　much　of　her　mother　
talking　to　her　departed　father　in　her　own　voice　that　she　was　sickened　and　
afraid。　
　　〃Like　mother　like　daughter；〃　Jack　muttered。　
　　〃Go　to　bed！〃　she　cried；　her　fear　ing　out　sounding　like　anger。　〃Go　to　bed；　
you're　drunk！〃　
　　〃Don't　tell　me　what　to　do。〃　
　　〃Jack　。。。　please；　we　shouldn't　。。。　it　。。。〃　There　were　no　words。　
　　〃Don't　tell　me　what　to　do；〃　he　repeated　sullenly；　and　then　went　into　the　
bedroom。　She　was　left　alone　in　the　rocking　chair　with　Danny；　who　was　sleeping　
again。　Five　minutes　later　Jack's　snores　came　floating　out　to　the　living　room。　
That　had　been　the　first　night　she　had　slept　on　the　couch。　
　　Now　she　turned　restlessly　on　the　bed；　already　dozing。　Her　mind；　freed　of　any　
linear　order　by　encroaching　sleep；　floated　past　the　first　year　at　Stovington；　
past　the　steadily　worsening　times　that　had　reached　low　ebb　when　her　husband　had　
broken　Danny's　arm；　to　that　morning　in　the　breakfast　nook。　
　　Danny　outside　playing　trucks　in　the　sandpile；　his　arm　still　in　the　cast。　Jack　
sitting　at　the　table；　pallid　and　grizzled；　a　cigarette　jittering　between　his　


　
　
fingers。　She　had　decided　to　ask　him　for　a　divorce。　She　had　pondered　the　question　
from　a　hundred　different　angles；　had　been　pondering　it　in　fact　for　the　six　
months　before　the　broken　arm。　She　told　herself　she　would　have　made　the　decision　
long　ago　if　it　hadn't　been　for　Danny；　but　not　even　that　was　necessarily　true。　
She　dreamed　on　the　long　nights　when　Jack　was　out；　and　her　dreams　were　always　of　
her　mother's　face　and　of　her　own　wedding。　
　　（Who　giveth　this　woman？　Her　father　standing　in　his　best　suit　which　was　none　
too　good　—　he　was　a　traveling　salesman　for　a　line　of　canned　goods　that　even　then　
was　going　broke　—　and　his　tired　face；　how　old　he　looked；　how　pale：　I　do。）　
　　Even　after　the　accident　—　if　you　could　call　it　an　accident　—　she　had　not　been　
able　to　bring　it　all　the　way　out；　to　admit　that　her　marriage　was　a　lopsided　
defeat。　She　had　waited；　dumbly　hoping　that　a　miracle　would　occur　and　Jack　would　
see　what　was　happening；　not　only　to　him　but　to　her。　But　there　had　been　no　
slowdown。　A　drink　before　going　off　to　the　Academy。　Two　or　three　beers　with　lunch　
at　the　Stovington　House。　Three　or　four　martinis　before　dinner。　Five　or　six　more　
while　grading　papers。　The　weekends　were　worse。　The　nights　out　with　Al　Shockley　
were　worse　still。　She　had　never　dreamed　there　could　be　so　much　pain　in　a　life　
when　there　was　nothing　physically　wrong。　She　hurt　all　the　time。　How　much　of　it　
was　her　fault？　That　question　haunted　her。　She　felt　like　her　mother。　Like　her　
father。　Sometimes；　when　she　felt　like　herself　she　wondered　what　it　would　be　like　
for　Danny；　and　she　dreaded　the　day　when　he　grew　old　enough　to　lay　blame。　And　she　
wondered　where　they　would　go。　She　had　no　doubt　her　mother　would　take　her　in；　and　
no　doubt　that　after　a　year　of　watching　her　diapers　remade；　Danny's　meals　
recooked　and/or　redistributed；　of　ing　home　to　find　his　clothes　changed　or　his　
hair　cut　or　the　books　her　mother　found　unsuitable　spirited　away　to　some　limbo　in　
the　attic　。。。　after　half　a　year　of　that；　she　would　have　a　plete　nervous　
breakdown。　And　her　mother　would　pat　her　hand　and　say　fortingly；　Although　it's　
not　your　fault；　it's　all　your　own　fault。　You　were　never　ready。　You　showed　your　
true　colors　when　you　came　between　your　father　and　me。　
　　My　father；　Danny's　father。　Mine；　his。　
　　（Who　giveth　this　woman？　I　do。　Dead　of　a　heart　attack　six　months　later。）　
　　The　night　before　that　morning　she　had　lain　awake　almost　until　he　came　in；　
thinking；　ing　to　her　decision。　
　　The　divorce　was　necessary；　she　told　herself。　Her　mother　and　father　didn't　
belong　in　the　decision。　Neither　did　her　feelings　of　guilt　over　their　marriage　
nor　her　feelings　of　inadequacy　over　her　own。　It　was　necessary　for　her　son's　
sake；　and　for　herself；　if　she　was　to　salvage　anything　at　all　from　her　early　
adulthood。　The　handwriting　on　the　wall　was　brutal　but　clear。　Her　husband　was　a　
lush。　He　had　a　bad　temper；　one　he　could　no　longer　keep　wholly　under　control　now　
that　he　was　drinking　so　heavily　and　his　writing　was　going　so　badly。　Accidentally　
or　not　accidentally；　he　had　broken　Danny's　arm。　He　was　going　to　lose　his　job；　if　
not　this　year　then　the　year　after。　Already　she　had　noticed　the　sympathetic　looks　
from　the　other　faculty　wives。　She　told　herself　that　she　had　stuck　with　the　messy　
job　of　her　marriage　for　as　long　as　she　could。　Now　she　would　have　to　leave　it。　
Jack　could　have　full　visitation　rights；　and　she　would　want　support　from　him　only　
until　she　could　find　something　and　get　on　her　feet　—　and　that　would　have　to　be　
fairly　rapidly　because　she　didn't　know　how　long　Jack　would　be　able　to　pay　
support　money。　She　would　do　it　with　as　little　bitterness　as　possible。　But　it　had　


　
　
to　end。　
　　So　thinking；　she　had　fallen　off　into　her　own　thin　and　unrestful　sleep；　haunted　
by　the　faces　of　her　own　mother　and　father。　You're　nothing　but　a　home…wrecker；　
her　mother　said。　Who　giveth　this；　woman？　the　minister　said。　I　do；　her　father　
said。　But　in　the　bright　and　sunny　morning　she　felt　the　same。　Her　back　to　him；　
her　hands　plunged　in　warm　dishwater　up　to　the　wrists；　she　had　menced　with　the　
unpleasantness。　
　　〃I　want　to　talk　to　you　about　something　that　might　be　best　for　Danny　and　I。　For　
you　too；　maybe。　We　should　have　talked　about　it　before；　I　guess。〃　
　　And　then　he　had　said　an　odd　thing。　She　had　expected　to　discover　his　anger；　to　
provoke　the　bitterness；　the　recriminations。　She　had　expected　a　mad　dash　for　the　
liquor　cabinet。　But　not　this　soft；　almost　toneless　reply　that　was　so　unlike　him。　
It　was　almost　as　though　the　Jack　she　had　lived　with　for　six　years　had　never　e　
back　last　night　—　as　if　he　had　been　replaced　by　some　unearthly　doppelganger　that　
she　would　never　know　or　be　quite　sure　of。　
　　〃Would　you　do　something　for　me？　A　favor？〃　
　　〃What？〃　She　had　to　discipline　her　voice　strictly　to　keep　it　from　trembling。　
　　〃Let's　talk　about　it　in　a　week。　If　you　still　want　to〃　
　　And　she　had　agreed。　It　remained　unspoken　between　them。　During　that　week　he　had　
seen　Al　Shockley　more　than　ever；　b