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 over
your knee。 A moment of utter silence on the other side； in respect to the
beginning future maybe； all the rest of his life。 Seeing Danny's face drain of
color until it was like cheese； seeing his eyes； always large； grow larger
still； and glassy； Jack sure the boy was going to faint dead away into the
puddle of beer and papers； his own voice； weak and drunk； slurry； trying to take
it all back； to find a way around that not too loud sound of bone cracking and
into the past — is there a status quo in the house？ — saying： Danny； are you all
right？ Danny's answering shriek； then Wendy's shocked gasp as she came around
them and saw the peculiar angle Danny's forearm had to his elbow； no arm was
meant to hang quite that way in a world of normal families。 Her own scream as
she swept him into her arms； and a nonsense babble： Oh God Danny oh dear God oh
sweet God your poor sweet arm； and Jack was standing there； stunned and stupid；
trying to understand how a thing like this could have happened。 He was standing
there and his eyes met the eyes of his wife and he saw that Wendy hated him。 It
did not occur to him what the hate might mean in practical terms； it was only
later that he realized she might have left him that night； gone to a motel；
gotten a divorce lawyer in the morning； or called the police。 He saw only that
his wife hated him and he felt staggered by it； all alone。 He felt awful。 This
was what oning death felt like。 Then she fled for the telephone and dialed
the hospital with their screaming boy wedged in the crook of her arm and Jack
did not go after her； he only stood in the ruins of his office； smelling beer
and thinking — ）
You lost your temper。
He rubbed his hand harshly across his lips and followed Watson into the boiler
room。 It was humid in here； but it was more than the humidity that brought the
sick and slimy sweat onto his brow and stomach and legs。 The remembering did
that； it was a total thing that made that night two years ago seem like two
hours ago。 There was no lag。 It brought the shame and revulsion back； the sense
of having no worth at all； and that feeling always made him want to have a
drink； and the wanting of a drink brought still blacker despair — would he ever
have an hour； not a week or even a day； mind you； but just one waking hour when
the craving for a drink wouldn't surprise him like this？
〃The boiler；〃 Watson announced。 He pulled a red and blue bandanna from his
back pocket； blew his nose with a decisive honk； and thrust it back out of sight
after a short peek into it to see if he had gotten anything interesting。
The boiler stood on four cement blocks； a long and cylindrical metal tank；
copper…jacketed and often patched。 It squatted beneath a confusion of pipes and
ducts which zigzagged upward into the high； cobweb…festooned basement ceiling。
To Jack's right； two large heating pipes came through the wall from the furnace
in the adjoining room。
〃Pressure gauge is here。〃 Watson tapped it。 〃Pounds per square inch； psi。 I
guess you'd know that。