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； so