520美书楼

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第4部分（第1页）

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　Dannys　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？　Dannys　answering　shriek；　then　Wendys　shocked　gasp　as　she　came　around

them　and　saw　the　peculiar　angle　Dannys　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　wouldnt　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　Jacks　right；　two　large　heating　pipes　came　through　the　wall　from　the　furnace

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