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第8部分（第1页）

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　Shockleys　house。　The　Boards　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。

Als　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　mans　favorite　charity。　Both　Arthur

and　Albert　Shockley　were　alumni　and　Al　lived　in　Barre；　close　enough　to　take　a

personal　interest　in　the　schools　affairs。　For　several　years　Al　had　been

Stovingtons　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

Jacks　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

Dannys。

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　Wendys　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　oclock　American

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