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to get a splinter。 Like how the only furniture in the Wagon is these long
benches with high backs and no cushions to sit on； and in fact they are nothing
but pews with a songbook every five feet or so。 Like how all the people sitting
in the pews on the Wagon are these flatchested el birdos in long dresses with a
little lace around the collar and their hair pulled back into buns until it's so
tight you can almost hear it screaming。 And every face is flat and pale and
shiny； and they're all singing ‘Shall we gather at the riiiiver； the beautiful；
the beautiful； the riiiiiver；' and up front there's this reekin bitch with blond
hair playing the organ and tellin em to sing louder； sing louder。 And somebody
slams a songbook into your hands and says； ‘Sing it out； brother。 If you expect
to stay on this Wagon； you got to sing morning； noon； and night。 Especially at
night。' And that's when you realize what the Wagon really is； Lloyd。 It's a
church with bars on the windows； a church for women and a prison for you。〃
He stopped。 Lloyd was gone。 Worse still； he had never been there。 The drinks
had never been there。 Only the people in the booths； the people from the costume
party； and he could almost hear their muffled laughter as they held their hands
to their mouths and pointed； their eyes sparkling with cruel pinpoints of light。
He whirled around again。 〃Leave me — 〃
（alone？）
All the booths were empty。 The sound of laughter had died like a stir of
autumn leaves。 Jack stared at the empty lounge for a tick of time； his eyes wide
and dark。 A pulse beat noticeably in the center of his forehead。 In the very
center of him a cold certainty was forming and the certainty was that he was
losing his mind。 He felt an urge to pick up the bar stool next to him； reverse
it； and go through the place like an avenging whirlwind。 Instead he whirled back
around to the bar and began to bellow：
〃Roll me over
In the clo…ho…ver；
Roll me over； lay me down and do it again。〃
Danny's face rose before him； not Danny's normal face； lively and alert； the
eyes sparkling and open； but the catatonic； zombielike face of a stranger； the
eyes dull and opaque； the mouth pursed babyishly around his thumb。 What was he
doing； sitting here and talking to himself like a sulky teen…ager when his son
was upstairs； someplace； acting like something that belonged in a padded room；
acting the way Wally Hollis said Vic Stenger had been before the men in the
white coats had to e and take him away？
（But I never put a hand on him！ Goddammit； I didn't！）
〃Jack？〃 The voice was timid； hesitant。
He was so startled he almost fell off the stool whirling it around。 Wendy was
standing just inside the batwing doors； Danny cradled in her arms like some
waxen horror show dummy。 The three of them made a tableau that Jack felt very
strongly； it was just before the curtain of Act II in some oldtime temperance
play； one so poorly mounted that the prop man had forgotten to stock the shelves
of the Den of Iniquity。
〃I never touched him；〃 Jack said thickly。 〃I never have since the night I
broke his arm。 Not even to spank him。〃
〃Jack； that doesn't matter now。 What matters is 〃
〃This matters！〃 he shouted。 He brought one fist crashing down on the bar； hard
enough to make the empty peanut dishes jump。 〃It matters； goddammit； it matters！〃
〃Jack； we have to get him off the mountain。 He's 〃
Danny began to stir in her arms。 The slack； empty expression on his face had
begun to break up like a thick matte of ice over some buried surface。 His lips
twisted； as if at some weird taste。 His eyes widened。 His hands came up as if to
cover them and then dropped back。
Abruptly he stiffened in her arms。 His back arched into a bow； making Wendy
stagger。 And he suddenly began to shriek； mad sounds that escaped his straining
throat in bolt after crazy； echoing bolt。 The sound seemed to fill the empty
downstairs and e back at them like banshees。 There might have been a hundred
Dannys； all screaming at once。
〃Jack！〃 she cried in terror。 〃Oh God Jack what's wrong with him？〃
He came off the stool； numb from the waist down； more frightened than he had
ever been in his life。 What hole had his son poked through and into？ What dark
nest？ And what had been in there to sting him？
〃Danny！〃 he roared。 〃Danny！〃
Danny saw him。 He broke his mother's grip with a sudden； fierce strength that
gave her no chance to hold him。 She stumbled back against one of the booths and
nearly fell into it。
〃Daddy！〃 he screamed； running to Jack； his eyes huge and affrighted。 〃Oh Daddy
Daddy； it was her！ Her！ Her！ Oh Daaaaahdeee — 〃
He slammed into Jack's arms like a blunt arrow； making Jack rock on his feet。
Danny clutched at him furiously； at first seeming to pummel him like a fighter；
then clutching his belt and sobbing against his shirt。 Jack could feel his son's
face； hot and working； against his belly。
Daddy； it was her。
Jack looked slowly up into Wendy's face。 His eyes were like small silver
coins。
〃Wendy？〃 Voice soft； nearly purring。 〃Wendy； what did you do to him？〃
Wendy stared back at him in stunned disbelief； her face pallid。 She shook her
head。
〃Oh Jack； you must know — 〃
Outside it had begun to snow again。
》
KITCHEN TALK
Jack carried Danny into the kitchen。 The boy was still sobbing wildly；
refusing to look up from Jack's chest。 In the kitchen he gave Danny back to
Wendy； who still seemed stunned and disbelieving。
〃Jack； I don't know what he's talking about。 Please； you must believe that。〃
〃I do believe it；〃 he said； although he had to admit to himself that it gave
him a certain amount of pleasure to see the shoe switched to the other foot with
such dazzling； unexpected speed。 But his anger at Wendy had been only a passing
gut twitch。 In his heart he knew Wendy would pour a can of gasoline over herself
and strike a match before harming Danny。
The large tea kettle was on the back burner； poking along on low heat。 Jack
dropped a teabag into his own large ceramic cup and poured hot water halfway。
〃Got cooking sherry； don't you？〃 he asked Wendy。
〃What？ 。。。 oh； sure。 Two or three bottles of it。〃
〃Which cupboard？〃
She pointed； and Jack took one of the bottles down。 He poured a hefty dollop
into the teacup； put the sherry back； and filled the last quarter of the cup
with milk。 Then he added three tablespoons of sugar and stirred。 He brought it
to Danny； whose sobs had tapered off to snifflings and hitchings。 But he was
trembling all over； and his eyes were wide and starey。
〃Want you to drink this； doc；〃 Jack said。 〃It's going to taste frigging awful；
but it'll make you feel better。 Can you drink it for your daddy？〃
Danny nodded that he could and took the cup。 He drank a little； grimaced； and
looked questioningly at Jack。 Jack nodded and Danny drank again。 Wendy felt the
familiar twist of jealousy somewhere in her middle； knowing the boy would not
have drunk it for her。
On the heels of that came an unfortable； even startling thought： Had she
wanted to think Jack was to blame？ Was she that jealous？ It was the way her
mother would have thought； that was the really horrible thing。 She could
remember a Sunday when her Dad had taken her to the park and she had toppled
from the second tier of the jungle gym； cutting both knees。 When her father
brought her home； her mother had shrieked at him： What did you do？ Why weren't
you watching her？ What kind of a father are you？
（She had hounded him to his grave； by the time he divorced her it was too
late。）
She had never even given Jack the benefit of the doubt。 Not the smallest。
Wendy felt her face burn yet knew with a kind of helpless finality that if the
whole thing were to be played over again； she would do and think the same way。
She carried part of her mother with her always； for good or bad。
〃Jack — 〃 she began； not sure if she meant to apologize or justify。 Either； she
knew； would be useless。
〃Not now；〃 he said