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fashionable flannels of the 1920s checked in and men in fashionable 1940s
double…breasted pinstripes checked out。 There would be three nuns sitting in
front of the fireplace as they waited for the check…out line to thin； and
standing behind them； nattily dressed with diamond stickpins holding their blue…
and…white…figured ties； Charles Grondin and Vito Gienelli discussed profit and
loss； life and death。 There were a dozen trucks in the loading bays out back；
some laid one over the other like bad time exposures。 In the east…wing ballroom；
a dozen different business conventions were going on at the same time within
temporal centimeters of each other。 There was a costume ball going on。 There
were soirees； wedding receptions； birthday and anniversary parties。 Men talking
about Neville Chamberlain and the Archduke of Austria。 Music。 Laughter。
Drunkenness。 Hysteria。 Little love； not here； but a steady undercurrent of
sensuousness。 And he could almost hear all of them together； drifting through
the hotel and making a graceful cacophony。 In the dining room where he stood；
breakfast； lunch； and dinner for seventy years were all being served
simultaneously just behind him。 He could almost 。。。 no； strike the almost。 He
could hear them； faintly as yet； but clearly — the way one can hear thunder miles
off on a hot summer's day。 He could hear all of them； the beautiful strangers。
He was being aware of them as they must have been aware of him from the very
start。
All the rooms of the Overlook were occupied this morning。
A full house。
And beyond the batwings； a low murmur of conversation drifted and swirled like
lazy cigarette smoke。 More sophisticated； more private。 Low； throaty female
laughter； the kind that seems to vibrate in a fairy ring around the viscera and
the genitals。 The sound of a cash register； its window softly lighted in the
warm halfdark； ringing up the price of a gin rickey； a Manhattan； a depression
bomber； a sloe gin fizz； a zombie。 The jukebox； pouring out its drinkers'
melodies； each one overlapping the other in time。
He pushed the batwings open and stepped through
〃Hello； boys；〃 Jack Torrance said softly。 〃I've been away but now I'm back。〃
〃Good evening； Mr。 Torrance；〃 Lloyd said； genuinely pleased。 〃It's good to see
you。〃
〃It's good to be back； Lloyd；〃 he said gravely； and hooked his leg over a
stool between a man in a sharp blue suit and a bleary…eyed woman in a black
dress who was peering into the depths of a singapore sling。
〃What will it be； Mr。 Torrance？〃
〃Martini；〃 he said with great pleasure。 He looked at the backbar with its rows
of dimly gleaming bottles； capped with their silver siphons。 Jim Beam。 Wild
Turkey。 Gilby's。 Sharrod's Private Label。 Toro。 Seagram's。 And home again。
〃One large martian； if you please；〃 he said。 〃They've landed somewhere in the
world； Lloyd。〃 He took his wallet out and laid a twenty carefully on the bar。
As Lloyd made his drink； Jack looked over his shoulder。 Every booth was
occupied。 Some of the occupants were dressed in costumes 。。。 a woman in gauzy
harem pants and a rhinestone…sparkled brassiere； a man with a foxhead rising
slyly out of his evening dress； a man in a silvery dog outfit who was tickling
the nose of a woman in a sarong with the puff on the end of his long tail； to
the general amusement of all。
〃No charge to you； Mr。 Torrance；〃 Lloyd said； putting the drink down on Jack's
twenty。 〃Your money is no good here。 Orders from the manager。〃
〃Manager？〃
A faint unease came over him； nevertheless he picked up the martini glass and
swirled it； watching the olive at the bottom bob slightly in the drink's chilly
depths。
〃Of course。 The manager。〃 Lloyd's smile broadened； but his eyes were socketed
in shadow and his skin was horribly white； like the skin of a corpse。 〃Later he
expects to see to your son's well…being himself。 He is very interested in your
son。 Danny is a talented boy。〃
The juniper fumes of the gin were pleasantly maddening； but they also seemed
to be blurring his reason。 Danny？ What was all of this about Danny？ And what was
he doing in a bar with a drink in his hand？
He had TAKEN THE PLEDGE。 He had GONE ON THE WAGON。 He had SWORN OFF。
What could they want with his son？ What could they want with Danny？ Wendy and
Danny weren't in it。 He tried to see into Lloyd's shadowed eyes； but it was too
dark； too dark； it was like trying to read emotion into the empty orbs of a
skull。
（It's me they must want 。。。 isn't it？ I am the one。 Not Danny； not Wendy。
I'm the one who loves it here。 They wanted to leave。 I'm the one who took care
of the snowmobile 。。。 went through the old records 。。。 dumped the press on
the boiler 。。。 lied 。。。 practically sold my soul 。。。 what can they want
with him？）
〃Where is the manager？〃 He tried to ask it casually but his words seemed to
e out between lips already numbed by the first drink； like words from a
nightmare rather than those in a sweet dream。
Lloyd only smiled。
〃What do you want with my son？ Danny's not in this 。。。 is he？〃 He heard the
naked plea in his own voice。
Lloyd's face seemed to be running； changing； being something pestilent。 The
white skin being a hepatitic yellow； cracking。 Red sores erupting on the
skin； bleeding foul smelling liquid。 Droplets of blood sprang out on Lloyd's
forehead like sweat and somewhere a silver chime was striking the quarter…hour。
（Unmask； unmask！）
〃Drink your drink； Mr。 Torrance；〃 Lloyd said softly。 〃It isn't a matter that
concerns you。 Not at this point。〃
He picked his drink up again； raised it to his lips； and hesitated。 He heard
the hard； horrible snap as Danny's arm broke。 He saw the bicycle flying brokenly
up over the hood of Al's car； starring the windshield。 He saw a single wheel
lying in the road； twisted spokes pointing into the sky like jags of piano wire。
He became aware that all conversation had stopped。
He looked back over his shoulder。 They were all looking at him expectantly；
silently。 The man beside the woman in the sarong had removed his foxhead and
Jack saw that it was Horace Derwent； his pallid blond hair spilling across his
forehead。 Everyone at the bar was watching； too。 The woman beside him was
looking at him closely； as if trying to focus。 Her dress had slipped off one
shoulder and looking down he could see a loosely puckered nipple capping one
sagging breast。 Looking back at her face he began to think that this might be
the woman from 217； the one who had tried to strangle Danny。 On his other hand；
the man in the sharp blue suit had removed a small pearl…handled 。32 from his
jacket pocket and was idly spinning it on the bar； like a man with Russian
roulette on his mind。
（I want — ）
He realized the words were not passing through his frozen vocal cords and
tried again。
〃I want to see the manager。 I 。。。 I don't think he understands。 My son is
not a part of this。 He 。。。 〃
〃Mr。 Torrance；〃 Lloyd said； his voice ing with hideous gentleness from
inside his plague…raddled face； 〃you will meet the manager in due time。 He has；
in fact； decided to make you his agent in this matter。 Now drink your drink。〃
〃Drink your drink；〃 they all echoed。
He picked it up with a badly trembling hand。 It was raw gin。 He looked into
it； and looking was like drowning。
The woman beside him began to sing in a flat； dead voice： 〃Roll 。。。 out。。。
the barrel 。。。 and we'll have。。。 a barrel 。。。 of fun。。。〃
Lloyd picked it up。 Then the man in the blue suit。 The dog…man joined in；
thumping one paw against the table
〃Now's the time to roll the barrel — 〃
Derwent added his voice to the rest。 A cigarette was cocked in one corner of
his mouth at a jaunty angle。 His right arm was around the shoulders of the woman
in the sarong； and his right band was gently and absently stroking her right
breast。 He was looking at the dog…man with amused contempt as he sang。
〃 — because the gang's 。。。 all 。。。 here！〃
Jack brought the drink to his mouth and downed it in three long gulps； the gin
highballing down hi