第42部分(第1/7 頁)

bit　and　then　slipped　back　down　again。　He　twitched　a　little。　Consciousness；　like

the　receipts；　like　autumn　aspen　leaves；　seesawed　lazily　downward。

That　had　been　the　first　phase　of　his　relationship　with　his　father；　and　as　it

was　drawing　to　its　end　he　had　bee　aware　that　Becky　and　his　brothers；　all　of

them　older；　hated　the　father　and　that　their　mother；　a　nondescript　woman　who

rarely　spoke　above　a　mutter；　only　suffered　him　because　her　Catholic　upbringing

said　that　she　must。　In　those　days　it　had　not　seemed　strange　to　Jack　that　the

father　won　all　his　arguments　with　his　children　by　use　of　his　fists；　and　it　had

not　seemed　strange　that　his　own　love　should　go　hand…in…hand　with　his　fear：　fear

of　the　elevator　game　which　might　end　in　a　splintering　crash　on　any　given　night；

fear　that　his　father's　bearish　good　humor　on　his　day　off　might　suddenly　change

to　boarish　bellowing　and　the　smack　of　his　〃good　right　hand〃；　and　sometimes；　he

remembered；　he　had　even　been　afraid　that　his　father's　shadow　might　fall　over　him

while　he　was　at　play。　It　was　near　the　end　of　this　phase　that　he　began　to　notice

that　Brett　never　brought　his　dates　home；　or　Mike　and　Becky　their　chums。

Love　began　to　curdle　at　nine；　when　his　father　put　his　mother　into　the　hospital

with　his　cane。　He　had　begun　to　carry　the　cane　a　year　earlier；　when　a　car

accident　had　left　him　lame。　After　that　he　was　never　without　it；　long　and　black

and　thick　and　gold…headed。　Now；　dozing；　Jack's　body　twitched　in　a　remembered

cringe　at　the　sound　it　made　in　the　air；　a　murderous　swish；　and　its　heavy　crack

against　the　wall　。。。　or　against　flesh。　He　had　beaten　their　mother　for　no　good

reason　at　all；　suddenly