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pt wanting to take it out on Wendy and Danny。 His temper was like a vicious animal on a frayed leash。 He had left the house in terror that he might strike them。 Had ended up outside a bar； and the only thing that had kept him from going in was the 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 Shockley's house。 The Board's 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。
Al's 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 man's favorite charity。 Both Arthur and Albert Shockley were alumni and Al lived in Barre； close enough to take a personal interest in the school's affairs。 For several years Al had been Stovington's 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 Jack's 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 Danny's。
The two of them went on from many faculty parties； hitting the bars until they closed； then stopping at some mom 'n' pot） 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 Wendy's 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 o'clock American Poets still drunk。 Good morning； kids； today the Red…Eyed Wonder is going to tell you about how Longfellow lost his wife in the big fire。
He hadn't believed he was an alcoholic； Jack thought as Al's telephone began ringing in his ear。 The classes he had missed or taught unshaven； still reeking of last night's martians。 Not me； I can stop anytime。 The nights he and Wendy had passed in separate beds。 Listen； I'm fine。 Mashed fenders。 Sure I'm okay to drive。 The tears she always shed in the bathroom。 Cautious looks from his colleagues at any party where alcohol was served； even wine。 The slowly dawning realization that he was being talked about。 The knowledge that he was producing nothing at his Underwood but balls of mostly blank paper that ended up in the wastebasket。 He had been something of a catch for Stovington； a slowly blooming American writer perhaps； and certainly a man well qualified to teach that great mystery； creative writing。 He had published two dozen short stories。 He was working on a play； and thought there might be a novel incubating in some mental back room。 But now he was not producing and his teaching had bee erratic。
It had finally ended one night less than a month after Jack had broken his son's arm。 That； it seemed to him； had ended his marriage。 All that remained was for Wendy to gather her will 。 。 。 if her mother hadn't been such a grade A bitch； he knew； Wendy would have taken a bus back to New Hampshire as soon as Danny had been okay to travel。 It was over。
It had been a little past midnight。 Jack and Al were ing into Barre on U。S。
31； Al behind the wheel of his Jag； shifting fancily on the curves； sometimes crossing the double yellow line。 They were both very drunk； the martians had landed that night in force。 They came around the last curve before the bridge at seventy； and there was a kid's bike in the road； and then the sharp； hurt squealing as rubber shredded from the Jag's tires； and Jack remembered seeing Al's face looming over the steering wheel like a round white moon。 Then the jingling crashing sound as they hit the bike at forty； and it had flown up like a bent and twisted bird； the handlebars striking the windshield； and then it was in the air again； leaving the starred safety glass in front of Jack's bulging eyes。 A moment later he heard the final dreadful smash as it landed on the road behind them。 Something thumped underneath them as the tires passed over it。 The Jag drifted around broadside； Al still jockeying the wheel； and from far away Jack heard himself saying： 〃Jesus； Al。 We ran him down。 I felt it。〃 In his ear the phone kept ringing。 e on； Al。 Be home。 Let me get this over with。
Al had brought the car to a smoking halt not more than three feet from a bridge stanchion。 Two of the Jag's tires were flat。 They had left zigzagging loops of burned rubber for a hundred and thirty feet。 They looked at each other for a moment and then ran back in the cold darkness。
The bike was pletely ruined。 One wheel was gone； and looking back over his shoulder Al had seen it lying in the middle of the road； half a dozen spokes sticking up like piano wire。 Al had said hesitantly： 〃I think that's what we ran over； Tacky…boy。〃
〃Then where's the kid？〃
〃Did you see a kid？〃 Jack frowned。 It had all happened with such crazy speed。 ing around the corner。 The bike looming in the Jag's headlights。 Al yelling something。 Then the collision and the long skid。
They moved the bike to one shoulder of the road。 Al went back to the Jag and put on its four…way flashers。 For the next two hours they searched the sides of the road； using a powerful four…cell flashlight。 Nothing。 Although it was late； several cars passed the beached Jaguar and the two men with the bobbing flashlight。 None of them stopped。 Jack thought later that some queer providence； bent on giving them both a last chance； had kept the cops away； had kept any of the passersby from calling them。
At quarter past two they returned to the Jag； sober but queasy。 〃If there was nobody riding it； what was it doing in the middle of the road？〃 Al demanded。 〃It wasn't parked on the side； it was right in the fucking middle！〃 Jack could only shake his head。
〃Your party does not answer；〃 the operator said。 〃Would you like me to keep on trying？〃
〃A couple more rings； operator。 Do you mind？〃
〃No； sir；〃 the voice said dutifully。
e on； Al！
Al had hiked across the bridge to the nearest pay phone； called a bachelor friend and told him it would be worth fifty dollars if the friend would get the Jag's snow tires out of the garage and bring them down to the Highway 31 bridge outside of Barre。 The friend showed up twenty minutes later； wearing a pair of jeans and his pajama top。 He surveyed the scene。
〃Kill anybody？〃 he asked。
Al was already jacking up the back of the car and Jack was loosening lug nuts。
〃Providentially； no one；〃 Al said。
〃I think I'll just head on back anyway。 Pay me in the morning。〃
〃Fine；〃 Al said without looking up。
The two of them had gotten the tires on without incident； and together they drove back to AI Shockley's house。 Al put the Jag in the garage and killed the motor。
In the dark quiet he said： 〃I'm off drinking； Jacky…boy。 It's all over。 I've slain my last martian。〃 And now； sweating in this phonebootb； it occurred to lack that he had never doubted Al's ability to carry through。 He had driven back to his own house in the VW with the radio turned up； and some disco group chanted over and over again； talismanic in the house before dawn： Do it anyway 。 。 。 you wanta do it 。
。 。 do it anyway you want 。 。 。 No matter how loud he heard the squealing tires； the crash。 When he blinked his eyes shut； he saw that single crushed wheel with its broken spokes pointing at the sky。
When he got in； Wendy was asleep on the couch。 He looked in Danny's room and Danny was in his crib on his back； sleeping deeply； his arm still buried in the cast。 In the softly filtered glow from the streetlight outside he could see the dark lines on its plastered whiteness where all the doctors and nurses in pediatrics had signed it。
It was an accident。 He fell down the stairs。
（o you dirty liar） It was an accident。 l lost my temper。
（you fucking drunken waste god wiped snot out of his nose and that was you） Listen； hey； e on； please； just an accident… But the last plea was driven away by the image of that bobbing flashlight as they hunted through the dry late November weeds； looking for the sprawled body that by all good rights should have been