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he called； and trotted up the steps； awkwardly carrying a big suitcase and a straining paper bag filled with sweaters。
4
Until he met Speedy Parker； Jack had moved through the days at the hotel as unconscious of the passage of time as a sleeping dog。 His entire life seemed almost dreamlike to him during these days； full of shadows and inexplicable transitions。 Even the terrible news about Uncle Tommy which had e down the telephone wires the night before had not entirely awakened him； as shocking as it had been。 If Jack had been a mystic； he might have thought that other forces had taken him over and were manipulating his mother's life and his own。 Jack Sawyer at twelve was a being who required things to do； and the noiseless passivity of these days； after the hubbub of Manhattan； had confused and undone him in some basic way。
Jack had found himself standing on the beach with no recollection of having gone there； no idea of what he was doing there at all。 He supposed he was mourning Uncle Tommy； but it was as though his mind had gone to sleep； leaving his body to fend for itself。 He could not concentrate long enough to grasp the plots of the sits he and Lily watched at night； much less keep the nuances of fiction in his head。
'You're tired from all this moving around；' his mother said； dragging deeply on a cigarette and squinting at him through the smoke。 'All you have to do； Jack…O； is relax for a little while。 This is a good place。 Let's enjoy it as long as we can。'
Bob Newhart； before them in a slightly too…reddish color on the set； bemusedly regarded a shoe he held in his right hand。
'That's what I'm doing； Jacky。' She smiled at him。 'Relaxing and enjoying it。'
He peeked at his watch。 Two hours had passed while they sat in front of the television； and he could not remember anything that had preceded this program。
Jack was getting up to go to bed when the phone rang。 Good old Uncle Morgan Sloat had found them。 Uncle Morgan's news was never very great； but this was apparently a blockbuster even by Uncle Morgan's standards。 Jack stood in the middle of the room； watching as his mother's face grew paler； palest。 Her hand crept to her throat； where new lines had appeared over the last few months； and pressed lightly。 She said barely a word until the end； when she whispered； 'Thank you； Morgan；' and hung up。 She had turned to Jack then； looking older and sicker than ever。
'Got to be tough now； Jacky； all right？'
He hadn't felt tough。
She took his hand then and told him。
'Uncle Tommy was killed in a hit…and…run accident this afternoon； Jack。' He gasped； feeling as if the wind had been torn out of him。
'He was crossing La Cienega Boulevard and a van hit him。 There was a witness who said it was black； and that the words WILD CHILD were written on the side； but that was 。 。 。 was all。' Lily began to cry。 A moment later； almost surprised； Jack began to cry as well。 All of that had happened three days ago； and to Jack it seemed forever。
5
On September 15th； 1981； a boy named Jack Sawyer stood looking out at the steady water as he stood on an unmarked beach before a hotel that looked like a castle in a Sir Walter Scott novel。 He wanted to cry but was unable to release his tears。 He was surrounded by death； death made up half the world； there were no rainbows。 The WILD CHILD van had subtracted Uncle Tommy from the world。 Uncle Tommy； dead in L。A。； too far from the east coast； where even a kid like Jack knew he really belonged。 A man who felt he had to put on a tie before going out to get a roast beef sandwich at Arby's had no business on the west coast at all。
His father was dead； Uncle Tommy was dead； his mother might be dying。 He felt death here； too； at Arcadia Beach； where it spoke through telephones in Uncle Morgan's voice。 It was nothing as cheap or obvious as the melancholy feel of a resort in the off…season； where one kept stumbling over the Ghosts of Summers Past； it seemed to be in the texture of things； a smell on the ocean breeze。 He was scared 。 。 。 and he had been scared for a long time。 Being here； where it was so quiet； had only helped him to realize it…had helped him to realize that maybe Death had driven all the way up I…95 from New York； squinting out through cigarette smoke and asking him to find some bop on the car radio。
He could remember…vaguely…his father telling him that he was born with an old head； but his head didn't feel old now。 Right now； his head felt very young。 Scared； he thought。 I'm pretty damn scared。 This is where the world ends； right？
Seagulls coursed the gray air overhead。 The silence was as gray as the air…as deadly as the growing circles under her eyes。
6
When he had wandered into Funworld and met Lester Speedy Parker after he did not quite know how many days of numbly drifting through time； that passive feeling of being on hold had somehow left him。 Lester Parker was a black man with crinkly gray hair and heavy lines cutting through his cheeks。 He was utterly unremarkable now despite whatever he had acplished in his earlier life as a travelling blues musician。 Nor had he said anything particularly remarkable。 Yet as soon as Jack had walked aimlessly into Funworld's game arcade and met Speedy's pale eyes he felt all the fuzziness leave him。 He had bee himself again。 It was as if a magical current had passed directly from the old man into Jack。 Speedy had smiled at him and said； 'Well； it looks like I got me some pany。 Little travellin man just walked in。'
It was true； he was not on hold anymore： just an instant before； he had seemed to be wrapped in wet wool and cotton candy； and now he was set free。 A silvery nimbus seemed to play about the old man for an instant； a little aureole of light which disappeared as soon as Jack blinked。 For the first time Jack saw that the man was holding the handle of a wide heavy push…broom。
'You okay； son？' The handyman put one hand in the small of his back； and stretched backward。 'The world just get worse； or did she get better？'
'Uh； better；' Jack said。
'Then you e to the right place； I'd say。 What do they call you？'
Little travellin man； Speedy had said that first day； ole Travellin Jack。 He had leaned his tall angular body against the Skee…Ball machine and wrapped his arms around the broom…handle as though it were a girl at a dance。 The man you see here is Lester Speedy Parker； formerly a travellin man hisself； son； hee hee…oh yeah； Speedy knew the road； he knew all the roads； way back in the old days。 Had me a band； Travellin Jack； played the blues。 Git…tar blues。 Made me a few records； too； but I won't shame you by asking if you ever heard em。 Every syllable had its own rhythmic lilt； every phrase its rimshot and backbeat； Speedy Parker carried a broom instead of a guitar； but he was still a musician。 Within the first five seconds of talking to Speedy； Jack had known that his jazz…loving father would have relished this man's pany。
He had tagged along behind Speedy for the better part of three or four days； watching him work and helping out when he could。 Speedy let him bang in nails； sand down a picket or two that needed paint； these simple tasks done under Speedy's instructions were the only schooling he was getting； but they made him feel better。 Jack now saw his first days in Arcadia Beach as a period of unrelieved wretchedness from which his new friend had rescued him。 For Speedy Parker was a friend； that was certain…so certain； in fact； that in it was a quantity of mystery。 In the few days since Jack had shaken off his daze （or since Speedy had shaken it off for him by dispelling it with one glance of his light…colored eyes）； Speedy Parker had bee closer to him than any other friend； with the possible exception of Richard Sloat； whom Jack had known approximately since the cradle。 And now； counteracting his terror at losing Uncle Tommy and his fear that his mother was actually dying； he felt the tug of Speedy's warm wise presence from just down the street。
Again； and unfortably； Jack had his old sense of being directed； of being manipulated： as if a long invisible wire had pulled himself and his mother up to this abandoned place by the sea。
They wanted him here； whoever they were。
Or was that just crazy？ In his inner vision he saw a bent old man； clearly out of his mind； muttering to himself as he pushed an empty shopping cart down the sidewalk。
A gull screamed in the air； and Jack promised himself that he would make himself talk about some of his feelings with Speedy Parker。 Even if Speedy thought he was nuts； even if he laughed at Jack。 He would not laugh； Jack secretly knew。 They were old friends because one of the things Jack understood about the old custodian was that he could say almost anything to him。
But he was not ready for all that yet。 It was all too crazy； and he did not understand it yet himself。 Almost reluctantly Jack turned his back on Funworld and trudged across the sand toward the hotel。
CHAPTER 2
The Funnel Opens
1
It was a day later； but Jack Sawyer was no wiser。 He had； however； had one of the greatest nightmares of all tim