the door and said； 〃Veni； vidi； vici。〃 There were cheers and applause。 When the
keg was empty at eleven that night； Jack and the only two others who were still
ambulatory went on to hit a few bars。
She had gotten him aside in the downstairs hallway。 The other two were already
out in the car； drunkenly singing the New Hampshire fight song。 Jack was down on
one knee； owlishly fumbling with the lacings of his moccasins。
〃Jack；〃 she said； 〃you shouldn't。 You can't even tie your shoes； let alone
drive。〃
He stood up and put his hands calmly on her shoulders。 〃Tonight I could fly to
the moon if I wanted to。〃
〃No；〃 she said。 〃Not for all the Esquire stories in the world。〃
〃I'll be home early。〃
But he hadn't been home until four in the morning； stumbling and mumbling his
way up the stairs； waking Danny up when he came in。 He had tried to soothe the
baby and dropped him on the floor。 Wendy had rushed out； thinking of what her
mother would think if she saw the bruise before she thought of anything else —
God help her； God help them both — and then picked Danny up； sat in the rocking
chair with him； soothed him。 She had been thinking of her mother for most of the
five hours Jack had been gone； her mother's prophecy that Jack would never e
to anything。 Big ideas； her mother had said。 Sure。 The welfare lines are full of
educated fools with big ideas。 Did the Esquire story make her mother wrong or
right？ Winnifred； you're not holding that baby right。 Give him to me。 And was
she not holding her husband right？ Why else would he take his joy out of the
house？ A helpless kind of terror had risen up in her and it never occurred to
her that he had gone out for reasons that had nothing to do with her。
〃Congratulations；〃 she said； rocking Danny — he was almost asleep again。 〃Maybe
you gave him a concussion。〃
〃It's just a bruise。〃 He sounded sulky； wanting to be repentant： a little boy。
For an instant she hated him。
〃Maybe；〃 she said tightly。 〃Maybe not。〃 She heard so much of her mother
talking to her departed father in her own voice that she was sickened and
afraid。
〃Like mother like daughter；〃 Jack muttered。
〃Go to bed！〃 she cried； her fear ing out sounding like anger。 〃Go to bed；
you're drunk！〃
〃Don't tell me what to do。〃
〃Jack 。。。 please； we shouldn't 。。。 it 。。。〃 There were no words。
〃Don't tell me what to do；〃 he repeated sullenly； and then went into the
bedroom。 She was left alone in the rocking chair with Danny； who was sleeping
again。 Five minutes later Jack's snores came floating out to the living room。
That had been the first night she had slept on the couch。
Now she turned restlessly on the bed； already dozing。 Her mind； freed of any
linear order by encroaching sleep； floated past the first year at Stovington；
past the steadily worsening times that had reached low ebb when her husband had
broken Danny's arm； to that morning in the breakfast nook。
Danny outside playing trucks in the sandpile； his arm still in the cast。 Jack
sitting at the table； pallid and grizzled； a cigarette jittering between his
fingers。 She had decided to ask him for a divorce。 She had pondered the question
from a hundred different angles； had been pondering it in fact for the six
months before the broken arm。 She told herself she would have made the decision
long ago if it hadn't been for Danny； but not even that was necessarily true。
She dreamed on the long nights when Jack was out； and her dreams were always of
her mother's face and of her own wedding。
（Who giveth this woman？ Her father standing in his best suit which was none
too good — he was a traveling salesman for a line of canned goods that even then
was going broke — and his tired face； how old he looked； how pale： I do。）
Even after the accident — if you could call it an accident — she had not been
able to bring it all the way out； to admit that her marriage was a lopsided
defeat。 She had waited； dumbly hoping that a miracle would occur and Jack would
see what was happening； not only to him but to her。 But there had been no
slowdown。 A drink before going off to the Academy。 Two or three beers with lunch
at the Stovington House。 Three or four martinis before dinner。 Five or six more
while grading papers。 The weekends were worse。 The nights out with Al Shockley
were worse still。 She had never dreamed there could be so much pain in a life
when there was nothing physically wrong。 She hurt all the time。 How much of it
was her fault？ That question haunted her。 She felt like her mother。 Like her
father。 Sometimes； when she felt like herself she wondered what it would be like
for Danny； and she dreaded the day when he grew old enough to lay blame。 And she
wondered where they would go。 She had no doubt her mother would take her in； and
no doubt that after a year of watching her diapers remade； Danny's meals
recooked and/or redistributed； of ing home to find his clothes changed or his
hair cut or the books her mother found unsuitable spirited away to some limbo in
the attic 。。。 after half a year of that； she would have a plete nervous
breakdown。 And her mother would pat her hand and say fortingly； Although it's
not your fault； it's all your own fault。 You were never ready。 You showed your
true colors when you came between your father and me。
My father； Danny's father。 Mine； his。
（Who giveth this woman？ I do。 Dead of a heart attack six months later。）
The night before that morning she had lain awake almost until he came in；
thinking； ing to her decision。
The divorce was necessary； she told herself。 Her mother and father didn't
belong in the decision。 Neither did her feelings of guilt over their marriage
nor her feelings of inadequacy over her own。 It was necessary for her son's
sake； and for herself； if she was to salvage anything at all from her early
adulthood。 The handwriting on the wall was brutal but clear。 Her husband was a
lush。 He had a bad temper； one he could no longer keep wholly under control now
that he was drinking so heavily and his writing was going so badly。 Accidentally
or not accidentally； he had broken Danny's arm。 He was going to lose his job； if
not this year then the year after。 Already she had noticed the sympathetic looks
from the other faculty wives。 She told herself that she had stuck with the messy
job of her marriage for as long as she could。 Now she would have to leave it。
Jack could have full visitation rights； and she would want support from him only
until she could find something and get on her feet — and that would have to be
fairly rapidly because she didn't know how long Jack would be able to pay
support money。 She would do it with as little bitterness as possible。 But it had
to end。
So thinking； she had fallen off into her own thin and unrestful sleep； haunted
by the faces of her own mother and father。 You're nothing but a home…wrecker；
her mother said。 Who giveth this； woman？ the minister said。 I do； her father
said。 But in the bright and sunny morning she felt the same。 Her back to him；
her hands plunged in warm dishwater up to the wrists； she had menced with the
unpleasantness。
〃I want to talk to you about something that might be best for Danny and I。 For
you too； maybe。 We should have talked about it before； I guess。〃
And then he had said an odd thing。 She had expected to discover his anger； to
provoke the bitterness； the recriminations。 She had expected a mad dash for the
liquor cabinet。 But not this soft； almost toneless reply that was so unlike him。
It was almost as though the Jack she had lived with for six years had never e
back last night — as if he had been replaced by some unearthly doppelganger that
she would never know or be quite sure of。
〃Would you do something for me？ A favor？〃
〃What？〃 She had to discipline her voice strictly to keep it from trembling。
〃Let's talk about it in a week。 If you still want to〃
And she had agreed。 It remained unspoken between them。 During that week he had
seen Al Shockley more than ever； but he came home early and there was no liquor
on his breath。 She imagined she smelled it； but knew it wasn't so。 Another week。
And another。
Divorce went back to mittee； unvoted on。
What had happened？ She still wondered and still had not the slightest idea。
The subject was taboo between them。 He was like a man who had leaned around a
corner and had seen an unexpected monster lying in wait； crouching among the
dried bones of its old kills。 The liquor remained in the cabinet； but he didn't
touch it。 She had considered throwing them out a dozen times but in the end
always backed away from the idea； as if some unknown charm would be broken by
the act。
And there was Danny's part in it to consider。
If she felt she didn't know her husband； then she was in awe of her child — awe
in the strict meaning of that word： a kind of undefined superstitious dread。
Dozing lightly； the image of the instant of his birth was presented to her。
She was again lying on the delivery table； bathed in sweat； her hair in strings；
her feet splayed out in the stirrups
（and a little high from the gas they kept giving her whiffs of； at one point
she had muttered that she felt like an advertisement for gang rape； and the
nurse； an old bird who had assisted at the births of enough children to populate
a high school； found that extremely funny）
the doctor between her legs； the nurse off to one side； arranging instruments
and humming。 The sharp； glassy pains had been ing at steadily shortening
intervals； and several times she had screamed in spite of her shame。
Then the doctor told her quite sternly that she must PUSH； and she did； and
then she felt something being taken from her。 It was a clear and distinct
feeling； one she would never forget…the thing taken。 Then the doctor held her
son up by the legs…she had seen his tiny sex and known he was a boy immediately…
and as the doctor groped for the airmask； she had seen something else； something
so horrible that she found the strength to scream again after she had t