hand in there； the barbecue would happen in three quick seconds。
Lost your temper。
（Danny； are you all right？）
The furnace filled the entire room； by far the biggest and oldest Jack had
ever seen。
〃The pilot's got a fail…safe；〃 Watson told him。 〃Little sensor in there
measures heat。 If the heat falls below a certain point； it sets off a buzzer in
your quarters。 Boiler's on the other side of the wall。 I'll take you around。〃 He
slammed the grating shut and led Jack behind the iron bulk of the furnace toward
another door。 The iron radiated a stuporous heat at them； and for some reason
Jack thought of a large； dozing cat。 Watson jingled his keys and whistled。
Lost your —
（When he went back into his study and saw Danny standing there； wearing
nothing but his training pants and a grin； a slow； red cloud of rage had
eclipsed Jack's reason。 It had seemed slow subjectively； inside his head； but it
must have all happened in less than a minute。 It only seemed slow the way some
dreams seem slow。 The bad ones。 Every door and drawer in his study seemed to
have been ransacked in the time he had been gone。 Closet； cupboards； the sliding
bookcase。 Every desk drawer yanked out to the stop。 His manuscript； the three…
act play he had been slowly developing from a novelette he had written seven
years ago as an under…graduate； was scattered all over the floor。 He had been
drinking a beer and doing the Act II corrections when Wendy said the phone was
for him； and Danny had poured the can of beer all over the pages。 Probably to
see it foam。 See it foam； see it foam； the words played over and over in his
mind like a single sick chord on an out…of…tune piano； pleting the circuit of
his rage。 He stepped deliberately toward his threeyear…old son； who was looking
up at him with that pleased grin； his pleasure at the job of work so
successfully and recently pleted in Daddy's study； Danny began to say
something and that was when he had grabbed Danny's hand and bent it to make him
drop the typewriter eraser and the mechanical pencil he was clenching in it。
Danny had cried out a little 。。。 no 。。。 no 。。。 tell the truth 。。。 he
screamed。 It was all hard to remember through the fog of anger； the sick single
thump of that one Spike Jones chord。 Wendy somewhere； asking what was wrong。 Her
voice faint； damped by the inner mist。 This was between the two of them。 He had
whirled Danny around to spank him； his big adult fingers digging into the scant
meat of the boy's forearm； meeting around it in a closed fist； and the snap of
the breaking bone had not been loud； not loud but it had been very loud； HUGE；
but not loud。 Just enough of a sound to slit through the red fog like an arrow —
but instead of letting in sunlight； that sound let in the dark clouds of shame
and remorse； the terror； the agonizing convulsion of the spirit。 A clean sound
with the past on one side of it and all the future on the other； a sound like a
breaking pencil lead or a small piece of kindling when you brought it down over
your knee。 A moment of utter silence on the other side； in respect to the
beginning future maybe； all the rest of his life。 Seeing Danny's face drain of
color until it was like cheese； seeing his eyes； always large； grow larger
still； and glassy； Jack sure the boy was going to faint dead away into the
puddle of beer and papers； his own voice； weak and drunk； slurry； trying to take
it all back； to find a way around that not too loud sound of bone cracking and
into the past — is there a status quo in the house？ — saying： Danny； are you all
right？ Danny's answering shriek； then Wendy's shocked gasp as she came around
them and saw the peculiar angle Danny's forearm had to his elbow； no arm was
meant to hang quite that way in a world of normal families。 Her own scream as
she swept him into her arms； and a nonsense babble： Oh God Danny oh dear God oh
sweet God your poor sweet arm； and Jack was standing there； stunned and stupid；
trying to understand how a thing like this could have happened。 He was standing
there and his eyes met the eyes of his wife and he saw that Wendy hated him。 It
did not occur to him what the hate might mean in practical terms； it was only
later that he realized she might have left him that night； gone to a motel；
gotten a divorce lawyer in the morning； or called the police。 He saw only that
his wife hated him and he felt staggered by it； all alone。 He felt awful。 This
was what oning death felt like。 Then she fled for the telephone and dialed
the hospital with their screaming boy wedged in the crook of her arm and Jack
did not go after her； he only stood in the ruins of his office； smelling beer
and thinking — ）
You lost your temper。
He rubbed his hand harshly across his lips and followed Watson into the boiler
room。 It was humid in here； but it was more than the humidity that brought the
sick and slimy sweat onto his brow and stomach and legs。 The remembering did
that； it was a total thing that made that night two years ago seem like two
hours ago。 There was no lag。 It brought the shame and revulsion back； the sense
of having no worth at all； and that feeling always made him want to have a
drink； and the wanting of a drink brought still blacker despair — would he ever
have an hour； not a week or even a day； mind you； but just one waking hour when
the craving for a drink wouldn't surprise him like this？
〃The boiler；〃 Watson announced。 He pulled a red and blue bandanna from his
back pocket； blew his nose with a decisive honk； and thrust it back out of sight
after a short peek into it to see if he had gotten anything interesting。
The boiler stood on four cement blocks； a long and cylindrical metal tank；
copper…jacketed and often patched。 It squatted beneath a confusion of pipes and
ducts which zigzagged upward into the high； cobweb…festooned basement ceiling。
To Jack's right； two large heating pipes came through the wall from the furnace
in the adjoining room。
〃Pressure gauge is here。〃 Watson tapped it。 〃Pounds per square inch； psi。 I
guess you'd know that。 I got her up to a hundred now； and the rooms get a little
chilly at night。 Few guests plain； what the fuck。 They're crazy to e up
here in September anyway。 Besides； this is an old baby。 Got more patches on her
than a pair of welfare overalls。〃 Out came the bandanna。 A honk。 A peek。 Back it
went。
〃I got me a fuckin cold；〃 Watson said conversationally。 〃I get one every
September。 I be tinkering down here with this old whore； then I be out cuttin
the grass or rakin that rogue court。 Get a chill and catch a cold； my old mum
used to say。 God bless her； she been dead six year。 The cancer got her。 Once the
cancer gets you； you might as well make your will。
〃You'll want to keep your press up to no more than fifty； maybe sixty。 Mr。
Ullman； he says to heat the west wing one day； central wing the next； east wing
the day after that。 Ain't he a crazyman？ I hate that little fucker。 Yap…yap…yap
all the livelong day； he's just like one a those little dogs that bites you on
the ankle then run around an pee all over the rug。 If brains was black powder he
couldn't blow his own nose。 It's a pity the things you see when you ain't got a
gun。
〃Look here。 You open an close these ducts by pullin these rings。 I got em all
marked for you。 The blue tags all go to the rooms in the east wing。 Red tags is
the middle。 Yellow is the west wing。 When you go to heat the west wing； you got
to remember that's the side of the hotel that really catches the weather。 When
it whoops； those rooms get as cold as a frigid woman with an ice cube up her
works。 You can run your press all the way to eighty on west wing days。 I would；
anyway。〃
〃The thermostats upstairs — 〃 Jack began。
Watson shook his bead vehemently； making his fluffy hair bounce on his skull。
〃They ain't hooked up。 They're just there for show。 Some of these people from
California； they don't think things is right unless they got it hot enough to
grow a palm tree in their fuckin bedroom。 All the heat es from down here。 Got
to watch the press； though。 See her creep？〃
He tapped the main dial； which had crept from a hundred pounds per square inch
to a hundred and two as Watson soliloquized。 Jack felt a sudden shiver cross his
back in a hurry and thought： The goose just walked over my grave。 Then Watson
gave the pressure wheel a spin and dumped the boiler off： There was a great
hissing； and the needle dropped back to ninety…one。 Watson twisted the valve
shut and the hissing died reluctantly。
〃She creeps；〃 Watson said。 〃You tell that fat little peckerwood Ullman； he
drags out the account books and spends three hours showing how he can't afford a
new one until 1982。 I tell you； this whole place is gonna go sky…high someday；
and I just hope that fat fuck's here to ride the rocket。 God； I wish I could be
as charitable as my mother was。 She could see the good in everyone。 Me； I'm just
as mean as a snake with the shingles。 What the fuck； a man can't help his
nature。
〃Now you got to remember to e down here twice a day and once at night
before you rack in。 You got to check the press。 If you forget； it'll just creep
and creep and like as not you an your fambly'll wake up on the fuckin moon。 You
just dump her off a little and you'll have no trouble。〃
〃What's top end？〃
〃Oh； she's rated for two…fifty； but she'd blow long before that now。 You
couldn't get me to e down an stand next to her when that dial was up to one
hundred and eighty。〃
〃There's no automatic shutdown？〃
〃No； there ain't。 This was built before such things were required。 Federal
government's into everything these days； ain't it？ FBI openin mail； CIA buggin
the goddam phones 。。。 and look what happened to that Nixon。 Wasn't that a
sorry sight？
〃But if you just e down here regular an check the press； you'll be fine。 An
remember to switch those ducks around like he wants。 Won't none of the rooms get
much above forty…five unless we have an amazin warm winter。 And you'll have your
own apartment just