第20部分(第1页)
the roadblock; a colossal symbol of the bad years at Stovington Prep; the
marriage he had almost totaled like a nutty kid behind the wheel of an old
jalopy; the monstrous assault on his son; the incident in the parking lot with
George Hatfield; an incident he could no longer view as just another sudden and
destructive flare of temper。 He now thought that part of his drinking problem
had stemmed from an unconscious desire to be free of Stovington and the security
he felt was stifling whatever creative urge he had。 He had stopped drinking; but
the need to be free had been just as great。 Hence George Hatfield。 Now all that
remained of those days was the play on the desk in his and Wendys bedroom; and
when it was done and sent off to Phylliss hole…in…the…wall New York agency; he
could turn to other things。 Not a novel; he was not ready to stumble into the
swamp of another three…year undertaking; but surely more short stories。 Perhaps
a book of them。
Moving warily; he scrambled back down the slope of the roof on his hands and
knees past the line of demarcation where the fresh green Bird shingles gave way
to the section of roof he had just finished clearing。 He came to the edge on the
left of the wasps nest he had uncovered and moved gingerly toward it; ready to
backtrack and bolt down his ladder to the ground if things looked too hot。
He leaned over the section of pulled…out flashing and looked in。
The nest was in there; tucked into the space between the old flashing and the
final roof undercoating of three…by…fives。 It was a damn big one。 The grayish
paper ball looked to Jack as if it might be nearly two feet through the center。
Its shape was not perfect because the space between the flashing and the boards
was too narrow; but he thought the little buggers had still done a pretty
respectable job。 The surface of the nest was acrawl with the lumbering; slow…
moving insects。 They were the big mean ones; not yellow jackets; which are
smaller and calmer; but wall wasps。 They had been rendered sludgy and stupid by
the fall temperatures; but Jack; who knew about wasps from his childhood;
counted himself lucky that he had been stung only once。 And; he thought; if
Ullman had hired the job done in the height of summer; the workman who tore up
that particular section of the flashing would have gotten one hell of a
surprise。 Yes indeedy。 When a dozen wall wasps land on you all at once and start
stinging your face and hands and arms; stinging your legs right through your
pants; it would be entirely possible to forget you were seventy feet up。 You
might just charge right off the edge of the roof while you were trying to get
away from them。 All from those little things; the biggest of them only half the
length of a pencil stub。