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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。

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