Then the narrator tells his own story. He has two rasping relationships himself---with his wife and a girl friend. His girl friend is in any case alcoholic. She brought him to the facility. J.P. was brought by Roxy's father and brother.
While J.P. and the narrator argon let loose of the town on the porch, Frank Martin comes out and tells a story close scalawag London, a macho-type writer. It is a lecture disguised as a story. Frank ends it by saying, "We could have aided Jack London." Jack London died of alcoholism. "If he'd let us. If he'd asked for our help. Hear me? Like we can help you. If. If you ask and if you listen" (164).
The narrator is estranged from his wife, and his girl friend has not called since bringing him in. She might have cancer, but he doesn't want to know about it while he is in the facility. He hates her son, who is obviously rebellious.
As the narrator becomes more sombre he thinks more about reaching out to his wife or girl friend, but he has left such wrecked relationships with both of them that he is afraid to call.
The narrator tells about another man who is
Of course, "Paul's cloak-and-dagger of secrets was his wooden horse" (971). Paul's mother says he is too better-looking for a rocking-horse, but the boy convinces her he merely wants it until he is old enough to get a real horse.
Cornelius is both grateful to Hergesell and at the same time deeply scandalise that another man could have such power in Ellie's life. Hergesell says a few compassionate, poetic and charming words to the micro girl, and she is "transfigured."
"There comes Max," says Ingrid.
"Max, you sweep, what do you mean by rolling up at this time of day?" For such is the way they talk to each other, offensively to an older ear; of social forms, of hospitable warmth, there is no faintest trace (194-195).
The professor says "Nonsense," believing that his dear, sweet, urbane little daughter, unlike his son, would never make such a fuss and disturb others around her.
Young Hergesell leans over the veto of the crib and rattles on, more for the father's ears than the child's, but Ellie does not know that---and the father's feelings towards him are a most singular mixture of thankfulness, embarrassment, and hatred (212).
How unsloped . . . that she breathes in oblivion with every breath she draws! That in childhood each night is a deep wide disjuncture between one day and the next. Tomorrow, beyond all doubt, unseasoned Hergesell exit be a pale shadow, powerless to darken her little heart. Tomorrow, forgetful of all but present joy, she pull up stakes walk with Abel and Snapper, all five gentlemen, round and round the table, will play the ever-thrilling cushion game. Heaven be praised for that! (212-213).
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