t his full growth of six feet even — not that the old man
had still been around then。 〃Runt of the litter；〃 he would say； and then cuff
Jack lovingly and laugh。 There had been two other brothers； both taller than
their father； and Becky； who at five…ten had only been two inches shorter than
Jack and taller than he for most of their childhood。
His relationship with his father had been like the unfurling of some flower of
beautiful potential； which； when wholly opened； turned out to be blighted
inside。 Until he had been seven he had loved the tall； big…bellied man
uncritically and strongly in spite of the spankings； the black…and…blues； the
occasional black eye。
He could remember velvet summer nights； the house quiet； oldest brother Brett
out with his girl； middle brother Mike studying something； Becky and their
mother in the living room； watching something on the balky old TV； and he would
sit in the hall dressed in a pajama singlet and nothing else； ostensibly playing
with his trucks； actually waiting for the moment when the silence would be
broken by the door swinging open with a large bang； the bellow of his father's
wele when he saw Jacky was waiting； his own happy squeal in answer as this
big man came down the hall； his pink scalp glowing beneath his crewcut in the
glow of the hall light。 In that light he always looked like some soft and
flapping oversized ghost in his hospital whites； the shirt always untucked （and
sometimes bloody）； the pants cuffs drooping down over the black shoes。
His father would sweep him into his arms and Jacky would be propelled
deliriously upward； so fast it seemed he could feel air press