Страница 64 из 147
CHAPTER 8. DEAD DOG; REMEMBERING MAO’S
FROM THE FAMOUS WRITER’S “COMPOUND”-AS THE PUTNEY locals (and the writer’s own father) were inclined to call it- Hickory Ridge Road climbed for over a mile, the road both crossing the brook and ru
The pretty farm at the end of the long, uphill driveway seemed to focus the writer’s reveries, because an older woman with snow-white hair (and the body of a dancer in her twenties) lived there. Da
A spectacular way for a storyteller to die, Da
That Barrett had no such designs on ending the writer’s life didn’t matter; it would have been a good story. In fact, she’d had many affairs, and (in Da
When there was a conceivably interesting movie playing at the Latchis in Brattleboro, Da
Da
Da
When Da
Armando had built a squash court in an old barn on his Westminster West property; he talked about building a swimming pool next, but in the meantime he and Mary swam in Da
Da
As for the writer’s second life in Iowa City, with his dad and little Joe-well, that had been a peaceful interlude, for the most part, except for the unwelcome reminders of Da
Joe was seven when he’d gone back to Iowa with his dad and grandfather, and was still only ten when they’d returned to Vermont. Maybe those ages were the safest ages, the writer was imagining as he ran; possibly, Iowa City had had nothing to do with it.
CHILDHOOD, AND HOW IT FORMS YOU-moreover, how your child hood is relived in your life as an adult-that was his subject (or his obsession), the writer Da
Maybe it was more than the Katie Callahan gene that put Joe at risk; nor did Da
It hadn’t been Josie DiMattia who’d sexually initiated Da