{"id":6292,"date":"2026-01-05T23:41:58","date_gmt":"2026-01-05T23:41:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/life-expectancy-koontz-dean\/"},"modified":"2026-01-05T23:41:58","modified_gmt":"2026-01-05T23:41:58","slug":"life-expectancy-koontz-dean","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/life-expectancy-koontz-dean\/","title":{"rendered":"Life Expectancy – Koontz, Dean"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Book Preview<\/h3>\n
\n

\nLife Expectancy<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBy: Dean R. Koontz<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Koontz [is] working at his pinnacle, providing terrific entertainment<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat deals seriously with some of the deepest themes of human<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexistence: the nature of evil, the grip of fate and the power of love. <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Publishers Weekly (starred review)<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWith his best selling blend of nail-biting intensity, daring artistry,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand storytelling magic, Dean Koontz returns with an emotional roller<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncoaster of a tale filled with enough twists, turns, shocks, and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsurprises for ten ordinary novels.\u00a0 <\/span>Here is the story of five days in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe life of an ordinary man born to an extraordinary legacy-a story<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat will challenge the way you look at good and evil, life and death,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand everything in between…. Life Expectancy<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJimmy Tock comes into the world on the very night his grandfather<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nleaves it.\u00a0 <\/span>As a violent storm rages outside the hospital, Rudy Tock<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nspends long hours walking the corridors between the expectant fathers’<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwaiting room and his dying father’s bedside.\u00a0 <\/span>It’s a strange vigil made<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nall the stranger when, at the very height of the storm’s fury, Josef<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTock suddenly sits up in bed and speaks coherently for the first and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlast time since his stroke.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhat he says before he dies is that there will be five dark days in the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlife of his grandson- five dates whose terrible events Jimmy will have<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto prepare himself to face.\u00a0 <\/span>The first is to occur in his twentieth<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nyear; the second in his twenty-third year; the third in his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntwenty-eighth; the fourth in his twenty-ninth; the fifth in his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthirtieth.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy is all too ready to discount his father’s last words as a dying man’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndelusional rambling.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBut then he discovers that Josef also predicted the time of his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngrandson’s birth to the minute, as well as his exact height and weight,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand the fact that Jimmy would be born with syndactyly-the unexplained<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nanomaly of fused digits-on his left foot.\u00a0 <\/span>Suddenly the old man’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npredictions take on a chilling significance.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhat terrifying events await Jimmy on these five dark days?\u00a0 <\/span>What<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnightmares will he face?\u00a0 <\/span>What challenges must he survive?\u00a0 <\/span>As the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnovel unfolds, picking up Jimmy’s story at each of these crisis points,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe path he must follow will defy every expectation.\u00a0 <\/span>And with each<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncrisis he faces, he will move closer to a fate he could never have<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nimagined.\u00a0 <\/span>For who Jimmy Tock is and what he must accomplish on the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfive days when his world turns is a mystery as dangerous as it is<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwondrous-a struggle against an evil so dark and pervasive, only the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmost extraordinary of human spirits can shine through.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Koontz is a superb plotter and wordsmith.\u00a0 <\/span>He chronicles the hopes and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfears of our time in broad strokes and fine detail, using popular<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfiction to explore the human condition.\u00a0 <\/span>“USA Today<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“The Dean of Suspense.\u00a0 <\/span>“People<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDEAN KOONTZ is the author of many #1 New York Times bestsellers.\u00a0 <\/span>He<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlives with his wife, Gerda, and their dog, Trixie, in southern<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nCalifornia.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nA Main Selection of The Literary Guild, Mystery Guild, Doubleday Book<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nClub, and Doubleday Large Print Book Club<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nCover art Tom Hallman<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nVisit Bantam’s website at www.bantamdell.com.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nVisit Dean Koontz at www.deankoontz.com.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBantam Books<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nLIFE EXPECTANCY.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nALSO BY DEAN KOONTZ<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Taking<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOdd Thomas<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Face<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBy the Light of the Moon<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOne Door Away From Heaven<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFrom the Corner of His Eye<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFalse Memory<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSeize the Night<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFear Nothing<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMr.\u00a0 <\/span>Murder<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDragon Tears<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHideaway<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nCold Fire<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Bad Place<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMidnight<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nLightning<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWatchers<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nStrangers<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTwilight Eyes<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDark fall<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPhantoms<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhispers<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Mask<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Vision<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Face of Fear<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNight Chills<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nShattered<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Voice of the Night<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Servants of Twilight<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe House of Thunder<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Key to Midnight<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Eyes ofDarkhess<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nShadowfires<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWinter Moon<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Door to December<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDark Rivers of the Heart<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIcebound<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nStrange Highways<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIntensity<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSole Survivor<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTicktock<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Fun house<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDemon Seed<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nLIFE EXPECTANCY<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nA Bantam Book \/ December 2004<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPublished by Bantam Dell<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nA Division of Random House, Inc.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNew York, New York<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThis is a work of fiction.\u00a0 <\/span>Names, characters, places, and incidents<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\neither are the product of the author’s imagination or are used<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfictitiously.\u00a0 <\/span>Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nevents, or locales is entirely coincidental.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAll rights reserved.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nCopyright 2004 by Dean Koontz<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBook design by Virginia Norey<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nA signed, limited edition has been privately published by Charnel<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHouse.\u00a0 <\/span>Charnelhouse.com<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBantam Books is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.”\u00a0 <\/span>and the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncolophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nLibrary of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Koontz, Dean R. Life<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexpectancy \/ Dean Koontz.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\np. cm.\u00a0 <\/span>ISBN: 0-553-80414-6<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n1. Cerebrovascular disease-Patients-Fiction.\u00a0 <\/span>2. Fathers and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsons-Fiction.\u00a0 <\/span>3. Terminally ill-Fiction.\u00a0 <\/span>4. Grandfathers-Fiction.\u00a0 <\/span>5.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nForecasting-Fiction.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPS3561.O55L49 2004b 813′.54dc-22 2004059476<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPrinted in the United States of America Published simultaneously in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nCanada www.bantamdell.com<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBVG 10 987654321<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTo Laura Albano,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwho has such a good heart.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nStrange brain, but good heart.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBut he that dares not grasp the thorn Should never crave the rose.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n-Anne Bronte, “The Narrow Way”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHere’s a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwhatever sky’s above me, Here’s a heart for every fate.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n-Lord Byron, “To Thomas Moore”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPART ONE<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWelcome to the World,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJimmy Tock<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nin the night that I was born, my paternal grandfather, Josef Tock, made<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nten predictions that shaped my life.\u00a0 <\/span>Then he died in the very minute<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat my mother gave birth to me.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJosef had never previously engaged in fortune-telling.\u00a0 <\/span>He was a pastry<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nchef.\u00a0 <\/span>He made eclairs and lemon tarts, not predictions.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSome lives, conducted with grace, are beautiful arcs bridging this<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nworld to eternity.\u00a0 <\/span>I am thirty years old and can’t for certain see the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncourse of my life, but rather than a graceful arc, my passage seems to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbe a herky-jerky line from one crisis to another.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI am a lummox, by which I do not mean stupid, only that I am biggish<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor my size and not always aware of where my feet are going.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThis truth is not offered in a spirit of self-deprecation or even<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhumility.\u00a0 <\/span>Apparently, being a lummox is part of my charm, an almost<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwinsome trait, as you will see.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNo doubt I have now raised in your mind the question of what I in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntend to imply by “biggish for my size.”\u00a0 <\/span>Autobiography is proving to be<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na trickier task than I first imagined.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI am not as tall as people seem to think I am, in fact not tall at all<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nby the standards of professional-or even of high school-basketball.\u00a0 <\/span>I<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nam neither plump nor as buff as an iron-pumping fitness fanatic.\u00a0 <\/span>At<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmost I am somewhat husky.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nYet men taller and heavier than I am often call me “big guy.”\u00a0 <\/span>My<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnickname in school was Moose.\u00a0 <\/span>From childhood, I have heard people joke<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nabout how astronomical our grocery bills must be.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe disconnect between my true size and many people’s perception of my<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndimensions has always mystified me.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy wife, who is the linchpin of my life, claims that I have a presence<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmuch bigger than my physique.\u00a0 <\/span>She says that people measure me by the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nimpression I make on them.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI find this notion ludicrous.\u00a0 <\/span>It is bullshit born of love.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIf sometimes I make an outsized impression on people, it’s as likely as<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnot because I fell on them.\u00a0 <\/span>Or stepped on their feet.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn Arizona, there is a place where a dropped ball appears to roll<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nuphill in defiance of gravity.\u00a0 <\/span>In truth, this effect is a trick of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nperspective in which elements of a highly unusual landscape conspire to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndeceive the eye.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI suspect I am a similar freak of nature.\u00a0 <\/span>Perhaps light reflects oddly<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfrom me or bends around me in a singular fashion, so I appear to be<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmore of a hulk than I am.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOn the night I was born in Snow County Hospital, in the community of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSnow Village, Colorado, my grandfather told a nurse that I would be<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntwenty inches long and weigh eight pounds ten ounces.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe nurse was startled by this prediction not because eight pounds ten<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nis a huge newborn-many are larger-and not because my grandfather was a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npastry chef who suddenly began acting as though he were a crystal-ball<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngazer.\u00a0 <\/span>Four days previously he had suffered a massive stroke that left<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhim paralyzed on his right side and unable to speak; yet<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfrom his bed in the intensive care unit, he began making<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nprognostications in a clear voice, without slur or hesitation.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe also told her that I would be born at 10:46 p.m. and that I would<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsuffer from syndactyly.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThat is a word difficult to pronounce before a stroke, let alone after<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\none.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSyndactyly-as the observing nurse explained to my father-is a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncongenital defect in which two or more fingers or toes are joined.\u00a0 <\/span>In<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nserious cases, the bones of adjacent digits are fused to such an extent<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat two fingers share a single nail.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMultiple surgeries are required to correct such a condition and to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nensure that the afflicted child will grow into an adult capable of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngiving the F-you finger to anyone who sufficiently annoys him.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn my case, the trouble was toes.\u00a0 <\/span>Two were fused on the left foot,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthree on the right.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy mother, Madelaine-whom my father affectionately calls Maddy or<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsometimes the Mad One-insists that they considered forgoing the surgery<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand, instead, christening me Flipper.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFlipper was the name of a dolphin that once starred in a hit TV<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshow-not surprisingly titled Flipper-in the late 1960s.\u00a0 <\/span>My mother<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndescribes the program as “delightfully, wonderfully, hilariously<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstupid.”\u00a0 <\/span>It went off the air a few years before I was born.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFlipper, a male, was played by a trained dolphin named Suzi.\u00a0 <\/span>This was<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmost likely the first instance of transvestism on television.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nActually, that’s not the right word because transvestism is a male<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndressing as a female for sexual gratification.\u00a0 <\/span>Besides, Suzi-alias<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFlipper-didn’t wear clothes.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSo it was a program in which the female star always appeared nude and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwas sufficiently butch to pass for a male.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJust two nights ago at dinner, over one of my mother’s infamous<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncheese-and-broccoli pies, she asked rhetorically if it was any wonder<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat such a dire collapse in broadcast standards, begun with Flipper,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshould lead to the boring freak-show shock that is contemporary<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntelevision.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPlaying her game, my father said, “It actually began with Lassie.\u00a0 <\/span>In<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nevery show, she was nude, too.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Lassie was always played by male dogs,” my mother replied.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“There you go,” Dad said, his point made.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI escaped being named Flipper when successful surgeries restored my<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntoes to the normal condition.\u00a0 <\/span>In my case, the fusion involved only<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nskin, not bones.\u00a0 <\/span>The separation was a relatively simple procedure.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNevertheless, on that uncommonly stormy night, my grandfather’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nprediction of syndactyly proved true.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIf I had been born on a night of unremarkable weather, family legend<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwould have transformed it into an eerie calm, every leaf motionless in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbreathless air, night birds silent with expectation.\u00a0 <\/span>The Tock family<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhas a proud history of self-dramatization.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nEven allowing for exaggeration, the storm must have been violent enough<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto shake the Colorado mountains to their rocky foundations.\u00a0 <\/span>The<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nheavens cracked and flashed as if celestial armies were at war.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nStill in the womb, I remained unaware of all the thunderclaps.\u00a0 <\/span>And<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nonce born, I was probably distracted by my strange feet.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThis was August 9, 1974, the day Richard Nixon resigned as President of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe United States.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNixon’s fall has no more to do with me than the fact that John Denver’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Annie’s Song” was the number-one record in the country at the time.\u00a0 <\/span>I<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmention it only to provide historical perspective.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNixon or no Nixon, what I find most important about August 9, 1974, is<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmy birth-and my grandfather’s predictions.\u00a0 <\/span>My sense of perspective has<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nan egocentric taint.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPerhaps more clearly than if I had been there, because of vivid<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npictures painted by numerous family stories of that night, I can see my<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfather, Rudy Tock, walking back and forth from one end of County<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHospital to the other, between the maternity ward and the I.C.U,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbetween joy at the prospect of his son’s pending arrival and grief over<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhis beloved father’s quickening slide into death.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWith blue vinyl-tile floor, pale-green wainscoting, pink walls, a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nyellow ceiling, and orange-and-white stork-patterned drapes, the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexpectant-fathers’ lounge churned with the negative energy of color<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\noverload.\u00a0 <\/span>It would have served well as the nervous-making set for a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnightmare about a children’s-show host who led a secret life as an ax<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmurderer.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe chain-smoking clown didn’t improve the ambience.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy stood birth watch with only one other man, not a local but a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nperformer with the circus that was playing a one-week engagement in a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmeadow at the Halloway Farm.\u00a0 <\/span>He called himself Beezo.\u00a0 <\/span>Curiously, this<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nproved not to be his clown name but one that he’d been born with:<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nKon-rad Beezo.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSome say there is no such thing as destiny, that what happens just<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhappens, without purpose or meaning.\u00a0 <\/span>Konrad’s surname would argue<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\notherwise.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo was married to Natalie, a trapeze artist and a member of a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nrenowned aerialist family that qualified as circus royalty.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNeither of Natalie’s parents, none of her brothers and sisters, and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnone of her high-flying cousins had accompanied Beezo to the hospital.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThis was a performance night, and as always the show must go on.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nEvidently the aerialists kept their distance also because they had not<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\napproved of one of their kind taking a clown for a husband.\u00a0 <\/span>Every<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsubculture and ethnicity has its objects of bigotry.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs Beezo waited nervously for his wife to deliver, he muttered unkind<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\njudgments of his in-laws.\u00a0 <\/span>“Self-satisfied,” he called them, and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“devious.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe clown’s perpetual glower, rough voice, and bitterness made Rudy<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nuncomfortable.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAngry words plumed from him in exhalations of sour smoke: duplicitous”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand “scheming” and, poetically for a clown, “blithe spirits of the air,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbut treacherous when the ground is under them.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo was not in full costume.\u00a0 <\/span>Furthermore, his stage clothes were in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe Emmett Kelly sad-faced tradition rather than the bright polka-dot<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nplumage of the average Ringling Brothers clown.\u00a0 <\/span>He cut a strange<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfigure nonetheless.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nA bright plaid patch blazed across the seat of his baggy brown suit.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe sleeves of his jacket were comically short.\u00a0 <\/span>In one lapel bloomed a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfake flower the diameter of a bread plate.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBefore racing to the hospital with his wife, he had traded clown shoes<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor sneakers and had taken off his big round red rubber nose.\u00a0 <\/span>White<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngreasepaint still encircled his eyes, however, and his cheeks remained<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nheavily rouged, and he wore a rumpled porkpie hat.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo’s bloodshot eyes shone as scarlet as his painted cheeks, perhaps<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbecause of the acrid smoke wreathing his head, although Rudy suspected<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat strong drink might be involved as well.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn those days, smoking was permitted everywhere, even in many hospital<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwaiting rooms.\u00a0 <\/span>Expectant fathers traditionally gave out cigars by way<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof celebration.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhen not at his dying father’s bedside, poor Rudy should have been able<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto take refuge in that lounge.\u00a0 <\/span>His grief should have been mitigated by<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe joy of his pending parenthood.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nInstead, both Maddy and Natalie were long in labor.\u00a0 <\/span>Each time that<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy returned from the I.C.U, waiting for him was the glowering,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmuttering, bloody-eyed clown, burning through pack after pack of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nunfiltered Lucky Strikes.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs drum rolls of thunder shook the heavens, as reflections of lightning<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshuddered through the windows, Beezo made a stage of the maternity ward<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlounge.\u00a0 <\/span>Restlessly circling the blue vinyl floor, from pink wall to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npink wall, he smoked and fumed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Do you believe that snakes can fly, Rudy Tock?\u00a0 <\/span>Of course you don’t.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBut snakes can fly.\u00a0 <\/span>I’ve seen them high above the center ring. They’re<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwell paid and applauded, these cobras, these diamondbacks, these<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncopperheads, these hateful vipers.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPoor Rudy responded to this vituperative rant with murmured<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nconsolation, clucks of the tongue, and sympathetic nods.\u00a0 <\/span>He didn’t<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwant to encourage Beezo, but he sensed that a failure to commiserate<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwould make him a target for the clown’s anger.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPausing at a storm-washed window, his painted face further patina ted<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nby the lightning-cast patterns of the streaming raindrops on the glass,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo said, “Which are you having, Rudy Tock-a son or daughter?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo consistently addressed Rudy by his first and last names, as if<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe two were one: Rudytock.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“They have a new ultrasound scanner here,” Rudy replied, “so they could<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntell us whether it’s a boy or girl, but we don’t want to know.\u00a0 <\/span>We just<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncare is the baby healthy, and it is.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo’s posture straightened, and he raised his head, thrusting his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nface toward the window as if to bask in the pulsing storm light.\u00a0 <\/span>“I<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndon’t need ultrasound to tell me what I know.\u00a0 <\/span>Natalie is giving me a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nson.\u00a0 <\/span>Now the Beezo name won’t die when I do.\u00a0 <\/span>I’ll call him<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPunchinello, after one of the first and greatest of clowns.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPunchinello Beezo, Rudy thought.\u00a0 <\/span>Oh, the poor child.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“He will be the very greatest of our kind,” said Beezo, “the ultimate<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\njester, harlequin, jack pudding\u00a0 <\/span>He will be acclaimed from coast to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncoast, on every continent.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAlthough Rudy had just returned to the maternity ward from the I.C.U,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhe felt imprisoned by this clown whose dark energy seemed to swell each<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntime the storm flashed in his feverish eyes.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“He will be not merely acclaimed but immortal.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy was hungry for news of Maddy’s condition and the progress of her<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlabor.\u00a0 <\/span>In those days, fathers were seldom admitted to delivery rooms<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto witness the birth of their children.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“He will be the circus star of his time, Rudy Tock, and everyone who<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsees him perform will know Konrad Beezo is his father, patriarch of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nclowns.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe ward nurses who should have regularly visited the lounge to speak<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwith the waiting husbands were making themselves less visible than<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nusual.\u00a0 <\/span>No doubt they were uncomfortable in the presence of this angry<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbozo.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“On my father’s grave, I swear my Punchinello will never be an<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\naerialist Beezo declared.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe blast of thunder punctuating his vow was the first of two so<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npowerful that the windowpanes vibrated like drum heads and the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlights-almost extinguished-throbbed dimly.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“What do acrobatics have to do with the truth of the human condition?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo demanded.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Nothing,” Rudy said at once, for he was not an aggressive man. Indeed,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhe was gentle and humble, not yet a pastry chef like his father, merely<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na baker who, on the verge of fatherhood, wished to avoid being severely<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbeaten by a large clown.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Comedy and tragedy, the very tools of the clown’s art-that is the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nessence of life,” Beezo declared.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Comedy, tragedy, and the need for good bread,” Rudy said, making a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlittle joke, including his own trade in the essence-of-life<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nprofessions.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThis small frivolity earned him a fierce glare, a look that seemed<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncapable not merely of stopping clocks but of freezing time.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n‘”Comedy, tragedy, and the need for good bread,”” Beezo repeated,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nperhaps expecting Dad to admit his quip had been inane.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Hey,” Dad said, “that sounds just like me,” for the clown had spoken<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nin a voice that might have passed for my father’s.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“”Hey, that sounds just like me,”” Beezo mocked in Dad’s voice.\u00a0 <\/span>Then<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhe continued in his own rough growl: “I told you I’m talented, Rudy<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTock.\u00a0 <\/span>In more ways than you can imagine.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy thought he could feel his chilled heart beating slower, winding<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndlown under the influence of that wintry gaze.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“My boy will never be an aerialist.\u00a0 <\/span>The hateful snakes will hiss.\u00a0 <\/span>Oh,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhow they’ll hiss and thrash, but Punchinello will never be an<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\naerialist!”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAnother tsunami of thunder broke against the walls of the hospital, and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nagain the lights were more than half drowned.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn that gloom, Rudy swore that the tip of Beezo’s cigarette in his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nright hand glowed brighter, brighter, although he held it at his side,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nas if some phantom presence were drawing on it with eager lips.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy thought, but could not swear, that Beezo’s eyes briefly glowed as<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbright and red as the cigarette.\u00a0 <\/span>This could not have been an inner<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlight, of course, but a reflection of… something.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhen the echoes of the thunder rolled away, the brownout passed.\u00a0 <\/span>As<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe lights rose, so did Rudy rise from his chair.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe had only recently returned here, and although he had received no<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnews about his wife, he was ready to flee back to the grim scene in the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nintensive care unit rather than experience a third doomsday peal and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nanother dimming of lights in the company of Konrad Beezo.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhen he arrived at the I.C.U and found two nurses at his father’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbedside, Rudy feared the worst.\u00a0 <\/span>He knew that Josef was dying, yet his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthroat tightened and tears welled when he thought the end loomed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTo his surprise, he discovered Josef half sitting up in bed, hands<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nclutching the side rails, excitedly repeating the predictions that he<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhad already made to one of the nurses.\u00a0 <\/span>“Twenty inches … eight pounds<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nten ounces … ten-forty-six tonight… syndactyly…”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhen he saw his son, Josef pulled himself all the way into a sitting<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nposition, and one of the nurses raised the upper half of the bed to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsupport him better.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe had not only regained his speech but also appeared to have overcome<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe partial paralysis that had followed his stroke.\u00a0 <\/span>When he seized<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy’s right hand, his grip proved firm, even painful.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAstonished by this development, Rudy at first assumed that his father<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhad experienced a miraculous recovery.\u00a0 <\/span>Then, however, he recognized<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe desperation of a dying man with an important message to impart.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJosef’s face was drawn, seemed almost shrunken, as if Death, in a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsneak-thief mood, had begun days ago to steal the substance of him,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nounce by ounce.\u00a0 <\/span>By contrast his eyes appeared to be enormous.\u00a0 <\/span>Fear<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsharpened his gaze when his eyes fixed on his son.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Five days,” said Josef, his hoarse voice raw with suffering, parched<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbecause he had been taking fluids only intravenously.\u00a0 <\/span>“Five terrible<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndays.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Easy, Dad.\u00a0 <\/span>Don’t excite yourself,” Rudy cautioned, but he saw that on<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe cardiac monitor, the illuminated graph of his father’s heart<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nactivity revealed a fast yet regular pattern.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOne of the nurses left to summon a doctor.\u00a0 <\/span>The other stepped back from<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe bed, waiting to assist if the patient experienced a seizure.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFirst licking his cracked lips to wet the way for his whisper, he made<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhis fifth prediction: “James.\u00a0 <\/span>His name will be James, but no one will<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncall him James … or Jim.\u00a0 <\/span>Everyone will call him Jimmy.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThis startled Rudy.\u00a0 <\/span>He and Maddy had chosen James if the baby was a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nboy, Jennifer if it was a girl, but they had not discussed their<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nchoices with anyone.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJosef could not have known.\u00a0 <\/span>Yet he knew.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWith increasing urgency, Josef declared, “Five days.\u00a0 <\/span>You’ve got to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwarn him.\u00a0 <\/span>Five terrible days.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Easy, Dad,” Rudy repeated.\u00a0 <\/span>“You’ll be okay.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHis father, as pale as the cut face of a loaf of bread, grew paler,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwhiter than flour in a measuring cup.\u00a0 <\/span>“Not okay.\u00a0 <\/span>I’m dying.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“You aren’t dying.\u00a0 <\/span>Look at you.\u00a0 <\/span>You’re speaking.\u00a0 <\/span>There’s no<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nparalysis.\u00a0 <\/span>You’re-“<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Dying,” Josef insisted, his rough voice rising in volume.\u00a0 <\/span>His pulse<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthrobbed at his temples, and on the monitor it grew more rapid as he<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstrained to break through his son’s reassurances and to seize his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nattention.\u00a0 <\/span>“Five dates.\u00a0 <\/span>Write them down.\u00a0 <\/span>Write them now.\u00a0 <\/span>NOW!”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nConfused, afraid that Josef’s adamancy might trigger another stroke,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy mollified his father.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe borrowed a pen from the nurse.\u00a0 <\/span>She didn’t have any paper, and she<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwouldn’t let him use the patient’s chart that hung on the foot of the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFrom his wallet, Rudy withdrew the first thing he found that offered a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nclean writing surface: a free pass to the very circus in which Beezo<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nperformed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy had received the pass a week ago from Huey Foster, a Snow Village<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npolice officer.\u00a0 <\/span>They had been friends since childhood.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHuey, like Rudy, had wanted to be a pastry chef.\u00a0 <\/span>He didn’t have the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntalent for a career in baking.\u00a0 <\/span>His muffins broke teeth.\u00a0 <\/span>His lemon<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntarts offended the tongue.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhen, by virtue of his law-enforcement job, Huey received freebies-<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npasses to the circus, booklets of tickets for carnival rides at the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncounty fair, sample boxes of bullets from various ammo manufacturers-he<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshared them with Rudy.\u00a0 <\/span>In return, Rudy gave Huey’cookies that didn’t<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsour the appetite, cakes that didn’t displease the nose, pies and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstrudels that didn’t induce regurgitation.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRed and black lettering, illustrated with elephants and lions, crowded<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe face of the circus pass.\u00a0 <\/span>The reverse was blank.\u00a0 <\/span>Unfolded, it<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmeasured three by five inches, the size of an index card.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs hard rain beat on a nearby window, drumming up a sound like many<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nrunning feet, Josef clutched again at the railings, anchoring himself,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nas if he feared that he might float up and away. \u00a0<\/span>“Nineteen<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nninety-four.\u00a0 <\/span>September fifteenth.\u00a0 <\/span>A Thursday.\u00a0 <\/span>Write it down.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nStanding beside the bed, Rudy took dictation, using the precise<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nprinting with which he composed recipe cards: sept 15,1994, thurs.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nEyes wide and wild, like those of a rabbit in the thrall of a stalking<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncoyote, Josef stared toward a point high on the wall opposite his bed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe seemed to see more than the wall, something beyond it.\u00a0 <\/span>Perhaps the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfuture.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Warn him,” the dying man said.\u00a0 <\/span>“For God’s sake, warn him.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBewildered, Rudy said, “Warn who?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Jimmy.\u00a0 <\/span>Your son, Jimmy, my grandson.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“He’s not born yet.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Almost.\u00a0 <\/span>Two minutes.\u00a0 <\/span>Warn him.\u00a0 <\/span>Nineteen ninety-eight.\u00a0 <\/span>January<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnineteenth.\u00a0 <\/span>A Monday.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTransfixed by the ghastly expression on his father’s face, Rudy stood<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwith pen poised over paper.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“WRITE IT DOWN!”\u00a0 <\/span>Josef roared.\u00a0 <\/span>His mouth contorted so severely in the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshout that his dry and peeling lower lip split.\u00a0 <\/span>A crimson thread<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nslowly unraveled down his chin.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Nineteen ninety-eight,” Rudy muttered as he wrote.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“January nineteenth,” Josef repeated in a croak, his parched throat<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhaving been racked by the shout.\u00a0 <\/span>“A Monday.\u00a0 <\/span>Terrible day.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Why?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Terrible, terrible.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Why will it be terrible?”\u00a0 <\/span>Rudy persisted.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Two thousand two.\u00a0 <\/span>December twenty-third.\u00a0 <\/span>Another Monday.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJotting down this third date, Rudy said, “Dad, this is weird.\u00a0 <\/span>I don’t<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nunderstand.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJosef still held tight to both steel bedrails.\u00a0 <\/span>Suddenly he shook them<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nviolently, with such uncanny strength that the railings seemed to be<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncoming apart at their joints, raising a clatter that would have been<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nloud in an ordinary hospital room but that was explosive in the usually<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhushed intensive care unit.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAt first the observing nurse rushed forward, perhaps intending to calm<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe patient, but the electrifying combination of fury and terror that<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwrenched his pallid face caused her to hesitate.\u00a0 <\/span>When waves of thunder<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbroke against the hospital hard enough to shake dust off the acoustic<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nceiling tiles, the nurse retreated, almost as if she thought Josef<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhimself had summoned that detonation.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“WRITE IT DOWN!”\u00a0 <\/span>he demanded.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“I wrote, I wrote,” Rudy assured him.\u00a0 <\/span>“December 23, 2002, another<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMonday.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Two thousand three,” Josef said urgently.\u00a0 <\/span>“The twenty-sixth of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNovember.\u00a0 <\/span>A Wednesday.\u00a0 <\/span>The day before Thanksgiving.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAfter recording this fourth date on the back of the circus pass, just<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nas his father stopped shaking the bedrails, Rudy looked up and saw a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfresh emotion in Josef’s face, in his eyes.\u00a0 <\/span>The fury was gone, and the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nterror.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs tears welled, Josef said, “Poor Jimmy, poor Rudy.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Dad?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Poor, poor Rudy.\u00a0 <\/span>Poor Jimmy.\u00a0 <\/span>Where is Rudy?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“I’m Rudy, Dad.\u00a0 <\/span>I’m right here.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJosef blinked, blinked, and flicked away the tears as yet another<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nemotion gripped him, this one not easy to define.\u00a0 <\/span>Some would have<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncalled it astonishment.\u00a0 <\/span>Others would have said it was wonder of the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npure variety that a baby might express at the first sight of any bright<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmarvel.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAfter a moment, Rudy recognized it as a state rrtore profound than<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwonder.\u00a0 <\/span>This was awe, the complete yielding of the mind to something<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngrand and formidable.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHis father’s eyes shone with amazement.\u00a0 <\/span>Across his face, expressions<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof delight and apprehension contested with each other.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJosef’s increasingly raspy voice fell to a whisper: “Two thousand<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfive.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHis gaze remained fixed on another reality that apparently he found<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmore convincing than he did this world in which he had lived for<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfifty-seven years.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHand trembling now, but still printing legibly, Rudy recorded this<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfifth date-and waited.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Ah,” said Joseph, as if a startling secret had been revealed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Dad?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Not this, not this,” Josef lamented.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Dad, what’s wrong?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs curiosity outweighed her anxiety, the rattled nurse ventured closer<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto the bed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nA doctor entered the cubicle.\u00a0 <\/span>“What’s going on here?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJosef said, “Don’t trust the clown.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe physician looked mildly offended, assuming that the patient had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\njust questioned his medical credentials.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nLeaning over the bed, trying to redirect his father’s attention from<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhis otherworldly vision, Rudy said, “Dad, how do you know about the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nclown?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“The sixteenth of April,” said Josef.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“How do you know about the clown?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“WRITE IT DOWN,” Josef thundered even as the heavens crashed against<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe earth once more.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs the doctor went around to the other side of the bed, Rudy added<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\napril 16 after 2005 to the fifth line on the back of the circus pass.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe also printed Saturday when his father spoke it.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe doctor put a hand under Josef’s chin and turned his head to have a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbetter look at his eyes.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“He isn’t who you think he is,” said Josef, not to the doctor but to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhis son.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Who isn’t?”\u00a0 <\/span>Rudy asked.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“He isn’t.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Who’s he?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Now, Josef,” the physician chided, “you know me very well.\u00a0 <\/span>I’m Dr.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPickett.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Oh, the tragedy,” Josef said, voice ripe with pity, as if he were not<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na pastry chef but a thespian upon the Shakespearean stage.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“What tragedy?”\u00a0 <\/span>Rudy worried.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nProducing an ophthalmoscope from a pocket of his white smock, Dr.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPickett disagreed: “No tragedy here.\u00a0 <\/span>What I see is a remarkable<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nrecovery.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBreaking loose of the physician’s chin grip, increasingly agitated,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJosef said, “Kidneys!”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBewildered, Rudy said, “Kidneys?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Why should kidneys be so damned important?”\u00a0 <\/span>Josef demanded.\u00a0 <\/span>“It’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nabsurd, it’s all absurd!”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRudy felt his heart sink at this, for it seemed that his dad’s brief<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nclarity of mind had begun to give way to babble.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAsserting control of his patient again by once more gripping his chin,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDr.\u00a0 <\/span>Pickett switched on the ophthalmoscope and directed the light in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJosef’s right eye.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs though that narrow beam were a piercing needle and his life were a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nballoon, Josef Tock let out an explosive breath and slumped back upon<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhis pillow, dead.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWith all the techniques and instruments available to a well-equipped<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhospital, attempts at resuscitation were made, but to no avail.\u00a0 <\/span>Josef<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhad moved on and wasn’t coming back.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAnd I, James Henry Tock, arrived.\u00a0 <\/span>The time on my grandfather’s death<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncertificate matches that on my birth certificate-10:46 p.m.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBereaved, Rudy understandably lingered at Josef’s bedside.\u00a0 <\/span>He had not<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nforgotten his wife, but grief immobilized him.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFive minutes later, he received word from a nurse that Maddy had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexperienced a crisis in her labor and that he must go at once to her<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nside.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAlarmed by the prospect of losing his father and his wife in the same<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhour, Dad fled the intensive care unit.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs he tells it, the halls of our modest county hospital had become a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwhite labyrinth, and at least twice he made wrong turns.\u00a0 <\/span>Too impatient<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto wait for the elevator, he raced down the stairs from the third floor<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto the ground level before realizing that he’d passed the second floor,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\non which the maternity ward was located.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad arrived in the expectant-fathers’ waiting lounge to the crack of a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npistol as Konrad Beezo shot his wife’s doctor.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFor an instant, Dad thought Beezo had used a clown gun, some trick<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfirearm that squirted red ink.\u00a0 <\/span>The doctor dropped to the floor,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhowever, not with comic flair but with hideous finality, and the smell<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof blood plumed thick, too real.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo turned to Dad and raised the pistol.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn spite of the rumpled porkpie hat and the short-sleeved coat and the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbright patch on the seat of his pants, in spite of the white<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngreasepaint and the rouged cheeks, nothing about Konrad Beezo was<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nclownish at that moment.\u00a0 <\/span>His eyes were those of a jungle cat, and it<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwas easy to imagine that the teeth bared in his snarl were tiger fangs.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe loomed, the embodiment of murderous dementia, demonic.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad thought that he, too, would be shot, but Beezo said, “Stay out of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmy way, Rudy Tock.\u00a0 <\/span>I have no quarrel with you.\u00a0 <\/span>You’re not an<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\naerialist.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo shouldered through the door between the lounge and the maternity<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nward, slammed it shut behind him.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad knelt beside the doctor-and discovered that a breath of life<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nremained in him.\u00a0 <\/span>The wounded man tried to speak, could not.\u00a0 <\/span>Blood had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npooled in his throat, and he gagged.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nGently elevating the physician’s head, shoving old magazines under it<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto brace the man at an angle that allowed him to breathe, Dad shouted<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor help as the swelling storm rocked the night with doomsday peals of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthunder.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDr.\u00a0 <\/span>Ferris MacDonald had been Maddy’s physician.\u00a0 <\/span>He had also been<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncalled upon to treat Natalie Beezo when, unexpectedly, she had been<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbrought to the hospital in labor.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMortally wounded, he seemed more bewildered than frightened.\u00a0 <\/span>Able to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nclear his throat and breathe now, he told my father, “She died during<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndelivery, but it wasn’t my fault.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFor a terrifying moment, my dad thought Maddy had died.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDr.\u00a0 <\/span>MacDonald realized this, for his last words were “Not Maddy.\u00a0 <\/span>The<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nclown’s wife.\u00a0 <\/span>Maddy… is alive.\u00a0 <\/span>I’m so sorry, Rudy.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFerris MacDonald died with my father’s hand upon his heart.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs the thunder rolled toward a far horizon, Dad heard another gunshot<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfrom beyond the door through which Konrad Beezo had vanished.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMaddy lay somewhere behind that door-a woman left helpless by a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndifficult labor.\u00a0 <\/span>I was back there, too-an infant who was not yet<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nenough of a lummox to defend himself.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy father, then a baker, had never been a man of action; nor did he<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbecome one when, a few years later, he graduated to the status of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npastry chef.\u00a0 <\/span>He is of average height and weight, not physically weak<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbut not born for the boxing ring, either.\u00a0 <\/span>He had to that point led a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncharmed life, without serious want, without any strife.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNevertheless, fear for his wife and his child cast him into a strange,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncold panic marked more by calculation than by hysteria.\u00a0 <\/span>Without a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nweapon or a plan, but suddenly with the heart of a lion, he opened that<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndoor and went after Beezo.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAlthough his imagination spun a thousand bloody scenarios in mere<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nseconds, he says that he did not anticipate what was about to happen,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand of course he could not foresee how the events of that night would<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nreverberate through the next thirty years with such terrible and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nastonishing consequences in his life and mine.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAt Snow County Hospital, in the expectant-fathers’ waiting room, the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ninner door opens to a short corridor with a supply room to the left and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na bathroom to the right.\u00a0 <\/span>Fluorescent ceiling panels, white walls, and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na white ceramic-tile floor imply impeccable antibacterial procedures.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI have seen that space because my child entered the world in the same<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmaternity ward on another unforgettable night of incomparable chaos.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOn that stormy evening in 1974, with Richard Nixon gone home to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nCalifornia, and Beezo on a rampage, my father found a nurse sprawled in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe hallway, shot point-blank.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe remembers almost being driven to his knees by pity, by despair.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe loss of Dr.\u00a0 <\/span>MacDonald, although terrible, had not fully penetrated<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad, for it had been so sudden, so dreamlike.\u00a0 <\/span>Mere moments later, the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsight of this dead nurse-young, fair, like a fallen angel in white<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nraiments, golden hair fanning in a halo around her eerily serene<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nface-pierced him, and he absorbed the truth and the meaning of both<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndeaths at once.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHe tore open the storage-closet door, searching for something he might<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nuse as a weapon.\u00a0 <\/span>He found only spare linens, bottles of antiseptic<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncleaner, a locked cabinet of medications… Although in retrospect this<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmoment struck him as darkly comic, at the time he thought, with grave<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nseriousness and with the logic of desperation, that having kneaded so<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmuch dough over the past few years, his hands were dangerously strong.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIf only he could get past Beezo’s gun, he surely would have the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstrength to strangle him.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNo makeshift weapon could hope to be as deadly as the well-flexed hands<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof an angry baker.\u00a0 <\/span>Sheer terror spawned this lunatic notion;<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncuriously, however, terror also gave him courage.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe short hallway intersected a longer one, which led left and right.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOff this new corridor, three doors served a pair of delivery rooms as<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwell as the neonatal care unit where swaddled newborns, each in his or<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nher bassinet, pondered their new reality of light, shadow, hunger,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndiscontent, and taxes.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad sought my mother and me, but found only Her.\u00a0 <\/span>She lay in one of the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndelivery rooms, alone and unconscious on the birthing bed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAt first he thought that she must be dead.\u00a0 <\/span>Darkness swooned at the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nedges of his vision, but before he passed out, he saw that his beloved<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMaddy was breathing.\u00a0 <\/span>He clutched the edge of her bed until his vision<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbrightened.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nGray-faced, drenched with sweat, she looked not like the vibrant woman<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhe knew, but instead appeared to be frail and vulnerable.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBlood on the sheets suggested that she’d delivered their child, but no<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsqualling infant was present.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nElsewhere, Beezo shouted, “Where are you bastards?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nReluctant to leave my mother, Dad nonetheless went in search of the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nconflict to see what help he could provide-as (he has always insisted)<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nany baker would have done.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn the second delivery room, he found Natalie Beezo upon another<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbirthing bed.\u00a0 <\/span>The slender aerialist had so recently died from the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncomplications of childbirth that her tears of suffering had not yet<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndried upon her cheeks.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAccording to Dad, even after her agony and even in death, she was<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nethereally beautiful.\u00a0 <\/span>A flawless olive complexion.\u00a0 <\/span>Raven hair.\u00a0 <\/span>Her<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\neyes were open, luminous green, like windows to a field in Heaven.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFor Konrad Beezo, who didn’t appear to be handsome under the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngreasepaint and who was not a man of substantial property and whose<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npersonality would surely be at least somewhat off-putting even under<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nordinary circumstances, this woman was a prize beyond all reasonable<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexpectation.\u00a0 <\/span>You could understand-though not excuse-his violent<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nreaction to the loss of her.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nStepping out of the delivery room, Dad came face to face with the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhomicidal clown.\u00a0 <\/span>Simultaneously Beezo flung open the door from the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncreche and charged into the hall, a blanketed infant cradled in the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncrook of his left arm.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAt this close range, the pistol in his right hand appeared to be twice<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe size that it had been in the waiting room, as if they were in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAlice’s Wonderland, where objects grew or shrank with no regard for<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nreason or for the laws of physics.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad might have seized Beezo’s wrist and, with his strong baker’s hands,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfought for possession of the gun, but he dared not act in any way that<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwould have put the baby at risk.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWith its pinched red face and furrowed brow, the infant appeared<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nindignant, offended.\u00a0 <\/span>Its mouth stretched open wide, as though it were<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntrying to scream but had been shocked silent by the realization that<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nits father was a mad clown.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThank God for the baby, Dad has often said.\u00a0 <\/span>Otherwise I would have<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngotten myself killed.\u00a0 <\/span>You’d have grown up fatherless, and you’d never<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhave learned how to make a first-rate creme brulee.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSo cradling the baby and brandishing the pistol, Beezo demanded of my<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfather, “Where are they, Rudy Tock?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Where are who?”\u00a0 <\/span>Dad asked.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe red-eyed clown appeared to be both wrung by grief and ripped by<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nanger.\u00a0 <\/span>Tears streaked his makeup.\u00a0 <\/span>His lips trembled as if he might<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsob uncontrollably, then skinned back from his teeth in an expression<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof such ferocity that a chill wound through Dad’s bowels.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Don’t play dumb,” Beezo warned.\u00a0 <\/span>“There had to be other nurses, maybe<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nanother doctor.\u00a0 <\/span>I want the bastards dead, all of them who failed<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nher.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“They ran,” my father said, certain that it would be safer to lie about<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhaving seen the medical staff escape than to insist that he had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nencountered no one.\u00a0 <\/span>“They slipped out behind your back, the way you<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncame, through the waiting room.\u00a0 <\/span>They’re long gone.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFeeding on his rage, Konrad Beezo appeared to swell larger, as if anger<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwere the food of giants.\u00a0 <\/span>No Barnum & Bailey buffoonery brightened his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nface, and the poisonous hatred in his eyes was as potent as cobra<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nvenom.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nLest he become a stand-in for the medical staff no longer within<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo’s reach, Dad quickly added, with no trace of threat, as if only<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbeing helpful, “Police are on the way.\u00a0 <\/span>They’ll want to take the baby<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfrom you.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“My son is mine,”” Beezo declared with such passion that the stink of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstale cigarette smoke rising from his clothes might almost have been<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmistaken for the consequence of his fiery emotion.\u00a0 <\/span>“I will do anything<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto keep him from being raised by the aerialists.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWalking a thin line between clever manipulation and obvious fawning in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe interest of self-preservation, my father said, “Your boy will be<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe greatest of his kind-clown, jester, harlequin, jack muffing<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Jackpudding,” the killer corrected, but without animosity.\u00a0 <\/span>“Yes,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhe’ll be the greatest.\u00a0 <\/span>He will.\u00a0 <\/span>I won’t let anyone deny my son his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndestiny.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWith baby and pistol, Beezo pushed past my dad and hurried along the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshorter hall, where he stepped over the dead nurse with no more concern<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor her than he’d have shown for a janitor’s mop and bucket.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFeverishly trying to think of something that he could do to bring down<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthis brute without harming the infant, Dad could only watch in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfrustration.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhen Beezo reached the door to the expectant-fathers’ lounge, he<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhesitated, glanced back.\u00a0 <\/span>“I’ll never forget you, Rudy Tock.\u00a0 <\/span>Never.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy father could not decide whether that declaration might be an<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexpression of misguided sentimental affection-or a threat.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo pushed through the door and disappeared.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAt once, Dad hurried back to the first delivery room because his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nprimary concern understandably remained with my mother and me.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nStill unattended, my mother lay on the birthing bed where Dad had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmoments ago discovered her.\u00a0 <\/span>Though still gray-faced and soaked with<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsweat, she had regained consciousness.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nShe groaned with pain, blinked in confusion.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhether she was merely disoriented or delirious is a matter of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncontention between my parents, but my father insists that he feared for<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nher when she said, “If you want Reuben sandwiches for dinner, we’ll<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhave to go to the market for cheese.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMom insists that she actually said, “After this, don’t think you’re<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\never going to touch me again, you son of a bitch.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTheir love is deeper than desire, than affection, than respect, so deep<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat its wellspring is humor.\u00a0 <\/span>Humor is a petal on the flower of hope,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand hope blossoms on the vine of faith.\u00a0 <\/span>They have faith in each other<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand faith that life has meaning, and from this faith comes their<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nindefatigable good humor, which is their greatest gift to each<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nother-and to me.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI grew up in a home filled with laughter.\u00a0 <\/span>Regardless of what happens<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto me in the days ahead, I will have had the laughter.\u00a0 <\/span>And wonderful<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npastries.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn this account of my life, I will resort at every turn to amusement,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor laughter is the perfect medicine for the tortured heart, the balm<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor misery, but I will not beguile you.\u00a0 <\/span>I will not use laughter as a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncurtain to spare you the sight of horror and despair.\u00a0 <\/span>We will laugh<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntogether, but sometimes the laughter will hurt.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSo… Whether my mother was delirious or sound of mind, whether she<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nblamed my father for the pain of labor or discussed the need for<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncheese, they are in relative agreement about what happened next.\u00a0 <\/span>My<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfather found a wall-mounted phone near the door and called for help.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBecause this device was more an intercom than a phone, it did not have<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na standard keypad, just four keys, each clearly labeled: staffing,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPHARMACY, MAINTENANCE, SECURITY.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad pressed security and informed the answering officer that people had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbeen shot, that the assailant, costumed as a clown, was even then<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfleeing the building, and that Maddy needed immediate medical<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nassistance.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFrom the bed, clearheaded now if she had not been previously, my mother<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncried out, “Where’s my baby?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPhone still to his ear, my father turned to her, astounded, alarmed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“You don’t know where it is?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nStriving unsuccessfully to sit up, grimacing with pain, Mom said, “How<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwould I know?\u00a0 <\/span>I passed out or something.\u00a0 <\/span>What do you mean someone was<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshot?\u00a0 <\/span>For God’s sake, who was shot?\u00a0 <\/span>What’s happening?\u00a0 <\/span>Where’s my<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbaby?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAlthough the delivery room had no windows, although it was surrounded<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nby hallways and by other rooms that further insulated it from the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\noutside world, my folks heard faint sirens rising in the distance.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad’s memory regurgitated the suddenly nauseating image of Beezo in the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhallway, the pistol in his right hand, the baby cradled in his left<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\narm.\u00a0 <\/span>Bitter acid burned in my father’s throat, and his already harried<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nheart raced faster.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPerhaps Beezo’s wife and child had died at birth.\u00a0 <\/span>Perhaps the infant<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nin his arms hadn’t been his own but had been instead little James-or<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nJennifer-Tock.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI thought “kidnapped,” Dad says when he recalls the moment.\u00a0 <\/span>\/ thought<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nabout the Lindbergh baby and Frank Sinatra Junior being held for ransom<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand Rumpelstiltskin and Tarzan being raised by apes, and though none of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat makes sense, I thought it all in an instant.\u00a0 <\/span>I wanted to scream,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbut I couldn’t, and I felt just like that red-faced baby with its mouth<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nopen but silent, and when I thought of the baby, oh, then I just knew<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nit had been you, not his at all, but you, my Jimmy.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDesperate now to find Beezo and stop him, Dad dropped the phone, bolted<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntoward the open door to the hallway-and nearly collided with Charlene<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nColeman, a nurse who came bearing a baby in her arms.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThis infant had a broader face than the one Beezo had spirited into the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstormy night.\u00a0 <\/span>Its complexion was a healthy pink instead of mottled<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nred.\u00a0 <\/span>According to Dad, its eyes shone clear and blue, and its face<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nglowed with wonder.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“I hid with your baby,” Charlene Coleman said.\u00a0 <\/span>“I hid from that awful<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nman.\u00a0 <\/span>I knew he would be trouble when he first showed up with his wife,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhim wearing that ugly hat indoors and making no apology for it.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI wish I could verify from personal experience that, indeed, what<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nalarmed Charlene from the get-go was not Beezo’s clown makeup, not his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npoisonous ranting about his aerialist in-laws, not his eyes so crazy<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat they almost spun like pinwheels, but simply his hat.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nUnfortunately, less than one hour old, I had not yet learned English<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand had not even sorted out who all these people were.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTrembling with relief, Dad took me from Charlene Coleman and carried<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nme to my mother.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAfter the nurse raised the head of the birthing bed and provided more<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npillows, Mom was able to take me in her arms.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad swears that her first words to me were these: “You better have been<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nworth all the pain, Little Blue Eyes, ’cause if you turn out to be an<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nungrateful child, I’ll make your life a living hell.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTearful, shaken by all that had occurred, Charlene recounted recent<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nevents and explained how she’d been able to spirit me to safety when<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe shooting started.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nUnexpectedly required to attend two women simultaneously in urgent and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndifficult labor, Dr.\u00a0 <\/span>MacDonald had been unable at that hour to locate<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na qualified physician to assist on a timely basis.\u00a0 <\/span>He divided his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nattention between the two patients, hurrying from one delivery room to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe other, relying on his nurses for backup, his work complicated by<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe periodically dimming lights and worry about whether the hospital<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngenerator would kick in reliably if the storm knocked out electric<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nservice.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNatalie Beezo had received no prenatal care.\u00a0 <\/span>She unknowingly suffered<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfrom preeclampsia.\u00a0 <\/span>During labor she developed full-blown eclampsia and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexperienced violent convulsions that would not respond to treatment and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat threatened not only her own life but the life of her unborn<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nchild.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMeanwhile, my mother endured an excruciating labor resulting largely<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfrom the failure of her cervix to dilate.\u00a0 <\/span>Intravenous injections of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsynthetic oxytocin initially did not induce sufficient contractions of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe uterine muscles to allow her to squeeze me into the world.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNatalie delivered first.\u00a0 <\/span>Dr.\u00a0 <\/span>MacDonald tried everything to save her-<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nan endotracheal tube to assist her breathing, injections of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nanticonvulsants-but soaring blood pressure and convulsions led to a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmassive cerebral hemorrhage that killed her.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nEven as the umbilical cord was tied off and cut between the Beezo baby<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand his dead mother, my mother, exhausted but still struggling to expel<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nme, suddenly and at last experienced cervical dilation.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe Jimmy Tock show had begun.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\nBefore undertaking the depressing task of telling Konrad Beezo that he<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhad gained a son and lost a wife, Dr.\u00a0 <\/span>MacDonald delivered me and,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\naccording to Charlene Coleman, announced that this solid little package<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwould surely grow up to be a football hero.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHaving successfully conveyed me from womb to wider world, my mother<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npromptly passed out.\u00a0 <\/span>She didn’t hear the doctor’s prediction and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndidn’t see my broad, pink, wonder-filled face until my protector,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nCharlene, returned and presented me to my father.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAfter Dr.\u00a0 <\/span>MacDonald had given me to Nurse Coleman to be swabbed and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthen wrapped in a white cotton receiving cloth, and when he had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsatisfied himself that my mother had merely fainted and that she would<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncome to herself in moments, with or without smelling salts, he peeled<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\noff his latex gloves, pulled down his surgical mask, and went to the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexpectant-fathers’ lounge to console Konrad Beezo as best he could.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAlmost at once, the shouting started: bitter, accusatory words,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nparanoid accusations, the vilest language delivered in the most furious<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nvoice imaginable.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nEven in the usually serene, well-soundproofed delivery room, Nurse<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nColeman heard the uproar.\u00a0 <\/span>She understood the tenor if not the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nspecifics of Konrad Beezo’s reaction to the loss of his wife.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWhen she left the delivery room and stepped into the hallway to hear<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo more clearly, intuition told her to carry me with her, bundled in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe thin blanket.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn the hall, she encountered Lois Hanson, another nurse, who had in her<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\narms the Beezo baby.\u00a0 <\/span>Lois, too, had ventured forth to hear the clown’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nintemperate outburst.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nLois made a fatal mistake.\u00a0 <\/span>Against Charlene’s advice, she moved toward<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe closed door to the waiting room, believing that the sight of his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ninfant son would quench Beezo’s hot anger and ameliorate the intense<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngrief from which his rage had flared.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHerself a refugee from an abusive husband, Charlene had little faith<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat the grace of fatherhood would temper the fury of any man who, even<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nin a moment of profound loss, responded first and at once with rage and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwith threats of violence rather than with tears or shock, or denial.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBesides, she remembered his hat, worn indoors with no regard for<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmanners.\u00a0 <\/span>Charlene sensed trouble coming, big trouble.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nShe retreated with me along the maternity ward’s internal hall to the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nneonatal care unit.\u00a0 <\/span>As that door was swinging shut behind us, she<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nheard the gunshot that killed Dr.\u00a0 <\/span>MacDonald.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThis room contained rows of bassinets in which newborns were nestled,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmost dreaming, a few cooing, none yet crying.\u00a0 <\/span>An enormous view window<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\noccupied the better part of one long wall, but no proud fathers or<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngrandparents were currently standing on the other side of it.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWith the infants were two creche nurses.\u00a0 <\/span>They had heard the shouting,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthen the shot, and they were more receptive to Charlene’s advice than<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nLois had been.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nPresciently, Nurse Coleman assured them the gunman wouldn’t hurt the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbabies but warned he would surely kill every member of the hospital<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstaff that he could find.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNevertheless, before fleeing, each nurse scooped up an infant-and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfretted about those they were forced to leave behind.\u00a0 <\/span>Frightened by a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsecond shot, they followed Charlene through a door beside the view<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwindow, out of the maternity ward into the main corridor.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe three, with their charges, took refuge in a room where an elderly<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nman slept on unaware.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nA low-wattage night-light did little to press back the gloom, and the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nflickering storm at the window only made the shadows jitter with in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsectile energy.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nQuiet, hardly daring to breathe, the three nurses huddled together<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nuntil Charlene heard sirens in the distance.\u00a0 <\/span>This welcome wail drew<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nher to the window, which provided a view of the parking lot in front of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe hospital; she hoped to see police cars.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nInstead, from that second-story room, she saw Beezo with his baby,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncrossing the rain-washed blacktop.\u00a0 <\/span>He looked, she said, like a figure<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nin a foul dream, scuttling and strange, like something you might see on<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe night that the world ended and cracks opened in the foundations of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe earth to let loose the angry legions of the damned.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nCharlene is a transplanted Mississippian and a Baptist whose soul is<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfilled with the poetry of the South.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeezo had parked at such a distance that through the screen of rain and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nunder the yellow pall of the sodium-vapor lamps, the make, model, and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntrue color of his car could not be discerned.\u00a0 <\/span>Charlene watched him<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndrive away, hoping the police would intercept him before he reached the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnearby county road, but his taillights dwindled into the drizzling<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndarkness.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWith the threat removed, she returned to the delivery room just as Dad’s thoughts were flashing from the Lindbergh baby tragedy to Rum-pelstiltskin to Tarzan raised by apes, in time to assure him that I had not been kidnapped by a homicidal clown.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nLater my father would confirm that the minute of my birth, my length,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand my weight precisely fulfilled the predictions made by my<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngrandfather on his deathbed.\u00a0 <\/span>His first proof, however, that the events<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nin the intensive care unit were not just extraordinary but supernatural<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncame when, as my mother held me, he folded back the receiving blanket,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexposing my feet, and found that my toes were fused as Josef had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npredicted.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Syndactyly,” Dad said.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“It can be fixed,” Charlene assured him.\u00a0 <\/span>Then her eyes widened with<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsurprise.\u00a0 <\/span>“How do you know such a doctorish word?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy father only repeated, “Syndactyly,” as he gently, lovingly, and with<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\namazement fingered my fused toes.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSyndactyly is not merely the name of the affliction with which I was<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nborn but also the theme of my life for thirty years now.\u00a0 <\/span>Things often<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nprove to be fused in unanticipated ways.\u00a0 <\/span>Moments separated by many<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nyears are unexpectedly joined, as if the space-time continuum has been<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfolded by some power with either a peculiar sense of humor or an agenda<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\narguably worthwhile but so complex as to be mystifying.\u00a0 <\/span>People unknown<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto one another discover that they are bonded by fate as completely as<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntwo toes sharing a single sheath of skin.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSurgeons repaired my feet so long ago that I have no slightest memory<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof the procedures.\u00a0 <\/span>I walk, I run when I must, I dance but not well.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWith all due respect for the memory of Dr.\u00a0 <\/span>Ferris MacDonald, I never<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbecame a football hero and never wished to be one.\u00a0 <\/span>My family has never<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhad an interest in sports.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWe are fans, instead, of puffs, eclairs, tarts, tortes, cakes, trifles,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand fans as well of the infamous cheese-and-broccoli pies and the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nReuben sandwiches and all the fabulous dishes of table-cracking weight<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat my mother produces.\u00a0 <\/span>We will trade the thrills and glory of all<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe games and tournaments mankind has ever invented for a dinner<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntogether and for the conversation and the laughter that runs like a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfast tide from the unfolding of our napkins to the final sip of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncoffee.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOver the years, I have grown from twenty inches to six feet.\u00a0 <\/span>My weight<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhas increased from eight pounds ten ounces to one hundred eighty-eight<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npounds, which should prove my contention that I am at most husky, not<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nas large as I appear to be to most people.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe fifth of my grandfather’s ten predictions-that everyone would call<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nme Jimmy-has also proved true.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nEven on first meeting me, people seem to think that James is too formal<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto fit and that Jim is too earnest or otherwise inappropriate.\u00a0 <\/span>Even if<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI introduce myself as James, and with emphasis, they at once begin<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\naddressing me as Jimmy, with complete comfort and familiarity, as<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthough they have known me since my face was postpartum pink and my toes<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwere fused.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs I make these tape recordings with the hope that I may survive to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntranscribe and edit them, I have lived through four of the five<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nterrible days about which Grandpa Josef warned my father.\u00a0 <\/span>They were<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nterrible both in the same and in different ways, each day filled with<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe unexpected and with terror, some marked by tragedy, but they were<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndays filled with much else, as well.\u00a0 <\/span>Much else.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAnd now … one more to go.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy dad, my mom, and I spent twenty years pretending that the accuracy<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof Josef’s first five predictions did not necessarily mean that the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnext five would be fulfilled.\u00a0 <\/span>My childhood and teenage years passed<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nuneventfully, presenting no evidence whatsoever that my life was a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nyo-yo on the string of fate.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNevertheless, as the first of those five days relentlessly approached-<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThursday, September 15,1994-we worried.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMom’s coffee consumption went from ten cups a day to twenty.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nShe has a curious relationship with caffeine.\u00a0 <\/span>Instead of fraying her<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnerves, the brew soothes them.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIf she fails to drink her usual three cups during the morning, by noon<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshe will be as fidgety as a frustrated fly buzzing against a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwindowpane.\u00a0 <\/span>If she doesn’t pour down eight by bedtime, she lies awake,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nso mentally active that she not only counts sheep by the thousand but<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nalso names them and develops an elaborate life story for each.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad believes that Maddy’s topsy-turvy metabolism is a direct result of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe fact that her father was a long-haul trucker who ate No-DOz<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncaffeine tablets as if they were candy.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMaybe so, Mom sometimes answers my father, but what are you complaining<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nabout?\u00a0 <\/span>When we were dating all you had to do was get five or six cheap<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncoffees into me, and I was as pliable as a rubber band.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs September 15, 1994, drew near, my father’s worry expressed itself in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfallen cakes, curdled custard, rubbery pie crusts, and creme brulee<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat had a sandy texture.\u00a0 <\/span>He could not concentrate on his recipes or<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhis ovens.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI believe that I handled the anticipation reasonably well.\u00a0 <\/span>In the last<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntwo days leading up to the first of those five ominous dates, I might<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhave walked into more closed doors than usual, might have tripped more<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\noften than is customary for me when climbing the stairs.\u00a0 <\/span>And I do<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nadmit to dropping a hammer on Grandma Rowena’s foot while trying to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhang a picture for her.\u00a0 <\/span>But it was her foot, not her head, and the one<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ninstance when a trip led to a fall, I only tumbled down a single flight<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof steps and didn’t break anything.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\nOur worry was kept somewhat in check by the fact that Grandpa Josef had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngiven Dad five “terrible days” in my life, not just one.\u00a0 <\/span>Obviously,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nregardless of how grim September 15 might be, I would not die on that<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nday.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Yes, but there’s always the possibility of severed limbs and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmutilation,” Grandma Rowena cautioned.\u00a0 <\/span>“And paralysis and brain<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndamage.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nShe is a sweet woman, my maternal grandmother, but one with too sharp a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsense of the fragility of life.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs a child, I had dreaded those occasions when she insisted on reading<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nme to sleep.\u00a0 <\/span>Even when she didn’t revise the classic stories, which<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshe often did, even when the Big Bad Wolf was defeated, as he should<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhave been, Grandma paused at key points in the narrative to muse aloud<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\non the many gruesome things that might have happened to the three<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlittle pigs if their defenses had not held or if their strategies had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nproved faulty.\u00a0 <\/span>Being ground up for sausages was the least of it.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAnd so, less than six weeks after my twentieth birthday, came the first<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof my five ordeals…. PARUTftLQ<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMight as Well Die If I Can’t Fly<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nA,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nt nine o’clock on the evening of Wednesday, September 14, my parents<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand I met in their dining room to have as heavy a dinner as we might be<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nable to stand up from without our knees buckling.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWe were also gathered to discuss once more the wisest strategies for<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngetting through the fateful day that lay just three hours ahead of me.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nWe hoped that in a prepared and cautious state of mind, I might reach<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSeptember 16 as unscathed as the three little pigs after their<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nencounter with the wolf.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nGrandma Rowena joined us to speak from the point of view of the wolf.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThat is, she would play the devil’s advocate and relate to us what<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nflaws she saw in our precautions.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAs always, we took dinner on gold-rimmed Raynaud Limoges china, using<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsterling-silver flatware by Buccellati.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn spite of what the table setting suggests, my parents are not<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwealthy,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\njust securely middle class.\u00a0 <\/span>Although my father makes a fine salary as<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na pastry chef, stock options and corporate jets don’t come with his<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nposition.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy mother earns a modest income working part-time from home, painting<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npet portraits on commission: mostly cats and dogs, but also rabbits,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nparakeets, and once a r^nilk snake that came to pose and didn’t want to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nleave.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTheir small Victorian house would be called humble if it weren’t so<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncozy that it feels sumptuous.\u00a0 <\/span>The ceilings are not high and the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nproportions of the rooms are not grand, but they have been furnished<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwith great care and with an eye to comfort<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nYou can’t blame Earl for taking refuge behind the living-room sofa,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nunder the claw-foot tub in the upstairs bath, in a clothes hamper, in<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe pantry potato basket, and elsewhere during the three interesting<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nweeks that he adopted us.\u00a0 <\/span>Earl was the milk snake, and the home from<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwhich he’d come was a sterile place with<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstainless-steel-and-black-leather furniture, abstract art, and cactuses<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor house plants.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOf all the charming corners in this small house where you might read a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbook, listen to music, or gaze out a many-paned window at a be-jeweled<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwinter day, none is as welcoming as the dining room.\u00a0 <\/span>This is because<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto the Tock family, food-and the conviviality that marks our every<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmeal-is the hub that turns the spokes that spin the wheel of life.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTherefore, the luxury of Limoges and Buccellati.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nConsidering that we are incapable of pulling up a chair to any dinner<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwith less than five courses and that we regard the first four, in which<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwe fully indulge, as mere preparation for the fifth, it is miraculous<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthat none of us is overweight.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad once discovered that his best wool suit had grown tight in the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwaist.\u00a0 <\/span>He merely skipped lunch three days, and the pants were then<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nloose on him.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMom’s caffeine tolerance is not the most significant curiosity<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nregarding our unusual relationship to food.\u00a0 <\/span>Both sides of the family,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthe Tock<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nside and the Greenwich side (Greenwich being my mother’s maiden name),<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhave metabolisms as efficient as that of a hummingbird, a creature<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwhich can eat three times its body weight each day and remain light<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nenough to fly.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMom once suggested that she and my father had been instantly attracted<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto each other in part because of a subliminal perception that they were<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmetabolic royalty.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe dining room features a coffered mahogany ceiling, mahogany<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwainscoting, and a mahogany floor.\u00a0 <\/span>Silk moire walls and a Persian<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncarpet soften all the wood.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThere is a blown-glass chandelier with pendant crystals, but dinner is<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nalways served by candlelight.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOn this special night in September of 1994, the candles were numerous<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand squat, set in small but not shallow cut-crystal bowls, some clear<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand others ruby-red, which fractured the light into soft prismatic<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npatterns on the linen tablecloth, on the walls, and on our faces.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nCandles were placed not only on the table but also on the sideboards.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHad you glanced in through a window, you might have thought not that we<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwere at dinner but that we were conducting a seance, with food provided<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nto keep us entertained until at last the ghosts showed up.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAlthough my parents had prepared my favorite dishes, I tried not to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthink of it as the condemned man’s last meal.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFive properly presented courses cannot be eaten on the same schedule as<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na McDonald’s Happy Meal, especially not with carefully chosen wines. We<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwere prepared for a long evening together.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad is the head pastry chef for the world-famous Snow Village Resort, a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nposition he inherited from his father, Josef.\u00a0 <\/span>Because all breads and<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npastries must be fresh each day, he goes to work at one o’clock in the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmorning at least five and often six days a week.\u00a0 <\/span>By eight, with the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbaking for the entire day complete, he comes home for breakfast with<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMom, then sleeps until three in the afternoon.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThat September, I also worked those hours because I had been an<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\napprentice baker for two years at the same resort.\u00a0 <\/span>The Tock family<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbelieves in nepotism.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad says it’s not really nepotism if your talent is real.\u00a0 <\/span>Give me a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngood oven, and I am a wicked competitor.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nFunny, but I am never clumsy in a kitchen.\u00a0 <\/span>When baking, I am Gene<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nKelly, I am Fred Astaire, I am grace personified.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad would be going from our late dinner to work, but I would not.\u00a0 <\/span>In<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npreparation for the first of the five days in Grandpa Josef’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nprediction, I had taken a week’s vacation.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOur starter course was sou bourek, an Armenian dish.\u00a0 <\/span>Numerous<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npaper-thin layers of pasta are separated by equally thin layers of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbutter and cheese, finished with a golden crust.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI still lived with my folks in those days, so Dad said, “You should<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstay home from midnight to midnight.\u00a0 <\/span>Hide out.\u00a0 <\/span>Nap, read, watch a<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlittle TV.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Then what’ll happen,” Grandma Rowena imagined, “is that he’ll fall<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndown the stairs and break his neck.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Don’t use the stairs,” Mom advised.\u00a0 <\/span>“Stay in your room, honey.\u00a0 <\/span>I can<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbring your meals to you.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“So then the house will burn down,” Rowena said.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Now, Weena, the house won’t burn down,” Dad assured her.\u00a0 <\/span>“The<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nelectrical wiring is sound, the furnace is brand new, both fireplace<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nchimneys were recently cleaned, there’s a grounded lightning rod on the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nroof, and Jimmy doesn’t play with matches.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRowena was seventy-seven in 1994, twenty-four years a widow and past<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nher grief, a happy woman but opinionated.\u00a0 <\/span>She’d been asked to play the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndevil’s advocate, and she was adamant in her role.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“If not a fire, then a gas explosion,” she declared.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Gee, I don’t want to be responsible for destroying the house,” I<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsaid.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Weena,” Dad reasoned, “there hasn’t been a house-destroying gas<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nexplosion in the entire history of Snow Village.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“So an airliner will crash into the place.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Oh, and that happens weekly around here,” my father said.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“There’s a first time for everything,” Rowena asserted.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“If there’s a first time for an airliner to crash into our house, then<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthere’s a first time for vampires to move in next door, but I’m not<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ngoing to start wearing a garlic necklace.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“If not an airliner, one of those Federal Express planes full of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npackages,” Rowena said.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nDad gaped at her, shook his head.\u00a0 <\/span>“Federal Express.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMom interpreted: “What Mother means is that surely if fate has<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsomething planned for our Jimmy, he can’t hide from it.\u00a0 <\/span>Fate is fate.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIt’ll find him.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Maybe a United Parcel Service plane,” said Rowena.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOver steaming bowls of pureed cauliflower soup enlivened with white<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbeans and tarragon, we agreed that the wisest course for me would be to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nproceed as I would on any ordinary day off work-though always with<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncaution.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“On the other hand,” Grandma Rowena said, “caution could get him<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nkilled.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Now, Weena, how could caution get a person killed?”\u00a0 <\/span>my father<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwondered.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nGrandma finished a spoonful of soup and smacked her lips as she had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnever done until she had turned seventy-five, two years previously. She<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsmacked them with relish, repeatedly.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHalfway between her seventh and eighth decades, she had decided that<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlongevity had earned her the right to indulge in certain small<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npleasures she had never previously allowed herself.\u00a0 <\/span>These were pretty<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmuch limited to smacking her lips, blowing her nose as noisily as she<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwished (though never at the table), and leaving her spoon and\/or fork<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nturned useful side up on the plate at the end of each course, instead<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nof useful side down as her mother, a true Victorian and a stickler for<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\netiquette, had instructed her always to do in order properly to<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nindicate that she had finished.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nShe smacked her lips again and explained why caution could be<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndangerous: “Say Jimmy’s going to cross the street, but he worries that<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na bus might hit him-“<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Or a garbage truck,” Mom suggested.\u00a0 <\/span>“Those great lumbering things on<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthese hilly streets-why, if the brakes let go, what’s to stop them?<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThey’d go right through a house.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Bus, garbage truck, might even be a speeding hearse,” Grandma<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nallowed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“What reason would a hearse have to speed?”\u00a0 <\/span>Dad asked.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Speeding or not, if it was a hearse,” said Grandma, “wouldn’t that be<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nironic-run down by a hearse?\u00a0 <\/span>God knows, life is often ironic in a way<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nit’s never shown on television.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“The viewing public could never handle it,” Mom said.\u00a0 <\/span>“Their capacity<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor genuine irony is exhausted halfway through an episode of Murder,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nShe Wrote.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“What passes for irony on TV these days,” my dad noted, “is just poor<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nplotting.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI said, “I’m less spooked by garbage trucks than by those huge concrete<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmixers they drive to construction sites.\u00a0 <\/span>I’m always sure the part that<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nrevolves is suddenly going to work loose of the truck, roll down the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nstreet, and flatten me.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“All right,” Grandma Rowena said, “so it’s a concrete mixer Jimmy’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nafraid of meeting up with.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Not afraid exactly,” I said.\u00a0 <\/span>“Just leery.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“So he stands on the sidewalk, looks left, then looks right, then looks<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nleft again, being cautious, taking his time-and because he delays there<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\non the curb too long, he’s hit by a falling safe.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn the interest of a healthy debate, my father was willing to entertain<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsome rather exotic speculations, but this stretched his patience too<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfar.\u00a0 <\/span>“A falling safe?\u00a0 <\/span>Where would it fall ram<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“From a tall building, of course,” Grandma said.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“There aren’t any tall buildings in Snow Village,” Dad gently<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nprotested.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Rudy, dear,” Mom said, “I think you’re forgetting the Alpine Hotel.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“That’s only four stories.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“A safe dropped four stories would obliterate Jimmy,” Grandma insisted.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTo me, in a concerned tone, she said, “I’m sorry.\u00a0 <\/span>Is this upsetting<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nyou, sweetheart?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Not at all, Grandma.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“It’s the simple truth, I’m afraid.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“I know, Grandma.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“It would obliterate you.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Totally,” I agreed.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“But it’s such a final word-obliterate.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“It sure does focus the mind.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“I should’ve thought before I spoke.\u00a0 <\/span>I should’ve said crushed.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\nIn lambent red candlelight, Weena had a Mona Lisa smile.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI reached across the table and patted her hand.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBeing a pastry chef, required to mix many ingredients in precise<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmeasure, my father has a greater respect for mathematics and reason<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthan do my mother and grandmother, who are more” artistic in their<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntemperaments and less slavishly devoted to logic than he is.\u00a0 <\/span>“Why,” he<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nasked, “would anyone raise a safe to the top of the Alpine Hotel?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Well, of course, to keep their valuables in,” said Grandma.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Whose valuables?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“The hotel’s valuables.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAlthough Dad never triumphs in exchanges of this nature, he always<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nremains hopeful that if only he persists, reason will prevail.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Why,” he asked, “wouldn’t they put a big heavy safe on the ground<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfloor?\u00a0 <\/span>Why go to all the trouble of craning it to the roof?”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMy mother said, “Because no doubt their valuables were on the top<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfloor.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn moments like these, I have never been quite sure if Mom shares more<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthan a little of Weena’s cockeyed perspective on the world or if she’s<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nplaying with my father.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHer face is guileless.\u00a0 <\/span>Her eyes are never evasive, and always<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nlimpid.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nShe is by nature a straightforward woman.\u00a0 <\/span>Her emotions are too clear<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor misinterpretation, and her intentions are never ambiguous.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nYet as Dad says, for a person so admirably open and direct by nature,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nshe can turn inscrutable when it tickles her to, just as easily as<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nthrowing a light switch.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThat’s one of the things he loves about her.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOur conversation continued through an endive salad with pears, walnuts,<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nand crumbled blue cheese, followed by filet mignon on a bed of<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\npotato-and-onion pancakes, with asparagus on the side.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBefore Dad got up to roll the dessert cart in from the kitchen, we had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nagreed that, for the momentous day ahead, I should keep to my usual<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nvacation routine.\u00a0 <\/span>With caution.\u00a0 <\/span>But not too much caution.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nMidnight arrived.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSeptember 15 began.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNothing happened right away.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Maybe nothing will,” Mom said.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n“Something will,” Grandma disagreed, and smacked her lips.\u00a0 <\/span>“Something<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nwill.”<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIf I had not been obliterated or even badly crushed by nine o’clock the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nnext evening, we would meet here for dinner again.\u00a0 <\/span>Together, we would<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbreak bread while remaining alert for the whiff of natural gas and the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ndrone of a descending airliner.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nNow, after demi dessert followed by a full dessert, followed by petits<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfours, all accompanied by oceans of coffee, Dad went off to work, and I<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nhelped with the kitchen cleanup.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThen at one-thirty in the morning, I retired to the living room to read<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na new book for which I had high expectations.\u00a0 <\/span>I have a great fondness<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nfor murder mysteries.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nOn the first page, a victim was found chopped up and packed in a trunk.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nHis name was Jim.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nI put that book aside, selected another from the stack on the coffee<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ntable, and returned to my armchair.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nA beautiful dead blonde stared from the book jacket, strangled with an<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nantique Japanese obi knotted colorfully around her throat.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nThe first victim was named Delores.\u00a0 <\/span>With a sigh of contentment, I<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nsettled down in my chair.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nGrandma sat on the sofa, busy with a needlepoint pillow.\u00a0 <\/span>She had been<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\na master of decorative stitching since her teenage years.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nSince she had moved in with Mom and Dad almost two decades ago, she had<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nkept baker’s hours, sewing elaborate patterns through the night.\u00a0 <\/span>My<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmother and I kept that schedule, too.\u00a0 <\/span>Mom had home-schooled me because<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nour family lived by night.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRecently, Grandma’s preferred embroidery motifs were insects.\u00a0 <\/span>Her<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nbutterfly wall hanging and even her ladybug chair cushions were<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\ncharming, but I did not care for the spider-festooned antimacassars on<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmy armchair or for the cockroach pillow.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nIn an adjacent alcove, which Mom had outfitted as her studio, she<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nworked happily on a pet portrait.\u00a0 <\/span>The subject was a glittery-eyed Gila<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nmonster named Killer.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBecause Killer was hostile toward strangers and not housebroken, the<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

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Book Preview Life Expectancy \u00a0 By: Dean R. Koontz \u00a0 “Koontz [is] working at his pinnacle, providing terrific entertainment that deals seriously with some of the deepest themes of human existence: the nature of evil, the grip of fate and the power of love. “Publishers Weekly (starred review) \u00a0 With his best selling blend of … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6291,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[421],"class_list":["post-6292","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-dean-koontz"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6292","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6292"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6292\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6291"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6292"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6292"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6292"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}