with？
His feet were moving
（feets don't fail me now）
before he realized it。 He turned them away from the door and walked down to
the main hall； his feet whispering on the blue…black jungle carpet。 He stopped
halfway to the stairs and looked at the fire extinguisher。 He thought that the
folds of canvas were arranged in a slightly different manner。 And he was quite
sure that the brass nozzle had been pointing toward the elevator when he came up
the hall。 Now it was pointing the other way。
〃I didn't see that at all；〃 Jack Torrance said quite clearly。 His face was
white and haggard and his mouth kept trying to grin。
But he didn't take the elevator back down。 It was too much like an open mouth。
Too much by half。 He took the stairs。
》
THE VERDICT
He stepped into the kitchen and looked at them； bouncing the passkey a few
inches up off his left hand； making the chain on the white metal tongue jingle；
then catching it again。 Danny was pallid and worn out。 Wendy had been crying； he
saw； her eyes were red and darkly circled。 He felt a sudden burst of gladness at
this。 He wasn't suffering alone； that was sure。
They looked at him without speaking。
〃Nothing there；〃 he said； astounded by the heartiness of his voice。 〃Not a
thing。〃
He bounced the passkey up and down； up and down； smiling reassuringly at them；
watching the relief spread over their faces； and thought he had never in his
life wanted a drink so badly as he did right now。
》
THE BEDROOM
Late that afternoon Jack got a cot from the first…floor storage room and put
it in the corner of their bedroom。 Wendy had expected that the boy would be half
the night getting to sleep； but Danny was nodding before 〃The Waltons〃 was half
over； and fifteen minutes after they had tucked him in he was far down in
sleep； moveless； one hand tucked under his cheek。 Wendy sat watching him；
holding her place in a fat paperback copy of Cashelmara with one finger。 Jack
sat at his desk； looking at his play。
〃Oh shit；〃 Jack said。
Wendy looked up from her contemplation of Danny。 〃What？〃
〃Nothing。〃
He looked down at the play with smoldering ill…temper。 How could he have
thought it was good？ It was puerile。 It had been done a thousand times。 Worse；
he had no idea how to finish it。 Once it had seemed simple enough。 Denker； in a
fit of rage； seizes the poker from beside the fireplace and beats saintly Gary
to death。 Then； standing spread…legged over the body； the bloody poker in one
hand； he screams at the audience： 〃It's here somewhere and I will find it！〃
Then； as the lights dim and the curtain is slowly drawn； the audience sees
Gary's body face down on the forestage as Denker strides to the upstage bookcase
and feverishly begins pulling books from the shelves； looking at them； throwing
them aside。 He had thought it was something old enough to be new； a play whose
novelty alone might be enough to see it through a successful Broadway run： a
tragedy in five acts。
But； in addition to his sudden diversion of interest to the Overlooks
history； something else had happened。 He had developed opposing feelings about
his characters。 This was something quite new。 Ordinarily he liked all of his
characters； the good and the bad。 He was glad he did。 It allowed him to try to
see all of their sides and understand their motivations more clearly。 His
favorite story； sold to a small southern Maine magazine called Contraband for
copies； had been a piece called 〃The Monkey Is Here； Paul DeLong。〃 It had been
about a child molester about to mit suicide in his furnished room。 The child
molester's name had been Paul DeLong； Monkey to his friends。 Jack had liked
Monkey very much。 He sympathized with Monkey's bizarre needs； knowing that
Monkey was not the only one to blame for the three rape…murders in his past。
There had been bad parents； the father a beater as his own father had been； the
mother a limp and silent dishrag as his mother had been。 A homosexual experience
in grammar school。 Public humiliation。 Worse experiences in high school and
college。 He had been arrested and sent to an institution after exposing himself
to a pair of little girls getting off a school bus。 Worst of all； he had been
dismissed from the institution； let back out onto the streets； because the man
in charge had decided he was all right。 This man's name had been Grimmer。
Grimmer had known that Monkey DeLong was exhibiting deviant symptoms； but he had
written the good； hopeful report and had let him go anyway。 Jack liked and
sympathized with Grimmer； too。 Grimmer had to run an understaffed and
underfunded institution and try to keep the whole thing together with spit；
baling wire； and nickle…and…dime appropriations from a state legislature who had
to go back and face the voters。 Grimmer knew that Monkey could interact with
other people； that he did not soil his pants or try to stab his fellow inmates
with the scissors。 He did not think he was Napoleon。 The staff psychiatrist in
charge of Monkey's case thought there was a better…than…even chance that Monkey
could make it on the street； and they both knew that the longer a man is in an
institution the more he es to need that closed environment； like a junkie
with his smack。 And meanwhile； people were knocking down the doors。 Paranoids；
schizoids； cycloids； semicatatonics； men who claimed to have gone to heaven in
flying saucers； women who had burned their children's sex organs off with Bic
lighters； alcoholics； pyromaniacs； kleptomaniacs； manic…depressives； suicidals。
Tough old world； baby。 If you're not bolted together tightly； you're gonna
shake； rattle； and roll before you turn thirty。 Jack could sympathize with
Grimmer's problem。 He could sympathize with the parents of the murder victims。
With the murdered children themselves； of course。 And with Monkey DeLong。 Let
the reader lay blame。 In those days he hadn't wanted to judge。 The cloak of the
moralist sat badly on his shoulders。
He had started The Little School in the same optimistic vein。 But lately he
had begun to choose up sides； and worse still； he had e to loathe his hero；
Gary Benson。 Originally conceived as a bright boy more cursed with money than
blessed with it； a boy who wanted more than anything to pile a good record so
he could go to a good university because he had earned admission and not because
his father had pulled strings； he had bee to Jack a kind of simpering Goody
Two…shoes； a postulant before the altar of knowledge rather than a sincere
acolyte； an outward paragon of Boy Scout virtues； inwardly cynical； filled not
with real brilliance （as he had first been conceived） but only with sly animal
cunning。 All through the play he unfailingly addressed Denker as 〃sir；〃 just as
Jack had taught his own son to address those older and those in authority as
〃sir。〃 He thought that Danny used the word quite sincerely； and Gary Benson as
originally conceived had too； but as he had begun Act V； it had e more and
more strongly to him t