“This evening,” Adela Seddon began, a smile that was a rictus stretching her mouth, “we arecoming to you live, not on tape. I guess that distresses me almost as much as my own uncontrolled actions. I was sure of that. Except a sun, except birds, except clouds, except rain, except snow, except cold, except wind,except ants, except dirt, except
And what was worse than my indulging in the same irrationalbehavior that had already ruined my life was that he knew I was just making a breeze. That’ s one of the stories I can tell. Finally, he said, “Have you noticed how many of the stories you’ve written are concerned withrelationships of fathers to sons?” I’d noticed. It was a tiny matter, one hardly worthyof note, but in a society where the single driving force was order and unity and promptness a
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