Chapter 10

           TheTempletonAirfieldisonlyaboutfortymilesfromNewBaytown,andthat’saboutfiveminutes’flyingtimeforthejets.Theycomeoverwithincreasingregularity,swarmsofdeadlygnats.IwishIcouldadmirethem,evenlovethemthewaymysonAllendoes.Iftheyhadmorethanonepurpose,maybeIcould,buttheironlyfunctioniskillingandI’vehadabellyfulofthat.Ihaven’tlearned,asAllenhas,tolocatethembylookingaheadofthesoundtheymake.Theygothroughthesoundbarrierwithaboomthatmakesmethinkthefurnacehasexploded.WhentheygooveratnighttheygetintomydreamsandIawakenwithasadsickfeelingasthoughmysoulhadanulcer.

           EarlyinthemorningaflightofthemboomedthroughandIjumpedawake,alittletrembly.TheymusthavemademedreamofthoseGerman88-millimeterall-purposeriflesweusedtoadmireandfearsomuch.

           MybodywaspricklywithfearsweatasIlayinthegatheringmorninglightandlistenedtotheslenderspindlesofmalicewhiningawayinthedistance.Ithoughthowthatshudderwasundertheskinofeverybodyintheworld,notinthemind,deepundertheskin.It’snotthejetssomuchaswhattheirpurposeis.

           Whenaconditionoraproblembecomestoogreat,humanshavetheprotectionofnotthinkingaboutit.Butitgoesinwardandmincesupwithalotofotherthingsalreadythereandwhatcomesoutisdiscontentanduneasiness,guiltandacompulsiontogetsomething—anything—beforeitisallgone.