Dreamland

           Knittingmadehersleepy.TodayevenBartokwouldhavemadehersleepy,anditwasn’tBartokonthelittlephonograph,itwasBach.Herhandsgrewslowerandslower,andatthetimehersonwasmakingtheacquaintanceofRoom217’slongtermresident,Wendywasasleepwithherknittingonherlap.Theyarnandneedlesroseintheslowtimeofherbreathing.Hersleepwasdeepandshedidnotdream.

           ***

           JackTorrancehadfallenasleeptoo,buthissleepwaslightanduneasy,populatedbydreamsthatseemedtoovividtobemeredreams-theywerecertainlymorevividthananydreamshehadeverhadbefore.

           Hiseyeshadbeguntogetheavyasheleafedthroughpacketsofmilkbills,ahundredtoapacket,seeminglytensofthousandsalltogether.Yethegaveeachoneacursoryglance,afraidthatbynotbeingthoroughhemightmissexactlythepieceofOverlookianaheneededtomakethemysticconnectionthathewassuremustbeheresomewhere.Hefeltlikeamanwithapowercordinonehand,gropingaroundadarkandunfamiliarroomforasocket.Ifhecouldfindithewouldberewardedwithaviewofwonders.

           HehadcometogripswithAlShockley’sphonecallandhisrequest;hisstrangeexperienceintheplaygroundhadhelpedhimtodothat.Thathadbeentoodamnedclosetosomekindofbreakdown,andhewasconvincedthatitwashismindinrevoltagainstAl’shigh-goddam-handedrequestthathechuckhisbookproject.

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