e were comm into the dock then, and there was no more time for talk. I was just as glad; I didn't want her lookin at me with those tearful eyes of hers, wantin what I guess every kid wants, for everything to be made right but with no pain and nobody hurt. Wantin me to make promises I couldn't make, because they were promises I didn't know if I could keep. I wasn't sure that inside eye would let me keep em. We got off the ferry without another word passin between us, and that was just as fine as paint with me.

That evenin, after Joe got home from the Carstairs place where he was buildin a back porch, I sent all three kids down to the market. I saw Selena castin little glances back at me all the way down the drive, and her face was just as pale as a glass of milk. Every time she turned her head, Andy, I saw that double-damned hatchet in her eyes. But I saw somethin else in them, too, and I believe that other thing was relief. At least things are gonna quit just goin around n around like they have been, she musta been thinkin; scared as she was, I think part of her musta been thinkin that.

Joe was sittin by the stove readin the American, like he done every night. I stood by the woodbox, lookin at him, and that eye inside seemed to open wider'n ever. Lookit him, I thought, sittin there like the Grand High Poobah of Upper Butt-Crack. Sittin there like he didn't have to put on his pants one leg at a time like the rest of us. Sittin there as if puttin his hands all over his only daughter was the most natural thing in all the world and any man could sleep easy after doin it. I tried to think of how we'd gotten from the Junior-Senior Prom at The Samoset Inn to where we were right now, him sittin by the stove and readin the paper in his old patched blue-jeans and dirty thermal undershirt and me standin by the woodbox with murder in my heart, and I couldn't do it. It was like bein in a magic forest where you look back over your shoulder and see the path has disappeared behind you.

Meantime, that inside eye saw more n more. It saw the crisscross scars on his ear from when I hit him with the creamer; it saw the squiggly little veins in his nose; it saw the way his lower lip pooched out so he almost always looked like he was havin a fit of the sulks; it saw the dandruff in his eyebrows and the way he'd pull at the hairs growin out of his nose or give his pants a good tug at the crotch every now and then.

All the things that eye saw were bad, and it come to me that marryin him had been a lot more than the biggest mistake of my life; it was the only mistake that really mattered, because it wasn't just me that would end up payin for it. It was Selena he was occupied with then, but there were two boys comm along right behind her, and if he wouldn't stop at tryin to rape their big sister, what might he do to them?

I turned my head and that eye inside saw the hatchet, layin on the shelf over the woodbox just the same as always. I reached out for it n closed my fingers around the handle, thinkin, I ain't just going to put it in your hand this time, Joe. Then I thought of Selena turnin back to look at me as the three of em walked down the driveway, and I decided that whatever happened, the goddam hatchet wasn't going to be any part of it. I bent down and took a chunk of rock maple out of the woodbox instead.

Hatchet or stovelength, it almost didn't matter - oe's life come within a whisker of endin right then and there. The longer I looked at him sittin in his dirty shirt, tuggin at the hairs stickin outta his nose and readin the funnypages, the more I thought of what he'd been up to with Selena; the more I thought about that, the madder I got; the madder I got, the closer I came to just walkin over there and breakin his skull open with that stick of wood. I could even see the place I'd hit the first lick. His hair had started to get real thin, especially in back, and the light from the lamp beside his chair made a kind of gleam there. You could see the freckles on the skin between the few strands of hair that was left. Right there, I thought, that very place. The blood'll jump up n splatter all over the lampshade, but I don't care; it's an ugly old thing, anyway. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to see the blood flyin up onto the shade like I knew it would. And then I thought about how drops would fly onto the light-bulb, too, and make a little sizzlin sound. I thought about those things, and the more I thought, the more my fingers bore down on that chunk of stovewood, gettin their best grip. It was crazy, oh yes, but I couldn't seem to turn away from him, and I knew that inside eye would go on lookin at him even if I did.

I told myself to think of how Selena would feel if I did it - all her worst fears come true - but that didn't work, either. As much as I loved her and as much as I wanted her good regard, it didn't. That eye was too strong for love. Not even wonderin what would happen to the three of em if he was dead and I was in South Windham for killin him would make that inside eye close up. It stayed wide open, and it kep seem more and more ugly things in Joe's face. The way he scraped white flakes of skin up from his cheeks when he shaved. A blob of mustard from his dinner dryin on his chin. His big old horsey dentures, which he got from mail order and didn't fit him right. And every time I saw somethin else with that eye, my grip on that stovelength would tighten down a little more.

At the last minute I thought of somethin else. If you do this right here and right now, you won't be doin it for Selena, I thought. You wouldn't be doin it for the boys, either. You'd be doin it because all that grabbin was goin on under your very nose for three months or more and you was too dumb to notice. If you're going to kill him and go to prison and only see your kids on Sat'dy afternoons, you better understand why you're doin it: not because he was at Selena, but because he fooled you, and that's one way you're just like Vera - you hate bein fooled worse'n anything.

That finally put a damper on me. The inside eye didn't close, but it dimmed down and lost a little of its power. I tried to open my hand and let that chunk of rock maple fall, but I'd been squeezin it too tight and couldn't seem to let go. I had to reach over with my other hand and pry the first two fingers off before it dropped back into the woodbox, and the other three fingers stayed curled, like they were still holdin on. I had to flex my hand three or four times before it started to feel normal again.

After it did, I walked over to Joe and tapped him on the shoulder. 'I want to talk to you,' I says.

'So talk,' he says from behind the paper. 'I ain't stoppin you.'

'I want you lookin at me when I do,' I says. 'Put that rag down.'

He dropped the paper into his lap and looked at me. 'Ain't you got the busiest mouth on you these days,' he says.

'I'll take care of my mouth,' I says, 'you just want to take care of your hands. If you don't, they're gonna get you in more trouble than you could handle in a year of Sundays.'

His brows went up and he asked me what that was supposed to mean.

'It means l want you to leave Selena alone,' I says. He looked like I'd hoicked my knee right up into his family jewels. That was the best of a sorry business, Andy - the look on Joe's face when he found out he was found out. His skin went pale and his mouth dropped open and his whole body kinda jerked in that shitty old rocker of his, the way a person's body will jerk sometimes when they are just fallin off to sleep and have a bad thought on their way down.

He tried to pass it off by actin like he'd had a muscle-twinge in his back, but he didn't fool either one of us. He actually looked a little ashamed of himself, too, but that didn't win him any favor with me. Even a stupid hound-dog has sense enough to look ashamed if you catch it stealin eggs out of a henhouse.

'I don't know what you're talkin about,' he says. 'Then how come you look like the devil just reached into your pants and squeezed your balls?' I asked him.

The thunder started to come onto his brow then. 'If that damned Joe Junior's been tellin lies about me -' he began.

'Joe Junior ain't been sayin yes, no, aye, nor maybe about you,' I says, 'and you can just drop the act, Joe. Selena told me. She told me everything - how she tried to be nice to you after the night I hit you with the cream-pitcher, how you repaid her, and what you said would happen if she ever told.'

'She's a little liar!' he says, throwin his paper on the floor like that proved it. 'A little liar and a god-dam tease! I'm gonna get my belt, and when she shows her face again - if she ever dares to show it around here again -'

He started to get up. I took one hand and shoved him back down again. It's awful easy, shovin a person who's tryin to get out of a rockin chair; it surprised me a little how easy it was. Accourse, I'd almost bashed his head in with a stovelength not three minutes before, and that mighta had somethin to do with it.

His eyes went down to narrow little slits and he said I'd better not fool with him. 'You've done it before,' he says, 'but that don't mean you can bell the cat every time you want to.'

I'd been thinkin that very thing myself, and not so long before, but that wasn't hardly the time to tell him so. 'You can save your big talk for your friends,' I says instead. 'What you want to do right now isn't talk but listen . . . and hear what I say, because I mean every word. If you ever fool with Selena again, I'll see you in State Prison for molesting a child or statutory rape, whichever charge will keep you in cold storage the longest.'

That flummoxed him. His mouth fell open again and he just sat there for a minute, starin up at me.

'You'd never,' he begun, and then stopped. Because he seen that I would. So he went into a pet, with his lower lip poochin out farther than ever. 'You take her part, don't you?' he says. 'You never even ast for my side of it, Dolores.'

'Do you have one?' I asked him back. 'When a man just four years shy of forty asks his fourteen-year-old daughter to take off her underpants so he can see how much hair she has grown on her pussy, can you say that man has a side?'

'She'll be fifteen next month,' he says, as if that somehow changed everything. He was a piece of work, all right.

'Do you hear yourself?' I asked him. 'Do you hear what's runnin out of your own mouth?'

He stared at me a little longer, then bent over and picked his newspaper up off the floor. 'Leave me alone, Dolores,' he says in his best sulky poor-old-me voice. 'I want to finish this article.'

I felt like tearin the damned paper out of his hands and throwin it in his face, but there would have been a blood-flowin tussle for sure if I had, and I didn't want the kids - especially not Selena - comin in on somethin like that. So I just reached out and pulled down the top of it, gentle, with my thumb.

'First you're gonna promise me you'll leave Selena alone,' I said, 'so we can put this shit-miserable business behind us. You promise me you ain't gonna touch her that way ever again in your life.'

'Dolores, you ain't -' he starts.

'Promise, Joe, or I'll make your life hell.'

'You think that scares me?' he shouts. 'You've made my life hell for the last fifteen years, you bitch - your ugly face can't hold a candle to your ugly disposition! If you don't like the way I am, blame yourself!'

'You don't know what hell is,' I said, 'but if you don't promise to leave her alone, I'll see you find out.'

'All right!' he yells. 'All right, I promise! There! Done! Are you satisfied?'

'Yes,' I says, although I wasn't. He wasn't ever gonna be able to satisfy me again. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd worked the miracle of the loaves and fishes. I meant to get the kids out of that house or see him dead before the turn of the year. Which way it went didn't make much difference to me, but I didn't want him to know somethin was comin his way until it was too late for him to do anythin about it.

'Good,' he says. 'Then we're all done and buttoned up, ain't we, Dolores?' But he was lookin at me with a funny little gleam in his eyes that I didn't much like. 'You think you're pretty smart, don't you?'

'I dunno,' I says. 'I used to think I had a fair amount of intelligence, but look who I ended up keepin house with.'

'Oh, come on,' he says, still lookin at me in that funny half-wise way. 'You think you're such hot shit you prob'ly look over your shoulder to make sure your ass ain't smokin before you wipe yourself. But you don't know everything.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'You figure it out,' he says, and shakes his paper out like some rich guy who wants to make sure the stock market didn't use him too bad that day. 'It shouldn't be no trouble for a smartypants like you.

I didn't like it, but I let it go. Partly it was because I didn't want to spend any more time knockin a stick against a hornet's nest than I had to, but that wasn't all of it. I did think I was smart, smarter'n him, anyway, and that was the rest of it. I figured if he tried to get his own back on me, I'd see what he was up to about five minutes after he got started. It was pride, in other words, pride pure n simple, and the idea that he'd already got started never crossed my mind.

When the kids came back from the store, I sent the boys into the house and walked around to the back with Selena. There's a big tangle of blackberry bushes there, mostly bare by that time of the year. A little breeze had come up, and it made them rattle. It was a lonesome sound. A little creepy, too. There's a big white stone stickin out of the ground there, and we sat down on it. A half-moon had risen over East Head, and when she took my hands, her fingers were just as cold as that half-moon looked.

'I don't dare go in, Mommy,' she said, and her voice was tremblin. 'I'll go to Tanya's, all right? Please say I can.'

'You don't have to be afraid of a thing, sweetheart,' I says. 'It's all taken care of.'

'I don't believe you,' she whispered, although her face said she wanted to - her face said she wanted to believe it more than anythin.

'It's true,' I said. 'He's promised to leave you alone. He doesn't always keep his promises, but he'll keep this one, now that he knows I'm watchin and he can't count on you to keep quiet. Also, he's scared to death.'

'Scared to death - why?'

'Because I told him I'd see him in Shawshank if he got up to any more nasty business with you.'

She gasped, and her hands bore down on mine again. 'Mommy, you didn't!'

'Yes I did, and I meant it,' I says. 'Best for you to know that, Selena. But I wouldn't worry too much; Joe probably won't come within ten feet of you for the next four years . . . and by then you'll be in college. If there's one thing on this round world he respects, it's his own hide.'

She let go of my hands, slow but sure. I saw the hope comm into her face, and somethin else, as well. It was like her youth was comm back to her, and it wasn't until then, sittin in the moonlight by the blackberry patch with her, that I realized how old she'd come to look that fall.

'He won't strap me or anything?' she asked.

'No,' I says. 'It's done.'

Then she believed it all and put her head down on my shoulder and started to cry. Those were tears of relief, pure and simple. That she should have to cry that way made me hate Joe even more.

I think that, for the next few nights, there was a girl in my house sleepin better'n she had for three months or more . . . but I laid awake. I'd listen to Joe snorin beside me, and look at him with that inside eye, and feel like turnin over and bitin his goddam throat out. But I wasn't crazy anymore, like I'd been when I almost poleaxed him with that stick of stovewood. Thinkin of the kids and what would happen to em if I was taken up for murder hadn't had any power over that inside eye then, but later on, after I'd told Selena she was safe and had a chance to cool off a little myself, it did. Still, I knew that what Selena most likely wanted - for things to go on like what her Dad had been up to had never happened - couldn't be. Even if he kep his promise and never touched her again, that couldn't be, and in spite of what I'd told Selena, I wasn't completely sure he'd keep his promise. Sooner or later, men like Joe usually persuade themselves that they can get away with it next time; that if they're only a little more careful, they can have whatever they like.

Lyin there in the dark and calm again at last, the answer seemed simple enough: I had to take the kids and move to the mainland, and I had to do it soon. I was calm enough right then, but I knew I wasn't gonna stay that way; that inside eye wouldn't let me. The next time I got hot, it would see even better and Joe would look even uglier and there might not be any thought on earth that could keep me from doin it. It was a new way of bein mad, at least for me, and I was just wise enough to see the damage it could do, if I let it. I had to get us away from Little Tall before that madness could break all the way out. And when I made my first move in that direction, I found out what that funny half-wise look in his eyes meant. Did I ever!

I waited awhile for things to settle, then I took the eleven o'clock ferry across to the mainland one Friday mornin. The kids were in school and Joe was out on the boundin main with Mike Stargill and his brother Gordon, playin with the lobster-pots - he wouldn't be back til almost sundown.

I had the kids' savins account passbooks with me. We'd been puttin money away for their college ever since they were born. I had, anyway; Joe didn't give a squitter if they went to college or not. Whenever the subject came up - and it was always me who brought it up, accourse - he'd most likely be sittin there in his shitty rocker with his face hid behind the Ellsworth American and he'd poke it out just long enough to say, 'Why in Christ's name are you so set on sendin those kids to college, Dolores? I never went, and I did all right.'

Well, there's some things you just can't argue with, ain't there? If Joe thought that readin the paper, minin for boogers, and wipen em on the runners of his rockin chair was doin all right, there wasn't no room at all for discussion; it was hopeless from the word go. That was all right, though. As long as I could keep makin him kick in his fair share if he happened to fall into somethin good, like when he got on the county road crew, I didn't give a shit if he thought every college in the country was run by the Commies. The winter he worked on the road crew on the mainland, I got him to put five hundred dollars in their bank accounts, and he whined like a pup. Said I was takin all his dividend. I knew better, though, Andy. If that sonofawhore didn't make two thousand, maybe twenty-five hundred, dollars that winter, I'll smile n kiss a pig.

'Why do you always want to nag me so, Dolores?' he'd ask.

'If you were man enough to do what's right for your kids in the first place, I wouldn't have to,' I'd tell him, and around n around it'd go, blah-blahblahdy-blah. I got pretty sick of it from time to time, Andy, but I almost always got out of him what I thought the kids had comin. I couldn't get too sick of it to do that, because they didn't have nobody else to make sure their future'd still be there for em when they got to it.

There wasn't a lot in those three accounts by today's standards - two thousand or so in Selena's, about eight hundred in Joe Junior's, four or five hundred in Little Pete's - but this is 1962 I'm talkin about, and in those days it was a fairish chunk of change. More'n enough to get away on, that was for sure. I figured to draw Little Pete's in cash and take cashier's checks for the other two. I'd decided to make a clean break and move us all the way down to Portland - find a place to live and a decent job. We wasn't none of us used to city livin, but people can get used to damned near anything if they have to. Besides, Portland wasn't really much more than a big town back then - not like it is now.

Once I got settled, I could start puttin back the money I'd had to take, and I thought I could do it. Even if I couldn't, they was bright kids, and I knew there were such things as scholarships. If they missed out on those, I decided I wasn't too proud to fill out a few loan applications. The major thing was to get them away - right then doin that seemed a lot more important than college. First things first, as the bumper sticker on Joe's old Farmall tractor used to say.

I've run m'gums for pretty near three-quarters of an hour about Selena, but it wasn't only her who'd suffered from him. She got the worst of it, but there was plenty of black weather left over for Joe Junior. He was twelve in 1962, a prime age for a boy, but you wouldn't know it lookin at him. He hardly ever smiled or laughed, and it really wasn't any wonder. He'd no more'n come into the room and his Dad'd be on him like a weasel on a chicken, tellin him to tuck in his shirt, to comb his hair, to quit slouchin, to grow up, stop actin like a goddam sissy with his nose always stuck in a book, to be a man. When Joe Junior didn't make the Little League All-Star team the summer before I found out what was wrong with Selena, you would have thought, listenin to his father, that he'd been kicked off the Olympic track team for takin pep-pills. Add to that whatever he'd seen his father gettin up to with his big sister, and you got a real mess on your hands, Sunny Jim. I'd sometimes look at Joe Junior lookin at his father and see real hate in that boy's face - hate, pure n simple. And durin the week or two before I went across to the mainland with those passbooks in my pocket, I realized that, when it came to his father, Joe Junior had his own inside eye.

Then there was Little Pete. By the time he was four, he'd go swaggerin around right behind Joe, with the waist of his pants pulled up like Joe wore his, and he'd pull at the end of his nose and his ears, just like Joe did. Little Pete didn't have any hairs there to pull, accourse, so he'd just pretend. On his first day at first grade, he come home snivellin, with dirt on the seat of his pants and a scratch on his cheek. I sat down beside him on the porch step, put my arm around his shoulders, and asked him what happened. He said that goddam little sheeny Dicky O'Hara pushed him down. I told him goddam was swearin and he shouldn't say it, then asked him if he knew what a sheeny was. I was pretty curious to hear what might pop out of his mouth, to tell you the truth.

'Sure I do,' he says. 'A sheeny's a stupid jerk like Dicky O'Hara.' I told him no, he was wrong, and he asked me what it did mean, then. I told him to never mind, it wasn't a nice word and I didn't want him sayin it anymore. He just sat there glarin at me with his lip pooched out. He looked just like his old man. Selena was scared of her father, Joe Junior hated him, but in some ways it was Little Pete who scared me the most, because Little Pete wanted to grow up to be just like him.

So I got their passbooks from the bottom drawer of my little jewelry box (I kep em there because it was the only thing I had in those days with a lock on it; I wore the key around my neck on a chain) and walked into the Coastal Northern Bank in Jonesport at about half-past noon. When I got to the front of the line, I pushed the passbooks across to the teller, said I meant to close all three accounts out, and explained how I wanted the money.

'That'll be just a moment, Mrs St George,' she says, and goes to the back of the tellers' area to pull the accounts. This was long before computers, accourse, and they had to do a lot more fiddlin and diddlin.

She got em - I saw her pull all three - and then she opened em up and looked at em. A little line showed up down the middle of her brow, and she said somethin to one of the other women. Then they both looked for awhile, with me standin out there on the other side of the counter, watchin em and tellin myself there wasn't a reason in the world to feel nervous and feelin pretty goddam nervous just the same.

Then, instead of comm back to me, the teller went into one of those jumped-up little cubbyholes they called offices. It had glass sides, and I could see her talkin to a little bald man in a gray suit and black tie. When she came back to the counter, she didn't have the account files anymore. She'd left them on the bald fella's desk.

'I think you'd better discuss your children's savings accounts with Mr Pease, Mrs St George,' she says, and pushes the passbooks back to me. She did it with the side of her hand, like they were germy and she might get infected if she touched em too much or too long.