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board and door handles。 The scientific study of the cultural behavior and development of man。 Anthropology。
I went upstairs and watched the kids a while。 All asleep； fumbling through their dreams； eyes rapidly moving beneath closed lids。 I got into bed next to Babette； fully dressed except for my shoes； somehow knowing she wouldn't think it strange。 But my mind kept racing； I couldn't sleep。 After a while I went down to the kitchen to sit with a cup of coffee； feel the pain in my wrist； the heightened pulse。
There was nothing to do but wait for the next sunset； when the sky would ring like bronze。
40
This was the day Wilder got on his plastic tricycle； rode it around the block； turned right onto a dead end street and pedaled noisily to the dead end。 He walked the tricycle around the guard rail and then rode along a paved walkway that went winding past some overgrown lots to a set of twenty concrete steps。 The plastic wheels rumbled and screeched。 Here our reconstruction yields to the awe…struck account of two elderly women watching from the second…story back porch of a tall house in the trees。 He walked the tricycle down the steps； guiding it with a duteous and unsentimental hand； letting it bump right along； as if it were an odd…shaped little sibling； not necessarily cherished。 He remounted； rode across the street； rode across the sidewalk； proceeded onto the grassy slope that bordered the expressway。 Here the women began to call。 Hey； hey； they said； a little tentative at first； not ready to accept the implications of the process unfolding before them。 The boy pedaled diagonally down the slope； shrewdly reducing the angle of descent； then paused on the bottom to aim his three…wheeler at the point on the opposite side which seemed to represent the shortest distance across。 Hey； sonny； no。 Waving their arms； looking frantically for some able…bodied pedestrian to appear on the scene。 Wilder； meanwhile； ignoring their cries or not hearing them in the serial whoosh of dashing hatchbacks and vans； began to pedal across the highway； mystically charged。 The women could only look； empty…mouthed； each with an arm in the air； a plea for the scene to reverse； the boy to pedal backwards on his faded blue and yellow toy like a cartoon figure on morning TV。 The drivers could not quite prehend。 In their knotted posture； belted in； they knew this picture did not belong to the hurtling consciousness of the highway； the broad…ribboned modernist stream。 In speed there was sense。 In signs； in patterns； in split…second lives。 What did it mean； this little rotary blur？ Some force in the world had gone awry。 They veered； braked； sounded their horns down the long afternoon； an animal lament。 The child would not even look at them； pedaled straight for the median strip； a narrow patch of pale grass。 He was pumped up； chesty； his arms appearing to move as rapidly as his legs； the round head wagging in a jig of lame…brained determination。 He had to slow down to get onto the raised median； rearing up to let the front wheel edge over； extremely deliberate in his movements； following some numbered scheme； and the cars went wailing past； horns blowing belatedly； drivers' eyes searching the rearview mirror。 He walked the tricycle across the grass。 The women watched him regain a firm placement on the seat。 Stay； they called。 Do not go。 No； no。 Like fpreigners reduced to simple phrases。 The cars kept ing； whipping into the straightaway； endless streaking traffic。 He set off to cross the last three lanes； dropping off the median like a bouncing ball； front wheel； rear wheels。 Then the head…wagging race to the other side。 Cars dodged； strayed； climbed the curbstone； astonished heads appearing in the side windows。 The furiously pedaling boy could not know how slow he seemed to be moving from the vantage point of the women on the porch。 The women were silent by now； outside the event； suddenly tired。 How slow he moved； how mistaken he was in thinking he was breezing right along。 It made them tired。 The horns kept blowing； sound waves mixing in the air； flattening； calling back from vanished cars； scolding。 He reached the other side； briefly rode parallel to the traffic； seemed to lose his balance； fall away； going down the embankment in a multicolored tumble。 When he reappeared a second later； he was sitting in a water furrow； part of the intermittent creek that acpanies the highway。 Stunned； he made the decision to cry。 It took him a moment； mud and water everywhere； the tricycle on its side。 The women began to call once more； each raising an arm to revoke the action。 Boy in the water； they said。 Look； help； drown。 And he seemed； on his seat in the creek； profoundly howling； to have heard them for the first time； looking up over the earthen mound and into the trees across the expressway。 This frightened them all the more。 They called and waved； were approaching the early phases of uncontrollable terror when a passing motorist； as such people are called； alertly pulled over； got out of the car； skidded down the embankment and lifted the boy from the murky shallows； holding him aloft for the clamoring elders to see。
We go to the overpass all the time。 Babette； Wilder and I。 We take a thermos of iced tea； park the car； watch the setting sun。 Clouds are no deterrent。 Clouds intensify the drama； trap and shape the light。 Heavy overcasts have little effect。 Light bursts through； tracers and smoky arcs。 Overcasts enhance the mood。 We find little to say to each other。 More cars arrive； parking in a line that extends down to the residential zone。 People walk up the incline and onto the overpass； carrying fruit and nuts； cool drinks； mainly the middle…aged； the elderly； some with webbed beach chairs which they set out on the sidewalk； but younger couples also； arm in arm at the rail； looking west。 The sky takes on content； feeling； an exalted narrative life。 The bands of color reach so high； seem at times to separate into their constituent parts。 There are turreted skies； light storms； softly falling streamers。 It is hard to know how we should feel about this。 Some people are scared by the sunsets； some determined to be elated； but most of us don't