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the　white　tablets　and　lined　them　up　on　the　counter　beside　his　remaining　change。　
He　recapped　the　bottle　and　put　it　in　his　pocket。　
　　At　the　other　end；　the　phone　was　picked　up　on　the　first　ring。　
　　〃Surf…Sand　Resort；　how　may　we　help　you？〃　the　perky　female　voice　asked。　
　　〃I'd　like　to　speak　with　the　manager；　please。〃　
　　〃Do　you　mean　Mr。　Trent　or　—　〃　
　　〃I　mean　Mr。　Ullman。〃　
　　〃I　believe　Mr。　Ullman　is　busy；　but　if　you　would　like　me　to　check　—　〃　
　　〃I　would。　Tell　him　it's　Jack　Torrance　calling　from　Colorado。〃　
　　〃One　moment；　please。〃　She　put　him　on　hold。　
　　Jack's　dislike　for　that　cheap；　self…important　little　prick　Ullman　came　
flooding　back。　He　took　one　of　the　Excedrins　from　the　counter；　regarded　it　for　a　
moment；　then　put　it　into　his　mouth　and　began　to　chew　it；　slowly　and　with　relish。　
The　taste　flooded　back　like　memory；　making　his　saliva　squirt　in　mingled　pleasure　
and　unhappiness。　A　dry；　bitter　taste；　but　a　pelling　one。　He　swallowed　with　a　
grimace。　Chewing　aspirin　had　been　a　habit　with　him　in　his　drinking　days；　he　
hadn't　done　it　at　all　since　then。　But　when　your　headache　was　bad　enough；　a　
hangover　headache　or　one　like　this　one；　chewing　them　seemed　to　make　them　get　to　
work　quicker。　He　had　read　somewhere　that　chewing　aspirin　could　bee　addictive。　
Where　had　he　read　that；　anyway？　Frowning；　he　tried　to　think。　And　then　Ullman　
came　on　the　line。　
　　〃Torrance？　What's　the　trouble？〃　
　　〃No　trouble；〃　he　said。　〃The　boiler's　okay　and　I　haven't　even　gotten　around　to　


　
　
murdering　my　wife　yet。　I'm　saving　that　until　after　the　holidays；　when　things　get　
dull。〃　
　　〃Very　funny。　Why　are　you　calling？　I'm　a　busy　—　〃　
　　〃Busy　man；　yes；　I　understand　that。　I'm　calling　about　some　things　that　you　
didn't　tell　me　during　your　history　of　the　Overlooks　great　and　honorable　past。　
Like　how　Horace　Derwent　sold　it　to　a　bunch　of　Las　Vegas　sharpies　who　dealt　it　
through　so　many　dummy　corporations　that　not　even　the　IRS　knew　who　really　owned　
it。　About　how　they　waited　until　the　time　was　right　and　then　turned　it　into　a　
playground　for　Mafia　bigwigs；　and　about　how　it　had　to　be　shut　down　in　1966　when　
one　of　them　got　a　little　bit　dead。　Along　with　his　bodyguards；　who　were　standing　
outside　the　door　to　the　Presidential　Suite。　Great　place；　the　Overlook's　
Presidential　Suite。　Wilson；　Harding；　Roosevelt；　Nixon；　and　Vito　the　Chopper；　
right？〃　
　　There　was　a　moment　of　surprised　silence　on　the　other　end　of　the　line；　and　then　
Ullman　said　quietly：　〃I　don't　see　how　that　can　have　any　bearing　on　your　job；　Mr。　
Torrance。　It　　〃　
　　〃The　best　part　happened　after　Gienelli　was　shot；　though；　don't　you　think？　Two　
more　quick　shuffles；　now　you　see　it　and　now　you　don't；　and　then　the　Overlook　is　
suddenly　owned　by　a　private　citizen；　a　woman　named　Sylvia　Hunter　。。。　who　just　
happened　to　be　Sylvia　Hunter　Derwent　from　1942　to　1948。〃　
　　〃Your　three　minutes　are　up；〃　the　operator　said。　〃Signal　when　through。〃　
　　〃My　dear　Mr。　Torrance；　all　of　this　is　public　knowledge　。。。　and　ancient　
history。〃　
　　〃It　formed　no　part　of　my　knowledge；〃　Jack　said。　〃I　doubt　if　many　other　people　
know　it；　either。　Not　all　of　it。　They　remember　the　Gienelli　shooting；　maybe；　but　
I　doubt　if　anybody　has　put　together　all　the　wondrous　and　strange　shuffles　the　
Overlook　has　been　through　since　1945。　And　it　always　seems　like　Derwent　or　a　
Derwent　associate　es　up　with　the　door　prize。　What　was　Sylvia　Hunter　running　
up　there　in　'67　and　'68；　Mr。　Ullman？　It　was　a　whorehouse；　wasn't　it？〃　
　　〃Torrance！〃　His　shock　crackled　across　two　thousand　miles　of　telephone　cable　
without　losing　a　thing。　
　　Smiling；　Jack　popped　another　Excedrin　into　his　mouth　and　chewed　it。　
　　〃She　sold　out　after　a　rather　well　known　U。S。　senator　died　of　a　heart　attack　up　
there。　There　were　rumors　that　he　was　found　naked　except　for　black　nylon　
stockings　and　a　garter　belt　and　a　pair　of　high…heeled　pumps。　Patent…leather　
pumps；　as　a　matter　of　fact。〃　
　　〃That's　a　vicious；　damnable　lie！〃　Ullman　cried。　
　　〃Is　it？〃　Jack　asked。　He　was　beginning　to　feel　better。　The　headache　was　
draining　away。　He　took　the　last　Excedrin　and　chewed　it　up；　enjoying　the　bitter；　
powdery　taste　as　the　tablet　shredded　in　his　mouth。　
　　〃It　was　a　very　unfortunate　occurrence；〃　Ullman　said。　〃Now　what　is　the　point；　
Torrance？　If　you're　planning　to　write　some　ugly　smear　article　。。。　if　this　is　
some　illconceived；　stupid　blackmail　idea。。。〃　
　　〃Nothing　of　the　sort；〃　Jack　said。　〃I　called　because　I　didn't　think　you　played　
square　with　me。　And　because　—　〃　
　　〃Didn't　play　square？〃　Ullman　cried。　〃My　God；　did　you　think　I　was　going　to　
share　a　large　pile　of　dirty　laundry　with　the　hotel's　caretaker？　Who　in　heaven's　
name　do　you　think　you　are？　And　how　could　those　old　stories　possibly　affect　you　


　
　
anyway？　Or　do　you　think　there　are　ghosts　parading　up　and　down　the　halls　of　the　
west　wing　wearing　bedsheets　and　crying　'Woe！'？〃　
　　〃No；　I　don't　think　there　are　any　ghosts。　But　you　raked　up　a　lot　of　my　personal　
history　before　you　gave　me　the　job。　You　had　me　on　the　carpet；　quizzing　me　about　
my　ability　to　take　care　of　your　hotel　like　a　little　boy　in　front　of　the　
teacher's　desk　for　peeing　in　the　coatroom。　You　embarrassed　me。〃　
　　〃I　just　do　not　believe　your　cheek；　your　bloody　damned　impertinence；〃　Ullman　
said。　He　sounded　as　if　he　might　be　choking。　〃I'd　like　to　sack　you。　And　perhaps　I　
will。〃　
　　〃I　think　Al　Shockley　might　object。　Strenuously。〃　
　　〃And　I　think　you　may　have　finally　overestimated　Mr。　Shockley's　mitment　to　
you；　Mr。　Torrance。〃　
　　For　a　moment　Jack's　headache　came　back　in　all　its　thudding　glory；　and　he　
closed　his　eyes　against　the　pain。　As　if　from　a　distance　away　he　heard　himself　
ask：　〃Who　owns　the　Overlook　now？　Is　it　still　Derwent　Enterprises？　Or　are　you　too　
smallfry　to　know？〃　
　　〃I　think　that　will　do；　Mr。　Torrance。　You　are　an　employee　of　the　hotel；　no　
different　from　a　busboy　or　a　kitchen　pot　scrubber。　I　have　no　intention　of　—　〃　
　　〃Okay；　I'll　write　Al；〃　Jack　said。　〃He'll　know；　after　all；　he's　on　the　Board　of　
Directors。　And　I　might　just　add　a　little　P。S。　to　the　effect　that　—　〃　
　　〃Derwent　doesn't　own　it。〃　
　　〃What？　I　couldn't　quite　make　that　out。〃　
　　〃I　said　Derwent　doesn't　own　it。　The　stockholders　are　all　Easterners。　Your　
friend　Mr。　Shockley　owns　the　largest　block　of　stock　himself；　better　than　thirty…　
five　per　cent。　You　would　know　better　than　I　if　he　has　any　ties　to　Derwent。〃　
　　〃Who　else？〃　
　　〃I　have　no　intention　of　divulging　the　names　of　the　other　stockholders　to　you；　
Mr。　Torrance。　I　intend　to　bring　this　whole　matter　to　the　attention　of　—　〃　
　　〃One　other　question。〃　
　　〃I　am　under　no　obligation　to　you。〃　
　　〃Most　of　the　Overlook's　history　—　savory　and　unsavory　alike　—　I　found　in　a　
scrapbook　that　was　in　the　cellar。　Big　thing　with　white　leather　covers。　Gold　
thread　for　binding。　Do　you　have　any　idea　whose　scrapbook　that　might　be？〃　
　　〃None　at　all。〃　
　　〃Is　it　possible　it　could　have　belonged　to　Grady？　The　caretaker　who　killed　
himself？〃　
　　〃Mr。　Torrance；〃　Ullman　said　in　tones　of　deepest　frost；　〃I　am　by　no　means　sure　
that　Mr。　Grady　could　read；　let　alone　dig　out　the　rotten　apples　you　have　been　
wasting　my　time　with。〃　
　　〃I'm　thinking　of　writing　a　book　about　the　Overlook　Hotel。　I　thought　if　I　
actually　got　through　it；　the　owner　of　the　scrapbook　would　like　to　have　an　
acknowledgment　at　the　front。〃　
　　〃I　think　writing　a　book　about　the　Overlook　would　be　very　unwise；〃　Ullman　said。　
〃Especially　a　book　done　from　your　。。。　uh；　point　of　view。〃　
　　〃Your　opinion　doesn't　surprise　me。〃　His　headache　was　all　gone　now。　There　had　
been　that　one　flash　of　pain；　and　that　was　all。　His　mind　felt　sharp　and　accurate；　
all　the　way　down　to　millimeters。　It　was　the　way　he　usually　felt　only　when　the　
writing　was　going　extremely　well　or　when　he　had　a　threedrink　buzz　on。　That　was　


　
　
another　thing　he　had　forgotten　about　Excedrin；　he　didn't　know　if　it　worked　for　
others；　but　for　him　crunching　three　tablets　was　like　an　instant　high。　
　　Now　he　said：　〃What　you'd　like　is　some　sort　of　missioned　guidebook　that　you　
could　hand　out　free　to　the　guests　when　they　checked　in。　Something　with　a　lot　of　
glossy　photos　of　the　mountains　at　sunrise　and　sunset　and　a　lemon…meringue　text　
to　go　with　it。　Also　a　section　on　the　colorful　people　who　have　stayed　there；　of　
course　excluding　the　really　colorful　ones　like　Gienelli　and　his　friends。〃　
　　〃If　I　felt　I　could　fire　you　and　be　a　hundred　per　cent　certain　of　my　own　job　
instead　of　just　ninety…five　per　cent；〃　UIIman　said　in　clipped；　strangled　tones；　
〃I　would　fire　you　right　this　minute；　over　the　telephone。　But　since　I　feel　that　
five　per　cent　of　uncertainty；　I　intend　to　call　Mr。　Shockley　the　moment　you're　
off　the　line　。。。　which　will　be　soon；　or　so　I　devoutly　hope。〃　
　　Jack　said；　〃There　isn't　going　to　be　anything　in　the　book　that　isn't　true；　you　
know。　There's　no　need　to　dress　it　up。〃　
　　（Why　are　you　baiting　him？　Do　you　want　to　be　fired？）　
　　〃I　don't　care　if　Chapter　Five　is　about　the　Pope　of　Rome　screwing　the　shade　of　
the　Virgin　Mary；〃　Ullman　said；　his　voice　rising。　〃I　want　you　out　of　my　hotel！〃　
　　〃It's　not　your　hotel！〃　Jack　screamed；　and　slammed　the　receiver　into　its　
cradle。　
　　He　sat　on　the　stool　breathing　hard；　a　little　scared　now；　
　　（a　little？　hell；　a　lot）　
　　wondering　why　in　the　name　of　God　he　had　called　Ullman　in　the　first　place。　
　　（You　lost　your　temper　again；　Jack。）　
　　Yes。　Yes；　he　had。　No　sense　trying　to　deny　it。　And　the　hell　of　it　was；　he　had　
no　idea　how　much　influence　that　cheap　little　prick　had　over　Al；　no　more　than　he　
knew　how　much　bullshit　Al　would　take　from　him　in　the　name　of　auld　lang　syne。　If　
Ullman　was　as　good　as　he　claimed　to　be；　and　if　he　gave　Al　a　he…goes…or…I…go　
ultimatum；　might　not　Al　be　forced　to　take　it？　He　closed　his　eyes　and　tried　to　
imagine　telling　Wendy。　Guess　what；　babe？　I　lost　another　job。　This　time　I　had　to　
go　through　two　thousand　miles　of　Bell　Telephone　cable　to　find　someone　to　punch　
out；　but　I　managed　it。　
　　He　opened　his　eyes　and　wiped　his　mouth　with　his　handkerchief。　He　wanted　a　
drink。　Hell；　he　needed　one。　There　was　a　cafe　just　down　the　street；　surely　he　had　
time　for　a　quick　beer　on　his　way　up　to　the　park；　just　one　to　lay　the　dust　。。。　
　　He　clenched　his　hands　together　helplessly。　
　　The　question　recurred：　Why　had　he　called　Ullman　in　the　first　place？　The　number　
of　the　Surf…Sand　in　Lauderdale　had　been　written　in　a　small　notebook　by　the　phone　
and　the　CB　radio　in　the　office…plumbers'　numbers；　carpenters；　glaziers；　
electricians；　others。　Jack　had　copied　it　onto　the　matchbook　cover　shortly　after　
getting　out　of　bed；　the　idea　of　calling　Ullman　fullblown　and　gleeful　in　his　
mind。　But　to　what　purpose？　Once；　during　the　drinking　phase；　Wendy　had　accused　
him　of　desiring　his　own　destruction　but　not　possessing　the　necessary　moral　fiber　
to　support　a　full…blown　deathwish。　So　he　manufactured　ways　in　which　other　people　
could　do　it；　lopping　a　piece　at　a　time　off　himself　and　their　family。　Could　it　be　
true？　Was　be　afraid　somewhere　inside　that　the　Overlook　might　be　just　what　he　
needed　to　finish　his　play　and　generally　collect　tip　his　shit　and　get　it　
together？　Was　he　blowing　the　whistle　on　himself？　Please　God　no；　don't　let　it　be　
that　way。　Please。　


　
　
　　He　closed　his　eyes　and　an　image　immediately　arose　on　the　darkened　screen　of　
his　inner　lids：　sticking　his　hand　through　that　hole　in　the　shingles　to　pull　out　
the　rotted　flashing；　the　sudden　needling　sting；　his　own　agonized；　startled　cry　
in　the　still　and　unheeding　air：　Oh　you　goddamn　fucking　son　of　a　bitch　。。。　
　　Replaced　with　an　image　two　years　earlier；　himself　stumbling　into　the　house　at　
three　in　the　morning；　drunk；　falling　over　a　table　and　sprawling　full…length　on　
the　floor；　cursing；　waking　Wendy　up　on　the　couch。　Wendy　turning　on　the　light；　
seeing　his　clothes　ripped　and　smeared　from　some　cloudy　parking…lot　scuffle　that　
had　occurred　at　a　vaguely　remembered　honky…tonk　just　over　the　New　Hampshire　
border　hours　before；　crusted　blood　under　his　nose；　now　looking　up　at　his　wife；　
blinking　stupidly　in　the　light　like　a　mole　in　the　sunshine；　and　Wendy　saying　
dully；　You　son　of　a　bitch；　you　woke　Danny　up。　If　you　don't　care　about　yourself；　
can't　you　care　a　little　bit　about　us？　Oh；　why　do　I　even　bother　talking　to　you？　
　　The　telephone　rang；