。
Their failure to believe that he knew what was best for them and how to get it。
His wife had tried to usurp him； first by fair
（sort of）
means； then by foul。 When her little hints and whining objections had been
overturned by his own well…reasoned arguments； she had turned his boy against
him； tried to kill him with a bottle； and then had locked him； of all places； in
the goddamned fucking pantry。
Still； a small interior voice nagged him。
（Yes but where did the liquor e from？ Isn't that really the central point？
You know what happens when you drink； you know it from bitter experience。 When
you drink； you lose your wits。）
He hurled the box of Triscuits across the small room。 They struck a shelf of
canned goods and fell to the floor。 He looked at the box； wiped his lips with
his hand； and then looked at his watch。 It was almost six…thirty。 He had been in
here for hours。 His wife had locked him in here and he'd been here for fucking
hours。
He could begin to sympathize with his father
The thing he'd never asked himself； Jack realized now； was exactly what had
driven his daddy to drink in the first place。 And really 。。。 when you came
right down to what his old students had been pleased to call the nifty…gritty 。。。
hadn't it been the woman he was married to？ A milksop sponge of a woman；
always dragging silently around the house with an expression of doomed martyrdom
on her face？ A ball and chain around Daddy's ankle？ No； not ball and chain。 She
had never actively tried to make Daddy a prisoner； the way Wendy had done to
him。 For Jack's father it must have been more like the fate of McTeague the