22·
SANFORD FRIEDMAN
"All right," Daddy said, and he submerged obligingly.
Stephen scrambled onto Daddy's broad back and wrapped his
arms around Daddy's neck and his legs around his tummy. The
contact of their lubricated flesh reminded Stephen of Clarry's soapy
hands in the bathtub, and he deliberately wriggled and squirmed
and coiled his limbs around Daddy's body. "Mmmmmmmmmmm!"
Stephen imitated the motor of a zeppelin, as Daddy did the breast–
stroke. "Faster!" he commanded, and Daddy obeyed, swimming
parallel to the shore. In his excitement Stephen forgot about the
zeppelin and began to jog up and down on Daddy's back. "Giddyap!"
"Hey! I thought I was a zeppelin," Daddy said, spitting out
a mouthful of water.
"No, a horse! A horse!" Stephen squealed, sitting upright
and straddling his daddy, holding on to Daddy's bald head ·with
both hands like a stirrup, moving
it
from right to left, manipulating
iLlike a joystick, like a rudder, like a steering wheel. There, now,
between Stephen'S thighs, Daddy had become his horse, his plane,
his boat, his car, his engine, steaming through the ocean. Almost in
a state of rapture, Stephen vised his mount and pounded on its back,
as if it were nighttime and he were squeezing and pummeling
his
pillow.
"Easy, fellow, easy," Daddy cautioned.
Stephen was too enthralled to pay attention. "Mmmmmmmmm–
uh!" he exclaimed. The sound articulated and released all the energy
and tension, all the exaltation in Stephen's body, but in his delirium
he accidentally ducked his father's head. All of a sudden Daddy
reared. At the same moment a huge wave swept Stephen off Daddy's
back, lifted him up to a dizzying height, dashed ·him down into the
depths, pulled him under and pounced on him with all its weight,
winding him and flooding his lungs, rolling him along the bottom,
heaving him over stones and cutting shells, dragging him toward
drowning death, engulfing him in heavy, hurling, airless, black-death
black ...
When, at last, Stephen recovered consciousness, even before
he opened his eyes, he felt someone's hand holding his head, some–
one's fingers stroking his cheek, and he heard Daddy saying, "Don't
be silly, Rog, he isn't dead, he's only winded. There's nothing to
cry about. Look! Look! He's opening his eyes. What did I tell you.
