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〃Good； Mr。 D。 You know he's really； under all the fun； he's a sensitive guy。〃
〃I'll bet。 Tender； I imagine。〃 Dolarhyde's voice was muffled by his hand。 When seated； he always pressed the knuckle of his forefinger under his nose。
〃Pardon？〃
〃I think you're good for him； Eileen。〃
〃I think so； I really do。 He's not drinking but just on weekends。 He just starts to relax and his wife calls the house。 He makes faces while I talk to her； but I can tell he's upset after。 A woman knows。〃 She tapped Dolarhyde on the wrist and； despite the goggles； saw the touch register in his eyes。 〃Take it easy； Mr。 D。 I'm glad we had this talk。〃
〃I am too； Eileen。〃
Dolarhyde watched her walk away。 She had a suck mark on the back of her knee。 He thought； correctly； that Eileen did not appreciate him。 No one did； actually。
The great darkroom was cool and smelled of chemicals。 Francis Dolarhyde checked the developer in the A tank。 Hundreds of feet of home…movie film from all over the country moved through the tank hourly。 Temperature and freshness of the chemicals were critical。 This was his responsibility； along with all the other operations until the film had passed through the dryer。 Many times a day he lifted samples of film from the tank and checked them frame by frame。
The darkroom was quiet。 Dolarhyde discouraged chatter among his assistants and municated with them largely in gestures。
When the evening shift ended； he remained alone in the darkroom to develop； dry； and splice some film of his own。
# # #
Dolarhyde got home about ten P。M。 He lived alone in a big house his grandparents had left him。 It stood at the end of a gravel drive that runs through an apple orchard north of St。 Charles； Missouri； across the Missouri River from St。 Louis。 The orchard's absentee owner did not take care of it。 Dead and twisted trees stood among the green ones。 Now； in late July； the smell of rotting apples hung over the orchard。 There were many bees in the daytime。 The nearest neighbor was a half…mile away。
Dolarhyde always made an inspection tour of the house as soon as he got home； there had been an abortive burglary attempt some years before。 He flicked on the lights in each room and looked around。 A visitor would not think he lived alone。 His grandparents' clothes still hung in the closets； his grandmother's brushes were on her dresser with bings of hair in them。 Her teeth were in a glass on the bedside table。 The water had long since evaporated。 His grandmother had been dead for ten years。
（The funeral director had asked him； 〃Mr。 Dolarhyde； wouldn't you like to bring me your grandmother's teeth？〃 He replied； 〃Just drop the lid。〃）
Satisfied that he was alone in the house； Dolarhyde went upstairs； took a long shower； and washed his hair。
He put on a kimono of a synthetic material that felt like silk and lay down on his narrow bed in the room he had occupied since childhood。 His grandmother's hair dryer had a plastic cap and hose。 He put on the cap and； while he dried； he thumbed through a new high…fashion magazine。 The hatred and brutishness in some of the photographs were remarkable。
He began to feel excited。 He swiveled the metal shade of his reading lamp to light a print on the wall at the foot of the bed。 It was William Blake's The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun。
The picture had stunned him the first time he saw it。 Never before had he seen anything that approached his graphic thought。 He felt that Blake must have peeked in his ear and seen the Red Dragon。 For weeks Dolarhyde had worried that his thoughts might glow out his ears； might be visible in the darkroom； might fog the film。 He put cotton balls in his ears。 Then； fearing that cotton was too flammable； he tried steel wool。 That made his ears bleed。 Finally he cut small pieces of asbestos cloth from an ironing…board cover and rolled them into little pills that would fit in his ears。
The Red Dragon was all he had for a long time。 It was not all he had now。 He felt the beginnings of an erection。
He had wanted to go through this slowly； but now he could not wait。
Dolarhyde closed the heavy draperies over windows in the downstairs parlor。 He set up his screen and projector。 His grandfather had put a La…Z…Boy recliner in the parlor； over his grandmother's objections。 （She had put a doily on the headrest。） Now Dolarhyde was glad。 It was very fortable。 He draped a towel over the arm of the chair。
He turned out the lamps。 Lying back in the dark room； he might have been anywhere。 Over the ceiling fixture he had a good light machine which rotated； making varicolored dots of light crawl over the walls； the floor； his skin。 He might have been reclining on the acceleration couch of a space vehicle； in a glass bubble out among the stars。 When he closed his eyes he thought he could feel the points of light move over him； and when he opened them； those might be the lights of cities above or beneath him。 There was no more down or up。 The light machine turned faster as it got warm； and the dots swarmed over him； flowed over furniture in angular streams； fell in meteor showers down the walls。 He might have been a et plunging through the Crab Nebula。
There was one place shielded from the light。 He had placed a piece of cardboard near the machine； and it cast a shadow over the movie screen。
Sometimes； in the future； he would smoke first to heighten the effect； but he did not need it now； this time。
He thumbed the drop switch at his side to start the projector。 A white rectangle sprang on the screen； grayed and streaked as the leader moved past the lens； and then the gray Scotty perked up his ears and ran to the kitchen door； shivering and wagging his stump of a tail。 A cut to the Scotty ranning beside a curb； turning to snap at his side as he ran。
Now Mrs。 Leeds came into the kitchen carrying groceries。 She laughed and touched her hair。 The children came in behind her。
A cut to a badly lit shot in Dolarhyde's own bedroom upstairs。 He is standing nude before the print of The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun。 He is wearing 〃bat glasses；〃 the close…fitting wraparound plastic glasses favored by hockey players。 He has an erection； which he improves with his hand。
The focus blurs as he approaches the camera with stylized movements； hand reaching to change the focus as his face fills the frame。 The picture quivers and sharpens suddenly to a close…up of his mouth； his disfigured upper lip rolled back； tongue out through the teeth； one rolling eye still in the frame。 The mouth fills the screen； writhing lips pulled back from jagged teeth and darkness as his mouth engulfs the lens。
The difficulty of the next part was evident。
A bouncing blur in a harsh movie light became a bed and Charles Leeds thrashing； Mrs。 Leeds sitting up； shielding her eyes； turning to Leeds and putting her hands on him； rolling toward the edge of the bed； legs tangled in the covers； traying to rise。 The camera jerked toward the ceiling； molding whipping across the screen like a stave； and then the picture steadied； Mrs。 Leeds back down on the mattress； a dark spot on her nightdress spreading and Leeds； hands to his neck and ey