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against the light。 An oversized leather belt was snugged tight around his haunches； and the handcuff for his wrists ran through a ring in its front。 Both legs were shackled to the wheelchair with leg irons。
〃Look at him； the bastard；〃 said Hazen； more to himself than to Pendergast。
Pendergast watched intently as the policemen parked Job in the middle of the room； then took up positions on either side。
〃I wish to hell I knew why the guy did what he did；〃 Hazen went on in a quiet； dull voice。 〃What was he doing in those clearings out there in the corn？ The crows arranged like that； Stott cooked like a pig； the tail sewed up in Chauncy 。 。 。〃 He swallowed hard。 〃And Tad。 Killing Tad。 What the hell was going through that fucking head of his？〃
Pendergast said nothing。
The doors opened again and Winifred Kraus came in； leaning on the arm of a third policeman。 She was in a hospital gown and moved very slowly。 A tattered book was tucked beneath one arm。 Her face was pale and sunken； but as soon as she saw Job it brightened and her whole appearance seemed to transform。
〃Jobie； dearest？ It's Mommy。〃
Her voice came into the darkened observation room through a loudspeaker above the window； sounding harsh and electronic in the sudden silence。
Job raised his head； his face grimacing into a smile。
〃Momma！〃
〃I brought you a present； Jobie。 Look； it'syour book。〃
Job let out an inarticulate sound of joy。
She came over and pulled up a chair next to her son。 The policemen tensed； but neither Winifred nor Job took any notice。 She seated herself beside him； put one frail arm around his bulk； pulled him close。 She began to hum softly while Job beamed； leaning against her； his calflike face illuminated with joy and happiness。
〃Christ；〃 Hazen muttered。 〃Look。 She's rocking him like a baby。〃
Winifred Kraus placed the book in his lap and opened to the first page。 It was a book of nursery rhymes。 〃I'll start at the beginning； shall I； Jobie？〃 she crooned。 〃Just the way you like it。〃
Slowly； with a singsong； infantile voice； she began to read。
Sing a song of sixpence；
A pocket full of rye；
Four and twenty blackbirds；
Baked in a pie。
When the pie was opened；
The birds began to sing；
Wasn't that a dainty dish；
To set before the king？
Job's big head nodded to the rhythm of her voice； his mouth making anooooooo sound that rose and fell with the cadence of her words。
〃Jesus Christ；〃 said Hazen。 〃The freak and his mother。 It gives me the creeps just watching。〃
Winifred Kraus finished the rhyme； then slowly turned the page。 Job beamed； laughed。 And she began again。
Davy Davy Dumpling；
Boil him in a pot；
Sugar him and butter him；
And eat him while he's hot。
Hazen turned and grasped Pendergast's hand。 〃I'm out of here。 See you in purgatory。〃
Pendergast took the hand without responding； without noticing。 His eyes were fixed on the scene in front of him； the mother reading nursery rhymes to her child。
〃Look at the pretty picture； Jobie。 Look！〃
As Winifred Kraus held the book up； Pendergast got a glimpse of the illustration。 It was an old book； and the page was torn and stained； but the picture was still discernible。
He recognized the image instantly。 The revelation hit Pendergast so suddenly that it was like a physical blow； staggering him。 He backed away from the glass。
Job beamed and wentooooooooo； his head rolling back and forth。
Winifred Kraus smiled； face serene； and turned another page。 The unnatural； electronically amplified voice of the mother continued to crackle through the loudspeaker。
What are little boys made of； made of？
What are little boys made of？
Snakes and snails and puppy dogs' tails；
That's what little boys are made of 。 。 。
But Pendergast had not remained to hear any more。 The cluster of psychiatrists and students at the glass did not even notice the dark； slender presence slip away； they were so busy discussing just where the diagnosis would be found in theDSM…IV manual…or if； indeed； it would ever be found there at all。
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