in his shallow , uneasy sleep his face rose before him as if in a glass , his face but not his face , the wide eyes and innocent bowed mouth of a boy sitting in the ball with his trucks , waiting for his daddy , waiting for the white ghostgod , waiting for the elevator to rise up with dizzying , exhilarating speed through the salt-and-sawdust mist of exhaled taverns , waiting perhaps for it to go crashing down , spilling old clocksprings out of his ears while his daddy roared with laughter , and it ( transformed into danny 's face , so much like his own had been , his eyes had been light blue while danny 's were cloudy gray , but the lips still made a bow and the complexion was fair ; danny in his study , wearing training pants , all his papers soggy and the fine misty smell of beer rising ... a dreadful batter all in ferment , rising on the wings of yeast , the breath of taverns ... snap of bone ... his own voice , mewling drunkenly danny , you okay doc ? ...