Lenz kills the Nucks' dog (pp. 585–586)
Green can remember not the sight but the two very different sounds of the footfalls of his Pop the late Mr. Green pacing the Waltham living room, the crinkle of the paper bag around the tallboy in his hand.
Context
What survives of the father in the son isn't a face but a gait's soundtrack: the mismatched footfalls of the asymmetrical legs, the crinkle of the tallboy's bag, pacing. Bruce Green's "one unrepressed visual memory of the man is of a man who progressively and perilously leaned as he hobbled from specialist to specialist" — the father preserved only as imbalance and sound, everything else strip-mined down into repression. It surfaces here unbidden, mid-walk, while Lenz stalks a dog to kill it: the father returns as audio the instant another damaged man is about to commit his own Grand Guignol, one wrecked patriarch's memory bleeding into the tableau of the next.