The father storms into the living room, turns to the child, and announces he is not the father; he is the Crusher. The child screams, pushing belly, flying from corner to corner, hurling body across couch, touching doorjamb. The Crusher is an elephant in underpants racing, his center full as a tick. Two steps and he is weight, swaying, splattering the child down before the threshold. There is a thud and rattling china as the Crusher becomes a wet spider, eight limbs writhing against the oriental, and sucks the room out through a straw.