Meeting him at the bus station, Ray drove him to the campus in a light-blue Chevrolet with the winged golden nude on the doors that Doz had never dared to ask about. Above this figure, he read "Intercollegiate Athletic Department" and below it, "Zenia University" in gold letters. It looked and smelled brand new inside. Ray took him to an office with wood-paneled walls, a desk at one end and overstuffed armchairs and a sofa around a low table at the other. Two men, a robust white one in his fifties and a tall black one in his late thirties or early forties welcomed him. Like Ray, they had the muscular build, the fierce countenance and the rough manner that Doz had come to expect. Ray introduced the white one as Saw Sylvester, the head coach, and the black one, Jack Stimson, the backfield coach. Only Saw's wife, former teammates, rival coaches and sports writers dared to call him Saw, a nickname that described his voice. These two coaches spoke the same jargon as Taylo, Blake, Janet and Ray, expressing the same enthusiasm for the collision of human bodies: "knocking heads," they called it. Photos of teams coached by Saw hung on the walls and a large glass case displayed the trophees he and his teams had won. Though well-dusted and polished, the metalwork, the engraving and the figures seemed ugly, pretentious and extravagant to Doz. One of the figures was a football player with his arms raised in a V and his right leg high in the air as if he had just kicked a football. When Blake, Taylo and Ray kicked, they didn't throw their arms up like that. The golden nude was flying across a light blue wall-hanging behind Saw's desk with "Zenia University" above and "Football" below in gold letters. Doz and the three coaches were standing on an orange rug with a steam engine racing across it and belching smoke, but "Zenia Technical Institute" didn't appear on it. Saw, Jack and Ray were smiling at Doz inviting him to laugh at the joke, but it took him a few seconds to guess.

Once they had laughed together, Saw motioned Doz to the end of the sofa and moved to the chair facing the door, while Ray sat on the other end of the sofa and Jack, on the other chair. Doz had the impression of participating in a routine which, after the laugh over the ZTech rug, reserved the same chair for the head coach and the same end of the sofa for a potential or actual member of the team. Saw and Jack were treating him as if they knew him well and, in fact, they did know all about him. Evidently Ray had told them. They seemed even more familiar than friendly and their

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esteem sounded a little like flattery. How could they be so sure he had the potential they attributed to him? Although he overcame his embarrassment in a quarter of an hour, he continued to feel uneasy. "Doz," said Saw, "we want you to enjoy your visit, feel at home, make friends and have fun. You like touch football, you will love the real thing. You have the ability, the physique, the enthusiasm. The only thing different is knocking heads. Contact may seem like a challenge, but I know you will ovecome it because I have seen hundreds of other young men do it. When I was your age, I felt terrible at the end of a game, whether we won or lost, because I had to wait another week for the next one. Imagine how I felt at the end of the last game of the season! They won't let me play any more now, but, when my guys are on the field, it's almost as if I were right in there with them. Almost. I know they love it, I think you will too and, if you aren't sorry three days from now, we will have failed you, it will be our fault. We want you to play for us, you can do things for us and we can do things for you... You know something? You will never, never regret it. A career in football is just about the best thing you can do with your youth." This speech sounded almost sincere despite signs that Saw had made it many times before. Or had he learned how to be sincere by making it? Saw and the other coaches asked him a few questions, encouraged him to ask some of his own and they had a little conversation. How did Doz like his job? Saw expected complaints, but he got just the opposite. Doz couldn't decide what he liked best: the other employees, driving the big truck, packing statues... Then he decided: disassembling a family interior in one house and reassembling it in another. Fascinating! The coaches didn't look fascinated; they looked stunned. Saw refocused attention on Doz's visit and gave him a typed schedule, listing every event with the time and the place. He merely intended it to keep him informed, however, because someone would come and get him at the time on the schedule and take him where he had to go.

"ZU Hospitality," said Jack, who talked and laughed less than the other two.

Doz had lunch in a cafeteria with two white football players and two pretty girls, a white one and and black one. All four of them exaggerated their interest in him, but Kate, a blond, teased him and Heddy, whom he liked better, scolded her gently. After it had happened several times, Doz realized that it was a routine. Kate called him "bashful," for instance, and Heddy protested: "Kate!" Although he didn't know what the word meant, he dared not ask. Payne had dark wavy hair and Shack, who stood about six foot six,

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had stiff red hair in a crew cut. Less subtle than the girls, they kept telling Doz what the coaches wanted him to hear and even repeated it occasionally. All five of them had toasted roast-beef sandwiches, a lettuce-and-tomato salad and, while Doz had hot tea, the others had iced tea. The quality of the food was better than it had been in the orphanage. After lunch, the schedule called for a tour of the campus by the girls and Doz didn't regret the men who stayed behind. Kate drove him, in the right front seat, and Heddy, on the rear seat, of another new, light-blue Chevrolet with the same nude and lettering on the doors. Mostly of light-brown stone, the buildings seemed enormous to him and especially the Student Union, which contained many things that had little to do with teaching and learning. In addition to shops and restaurants, the girls showed him a hotel at one end, a bookstore with as much space for souvenirs as books in the middle and a ballroom at the other end. Kate grabbed Doz by the hands and swung him around on the floor.

"Kate!"

Obediently, he took her right hand in his left, slipped his right arm around her waste and walzed her in a few circles.

"Hey! He's pretty good!" Kate sounded almost sincere.

"And there isn't even any music!" 

"Oh, that's the library."

He surprized her when he asked to see it and, as he admired the biggest card catalogue he had ever seen, he saw her looking at her watch in the corner of his eye. Slowly, she drove by the fraternities and sororities, naming them and designating those that athletes belonged to. For fear of delaying them, Doz didn't ask what they were, but he had an inkling when they praised the parties thrown by one of them. Now they only had enough time to drive by the theatre, the concert hall and the art gallery, which astonished him. He doubted that any of the universities in Carminia had such institutions. Had Kate shown them to him only because of his interest in the library? Never would any tour of his homeland have neglected a theatre, a concert hall or an art gallery, although none of them compared with these in size and modernity.

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The girls left him at a huge gym, where Ray met him and took him to the equipment room. Slight and frail, the equipment manager didn't look like a former athlete, but he had played halfback for ZU some twenty years ago. His big head seemed too heavy for his neck, which had a prominent Adam's apple. His deepset eyes and sagging features conveyed an impression of sad futility, yet Ray's tone of voice suggested sympathy. Burgess gave Doz a T-shirt like Ray's, shorts, a jock strap which puzzled him at first, socks, and, after letting him try several pairs, some low-cut shoes. How could you run on cleats that long? In the dressing room, he found the two players he had met at lunch and several others including an enormous black. The whites were friendly in the usual rough way, but the black, whom Ray introduced as Tom-Tom, limited his courtesy to a minimum. Once he had dressed, Payne told him that Coach Sylvester expected them to run out to practice shouting their enthusiasm. You could walk back quietly and Shack added:

"You are lucky if you don't have to crawl and moan."

Led by Ray, the practice began with calisthenics, some of which seemed new to Doz, but he learned them quickly. When they did pushups, some of the others began to gasp, grunt or groan, but Ray increased the rhythm until

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no one but Doz and Tom-Tom could keep up with him. The others were pushing up when he was coming down and vice versa.

"Look at Chinsky," shouted Saw. "He's not even breathing hard."

"I can't hear you."

"How does it feel?"

Jack explained how to block and defend yourself against a block, how to tackle and avoid a tackle. He had some of the players demonstrate gently and then he let Doz try. Doz learned to aim his shoulder at his opponent's midsection, extend it with his arm bent and grasp the cloth on his shoulder to avoid a holding penalty. Aiming his shoulder and making contact, he also learned to throw his arms behind his opponent, join his hands behind him and lift him so that he would lose traction. Hit a blocker with his hands or forearm and either shove him aside or jerk himself around him. Dodge or stiff-arm a tackler and break a tackle by using his hips and his legs. Although he learned these techniques quickly, he wondered whether he could apply them when his opponent was using all of his strength. Jack had them divide into twos, face each other at five, ten or fifteen yards and run at each other. The man on defence would try to shove the one on offence, who tried to block him without leaving a space five yards wide marked by dummies lying on the ground. Doz blocked all of his opponents except Payne and avoided blocks by all except Tom-Tom. Then Jack told the men on defence to try and grab their opponents. This time, Doz grabbed all of his including Payne and no one grabbed him, not even Tom-Tom, who looked irritated. Several times, Saw interrupted the

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exercise to comment on Doz's performance, recommending it to the others as an example to follow. He complimented him on his ability to feint his opponent into commiting himself and to change his direction and speed, all of which seemed to come naturally to him.

Jack organized a drill in which a player snapped the ball through his legs to Doz, who faded and threw it to others running patterns downfield. Ray was playing defensive back, but Doz completed most of his passes and threw no interceptions. Standing behind him, Saw showed him how to grip the ball, swing his arm and snap his wrist. Sending the receivers on increasingly deeper patterns, he had Doz vary the trajectories of his passes from bullets to lofts. Once Doz had learned to plant his feet, bend his knees and put his body into his motion, his accuracy improved and he could throw further. He put one pass right in Shack's hands as he ran at a forty-five degree angle sixty-yards downfield. Saw whistled so loudly that Doz jumped. Laughing, Saw pounded him on the back:

"Son, you got an arm!"

"Hey Ray!" chortled Saw. "Got lead in your shoes?"

As the players walked back to the locker room, Doz remarked: "No one is crawling or moaning." The laughter was so loud that it embarrassed him, but Tom-Tom didn't laugh. Doz had never smelled such a stench of sweat or seen such a spectacle of naked bodies, all of them white except one big black one and the white ones pink where the sun had toasted them. He hesitated to join them in the shower and, when they greeted him there, he felt very embarrassed. Tom-Tom remained aloof under the nozzle at the end of the line. Keeping his eyes up, Doz remembered Myra Shelton's bosom. Then, he couldn't help seeing big white mounds of flesh on the periphery of his vision; now, black nests, except a red one, with pink appendages, except a black one, dangling from them. The difference between naked men and male nudes made him shiver with disgust. If he accepted an offer to play 

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football, he would endure the same stench and the same spectacle every day except Sunday, four autumns in a row. Though popular with the other players, he felt uneasy when they accompanied him to Siskin Hall, the residence for football players. Did they merely want him to play on their team or were they receiving an additional incentive to persuade him?

On the excuse of lying down to rest for awhile, he went to his room, waited until the commotion had subsided, slipped down the hall to the room that Tom-Tom had entered and knocked.

"Come in." He was seated at his desk with a book. "I thought you were going to lie down and rest."

It was the first time he heard him laugh, a booming laugh. "I know what you mean."

"You came to the right place."

"I don't know... I guess I do and I don't. It was more fun in high school."

"Me too, year before last."

Getting up: "I'm going to show you the theatre, the concert hall and the art gallery."

They came to supper together and sat together despite the efforts of Shack and Payne to get Doz away from Tom-Tom. The white players were sitting on both sides of a long table chattering like birds on two wires. Although Shack and Payne tried to include Doz, he responded only politely and briefly. They had a big steak, green beens and lots of mashed potatoes splashed with butter. The white men drank iced tea, Doz drank hot tea and Tom-Tom drank milk. Apple pie for desert. Doz and Tom-Tom didn't have much to say to each other because the others could hear them. They did agree that the apple pie was a little burnt.

"My Mom bakes the best apple pie I ever ate. My Dad picks the apples right off of our own trees."

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"Where do you live?" Doz asked him.

"Just like you, a place nobody ever heard of: Joshua Well. Sixty-seven black men, women and kids, one preacher and one undertaker."

Saw had scheduled movies after supper that evening. The first film demonstrated his system with plays run during intrasquad drills and scrimmages. The offensive team ran each play against the defensive one, first without contact and then with contact. Since the film was black and white, the offensive team wore dark jerseys and the defensive, light ones. Saw used a T-formation, so the first plays demonstrated how the quarterback handed off to one of the deeper backs, while the line opened a hole for him to run through. To keep the defence from converging on the hole, the quarterback faked a hand-off to another back. Encouraged to ask questions, Doz wondered how the quarterback could hide whether he was handing off or not from the defence. Saw stopped the film to explain. Since defensive players had to divide their attention between blockers or receivers and the quarterback, they often missed the hand-off and, in any case, they didn't know which back would get it until he did. The uncertainty and delay gave the offence enough time to penetrate the defense before it could react. Seeing that Doz understood, he started the film again. It demonstrated pitch-outs for end runs, pass plays in which the quarterback faded while the line protected him and various pass patterns. On defence, Saw used five and six-man lines, which the film demonstrated, while Jack explained the assignments of the linemen and linebackers. When the film demonstrated pass defence, Jack explained how the linemen rushed the passer and Saw explained the difference between man-to-man and zone coverage of receivers. It was better for a defensive back to let a receiver catch a pass than to let him get behind him. Saw asked Shack how he had managed to do it that afternoon and, grinning, the redhead said he had faked the safety into turning his back and cut behind him. Like the practice that afternoon, the film finished with the kicking game. It showed how several waves of tacklers from the kicking team ran downfield to stop the run back, while the receiving team formed a line of blockers to open a lane for the back with the ball to run through.

When this movie ended, Saw added further explanations and diagrammed plays on a blackboard, using Os and Xs to designate offensive and defensive players, and arrows to show where they would run. It looked like a kind of geometry that reduced human beings to vectors on a plane. Saw

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addressed himself to Doz and, when he started a discussion, it centered on him. Later, when he showed extracts from game movies, he often stopped the film, rewound it, started it again and sometimes in slow motion or even frame-by-frame to reveal a detail or make a point. If one of the other players were involved, he called on him to testify. Constantly, he asked Doz for questions and comments. When he declared a break for refreshments (coca-colas, potato chips and cookies), the coaches and players, except for Tom-Tom, gathered around Doz and made him the center of their attention. They took most of what he said seriously, admired some of it and even laughed when they thought he had intended it to be funny. Rather than inflate his vanity, this attention appalled him. What could he do for them that would justify all this mobilization, organization and expense? How could he possibly satisfy their expectations? Feeling desperate, he glanced at Tom-Tom, who gave him a smile that restored his self-confidence.

From the game movies, Saw chose sequences that illustrated a point or showed a bad mistake or a spectacular success. They saw Payne fumble the ball again and again, until he protested:

"Come on, Coach! I'm going to fumble my pillow trying to sleep."

"Why can't you show us one I caught?" he complained.

Everyone laughed. Three times and once in slow motion, they saw Tom-Tom block a kick, pick the ball up, run and score a touchdown. He was running so hard and looked so funny that a squeal of laughter escaped Saw and everyone roared, including Tom-Tom. Doz learned that Tom-Tom played defensive tackle and Blake, the defensive end next to him. They finally came to the play Doz was waiting for, the last one of the ZU-ZTech game. The ball was a foot from the ZU goal line. As soon as it was centered, Blake bolted straight across the line of scrimmage, where the ZTech wingback ignored him because he was not headed for the area in front of the kicker. But then Blake slanted towards the kicker and the referee, who was standing behind him on the other side. The referee had his watch in his hand and his chin dropped as he glanced down at it. Reaching for the kicker, Blake passed behind him and knocked the referee sprawling. Since the referee had dropped his watch a split second before time ran out, he didn't know whether the kicker's foot had hit the ball before or after. Doz asked to see the play over again frame by frame, but neither he nor anyone

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else could find any evidence to suggest whether the kick was in the air before or after the game ended. Nor could he decide whether Blake had hit the referee on purpose.

"The officials decided to let us have the benefit of the doubt," admitted Saw.

"A judgment call," said Jack.

"Nobody wants to win as badly as Blake Erskin."

Ray had told him he could make long-distance calls with the phone in his room, so he called Siss. Despite the hospitality and attention, he insisted, nothing tempted him to play football for ZU. The more he tried to reassure her, however, the less he convinced her and the call lasted longer than either wanted. Kate and Heddy hadn't even occurred to him, but, after he hung up, he wondered whether he should have told her about them. Perhaps he should have told her about Tom-Tom too. Worry cost him some sleep. The next morning, he reported to Burgess. Choosing shiny light-blue helmets from several shelves of them, Burgess tried them on him, turning his head this way and that, smacking it to show how blows would feel. When he found one that fit snugly, he invited him to look at himself in a full-size mirror that reminded him of clothing stores. Though curious, Doz saw that Burgess expected him to admire himself without entirely hiding his contempt for that. Yet he hardly recognized himself.

"How can you see enough to play football?"

"It's hard. I should think it would hurt other players."

Doz didn't want to lose any teeth. With his helmet, shoulder and hip pads, he looked like a knight in plastic armor without a horse or lance. He was the horse, he thought.

"What do you think?" asked Burgess.

"How can I throw?" He tried to swing his arm.

Once Doz had pulled a light-blue jersey down over his shoulder pads and pants up over his hip pads, the figure in the mirror looked as if it had swollen from some strange infection.

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Running out to the stadium with Ray, he didn't feel like he was carrying much extra weight, but rather much extra volume. Never before had he noticed the sound and resistance of the air as he passed through it. Thowing and catching with Ray for a half hour, he did begin to forget his shoulder pads. After calisthenics and wind sprints, Jack ran them over to a steel plate lying on the ground with two upright attachments on the edge, each consisting of large springs padded on the outside. Jack stood on this sled leaning against the uprights, while the players hit the pads with their shoulders, two by two, tilting it up and driving it back. Jack incited them to greater effort and they loudly encouraged each other, while Doz wondered whether the shouting served any useful purpose. Tom-Tom wasn't shouting. When their turn came, he found, to his surprise, that he could lift and drive the sled as well as Tom-Tom since it didn't turn his way. Next, Jack had them face each other, crouching with the knuckles of one hand on the ground. When Jack shouted "go," they sprang at each other and each tried to drive the other back. The first time, the impact of the blow didn't hurt as Doz had expected, but the force behind it surprized him and he fell on his back. Alarmed, Tom-Tom leaned over him:

"You OK, Doz?"

He grabbed his hand and helped him stand up. A few more times, he knocked him off balance, driving him backward. The thud of padding, the crack of plastic and the grunts of struggling men filled Doz's ears. Embarrassed, he kept trying a little harder, until he began to hit back as fast and hard as he was being hit, fighting Tom-Tom to a stalemate.

"Hey, Tom-Tom," yelled Saw gleefully. "You outweigh Doz seventy-five pounds and he's stopping you cold."

"I want you to see how we could win every game we play," he told them.

Next, the pairs practiced blocking and tacking at various distances. The closer the distance between them, the more often Tom-Tom beat Doz, but the greater the distance, the more often Doz beat Tom-Tom. When Doz tackled Tom-Tom, he caught him easily enough, but lifting him and throwing

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him on the ground hurt his back and made it hurt worse every time. Once, when it was Tom-Tom's turn to tackle Doz, he got the jump on him. The light-blue chest with "ZU Football" in gold coming at him stuck his feet to the ground. Although the bouncing white chest with "Gertrude Farr College" had had the same effect on him once, the collision with Janet had been gentle in comparison. The blow made him feel like a rag doll catapulted up and back. All around, worried faces were staring down at him, Tom-Tom's, Saw's...

"Where hurts, son?" Saw asked.

"You mean you feel faint?" Tom-Tom asked.

It didn't even sound convincing to Doz, but he sat up and, when he started to stand up, Tom-Tom picked him up and put him on his feet. Saw told him to wait a little while before he joined in the two-on-one drills that followed. Jack threw the ball to a back behind a blocker, who ran interference for him against another player on defence. Doz succeeded in all three roles nearly every time he tried, but, when he ran the ball behind interference by Tom-Tom, it seemed too easy. Jack changed the drill, letting Doz fade with the ball, while a blocker protected him and another player rushed. No one tackled Doz, but Tom-Tom chased him out of the pocket a few times. Then came the same passing and kicking drills as on the previous afternoon. The coaches took Doz aside as the others left for the locker room.

"How do you feel, son?" asked Saw.

"You took a knock on the head."

Saw liked this answer.

"How about your back?" asked Jack. "Tom-Tom is pretty heavy."

"If it comes back, let us know."

"Right away!" said Saw.

He couldn't help thinking that they were more worried about his potential than his health. When he stood up after lunch, a sudden pain in his back brought him to his knees. Helping him up, Tom-Tom told Shack and Payne to call Saw while he was taking him to the gym. The alarm in the faces of the other players and the coaches surprized him. The team doctor, whom Saw had summoned, examined his back, found no broken vertebrae and

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prescribed a rub-down, heat and taping. In his fifties with fuzzy hair, a bushy moustache and dreamy eyes, he didn't seem to consider Doz's injury more important than cleaning his glasses, which he blew on, wiped and held up to the light.

"We scheduled contact for this afternoon," said Saw. "Should we call it off?"

Marty Pedgman, the team trainer, was a fat tenor with hands and "tits like Marilyn's" as Payne said. Marty told Doz to undress and lie face-down on a high bed in the middle of the training room. Having annointed his back, he slapped at it for ten minutes, then he focused a lamp on it that felt like the sun. Doz had fallen asleep when Marty asked him to get up and he spread wide strips of tape across his back, which clutched at him. Already constricted by shoulder and hip pads, he had an even worse handicap now. Suddenly, a dread of futher violence invaded him, making him shiver, to Marty's surprize:

"Hey, are you cold?"

Dressing for only his third practice, he already felt the discouragement that sooner or later afflicts all football players. The tape gripped his back as he ran out to the stadium and he needed all of his pride not to turn around and walk back to the locker room. The coaches were waiting, their hands on their hips, like so many lion tamers. Saw even had a tic of snapping his wrist as if to flick a whip lying on the ground. Doz thought of running up to him and telling him that he had decided not to play football. Yet Saw looked all too capable of scorn for what he would consider cowardice. Doz shrank from that danger in front of the coaches and other players, especially Tom-Tom. To what extent did the tape and to what extent did his discouragement hinder his performance as he did calisthenics, ran wind sprints and hit the sled? Would the coaches and the other players blame him instead of his injury? Impatience twitched in Saw's face when he failed to hit the sled hard enough to keep Tom-Tom from toppling it to his side. After these preliminaries, Saw organized a partial scrimmage in which he and the other coaches participated themselves, although everyone understood that you weren't supposed to hit them. To Doz's dismay, he didn't tell the other

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players not to throw him on the ground or fall on top of him, but merely not to hit him any harder than they had to. When they tackled him, they did throw him on the ground and Tom-Tom shoved one of them aside, who was about to fall on him. Getting up, he glared at Tom-Tom, who ignored him. The violence raised a frenzy of delight in Saw, who kept shouting at the players and especially Doz, inciting them to greater efforts. Saw played as if he had forgotten that he had no helmet and no pads, blocking, tackling, checking with his hands and arms. Falling down after a collision with Tom-Tom, he jumped to his feet laughing and slapped him on the shoulder pads. For a while, Doz was able to ignore the pain in his back, which recurred with every collision, but it increased each time, began to afflict him whenever he moved and eventually continued even when he stood still. Although he tried to conceal it, he saw that Tom-Tom and Jack had seen it in his face. Yet he found himself trying harder, driven by an enthusiasm that thrived on his pain. It applauded his performance every time he ran, threw or hit another player. Gaining yardage and completing passes gave him so much satisfaction that he craved more. He even began to fear that his injury would put an end to the scrimmage. He couldn't bear to stop.

Catching a kick, he started to run it back, but the pain froze his body, making him an easy target for the players covering it. Two of them hit him at the same time, knocking him down and out. Again, he woke up to find worried faces looking down at him. This time, however, he felt drowsy and groaned with the pain. When Tom-Tom picked him up, he and Jack each took one of his arms over his shoulder and they helped him walk to the training room. Marty ripped the tape off with quick strokes to minimize the pain and yet it tortured his back each time. No more concerned than the first time, the doctor found that he had strained his back without cracking or breaking any bones. "Saw!" he said as if telling the same old joke. "Didn't I tell you not to let them knock him down and fall on him?"

"It's hard to play football that way, Doc."

Worried: "Is he going to be OK?"

"That was the last football he will play until next month."

Doz started to object.

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"Don't worry, son. I was awful proud of you. You got more football in you than anybody I ever coached. You love the game and, if you love the game, nothing will stop you. An injury like that hurts good."

Tom-Tom laughed. "He treats us like that too. When he doesn't hear what he wants, he answers for you. Don't pay any attention. If you don't want to play for ZU, tell him. You will be surprized how fast he forgets you."

"That will give you three football seasons, just what you need for a brillant career."

"I would hate to have the job of coaching our opponents' defence," said Jack.

Afterwards, the coaches dropped them off at the Beta Pi House, the one that threw the best parties. Kate, Heddy and other pretty girls welcomed them along with the other players who had attended the practices. The bar offered every kind of drink from gin to coca-cola and every kind of snack from peanuts to popcorn. Had the Athletic Department subsidized the party? Loudspeakers pounded their ears with rock, so everyone had to shout. Shack was bragging to a straggly peroxide blond with a dark tan, who laughed at everything he said although it didn't seem funny. Sooner or later, each of the boys except Tom-Tom and each of the girls except Heddy came

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up to Doz and, looking him in the eye, told him how much he or she hoped he would come to ZU.

"They told us to do that," said Heddy as she danced with him. "But you know something, Doz: I really do."

"Kate!"

"The more it hurts, the better it feels," scoffed Tom-Tom.

Embarrassed: "I tackled Tom-Tom."

Doz didn't know what to say.

"His back," said Tom-Tom.

Doz jumped and gasped.

"Kate!"

"You have to kiss it," suggested Tom-Tom.

It sounded like something you tell little children.

Doz had come determined to leave as early as good manners allowed and call Siss before she went to bed. Unwittingly, however, Heddy, Tom-Tom and Kate relegated this intention to a duty that nagged at him like the pain in his back. The four of them kept each other company while the others, who had already paired off, danced and necked. Kate was dancing with Tom-Tom standing on his feet, which were as big as the rest of him. At her suggestion, they also danced all four together in a circle with their arms around each other. After some awkward initial steps, they made a success of it and the others gathered around to applaud. That Doz was light on his feet surprized no one, that Tom-Tom was too surprized everyone. When Doz danced with Heddy, the feel of her hand on his back "hurt good" and he only managed to say he had to leave well after eleven. To his surprise, his three new friends said it was time for them too and, after taking their leave of the others, the men escorted the women to their dormitory.

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"Everybody gets a kiss on the cheek."

"This time."

As they returned to Siskin Hall, Doz admired Heddy's figure and sincerity, "but is the Athletic Department paying them?"

No sooner had Doz entered his room than the phone rang. Siss had been trying to reach him and, since he hadn't answered, she was afraid something had happened to him. When he heard her voice, he decided that he shouldn't tell her about his injuries or the hostesses assigned to entertain him. He thanked her for calling and said how glad he was to hear her voice.

"Then you did get hurt!"

A heart-rending sigh: "... what else?"

"... "

"How many times?"

"Yes, how many times? I can tell that it was more than once."

Another heart-rending sigh: "Only twice! How long will it take you to get over that? Oh, I wish I had told you not to go!"

"Goodness gracious!" He had never heard that before. It sounded tragic.

"I am proud of you, but not because you strained your back and got knocked out twice." 

"Doz, were you in the hospital? Is that why I couldn't reach you?"

"A party?"

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"... Yes, in a fraternity house."

"And there were girls."

"Polite? Is that all they were?"

"I hope they weren't!"

"How many of them were after you?"

"Two?" 

"Wasn't one enough?"

"... Why are you telling me about him? How about those girls?"

"So they were nice to you!"

"I'm sorry you were!"

The schedule announced "Zeno Club" the next morning. It was a club of alumni who supported the football team, Tom-Tom explained at breakfast. He started to add something, but didn't because others could hear. An attractive, well-dressed, scented and manicured woman in her thirties with a stylish hair-do called for him. Mr. Cartwright had sent her to pick him up. He waited until they were in her silver Oldsmobile to ask who he was. She laughed as if refreshed to meet someone who didn't know: "He's the president of the Zeno Club, but he's the president of Merchants Bank too and that's where I'm taking you." At his first glimpse of Ace Cartwright, even Doz imagined the line he was walking between good and healthy living. His Mammoth shirtmaker and tailer had collaborated on covering his belly with extraordinary elegance. The flesh hanging from his face could have scowled more easily than smile as it did to Doz. He came around his enormous desk to shake his hand like a blimp making a tight turn. As his deep voice droned friendly platitudes, his little eyes flickered like the indicator of a hard drive. Doz guessed that he had better watch those eyes. A secretary who had aged more gracefully entered with an invisible cloud of toilet water that

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made Doz sneeze. She enjoyed his embarrassment. Ace introduced Sue Anne, who regretted that he hadn't asked her to pick this "handsome young man" up. Her smile suggested how she would have taken advantage of the opportunity.

"I wanted to see him in his right mind." Ace had a straight face.

Knitting his fingers, he praised Doz's athletic ability, urged him to develop it fully, rejoiced in the fame it would bring him, noted that it would get him through college, explained how a bachelor's degree would ensure advantageous employment and compared the average salary of his employees who had one with that of those who didn't. Figures nestled comfortably among the words in his sentences. Tens of thousands would watch Doz play, hundreds of thousands more would watch him on television, read about him and admire photos of him in newspapers and magazines. Little boys and their fathers would have his pass-completion ratio and his average yardage per game on the tips of their tongues. They would know how many touchdowns he had scored running and passing. Everywhere he went, people would recognize him, shake his hand, pat him on the back, praise him, invite him, treat him, give him presents. He would live in comfort and luxury, enjoy the best food and drink money could buy without even having to pay for it. Ace glanced furtively at the door. Beautiful women would beg him to make love to them and come back for more no matter how he treated them. Ace pretended not to notice Doz's embarrassment. Doz could have "all of that and more" if he dedicated himself to football for three years. With his education and intelligence, the curriculum wouldn't give him any trouble, but, even if it did, the Athletic Department had tutors who kept athletes eligible. His ability made him a good prospect for professional football and, if a pro team recruited him and he didn't squander his salary, he could retire a millionaire in ten years. Ace encouraged ZU athletes to open savings accounts in his bank. Many of his customers and some of the most prosperous had paticipated in ZU sports. On this cue, Sue Anne entered with two light-blue mugs on a tray, placed them in front of them and left without a word. A gold zeno was flying around the mugs on one side and the letters ZU appeared in gold on the other side. After a few gulps, Ace continued. Even if Doz didn't play pro ball after graduation, he would have endless job opportunities because employers would feel grateful for his contribution to ZU. "Who

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knows? You might even have my job one of these days." That didn't seem likely to Doz.

Neither had he asked Doz any questions nor given him an opportunity to ask any, but now he plied him with questions. How had he adjusted to life in this country? How did he like his job in moving and storage? How much did Fossez pay him? How did he like living in Mapleton? How did he like ZU? Was he enjoying his visit? How did he like football? Wasn't Saw a wonderful coach? Well, was he going to play for ZU? How soon could he reach a decision? Did he have any questions? Having answered Ace's as tactfully as he could, Doz decided to ask some of his own, which surprized Doz. Was he less adamant than before?

"In Carinia, one can only use one's feet to play football."

"Starting and stopping doesn't seem natural to me."

"There is so much violence."

"There are injuries."

"An education? What does one learn?"

"There are so many spectators. Isn't it just a kind of entertainment for them?"

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Doz was about to thank Ace for receiving him when Sue Ann reappeared with a long envelope in her hand and put it on the table in front of him. Ace explained: "The Zeno Club routinely compensates young men whom the Athletic Department has invited for a campus visit. Since you had to take three days off from a job, you deserve this compensation even more than others. You are welcome to check the sum." The envelope was open, but Doz didn't touch it.

"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. Mr. Fossez told me he would pay me for those three days."

Doz hesitated to ask why the Zeno Club was compensating him for a service to the Athletic Department. Hadn't the Athletic Department in fact done him a service by inviting him to ZU? If he declined to open a savings account, Ace would infer that he didn't want to play football for ZU. Furthermore, was this check legal? Would accepting it expose him to prosecution?

Doz slid the check out of the envelope: $300!

Astonished: "I only earn $63 in three days."

With the check in his hand, Doz was thinking that $300 was nearly enough to pay what remained of his debt to the sisters. Would Sabrina and Christina nonetheless want money he hadn't earned?

"Yes sir." He put the check in his wallet.

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As he left, Ace gave Sue Anne an incredulous frown, to which she replied with an incredulous smile.

A final interview with Saw and Jack trapped Doz in the same kind of ordeal as he had endured with Ray on the terrace of the pizza place. Although most of the arguments were the same, Saw and Jack made them more subtly. Instead of trying to talk him into playing football for ZU, Saw tried to reawaken the enthusiasm he had seen in him during the partial scrimmage. "How did it feel when you... ?" he kept asking with a grin and shiny eyes that showed how the head coach felt himself. He completed the question with praise for a pass Doz had completed, a run with which he had gained yardage or other spectacular plays he had made. Into such reminiscence, he and Jack slipped encouragement to seek further success, improve his ability, embark on a career, get an education and exploit an opportunity available to few. Without batting an eye, Saw extended his persuasion to campus life, caressing pleasures like so many beads on a rosary: "friends, girls... "

"Pretty girls!" added Jack.

"As a student, you will have a huge variety of programs and courses to choose from."

A degree in business would help in moving and storage, but art tempted him. If he said anything to Saw, however... "I don't know, sir, I would have to study the possibilities."

"I took some courses in math. It's surprising how useful they have been."

"It's a nice room, sir. Thank you for letting me use the telephone."

"How's the food in Siskin?"

"The food is good. I enjoyed it."

"Yes, except the theatre, the concert hall and the art gallery. We didn't have time, but Tom-Tom showed them to me. I have never seen such a library."

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"Did you enjoy the party last night?"

"Yes, it was a nice party."

The spies, for instance. "I can't think of anything, sir. Thank you for your hospitality."

"... ZU is a unh good university."

"A good university? A good one to play football for?"

"I don't know whether I want to play football."

"With your ability, you have a lot to look forward to. Thousands of young men would give anything to throw, run and hit like you."

...

"Yes, I was going to ask you the same question."

"I enjoy throwing and running. I don't know about the hitting."

"And you took it pretty well."

"That's the surest sign of a vocation."

"... I have a different problem, sir. This game is... more than a game."

"That's why we think you will find it rewarding."

"I will have to decide. I will tell you."

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trying to sound convincing. Both the girls, who sat in front, and Tom-Tom, who sat with him in back, let him know, though each in his own way, that they hoped he would come to ZU. Tom-Tom wanted him to know what he was getting into, Kate was looking forward to the fun they would have and Heddy kept glancing sweetly over her shoulder. As the line formed to get on the bus, Tom-Tom shook hands with him, Kate hugged and kissed him

"Kate!"

Everyone was curious about his trip and especially his decision. The more he assured Nelly, Becky and Smyrna that he would say "no," the more they saw that he wasn't as sure of that as he had been before. Even more sensitive to this uncertainty, Siss probed his conscious relentlessly. Their half hour on the phone was approaching an hour, which neither could afford. She insisted that she had to make a trip down to Mapleton, which he resisted with all the arguments he could find: the expense, her parents, her job, his job... But then, afraid that he had offended her, he reassured her that he was dying to see her and desperately impatient with the time he still had to wait. The need to argue pro and con at the same time disconcerted him. Tristan was on the phone with Isolde. After work one day, Fuss drove him to the office where he and Maude had a long talk with him. They easily convinced him of their devotion to a valuable employee and a decent young man as well as their reluctance to interfere with his right to decide for himself. To them as well as his other friends, he admitted the exhileration he had felt during the partial scrimmage at ZU. He kept it a secret from his fellow workers and especially the two football players, who gave him no peace. Blake tried to talk him into accepting an offer he couldn't refuse, while Taylo insisted that he should give ZTech a chance to outbid the rival institution. Doz found Taylo more subtle and consequently more dangerously persuasive. Ferreting the details of his visit out, Taylo exposed the calculations behind them and considered some of them clever. Letting the girls watch the practice from seats in the stadium, for instance, suggested a multiplication of their interest in him by the number of empty seats. Seeing that this interpretation impressed Doz, Taylo said that it would come naturally to any ZTech student. ZU taught you how to talk about things, while ZTech taught you how to do them.