Doz told everyone except Blake and Taylo that he was going to call Saw and say "no," but he dreaded doing it. Saturday after work, he received a call from Otto Shanz, the head football coach at ZTech, who said he would be in Mapleton tommorrow and he invited him to lunch. More polite than enthusiastic, he accepted and Otto picked him up in a lavendar BMW. Imagine Doz's surprise when he drove him to the Orchid Inn! Did Otto know that he had stayed there, that he dined there occasionally, that the owner was his friend? Doz didn't ask and Otto didn't say. A younger man than Saw, the head coach of ZTech had a serene and refined manner rather than the rough and competitive one Doz had learned to expect. Seldom smiling and rarely laughing, he made an earnest and perceptive impression on Doz, who wondered whether it came naturally to him or he had cultivated it. Otto took a discreet interest in Doz's Carminian background, which had stirred little curiosity among the coaches at ZU. He even discussed soccer with him, demonstrating a knowledge and appreciation of the game. When Smyrna stopped at their table to greet Doz, he introduced Otto to her and he invited her to join them. He spoke to her so graciously that she obliged him for a few minutes. In judging the man, Doz hesitated continuously between appreciation of his sincerity and suspicion of a design. Otto said nothing about football until they had finished their roast lamb. Agreeing that it had been delicious, he stressed the importance of a good diet for good physical condition. A team who ate well could outplay one who didn't late in the game if they were otherwise evenly matched. The better your physical condition, the longer you could play without tiring. "Taylo and Blake must have told you how our game with ZU ended last November. But you probably haven't heard that ZU had a better team than we did. We nearly tied them at the end of the game because we weren't as tired as they were." Otto turned to the problem of injuries so smoothly that Doz noticed the change of subject only after it had happened. He sought to prevent them, he said, not only by providing his players with helmets, pads, shoes, etc. that gave them the best possible protection, but also by training them to avoid injuries. He taught them, for instance, never to expose the outer sides of their knees to oncoming shoulders or hips. Knees gave more trouble than any other part of a football player's body, because they bent around an axis that you couldn't shield against side blows without hobbling him. "How many games are lost before they even start because a key player has a knee injury?"

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By the time they had finished their coffee, Otto had convinced Doz that he coached a different game from Saw. As he drove him back to his apartment, he mentioned that he was going to meet Taylo and some of his other players for a game of touch that afternoon. Would Doz like to join them? To his own surprise, Doz accepted the invitation. Although he suspected Otto of arranging this coincidence in advance, he wanted to see how a head coach would play touch football. Otto drove him to a different field than the one where he had played with Blake and Janet. Doz recognized several of Taylo's friends whom he had met during the evening he spent with him. Otto divided them into two teams, joined the one opposed to Doz's and choose Taylo for Doz's. When a player made a good play, he congratulated him regardless of the side he was on and, when one made a mistake, he teased him. His attention pleased everyone who received it. Doz completed most of his passes and Taylo caught most of them including two for touchdowns. Moving players on his team to different positions, Otto played all of them himself. On offense, he throw one touchdown pass and caught another. Once, when Doz couldn't find an open receiver, he ran, eluded Otto and scored a third touchdown. Having congratulated him, the coach changed the teams, moving some from one side to the other and trading sides with Taylo. Since Taylo covered deep receivers, Doz threw short passes, completing several to Otto. This adjustment inspired a distinction by the coach between deliberate and all-or-nothing offence. They had been playing exactly two hours when he invited them all to drinks on a café terrace, where he led a discussion of the football they had just played. Doz felt as if he were taking a class on football. Driving him home, the head coach of ZTech invited him for a three-day visit and he accepted.

One of the young men who had played that Sunday afternoon had wheels, so he drove Doz, Taylo and two others up to Mountain Ridge. They moved into a comfortable but unluxurious dormitory for athletes, where Doz shared a room with Taylo. A black sphere knocked at the open door and Taylo introduced Coach Whitaker, whom he and his friends had been calling Cannonball. He might look like a funny little fat man, but he was full of steel springs. When he was playing for ZTech, he didn't run, he just bounced along. When someone tried to tackle him, he either bounced around him or bounced into him and knocked him down. Cannonball, who had a shiny scalp, a bushy moustache and twinkling eyes, shook Doz's hand and asked him how he liked the room in a tiny tenor voice.

"It's a nice room." That word again! "We even have a telephone."

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Cannonball laughed: "You heard ZTech was some kind of frontier outpost?"

"On the contrary!" Doz hid his disappointment.

"Yes sir. The Athletic Department invited me."

"... That's what they called it."

"Excuse me: what is a powder room?"

"... You have no women at ZTech."

"You don't like women?"

Cannonball showed him the stadium, the practice fields, the gym with the locker room, the equipment room where he introduced him to the manager and the training room where he introduced him to the trainer. As they were walking from the practice fields to the gym, Doz asked him about some buildings he saw and Cannonball identified, among others, the library, the museum, nuclear and space engineering labs. Taylo would show him around the campus after lunch. They met Otto in his office, smaller than Saw's and full of shelves loaded with books. "Coach Shanz ain't no coach. He's just a professor."

"I knew I was in the wrong profession when I realized that my students were smarter than me."

"When we are losing, I send Cannonball to the locker room at half time. They don't always come out fired up, but at least they come out laughing."

"It's a wonder we didn't wet ours last fall."

"What's so funny?"

"You are going to teach Doz some dirt... "

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Since Saw Sylvester, whom Otto respected, had introduced Doz to football, there was no use in teaching him things he already knew. Otto would therefore emphasize the kind of football he coached. He wanted his players to be thinking instead of wasting their energy on self and mutual incitement, shouting, arm-waving, running around in circles, pounding each other on the pads, etc. Certainly they should encourage each other after failures and congratulate each other after successes, but in a normal tone of voice and without exaggerated gesticulation. Gentlemen don't pound pads, they shake hands. Otto constantly reminded his players to watch what their opponents were doing, think what they should do to counter it and tell each other how to improve their teamwork. Discipline and good teamwork can frustrate an all-league halfback, "like the time ZU ganged up on Canonball."

"Coach, why don't you call me Stan? I'm a big boy now."

Doz was thinking that, if he wanted to play football, he would rather play for Otto than Saw. But then he realized that he was considering a possibility

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he thought he had rejected. Recalling Siss and the five children they were going to have, he felt guilty. Although he liked Otto's method better than Saw's, he guessed that it yielded similar results and he questioned the value of these results. The dedication of sport to the satisfaction of the popular appetite for violence seemed wrong to him and the exploitation of young men for this purpose, worse. He took pride in earning good wages by doing useful work and using the money as he saw fit. He had met enough players to see that they played football because they cared less for this kind of pride than performance and applause. They preferred the authority of coaches to the responsibility of independence. Assuming that injuries happened only to others, they swallowed the coaches' propaganda and yearned for glory. How foolish that was!

Doz noticed that the players Otto had invited for his visit were black, except for two linemen who were always together at the end of a line or table. Though friendly with them, the blacks were more friendly with Doz and a few of them, but not Taylo, represented the coaches too zealously to suit him. Otto considered him a black and treated him accordingly, while Saw had done exactly the opposite. Without feeling any resentment, Doz decided that he would prefer to be considered both and neither. Whenever he had the opportunity, he sought the whites' company and they rewarded him with sincerity, although their judgment was hardly as independent and acute at Tom-Tom's. While conceding the sincerity of Otto's wish to coach fair and smart football, they regretted that he said more than he did. Like other head coaches, he gave the backs more attention than the linemen and the offence more than the defence. On the final play of the last season, he had found that the ZTech holder had taken too much time putting the ball down so that it could be kicked. Blake, who had noticed it during previous place kicks, saw that he had enough time to reach the referee when the kicker's foot hit the ball. Yet Otto had trained the holder to take his time and make sure the ball was in the right position for a kick. This criticism seemed unfair to Doz, since neither Otto nor Blake could have foreseen a try for a field goal as time was running out. Blake had certainly hit the referee on purpose, but he couldn't have decided to do it until after the next-to-the-last play of the game. The importance attributed to this incident nine months after it had occurred disturbed Doz. If he played football, would he magnify such minutia too? Would he be held responsible for split seconds beyond his control? Would linemen resent the favor he enjoyed with the coaches?

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The ZTech visit paralleled the ZU one, except that Otto let the events occur as spontaneously as possible, suggesting them to Doz and asking him whether they suited him. Doz took advantage of the opportunity to visit the library, the museum, the nuclear and the space engineering labs with Taylo. Otto, who took his players' education more seriously than Saw, even arranged an interview with an academic dean, but nothing in the curriculum had much to do with art or moving and storage. The head coach devoted most of the three practices to contact drills and partial scrimmages in which Doz played the position he would if he came to ZTech. As the tailback in a single-wing offence, he ran the ball more often and quick-kicked when the situation called for it. Cannonball gave him constant advice on when and how to cut, when and how to break a tackle. He gained consistent yardage and ran through the defense twice, which made Canonball bounce with delight. As he penetrated beyond the line of scrimmage on another play, however, a linebacker hit him from the side with a twisting tackle. The pain in his back returned and increased with every new collision. Later, a big tackle hit him just as he was throwing a pass and knocked him out. After a few seconds, however, he scrambled to his feet and told the coaches, who were worried, that he felt all right. He relegated the reoccurrence of the injuries he had suffered at ZU to the back of his mind. The pain incited the same enthusiasm in him now as it had then. Why did it incite him instead of deterring him? He only wondered about that afterwards. His passing delighted Otto as much as his running delighted Cannonball. The single wing gave him more opportunities to throw on the run and, since he was left-handed, Shanz and Cannonball shifted the formation to the left. He had always enjoyed throwing to Taylo, but now, with coaching by Otto, they cooperated more successfully than ever. Doz noticed that, instead of reaching for the ball like Shack, Taylo maneuvered himself into position for the catch. Yet the pain in his back increased to the point where he began to stagger, so Otto ended the practice. Another doctor made the same diagnosis and another trainer gave him the same treatment.

Another fraternity house threw another party for him with pretty girls from nearby colleges, except that this time most of them were black. The pain in his back made it an ordeal, but at least he had an excuse to leave early and phone Siss. The pain punished him for every reassuring lie he told her and she heard his efforts to hide it in his voice. Unable to conceal anything from her, he finally asked: "How can you know me so well?"

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He heard a strange little gasp. "... Maybe it's because I have always known you, Doz."

"Didn't we recognize each other?"

Every time, it seemed harder to say goodbye and hang up. When he woke up the next morning and tried to stand up, his back hurt so badly that he gasped and he needed several minutes to stand up straight. He dreaded having to sit down, as he had to with another influential alumnus who insisted on giving him a check and the coaches who tried to talk him into a commitment to ZTech. On the trip back to Mapleton, the pain peaked every time the driver braked because he braked late and hard. Taylo and the others kept praising his ability and pleading with him to join their team. Certainly he enjoyed throwing to Taylo, but three months of contact every year for three years! His back continued to plague him at work the next day, where everyone noticed his preoccupation. Suddenly he had to sit down. Nelly ran and grabbed Fuss by the arm: "Something's wrong wif Doz. He don't feel so good." Fuss let her drive him to his doctor, who questioned him about his injuries, found that he wasn't steady on his feet, examined his back and sent him to the hospital. X-rays revealed a cracked vertebra, but nothing in his head. The radiologist assumed that his first injury at ZU had caused a hairline crack and the second one at ZTech had opened it wider. The doctor decided to keep him in the hospital for a few days, restricting his movement and waiting to see whether he recovered fully from his concussions.

He shared a room with a black man in his fifties named Abercrombie, who was recovering from an operation on one of his kidnies. Sad but friendly, he improved Doz's spirits. Doz worried about his injuries, how much they would cost and whether they would keep him from doing his job. The nurses, who complimented him on his looks and manners, cheered him up. "I hardly ever saw them until they put you in here," said Abercrombie. "Take my advice and stay young."

"How can I do that?"

Doz's friends visited him in ones, twos and threes. Becky, Smyrna, Fuss and Maude, Nelly and her kids, Plug, Jason and Mack, Taylo and two of his friends, Blake, Janet and Ray. Doz introduced them all to Abercrombie, who enjoyed their visits and even joined in the conversations. After each visit,

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Abercrombie would say: "I haven't seen any visitors in here until you came... [grimace] except my wife!" Doz thought Mrs. Abercrombie deserved more credit. A scratchy little woman, she always had a smile for Doz before she badgered her husband about his medicines. Every day she arrived with a clean pair of pajamas, a different color each time, and she helped him change while Doz looked out the window. The roommates shared experiences, complained about the food, laughed at remarks overheard in the hall. That night, Abercrombie snored from time to time, waking Doz up, and, once Doz finally sunk into snore-proof slumber, a big nurse barged into the room, yanked the venetian blinds open and, just as the light hit their eyes, chirped: "Good morning gentlemen!"

"Unh!" they groaned simultaneously.

"I forgot to tell you to sleep with your head turned away from the window," apologized Abercrombie.

"You spent the night on the train!"

Then silence. She was wearing a yellow dress with a miniskirt.

"Siss, this is Mr. Abercrombie."

"Welcome!" said Abercrombie cheerfully.

Abercrombie chuckled: "It's as if I weren't here. I'm blind and deaf. Besides, I'm senile, I forget everything."

Doz reached and took one of her hands, then he reached and took the other.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said trying to be stern.

"No, I'm not going to let you go." He squeezed her hands.

He was tempted to squeeze them again.

"Why don't you sit on his bed," suggested Abercrombie feigning indifference. "That's how they do it in the movies."

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After an awkward glance, combining modesty with thanks, she turned, plopped down on the bed, swung her knees towards the head, spread her skirt over her slender thighs and gazed at Doz. He felt as if he were swimming in her eyes:

"Your parents might come," he heard himself saying as if in a dream.

"Oh!" The cry came from Maude, framed in the doorway.

Maude advanced a few steps unable to decide. "Well, I guess I can't just turn around, leave and pretend I didn't see anything.

"As a disinterested witness," volunteered Abercrombie, "I testify that no couple has ever behaved more innocently than they have, not even in the movies."

"You know, this is the first time a miracle ever happened to me."

After a ceremonious pause, Doz told Maude: "This is Mr. Abercrombie."

"Maude Fossez," she said shaking his hand.

"Enchantée!" He meant it literally.

"I knew something was going on," said Maude zooming in on her daughter.

"I was afraid Doz would be bored, so I brought him some things." She took a radio and some books out of her shopping bag and put them on his night table.

"Thank you, Mrs. Fossez. You are very kind." Another uncertain silence.

"Well, what are we... I mean what are you going to do about Mr. Fossez?" Abercrombie was really enjoying himself.

Maude laughed: "Hey! Are you always meddling in other people's business?"

"Doz is my roommate and fellow sufferer. He has to put up with my wife when she checks up on me."

Fearing tears, Doz reached over and squeezed

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her hand.

Maude was afraid she would stamp her foot. "It's all right, Sissy. I'm not going to try and take him away from you... " She started to say that she even approved of her choice. "How are we going to handle your father?"

Doz startled everyone: "I will tell him."

"Reminds me of a movie: Shirley Temple sits on her dad's... or grandad's lap, throws her arms around his neck, kisses him on his bewhiskered cheek, whispers sweet nonesense in his ear and the old snowball melts... melts." Addressing Maude: "Do you remember that movie? What was the title?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't. I didn't like Shirley Temple a whole lot. She was too cute and sweet for me."

"I agree entirely: too cute and sweet. But it was precisely because she was so cute and sweet that she made the old buzzard flap his wings."

"You are mixing your metaphors."

"I love to mix my metaphors."

"How are we going to make the old buzzard flap his wings?... Doz, are you going to play football?" 

"No m'am. I want to work for Mr. Fossez."

"Ah hah! The missing link."

"I will tell Snowball that his little girl is becoming a young woman... "

"I will warn him: young men are beginning to notice her. After I warm him up a little bit, it will be Siss's turn to apply the heat. Tell him you have met a boy that you... well, like. If you say more than that, you will put him in a deep freeze. A boy you like, but it's too early to introduce him to your dad. That will give him a good scare. Then we will alert Doz and let him choose his opportunity. Meanwhile, I will be pulling a few strings... "

"Napoleon would have taken Moscow."

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-- she touched him gently --, whether the doctor had come yet, etc. Although she cared for him, her persistance annoyed him and her scratchy voice kept Doz from concentrating on Huckleberry Finn. Maude had remembered him regretting that he hadn't read it yet. Now he wondered whether he shouldn't have expressed his gratitude for her tolerance of his relations with her daughter more forcefully. He was a black, an alien, an orphan, an employee they had known for only six months. Suddenly, Saw Sylvester invaded the room, occupying it with boisterous cheer, encouraging Doz with news of a swift recovery direct from "the doc" and anticipation of a "whizzbang" career. Used to being recognized, he addressed the Abercrombies as if they had and congratulated him on sharing a room with a "shoo-in" for the Heisman. Ignoring her astonishment -- nothing seemed to astonish him -- he returned to Doz and, hovering over him, assured him that ZU insurance would pay all of his medical bill that ZTech insurance didn't. Since Doz was worried about his medical expenses, this reassurance embarrassed him, holding his tongue when he had to tell Saw that he had decided not to play football. Saw made it all the harder for him by assuming the contrary. Turning back to the Abercrombies, he praised his performance during his visit to ZU, lavishing his enthusiasm on his runs and his passes. Why he could pinpoint a receiver sixty-five yards downfield! Saw also admired his "guts" when the pain in his back drove him to try even harder and improve his performance. "He's a real football player, he loves the game," sawed Saw, "the harder they hit him, the harder he hits back, one in a thousand, one in ten thousand. I'm proud of him!"

Not the right time to tell Saw that he wasn't going to play any more football! But would there be a right time?

"So you are the football coach at Zenia University?" asked Abercrombie.

"I'm a taxpayer myself. How much do football scholarships cost?"

"$4000. Room, board and tuition?"

"I heard football players live in a more comfortable residence than other students and eat in a cafeteria that serves better food. How much do these extras cost?"

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Abercrombie smiled skeptically: "Wouldn't those contributions have been more useful to the university, if they had paid for construction of dormitories for students interested in an education rather than football?"

"No. The university gets all the funding it needs for construction of dormitories from the legislature. People who support the football program have to pay taxes and they aren't interested in charitable contributions to the state. Besides, what could be more useful to the university than the publicity generated by an effective football program?"

"Scholarships for gifted poor students, reduction of class size and substitution of interactive teaching for lectures, recruitment of reputable scholars and scientists, support for significant research, purchase of laboratory equipment and books for the library... the list is endless. But tell me: I ran across something called auxiliary services provided by Zenia University to the Intercollegiate Athletic Department. What are these mysterious services?"

"Yes, they would certainly know who to pass the buck next. How about your out-of-state players? I understand you recruit right many of them. How much more would they have to pay if they didn't have a scholarship?"

"We don't either," said Otto Shanz who had just entered the room, "but it would amount to $3000 at ZTech in addition to the $5000 paid by instate students. Our fees are higher than ZU's because engineering requires more overhead for equipment. The conference allows Coach Sylvester and me to recruit a third of our players from out of state and we have to do it to stay competitive." Taking pains to spare his fellow coach, Otto gave Abercrombie nearly all the figures he asked for. Then he organized a discussion of the grounds for subsidizing football programs at state universities. He gave Sylvester subtle hints to contribute reasons that he took to heart: 1. giving athletes an opportunity to develop their ability, realize their potential and

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enjoy the satisfaction of performance; 2. teaching, by participation and example, teamwork and coordination of body and mind; 3. reinforcing character and will power by competition; 4. exersizing the violence inherent in young men under conditions that limited physical and mental injury. Yet Otto admitted the excesses and abuses reported and condemned by the press. He even conceded that others probably went unnoticed. Stricter rules, inspection and enforcement would improve the reputation of football. A reputable football program could render valuable service to the institution that sponsered it. For instance, it focused the attention of the community on competition with other institutions and united students, faculty, administrators, alumni, parents, neighbors and, in the case of state colleges and universities, even taxpayers in a common purpose.

The enthusiasm inspired by a successful football team encouraged support of other programs, such as the new department of sports medicine at the ZU Medical School. "Coach Sylvester set an example by making a substantial contribution himself."

"That was nothing," said Saw, "compared with Coach Shanz's gift to the Mayview Library to purchase books on the history of foot"

"Congratulations on your generosity, gentlemen!" interrupted Abercrombie. "A gift to a ZU library by a ZTech coach bucks the tendency to duplication and a gift to a medical school by a football coach might encourage others to make disinterested contributions to worthy causes. But sports medicine keeps football players playing, even when their injuries can't be healed and they should stop playing. On the other hand, most of the books on football glorify it. I wonder if your generosity doesn't serve your interests a little bit... Tell me: how much does football cost ZU and ZTech?"

"Hey! Who do you think you are? An investigator or something? You happen to share your room with a young man who hurt himself playing some pretty good football. I came to see him. I didn't come to see you. I already told you: call the athletic director's office. It's not my job to argue with fanatics who hate football and take it out on anybody from ZU who happens to come along."

Unmoved like an official: "What is his number, please?"

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"Whose number?"

"The athlectic director."

Shouting: "What do you take me for? A telephone directory?"

Mrs. Abercrombie jumped, but the investigator was enjoying it.

As each coach calculated his next move, Doz steeled his nerve: "Excuse me... " His voice sounded strained, so he cleared his throat. "Excuse me, but I have decided not to play football... I'm sorry." Both coaches looked as if they had just learned that they had terminal cancer.

For once, self-control cost Otto an effort. He went over to Doz and shook his hand: "I understand, son."

It took Saw a few seconds longer: "I will miss you, Doz." He had tears in his eyes.

"Thad!... Thad!" she screeched.

Paying no attention, Thad grabbed Doz's hand in both of his and roared: "I have a friend who works for Time Magazine. I'm going to nominate you for Man of the Year."

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a little faster than Barbara, she would have a little time to enjoy life without having to wash and iron his pajamas. Barbara tried to hide her distress. Thad sniffed at his sleeve and held it up to Siss's and Doz's noses.

"Smell that? Lavender! I'm dying in luxury."

Trying to hold her tears back: "At times, I wish his suffering would end. Then I feel guilty. I dread losing him!... You are so sweet to come and see him. Thanks!"

The relief Fuss felt when he learned that Doz had decided not to play football surprized him. Even before Doz had recovered from his injuries, Fuss began to delegate authority to him, leaving him in charge of the crew when he had be somewhere else. Since Mack had previously had this responsibility, he resented it a little without letting on. Sharing the mystique of the big truck had made good friends of them, however, so Doz consulted him and followed his advice. He soothed his feelings by taking his objections seriously, when he made them, and deferring to his experience. Plug and Jason accepted his authority more willingly because he expressed it in the same tone of voice as previously his opinion. Blake and Taylo both regretted and respected his desire to keep his job, but they stopped bothering him about football. Proud of her little brother, Nelly exaggerated her haste in doing what he asked without neglecting the opportunity to kid him: "Sho, boss man!" "Hey, I changed yo diapers, boy!" "He thinks he's Malcom X!" Doz had to ask who he was and everyone had a different opinion. After a few bad mistakes and right many sound decisions, he had the confidence of the crew. In mid-August, he said goodbye to Blake and Taylo who had to report for pre-season training. This occasion inspired warmer farewells than any of them had expected. Doz asked Blake to greet Tom-Tom for him, although he had already written him about his decision. Tempted to make the same request for Heddy, he thought better of it. Blake and Taylo agreed to pass his thanks on to the coaches for their hospitality and, if asked, to confirm that he hadn't changed his mind. They even persuaded him to attend the ZU-ZTech game, which would take place in Mountain Ridge this time, and meet them for dinner at the Score Board afterwards. Everyone would bring a date. Meanwhile, Doz had returned the checks given him to compensate for his visits.

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As Labor Day approached, Maude took steps to eliminate the danger of a long weekend. She informed Siss and Doz, who had been dreaming of an entirely different encounter, that her brother and sister had invited them for the weekend in Quiroga Gap. Her brother who lived with his family on the northern side would put her up and her sister who lived with hers on the southern side would put him up. Since both had children their age,

"you will have a wonderful time."

"They don't even know me!" he objected, tactfully and persistently resisting such an invitation.

Maud knew she couldn't keep her lovebirds from meeting in the station at Mammoth and taking the same train to Quiroga, but she assessed the risk as overt handholding and a few covert kisses. Indeed the other passengers pretending not to notice them tormented them during the two hours and forty-three minutes. Sitting close enough to feel each other's warmth consoled them a little. Please remember that this courtship took place a few decades ago. Siss had all the time she needed to brief him on the noisy crowd they would have to live with from Saturday afternoon until Monday morning. "You are going to find out what it's like to have lots of kids," she teased him. It had never occurred to him that it might not resemble his dreams. The geological drama of the gap exhilerated him as wooded slopes rose on both sides and the river cascaded in the direction opposite that of the train. He imagined the excitement of the settlers, many of them immigrants like himself, as their wagon trains had wound around the bends of the Quiroga on their way from certainty to chance. A noisy crowd of grinning cousins engulfed them as soon as they got off and, after much confusion, whisked each of them off in a different direction. Their reunion

would consist of separations. Doz was on the front seat of a Ford station wagon with Aunt Sophie's older son who drove, while the younger one and her two daughters sat in back. Questions were flying and, before he could answer one, another one flew, unless a guessed answer meant to be funny did. These jokes made some of them laugh and some scoff, but most of them mystified Doz. Although he had lived through adolescence in his orphanage, he and his contemporaries hadn't cultivated a humor accessible only to them.

Welcoming him warmly, Sophie, who looked like a shorter, rounder Maude, and her husband Dan insisted that he call them Sophie and Dan. He shared a room with the boys which, in addition to twin beds close together, contained a cot at their foot, leaving only a narrow passage on three sides. Sixteen like Siss, Tim seemed two years younger and Buster less like fourteen than thirteen. Admiring his build, they anticipated a game of touch on the assumption that he would be as eager as they were. Apparently the difference in age between him and them didn't even occur to them. Before the inevitable sport, however, Doz had to satisfy the usual need of travelers arriving at their destination. A museum, the family bathroom displayed an astonishing variety of things that revealed almost as much about their owners as their faces: tooth brushes and pastes in a rainbow of colors, combs and brushes intended for more or less hair, colognes and deodorants with clever names, soaps to wash with and soaps from gift shops, more towels than the racks could dry -- How could they tell whose was whose? -- and several items no doubt useful for purposes Doz couldn't guess and didn't want to. The array of cosmetics particularly discouraged his curiosity. He discovered a problem that plagues big families when he tried to lock the door, which had been locked and unlocked too many times. Coming back downstairs, he found that the house would have accommodated half the number comfortably. Would his own family live in such a house? Arbitrated by the parents, playful warfare between the brothers and sisters convinced him that his hosts enjoyed it. His presence had little apparent effect on the happy chaos all around him, obviously a routine. Harly the cat made no apologies for his alley orgin as he sniffed Doz's shoes disdainfully. A miscellaneous hound named Idiot with desert camouflage and a tail stretching straight back looked up at Doz giving him permission to pat him. Both animals entered and exited at will, demanding that the screen doors be opened for them.

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Aunt Sophie's family had invited Uncle Sam's for supper Saturday evening and vice versa Sunday. How could the eight of them counting Siss squeeze into a house already full with seven counting Doz? He didn't have much time to worry about it, however, because his roommates called him out in the backyard to throw a football with them as Idiot ran after it barking and trying to catch it himself. When one of the boys dropped it, he pounced on it only to discover that he couldn't sink his teeth into it, but that didn't discourage him from running after it. The skill with which Doz floated the ball right into their hands, no matter which way they ran or cut, impressed the boys.

"Hey! You have been in this country only six months," Tim asserted, "and you can throw like Unitas."

"Yeah!" confirmed Buster. "Just like Unitas!"

"Oh Doz!" exclaimed Siss woefully. "You throw it so well!"

"ZU or ZTech?" asked Buster.

"ZU or ZTech?" repeated Tim who had heard Buster.

Doz told them that he had a good job, the chance to pursue a career and hopes of a family like theirs.

"If you had been found in a mailbox, you would understand."

They all had their mouths open.

"Why cover your head with a helmet and your body with pads so you can hit each other harder? What kind of game is that?"

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make their high school team. This disappointment hadn't dispelled their younger brothers' conviction that they would make it. In the fall, every Saturday and Sunday afternoon glued them and their fathers to television. They had seen Unitas throw. What wouldn't any of them have given to throw like him? From a drip, the leak grew to a flood and soon engulfed both families, fathers and women included. Except for Chris, Sophie's fifteen-year old, whose skepticism began to inspire Doz's sympathy. Otherwise, the reaction varied from wonder to disapproval according to the individual and the moment, while excitement persisted. Whenever the conversation lagged, the slightest allusion to sports brought it back to Doz. Again and again, perplexity over his renunciation of stardom crescendoed with advice to seize the opportunity within his grasp. The fathers gave this advice as earnestly as the sons and the women, except for Chris, almost as earnestly as the men. Doz found himself as beleagured as when the coaches had tried to recruit him. Though well-meant and even better than at ZU and ZTech, this persuasion was depriving him of intimacy with Siss, who looked as desperate as he felt. 

Actually, the living room, the entrance, the dining room and the kitchen provided fifteen people with enough space for comfort and a few even sat on the steps. Confined, the talk and laughter forced everyone to raise his voice and repeat what he had just said louder, but none seemed to mind and everyone except Siss and Doz were having a good time. The older ones drank beer and the younger ones, cokes, while nearly all were munching potato chips. Most wore white athletic shoes, many wore T-shirts inscribed with the name of a team, three of them with ZU and two with ZTech, and several wore baseball caps. Doz exhausted his ingenuity trying to change the subject and appear happy. Every time Siss came to his rescue, cousins turned her away with questions and comments, often about them. She chose not to answer some of them and the laugh she substituted for an answer became increasingly nervous. Uncle Sam was explaining the joke about his name, when Doz gestured to show that he had understood and his arm encountered something soft, which turned out to be Chris. He excused himself, she reassured him, he asked if he had hurt her, she laughed and said no. In the corner of his eye, Doz saw Sam turning away, so he had a good time with Chris.

He had been wondering how they could all sit down and eat. Sophie passed among them saying "the pizzas are ready." They all lined up to exit by the

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back door along with Harly and Idiot, who for once had been shut inside. Siss had to get away from some cousins to sit by Doz, while Chris claimed the chair on the other side of him. Surprized to find a flat, square cardboard box on the table at every place, Doz looked at Siss and she explained that Napoli's had delivered fifteen warm pizzas. While they ate, Idiot sat beside one diner after another whimpering for a handout, while Harly slunk around the tables looking for a chance to jump up on a chair or table. Since neither cared for anything except the pieces of meat in the pizzas, the adolescent adolescents tried to feed them tomato, cheeze, etc. Sam even tried to get them to drink some beer. For desert, hosts and guests had as many scoops of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry on cones as they wished. The adolescent adolescents had a contest that sent the winner running for the bathroom. The incident raised much laughter, but none on either side of Doz. Chris sighed and rolled her eyes, while Siss murmured: "How awful!" Doz told them that the scenes reminded him of the peasant feasts in Dutch and Flemish painting.

When the sun set, the host cousins brought their record-player out, put it on the end of the table nearest the house and hooked it up with an extension cord plugged into an outlet in the kitchen. An argument over which record to play started and never stopped until the visiting parents got up to say thanks, goodbye and good night. Until then, the cousins bickered, took pleasure in bickering and, according to Chris, always bickered. The older ones, who often had their way, insisted on sound that reminded Doz of wild beasts in a death struggle, howling with rage and pain. The boys wanted to dance with Siss and the girls, with Doz, who declined because he didn't know how to dance to such noise. The parents laughed and demanded some real music. As soon as it began to play, Doz invited Siss to dance with him and they danced together for the first time. After a few hesitations because of the uneven brick patio, they were moving together gracefully. His left hand exerted gentle pressure on her right and his right, on the small of her back. She felt the pressure, yielded to it and they enjoyed each other. The extraodinary thrill of such an ordinary event escaped none of their spectators, who admired them silently before applauding them loudly. At the end of the record, the older boys asked to dance with Siss and the older girls, with Doz, but he invited Sophie and Sam invited Siss. "What a bore to dance with your own cousin!" snorted Chris's older sister Tilda, who had to settle for one of them. Doz and Siss annoyed the cousins further by dancing with the other parents and Doz angered Tilda by dancing with Chris first.

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When Doz finally danced with Tilda, who had a big bosom, she kept trying to push it up against him. At first, he stepped back and, when that didn't discourage her, he pushed her gently away. Exasperated, she sighed loudly and shrugged her shoulders, hence a few knowing laughs. Proud of Doz, Siss recommended his example to Tim, who was dancing with her.

"Dance with my aunt? My mother?" he protested.

Since their arrival, Doz and Siss had spent little time together and none alone. Now they had to say goodnight, while the visiting family was getting into their Chevrolet station wagon and the host family, seeing them off. They only dared to squeeze each others' hand and peck each other on the cheek, but this minimum caused remarks. The impasse at the bathroom door the next morning prompted Tim to suggest that he and Doz shave at the same time, since he used an electric razor and his guest, a hand razor. The faces in the mirror, one covered with pimples and the other, with shaving cream, preoccupied them until they heard the girls complain on the other side of the door. Why were they taking so long? Tim cracked the door on the excuse of reminding them that everyone had a right to his turn. Doz knicked himself, turned his head and saw four eyes staring at him. The door closed, Tim, who needed a bandaid for one of his pimples, gave Doz one for the knick on his chin. Despite Tim's assurances that everyone ran around in their pajamas, Doz had worn a bathrobe. As they left the bathroom, he noticed that Chris looked pretty cute in her yellow pajamas. Tilda had left her pink dressing gown open in front and the top button of her pink nightshirt unbuttoned, thus exposing as much flesh as Myra Shelton had. Doz mumbled "Good morning!" and hurried back to the boys' bedroom.

Dan was cooking breakfast, a family custom, while Sophie lingered in bed, where he brought hers to her on a tray, also a family custom. Her bedroom door wide open, she hollered advice down to him, such as the need to soak the pan in which he had cooked the scrambled eggs, in cold water. When he heard her voice, he sent Buster, who complained, up to find out what she wanted. The cousins were always hovering around the toaster, which toasted four slices at a time, each waiting for his toast, except that Chris was toasting Doz's as well as her own. That made five, hence the squabbles you can imagine. Chris, who sat next to Doz when she sat, insisted on

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supplying him with everything he needed or didn't. Although he liked her company, the way she kept after him embarrassed him. All four siblings were jumping up, rushing to the kitchen, rushing back and sitting down again in continuous agitation. The chatter reminded Doz of birds in a cage. A chaos of glasses, cups and saucers, plates, knives, forks, spoons, napkins, a pitcher of orange juice, a coffee pot, a platter of scrambed eggs and bacon, two butter plates, a sugar dish, assorted jars of jam and honey, a bowl of fruit and sections of the Sunday newspaper lay scattered across the dining-room table. Jam splatters, sugar, orange juice and coffee spills, some hastily wiped and some not, littered it along with a few banana peels. Jam smeared the cut-off ends of the butter sticks. Lipstick soiled the edge of Tilda's glass. The family had come to breakfast one by one and left one by one. Breakfast had begun as the family straggled in, now it ended as they straggled out.

Everyone had to dress for church. Although no one had drawn up a schedule, all seven of them managed to take a shower and apparently only one at a time. Just as Doz started down the hall to take his, Tilda emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a big towel around her body and a small one around her head. She ran to the girls' bedroom leaving a trail of droplets on the floor behind her. Doz wondered whether she had been watching for him through the keyhole. As he went down the hall, Tim crossed it behind him to his parents' bedroom, which he entered without knocking and asked Dad to help him with his tie. Before Doz reached the bathroom, Chris hastened the other way in a white bathrobe and asked her mother to saftety-pin her bra.

"Why didn't you ask Tilda?"

Since Chris had left the door open, Doz glimpsed Tilda, still wrapped in her two towels, effectively caking the makeup on. Doz found the walls of the bathroom dripping with humidity. Uncertain of the door, he feared an intrusion, but he got his shower taken without one, returned to the boys' bedroom, dressed and went downstairs ahead of the others.

No sooner had he sat down than Chris came jumping down the stairs and plopped down on the sofa beside him. She had just confirmed that both families belonged to the Free Faith Assembly when Tilda screamed upstairs:

"I'm old enough to know how to dress!"

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"It has to go further around than that," replied Dad and, besides, you can see right through it."

"I guess we are a pretty messy family."

"Yes we are, all the time! You must think... "

Buster was running down the stairs with his white fly open:

"Hey, Doz... "

"You forgot something."

Unperturbed, Buster jerked his zipper up and joined Chris in the living room. They had just begun to make polite conversation when Dan came downstairs with his arm over Tim's shoulder:

"I'm sorry, son, we just can't afford it now. Ask me again in three months."

"That's what you said three months ago."

"I did? Well, we couldn't afford it then either. The only trouble with borrowing money is you have to pay it back. The more you have to pay back, the less you have to spend." He gave him a sympathizing look.

Tim shrugged impatiently.

Inspecting the others in the living room: "Mom and Tilda, as usual. I will get the car and honk three times. If they don't show up then... "

Chris giggled. "He always has to honk three times. It happens every Sunday. He gets mad, jumps out of the car, heads for the house and Tilda comes out like Marilyn Monroe leaving her house in Beverly Hills."

The only difference Doz could see between the two station wagons was the grill, yet Tim gave several reasons why this one was better than the other one. Tilda, who already had her driving licence, reminded him that he hadn't gotten his yet.

"You've got grease coming out of your ears," Chris told him.

"Tim!" scolded Mom. "Behave yourself!"

"You really are ready for a driver's licence!" Dad threatened.

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she kept tossing it with her head and pushing it with her hands to restore it. Mom, who didn't like the wind either, told Tim to raise it halfway, but Buster, who hadn't said anything yet, yelled:

"Hey! It's hot back here." He needed the wind to stay cool on the third seat.

"There must be a way to solve this problem," said Dan.

Chris touched Doz's arm: "How would you solve it?"

They all insisted.

"Maybe Tim and Tilda could change places. Tilda could keep her window up, Tim could keep his down and Buster would get his wind."

Dan stopped the car and, although Tim didn't like giving up the right front seat, he changed places with Tilda. A few minutes later, they arrived at the tabernacle.

Doz was afraid Siss wouldn't like seeing Chris accompany him, but he soon discovered that she was her favorite cousin. Chris praised his Solomonic decision, forcing him to point out that he owed his slight wisdom to independence from the family in the car.

"Maybe one of them would have thought of it if he hadn't been involved," Siss supposed.

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a part-time waitress and served him lunch. That he had immigrated six months ago from Carminia, where he had been raised and educated in a Catholic orphanage. Increasingly nervous, Doz and Siss lost their breath when the questions and answers revealed that the sisters had found the infant in the convent mailbox. Despite their consternation, they saw that everyone obviously admired what they considered a culminating degree of distinction. Other communities would have reacted negatively if not contemptuously to such exoticism. The enlightenment of the Free Faith Assembly had confirmed Siss's claims and satisfied Doz's expectations.

Chris maneuvered them into the back seat of the Chevrolet with herself, thus relegating Tilda and some disappointed cousins to the Ford. The girl who had been sitting there on the way to the tabernacle taunted Chris:

"You must think you are a bridesmaid or something!"

"That wasn't very kind, Chris," admonished Mom.

Dad cleared his throat, an ominious sign.

"What are panties?"

He blushed through his color, so everyone wanted to know what she had told him.

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They drove to a beach along the river at a point where it spread and slowed. Doz and Siss found the water as icy as in Lake Arthur. The adolescent adolescents were running wildly into the water, but Chris held the couple back to tell them about a downstream backwater where they could enjoy a little privacy. Then she ran after the others, provoking them in a noisy splashing and ducking battle. Ignoring the shouts and screams, their parents lounged on their beach towels amusing each other with parental humor. Meanwhile, Doz and Siss had swum underwater downstream and behind some vegatation to hug and kiss for the first time since Lake Arthur. How exciting their bodies felt pushing against each other! Doz had an erection, which hardly drove Siss away, but then they heard the adolescent adolescents running and shouting down a path along the river.

"Hey, what are you all up to?"

They laughed a laughter they would lose in a few years and mocked: "They were just... talking!"