End Zone

Part Three
20

Llenny Wells walked up the aisle toward the rear of the bus. He was wearing his fuzzy white Hibbs amp; Harmon cowboy hat, a gift from an Oklahoma uncle. He also wore a cast on bis left arm, no less a gift judging from the proud look on bis face, the sense of selfesteem that noble wounds tend to arouse. Sunlight came through the rear window and he blinked and winced into it, then grinned at Billy Mast and me, spinning into the seat in front of us and turning with the grin on his face and wincing again into the sun.

"They broke it," he said. "It's a clean fracture. Right below the elbow. I saw the x ray. It's broke clean. They broke it all right. No question about it."

"I hate to tell you how many yards they gained rushing," Billy said. "A lot of them right over my frail body."

"I didn't even see the last three quarters," Lenny said. "I was having this thing looked at. Having this thing of mine xrayed."

"Where's Creed?" I said. "I haven't seen Creed all morning."

The driver closed the door and eased onto the highway. This time there was no separation of offense and defense; the two buses were mixed. Lenny turned toward the front and put the hat down over his eyes. The sun came in through the side windows now. Physically I felt more or less intact. After the game the trainer had looked at my ribs and they were all right, just bruised. Both my legs were bruised also. With the game over I wondered what had made it seem so important. It was nothing now. I remembered only by my body, vaguely, in terms of soreness. There were two games still to play but I didn't look forward to them. I realized I had nothing to look forward to, nothing at all. I hoped this was just a momentary postgame depression.

"How's Conway?" I said.

"Collarbone," Billy Mast said. "I don't know how bad. He must be in the other bus. I haven't seen him. But I know it's the collarbone. Kimbrough told me at breakfast. They got the collarbone."

"How's Lee Roy Tyler?"

"Knee. They got the knee. Wrenched knee. Not too bad. He'll be ready."

"What about Randy King?"

"Knee. Knee. They bundsided him. They got him good. Last play of the game. The blind side. They got the knee. They caved it in on him."

"What about Yellin? How's Yellin? He was really hopping around."

"They got the ankle. They kicked it and then stepped on it. I saw it this morning. The right ankle. It's badly swollen. It's purplish in color. He'll be limping for a few days."

"Dickie Kidd," I said.

"Shoulder separation. Deep bruise on left calf. Latter injury reported to be of particular interest. Starshaped. Multicolored."

"How'd he get it?"

"Shrapnel," Billy said.

"What about Jessup? Jessup was running around halfmad. Signs of violence were rife."

"He bit his tongue. Fat lip too. Swelling under both eyes. No further comment at this time."

"Who else got what?"

"Bobby Iselin, pulled hamstring. Terry Madden, broken nose. Ron Steeples, mild concussion. Len Skink, worms. Everybody else, assorted contusions and lacerations."

"What about Fallon? I saw them working on Fallen in the training room."

"Fallon. An oversight on my part. Fallon. They got his middle finger."

"What did they do with it?"

"They broke it."

We rode in silence for a while. Jerry Fallon came back and showed us his finger. One of his teeth had been knocked out and he showed us the blank space. I had slept ten hours the night before but I was getting sleepy. Fallon went away and I settled down in the seat. Up front Andy Chudko started strumming his silver guitar. Dennis Smee, the defensive captain, was moving slowly up the aisle, stopping at every seat and saying something to the occupants. As he got closer he took a stick of gum out of his breast pocket and put it in his mouth. Every few seconds his tongue would appear, wrapped in transparent spearmint, and he'd produce a perfect little bubble and then snap it with his front teeth. He was leaning over Chudko now. A sentence entered my mind. I spoke the words with a monotonous intonation.

"Uh, this is maxcom, robomat."

Billy Mast looked at me.

"Robomat, this is maxcom. Do you read?"

"Uh, roger, maxcom," he said.

"You're looking real good, robomat. Is that affirm?"

"Uh, roger. We're looking real good."

"What is your thermal passive mode control?"

"Vector five and locking."

"Uh, what is your inertial thrust correction on fourth and long?"

"We read circularize and nonadjust."

"That is affirm, robomat. You are looking real super on the inset retro deployment thing. We read three one niner five niner. Twelve seconds to adapter vent circuit cutoff."

"Affirmative, maxcom. Three one niner five niner.

Twelve seconds to vent cut. There is God. We have just seen God. He is all around us."

"Uh, roger, robomat. Suggest braking burn and midcourse tracking profile. Autopath is transtandem. Blue and holding."

Dennis Smee reached us now. He looked very sincere. The chewing gum crackled between his teeth. He whispered to us.

"We didn't give it enough. We didn't let it all hang out. But it's over now and we still have two games to play. Next week we find out what we're made of. We have to be big out there. A lot of the guys are hurting. Practically everybody's hurting. But we have to shake it off and come back. We have to guard against a letdown. You can suffer a letdown by winning big or a letdown by losing big. Either way it's dangerous. Kimbrough's over in the other bus saying the exact same thing. We worked it out at breakfast, word for word. That's our function as cocaptains. To work for the good of the team."

"Function," Billy said. "A rule of correspondence between two sets related in value and nature to the extent that there is a unique element in one set assigned to each element in the corresponding set, given the respective value differences."

I stepped out of the bus under a strange silverwhite sky. It was awful to be back. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to look forward to. I went searching for Myna. She was wearing an Icelandic sheep coat, a visored butterscotch cap, her 1930 celluloid bracelet, and tricolored hockey socks.

"I'm trying to be honest here," I said. "I don't know whether I'm serious about liking you or not. Maybe I just like you because it's an odd thing to do. Sometimes I like to do odd things."

"Gary, don't fool around. You know the way I am."

"Okay, I'm sorry."

"Did they hurt you, baby?"

"They killed me," I said.