Infinite Jest Part 25

Both Erdedy's hands were now up palms-out and waggling in a like bonhommic gesture of heading off all possible misunderstanding: 'No but see the whole point is that I wouldn't presume to call you either a hugger or a nonhugger because I don't know you. I only meant to say it's nothing personal having to do with you as an individual, and I'd be more than happy to shake hands, even one of those intricate multiple-handed ethnic handshakes if you'll bear with my inexperience with that sort of handshake, but I'm simply uncomfortable with the whole idea of hugging.'

By the time Johnette Foltz could break away and get over to them, the fellow had Erdedy by his anorak's insulated lapels and was leaning him way back over the edge of the Literature table so that Erdedy's waterproof lodge boots were off the ground, and the fellow's face was right up in Erdedy's face in a show of naked aggression: 'You think I f.u.c.king like like to go around hug on folks? You think to go around hug on folks? You think any any of us of us like like this this s.h.i.+t? s.h.i.+t? We f.u.c.king do what they tell us. They tell us Hugs Not Drugs in here. We done motherf.u.c.king We f.u.c.king do what they tell us. They tell us Hugs Not Drugs in here. We done motherf.u.c.king surrendered surrendered our wills in here,' Roy said. 'You little f.a.ggot,' Roy added. He wedged his hand between them to point at himself, which meant he was now holding Erdedy off the ground with just one hand, which fact was not lost on Erdedy's nervous system. 'I done had to give four hugs my first night here and then I gone ran in the f.u.c.king can and f.u.c.king puked. our wills in here,' Roy said. 'You little f.a.ggot,' Roy added. He wedged his hand between them to point at himself, which meant he was now holding Erdedy off the ground with just one hand, which fact was not lost on Erdedy's nervous system. 'I done had to give four hugs my first night here and then I gone ran in the f.u.c.king can and f.u.c.king puked. Puked, Puked,' he said. 'Not com comfortable? Who the f.u.c.k f.u.c.k are you? Don't are you? Don't even even try and tell me I'm coming over feeling try and tell me I'm coming over feeling com comfortable about trying to hug on your James-River-Traders-wearing-Calvin-Klein-aftershave-smelling-goofy-a.s.s motherf.u.c.king a.s.s.'

Erdedy observed one of the Afro-American women who was looking on clap her hands and shout 'Talk about it!' about it!'

'And now you go and disrespect me in front of my whole clean and sober me in front of my whole clean and sober set set just when I gone risk sharing my vulnera just when I gone risk sharing my vulnerability and discomfort with you?'

Johnette Foltz was sort of pawing at the back of Roy Tony's fatigue jacket, shuddering mentally at how the report of an Ennet House resident a.s.saulted at an NA meeting she'd personally brought him to would look written up in the Staff Log.

'Now,' Roy said, extracting his free hand and pointing to the vestry floor with a stabbing gesture, 'now,' he said, 'you gone risk vulnerability and discomfort and hug my a.s.s or do I gone f.u.c.king rip your head off and s.h.i.+t s.h.i.+t down your neck?' down your neck?'

Johnette Foltz had hold of the Roy fellow's coat now with both hands and was trying to pull the fellow off, Keds scrabbling for purchase on the smooth parquet, saying 'Yo Roy T. man, easy there Dude, Man, Esse, Bro, Posse, Crew, Homes, Jim, Brother, he's just new is all'; but by this time Erdedy had both arms around the guy's neck and was hugging him with such vigor Kate Gompert later told Joelle van Dyne it looked like Erdedy was trying to climb him.

'We've lost a couple already,' Steeply admitted. 'During the testing. Not just volunteers. Some idiot intern in Data a.n.a.lysis yielded to temptation and wanted to see what all the fuss was for and got hold of Flatto's I/O lab's clearance card and went in and viewed.'

'From among the many Read-Only copies of your stock of the Entertainment.'

'No great tragic loss in itself - lose some idiot-child intern. C'est la guerre. C'est la guerre. The real loss was that his supervisor tried to go in after him and pull him out. Our head of Data a.n.a.lysis himself.' The real loss was that his supervisor tried to go in after him and pull him out. Our head of Data a.n.a.lysis himself.'

'Hoyne, Henri or p.r.o.nounce "Henry," middle initial of F., with the wife, with his adult diabetes he controls.'

'Did control. Twenty-year man, Hank. d.a.m.n good man. He was a friend. He's in four-point restraints now. Nourishment through a tube. No desire or even basic survival-type will for anything other than more viewing.' control. Twenty-year man, Hank. d.a.m.n good man. He was a friend. He's in four-point restraints now. Nourishment through a tube. No desire or even basic survival-type will for anything other than more viewing.'

'Of it.'

'I tried to visit.'

'With your sleeveless skirt and different b.r.e.a.s.t.s.'

'I couldn't even stand to be in the same room, see him like that. Begging for just even a few seconds - a trailer, a s.n.a.t.c.h of soundtrack, anything. His eyes wobbling around like some drug-addicted newborn. Break your f.u.c.king heart. In the next bed, restrained, the idiot intern: this this was the sort of undisciplined selfish child you like to talk about, Remy. But Hank Hoyne was no child. I watched this man put down all sugar and treats when he first got diagnosed. Just put them down and walked away. Not even a whimper or backward glance.' was the sort of undisciplined selfish child you like to talk about, Remy. But Hank Hoyne was no child. I watched this man put down all sugar and treats when he first got diagnosed. Just put them down and walked away. Not even a whimper or backward glance.'

'A will of steel.'

'An American adult of exemplary self-control and discretion.'

'The samizdat samizdat is not to be played crazily about with, so. We too have lost persons. It is serious.' is not to be played crazily about with, so. We too have lost persons. It is serious.'

The legs of the constellation of Perseus were amputated by the earth's horizon. Perseus, he wore the hat of a jongleur or pantalone. Hercules' head, this head was square. It was not long to dawn also because at 32 N Pollux and Castor became visible. They were over Marathe's left shoulder, as if giants were looking over his shoulder, one of Castor's legs inbent in a feminine manner.

'But do you ever consider?' Steeply lit another cigarette.

'Fantasize, you are meaning.'

'If it's that consuming. If it somehow addresses desires that total,' Steeply said. 'Not even sure I can imagine what desires that total and utter even are.' Up and down upon the toes. Turning above the waist only to look back at Marathe. 'You ever think of what it'd be like, speculate?'

'Us, we think of what ends the Entertainment may serve. We find its efficacy tempting. You and we are tempted in different ways.' Marathe could identify no other Southwest U.S.A. constellations except the Big Dipper, which at this lat.i.tude appeared attached to the Great Bear to form something resembling the 'Big Bucket' or the 'Great Cradle.' The chair gave small squeaks when he s.h.i.+fted his weight upon it.

Steeply said 'Well I can't say I've been tempted in the strictest sense of tempted tempted.'

'Perhaps we are meaning different things by this.'

'Frankly, when I think of it I'm as much terrified as I am intrigued. Hank Hoyne is an empty sh.e.l.l. The iron will, the a.n.a.lytic savvy. His love of a fine cigar. All gone. His world's as if it has collapsed into one small bright point. Inner world. Lost to us. You look in his eyes and there's nothing you can recognize in them. Poor Miriam.' Steeply kneaded a bare shoulder. 'Willis, on the I/O night-s.h.i.+ft, came up with a phrase for their eyes. "Empty of intent." This appeared in a memo.'

Marathe pretended to sniff. 'The temptation of the pa.s.sive Reward of terminal p, p, this all seems complex to me. Terror seems part of the temptation for you. Us of Quebec's cause, we have never felt this temptation for the Entertainment, or knowing. But we respect its power. Thus, we do not fool crazily about.' this all seems complex to me. Terror seems part of the temptation for you. Us of Quebec's cause, we have never felt this temptation for the Entertainment, or knowing. But we respect its power. Thus, we do not fool crazily about.'

It was not that the sky was lightening so much as that the stars' light had paled. There became a sullenness about their light. Now, also, strange-looking U.S.A. insects whirred actively past from time to time, moving jaggedly and making Marathe think of many windblown sparks.

10 NOVEMBER.

YEAR OF THE DEPEND ADULT UNDERGARMENT.

The following things in the room were blue. The blue checks in the blue-and-black-checked s.h.a.g carpet. Two of the room's six inst.i.tutional-plush chairs, whose legs were steel tubes bent into big ellipses, which wobbled, so that while the chairs couldn't really be rocked in they could be sort of bobbed in, which Michael Pemulis was doing absently as he waited and scanned a printout of Eschaton's highly technical core ESCHAX directory, i.e. bobbing in his chair, which produced a kind of rapid rodential squeaking that gave Hal Incandenza the howling fantods as he sat there kitty-corner from Pemulis, also waiting. The printout kept rotating in Pemulis's hands. Each chair had a 105-watt reading lamp attached to the back on a flexible metal stalk that let the reading lamp curve out from behind and s.h.i.+ne right down on whatever magazine the waiting person was looking at, but since the curved lamps induced this unbearable sensation of somebody feverish right there reading over your shoulder, the magazines (some of whose covers involved the color blue) tended to stay unread, and were fanned neatly out on a low ceramic coffeetable. The carpet was a product of something called Antron. Hal could see streaks of lividity where somebody'd vacuumed against the grain.

Though the magazines' coffeetable was nonblue - a wet-nail-polish red with E.T.A. E.T.A. in a kind of gray escutcheon - two of the unsettlingly attached lamps that kept its magazines unread and neatly fanned were blue, although the two blue lamps were not the lamps attached to the two blue chairs. Dr. Charles Tavis liked to say that you could tell a lot about an administrator by the decor of his waiting room. The Headmaster's waiting room was part of a little hallway in the Comm.-Ad. lobby's southwest corner. The premie violets in an asymmetrical sprig in a tennis-ball-shaped vase on the coffee-table were arguably in the blue family. And also the overenhanced blue of the wallpaper's sky, which the wallpaper scheme was fluffy c.u.muli arrayed patternlessly against an overenhancedly blue sky, incredibly disorienting wallpaper that was by an unpleasant coincidence also the wallpaper in the Enfield offices of a Dr. Zegarelli, D.D.S., which Hal's just come back from, after a removal: the left side of his face still feels big and dead, with this persistent sensation that he's drooling without being able to feel it or stop it. No one's sure what C.T.'s choice of this wallpaper is supposed to communicate, especially to parents who come with prospective kids in tow to scout out E.T.A., but Hal loathes sky-and-cloud wallpaper because it makes him feel high-alt.i.tude and disoriented and sometimes plummeting. in a kind of gray escutcheon - two of the unsettlingly attached lamps that kept its magazines unread and neatly fanned were blue, although the two blue lamps were not the lamps attached to the two blue chairs. Dr. Charles Tavis liked to say that you could tell a lot about an administrator by the decor of his waiting room. The Headmaster's waiting room was part of a little hallway in the Comm.-Ad. lobby's southwest corner. The premie violets in an asymmetrical sprig in a tennis-ball-shaped vase on the coffee-table were arguably in the blue family. And also the overenhanced blue of the wallpaper's sky, which the wallpaper scheme was fluffy c.u.muli arrayed patternlessly against an overenhancedly blue sky, incredibly disorienting wallpaper that was by an unpleasant coincidence also the wallpaper in the Enfield offices of a Dr. Zegarelli, D.D.S., which Hal's just come back from, after a removal: the left side of his face still feels big and dead, with this persistent sensation that he's drooling without being able to feel it or stop it. No one's sure what C.T.'s choice of this wallpaper is supposed to communicate, especially to parents who come with prospective kids in tow to scout out E.T.A., but Hal loathes sky-and-cloud wallpaper because it makes him feel high-alt.i.tude and disoriented and sometimes plummeting.

The sills and crosspieces of the waiting room's two windows have always been dark blue. There was a nautical-blue border of braid around the bill of Michael Pemulis's jaunty yachting cap. Hal was confident Pemulis would remove the insouciant hat the minute they were called in on what was presumably going to be the carpet.

Also blue: the upper-border slices of sky in the framed informal photos of E.T.A. students that hung on the walls; 209 209 the cha.s.sis of Alice Moore's Intel 972 word processor w/ modem but no cartridge-capability; also Ms. Moore's fingertips and lips. The E.T.A. Headmaster's receptionist and administrative a.s.sistant is known to the players as Lateral Alice Moore. In her youth Lateral Alice Moore had been a helicopter pilot and airborne traffic reporter for a major Boston radio station until a tragic collision with another station's airborne traffic-report helicopter - plus then the cataclysmic fall to the rush hour's Jamaica Way six-laner below - had left her with chronic oxygen debt and a neurological condition whereby she was able to move only from side to side. So hence the sobriquet Lateral Alice Moore. An effective time-killer while sitting there waiting for whatever administrator's summoned you is to have Lateral Alice Moore drum rapidly on her chest and give imitations of her old Boston rush-hour traffic reports in a stuttered helicopterish reporter-voice. Neither Hal, continually checking his chin for drool, nor Pemulis, scanning and bobbing, nor Ann Kittenplan nor Trevor Axford - about whom there was today not even a hint of the color blue - are in the mood for this right now, awaiting what they presume to be some kind of administrative fallout from Sunday's horrendous Eschaton fiasco. The presumption is based on who's been summoned here, to wait. the cha.s.sis of Alice Moore's Intel 972 word processor w/ modem but no cartridge-capability; also Ms. Moore's fingertips and lips. The E.T.A. Headmaster's receptionist and administrative a.s.sistant is known to the players as Lateral Alice Moore. In her youth Lateral Alice Moore had been a helicopter pilot and airborne traffic reporter for a major Boston radio station until a tragic collision with another station's airborne traffic-report helicopter - plus then the cataclysmic fall to the rush hour's Jamaica Way six-laner below - had left her with chronic oxygen debt and a neurological condition whereby she was able to move only from side to side. So hence the sobriquet Lateral Alice Moore. An effective time-killer while sitting there waiting for whatever administrator's summoned you is to have Lateral Alice Moore drum rapidly on her chest and give imitations of her old Boston rush-hour traffic reports in a stuttered helicopterish reporter-voice. Neither Hal, continually checking his chin for drool, nor Pemulis, scanning and bobbing, nor Ann Kittenplan nor Trevor Axford - about whom there was today not even a hint of the color blue - are in the mood for this right now, awaiting what they presume to be some kind of administrative fallout from Sunday's horrendous Eschaton fiasco. The presumption is based on who's been summoned here, to wait.

The two different-sized offices that open off the waiting room (through the open and only other door of which the dusky blue Mannington s.h.a.g of the Comm.-Ad. lobby is visible) belong to Dr. Charles Tavis and to Mrs. Avril Incandenza. Tavis's office's outer door is real oak and has his name and degree and t.i.tle in (nonblue) letters so big that the total I.D. crowds the door's margins. There's also an inner door.

Avril, whose feelings about enclosure are well known, has no door on her office. Her office is bigger than C.T.'s, though, and has a seminar table it's always been obvious he covets. Avril's office's blue-and-black-checkered s.h.a.g is deeper than the waiting room's s.h.a.g, so that the border between the two is like a mowed v. unmowed lawn. Avril serves (pro bono) as E.T.A.'s Dean of Academic Affairs and Dean of Females. She's in there unenclosed right now with pretty much every E.T.A. female under thirteen except Ann Kittenplan, whose tattooed knuckles are bruised and who looks somehow cross-dressed in a dress and (nonblue) barrette. Avril has vividly white hair - as of the last few months before Himself's felo de se - that looks like it never went through the gray stage (it mostly didn't) and legs whose taper you can see T. Axford is appraising with the frankness of adolescence as she paces a bit in front of the crowded seminar table, in full if kind of oblique-angled view of the people in the waiting room. 210 210 Though it's not technically in the waiting room with Hal, the plastic fine-tip felt pen Avril taps professionally against her incisors as she paces and considers is: blue. Though it's not technically in the waiting room with Hal, the plastic fine-tip felt pen Avril taps professionally against her incisors as she paces and considers is: blue.

Administrative diddle-checks have been required at all North American tennis academies since the infamous case of coach R. Bill ('Touchy') Phiely at California's Rolling Hills Academy, whose hair-raising diary and collection of telephotos and tiny panties - discovered only after his disappearance into the Humboldt County hill country with a thirteen-year-old companion - created what might be conservatively termed a climate of concern among the continent's tennis parents. At the Enfield Tennis Academy, for the last four years, Dr. Dolores Rusk is supposed to hold a kind of distaff community meeting with all female players judged naive and moppetish enough to be potential diddlees - the youngest of these is Rhode Island's pint-sized Tina Echt, just seven but a true cannibal off the backhand side - to interface in a discreet but nurturingly empowering group setting, etc., and nip any potential Phielyisms in the bud. Monthly diddle-checks are in Rusk's contract because they're in E.T.A.'s O.N.A.N.T.A. accreditation-charter.

Dean of Females Avril M. Incandenza presides over the diddle-check when Dr. Rusk is otherwise engaged, and Rusk is so very rarely legitimately engaged that the fact that it's the Moms doing diddle-prevention duty today leads Hal to fear that Rusk is maybe in there in the Headmaster's office getting ready to be in on the upcoming disciplinary scene: C.T. would have to be really upset to want to have Rusk included; Rusk might be there more for C.T. than for any studential psyches.

Axhandle has his eyes closed and is repeating a mnemonic limerick about Brewster's Angle for the Leith-taught Quadrivial colloquium 'Reflections on Refraction.' Michael Pemulis is still scanning a serrated scroll of EndStat-axiomatic Pink2, which looks to be all math and spiky brackets, and bobbing, ignoring Ann Kittenplan's murderous looks and tubercular throat-clearings at the squeaking of his bobbing blue chair. You can tell Pemulis really is studying because he keeps turning something upside-down and then rightside-up. Hal declines to share his Rusk-being-in-there-with-Tavis worries with Michael Pemulis, not just because Hal avoids ever mentioning Rusk's name but also because Pemulis loathes Rusk with a hard and gem-like flame, and though he'd never admit it is already clearly nauseated with worry that he's going to get the lion's share of the blame for damage to Lord and Possalthwaite and not only receive corrective on-court discipline but maybe get denied a spot on the trip to Tucson's WhataBurger, or worse. 211 211 Avril is indirect but syntactically crisp with the couple dozen little girls in there, probing. The girls' outfits involve blue at many levels of hue and intensity in varied combination. Avril Incandenza's voice is higher on the register than one would expect from a woman so imposingly tall. It is high and sort of airy. Oddly insubstantial, is the E.T.A. consensus. Orin says one reason Avril dislikes music is that whenever she hums along she sounds insane.

The absence of a door to the Moms's office means you might as well be in there, in terms of being able to hear what's going on. She has little sense of spatial privacy or boundary, having been so much alone so much when a child. Lateral Alice Moore wears a sort of surreal combination of black Lycra Spandex and filmy green tulle. The portable-stereo headphones she wears - entering what appear to be Response-macros for 80+ received invitations to next week's WhataBurger Invitational - are powder-blue. Her typing is clearly in synch with something's backbeat. Her lips and cheek-points are the vague robin's-egg of cyanosis.

Just why Michael Pemulis hates Dr. Rusk is unclear and seems free-floating; Hal gets a different answer from Pemulis every time. Hal himself feels uncomfortable around Dolores Rusk and avoids her but isn't aware of any particular reason for being uncomfortable around her. But Pemulis positively detests Rusk. It was Pemulis who'd d.i.c.kied in at night and hooked a Delco battery up to the inside bra.s.s k.n.o.b of her locked office door, at age fifteen, Rusk's office door, the first door over in the other little hallway at the lobby's NE corner, next to the s.h.i.+ft-nurses' office and infirmary, then exiting Rusk's office by a window and th.o.r.n.y hedge, which Pemulis was extremely fortunate no one but Hal and Schacht and maybe Mario knew he auth.o.r.ed the hot k.n.o.b, because the whole scheme turned quickly disastrous, because it was an elderly Brighton-Irish cleaning lady who got to the hot k.n.o.b first, at like 0500h., and it turned out Pemulis had seriously under-calculated the bra.s.s-conducted Delco voltage involved, and if the cleaning lady hadn't been wearing yellow rubber cleaning-lady gloves she would have ended up with way worse than the permanent perm and irreversible crossed eyes she regained consciousness with, and the cleaning lady's Ward Boss was upper Brighton's infamous F. X. ('Follow That Ambulance') Byrne, rapacious personal-injury J.D., and the Academy's Workman's Comp. premiums had skyrocketed, and the whole thing was still in litigation.

Avril had eschewed an office door even before the cleaning-lady kert-w.a.n.g, for simple enclosure-reasons.

Recrossed legs and closer inspection reveal that Trevor Axford's left sock, though not his right sock, is blue.

Sinistral, his right hand missing digits from a fireworks accident three Interdependence Days past, Axhandle is several cm. shorter than Hal Incandenza and is a true redheaded person, with copper-colored hair and that moist white freckle-chocked skin that even through two layers of summer Pledge only reddens and peels, plus there's the matter of the enormous and forever chapped lips; and as a tennis player he is like a less effective version of John Wayne - he does nothing but blast from the baseline, w/o discernible spin. He's a junior from Short Beach CT and under enormous family pressure to continue the male Axford tradition of attending Yale and is academically so marginal that he knows his only chance to go to Yale is to play tennis for Yale, which would effectively blow any chance at a Show-level future, and is high-ranked but has set his compet.i.tive sights on nothing past a Ride-offer to Yale. Though Ingersoll's informally in Hal's Big Buddy contingent, he's technically in Axhandle's, they're both aware; and Hal's a little uncomfortable about his relief that none of the real Eschaton casualties were technically his Buddies. 212 212 The only real thing Axford and Hal have in common on the court is a curious habit of refusing to ask for help from other courts when their b.a.l.l.s go astray. The only real thing Axford and Hal have in common on the court is a curious habit of refusing to ask for help from other courts when their b.a.l.l.s go astray. 213 213 Pemulis has finally quit with the bobbing and folded the printout scroll of Pink2 into a big ragged square and has sidled over to Lateral Alice Moore's horseshoe-shaped desk and is bantering with her very casually, looking all around him as he banters, trying subtly to feel her out re whether maybe one of these WhataBurger Jr. Invitational invitations stacked cruciform, female athwart male, in Lateral Alice's IN box concerns anybody with the male initials M.M.P., by any chance. Pemulis and Moore would be less tight if she knew he d.i.c.kied in at night and used her WATS and modem, though she's very laid-back and easygoing and not at all like the little framed thing by her name plaque with a scowling woman saying I'VE GOT ONE NERVE LEFT AND YOU'RE GETTING ON IT. The little cartoon is just a standard like office-worker gag. She'd summoned them out of Sixth Hour with the same ancient intercom-and-mike system Troeltsch et al. get to commandeer for Sat.u.r.days' WETA (Troeltsch has had to be prohibited from playing with her chair), and her transmitted voice had not been ungentle. Hal's face's left side feels queerly inflated, but then when he runs his right hand over it it's always regulation-size. Administrative a.s.sistants worth their health benefits are synaptically evolved to the point where they can banter, accept compliments on a Spandex-and-tulle ensemble, effortlessly deflect unauthorized info-probes, listen to something ba.s.s-intensive on personal-stereo headphones, and word-process effortlessly to the headphones' backbeat, all simultaneously. Lateral Alice Moore's bluish fingertips make her painted nails ten little sunsets. Lateral Alice Moore's desk's chair's wheels fit on a track with an electrified third rail, so she can slide from one corner of the horseshoe's arc to the other - more or less laterally - at the touch of a cerise desktop b.u.t.ton. For post-Delco-incident legal reasons, the name-plaque on her reception desk has into a big ragged square and has sidled over to Lateral Alice Moore's horseshoe-shaped desk and is bantering with her very casually, looking all around him as he banters, trying subtly to feel her out re whether maybe one of these WhataBurger Jr. Invitational invitations stacked cruciform, female athwart male, in Lateral Alice's IN box concerns anybody with the male initials M.M.P., by any chance. Pemulis and Moore would be less tight if she knew he d.i.c.kied in at night and used her WATS and modem, though she's very laid-back and easygoing and not at all like the little framed thing by her name plaque with a scowling woman saying I'VE GOT ONE NERVE LEFT AND YOU'RE GETTING ON IT. The little cartoon is just a standard like office-worker gag. She'd summoned them out of Sixth Hour with the same ancient intercom-and-mike system Troeltsch et al. get to commandeer for Sat.u.r.days' WETA (Troeltsch has had to be prohibited from playing with her chair), and her transmitted voice had not been ungentle. Hal's face's left side feels queerly inflated, but then when he runs his right hand over it it's always regulation-size. Administrative a.s.sistants worth their health benefits are synaptically evolved to the point where they can banter, accept compliments on a Spandex-and-tulle ensemble, effortlessly deflect unauthorized info-probes, listen to something ba.s.s-intensive on personal-stereo headphones, and word-process effortlessly to the headphones' backbeat, all simultaneously. Lateral Alice Moore's bluish fingertips make her painted nails ten little sunsets. Lateral Alice Moore's desk's chair's wheels fit on a track with an electrified third rail, so she can slide from one corner of the horseshoe's arc to the other - more or less laterally - at the touch of a cerise desktop b.u.t.ton. For post-Delco-incident legal reasons, the name-plaque on her reception desk has DANGER: THIRD RAIL DANGER: THIRD RAIL instead of the name Lateral Alice Moore. instead of the name Lateral Alice Moore.

Hal can hear Avril saying 'Now. If I speak to all of you very gently about being touched by a tall person in an uncomfortable way, will you know what I mean? Have any of you been kissed or nuzzled or hugged or rubbed or pinched or probed or fondled or in any way touched by a tall person in a way that's made you uncomfortable?' Hal can see one of his Moms's stockinged legs, terminating in a trim ankle and a very white Reebok, extruding from stage-right into the frame of the empty doorway, the Reebok tapping patiently, and one arm crossed over Avril's chest, and the other arm's elbow resting on that arm and fluttering in and out of view as Avril taps at her teeth with a blue pen.

'Gramma pinches my cheek,' one girl volunteers. She'd actually raised her hand to be called on, her wrist with its touching little (blue) terry wrist-band. Hal hasn't seen so many pigtails and b.u.t.ton noses and small berry-shaped mouths convened in one indoor place in who knows how long. Very few of the sneakered feet reach all the way to the thick s.h.a.g in there. Much leg-dangling and absent uncomfortable sneaker-swinging. A couple fingers in nostrils in absent contemplation. Ann Kittenplan, in her blue chair, is coolly appraising the little wash-offable tattoos she applies daily to the knuckles of her hands.

'Not quite what we're trying to speak of together right now, Erica,' from someplace above the tapping foot and in-and-out arm. Hal knows the register and inflections of his mother's voice so well it almost makes him uncomfortable. His left ankle gives a sick squeak when he flexes it. Cords in his left forearm stand out and subside as he squeezes his tennis ball. The left side of his face feels like something far away that means him harm and is coming gradually closer. He can make out just the whistly fricatives of Charles Tavis's distant voice from behind his double office doors; it sounds somehow like he's speaking to more than one person in there. Charles Tavis's office's inner door also has the I.D. DR. CHARLES TAVIS DR. CHARLES TAVIS on it, and below that his E.T.A. motto about the man who knows his limitations having none. on it, and below that his E.T.A. motto about the man who knows his limitations having none.

'She does it really hard,' rebuts what must be Erica Siress.

'I've seen her do it,' what sounds like Jolene Criess confirms.

Another: 'I hate that.'

'I hate it when some adult pats my head like I'm a schnauzer.'

'The next adult that calls me adorable is in for a really unpleasant surprise let me tell you.'

'I hate it when my hair is tousled or smoothed in any way.'

'Kittenplan's tall. Kittenplan gives Indian rub-burns after lights-out.'

Avril gives them verbal s.p.a.ce, tries gently to steer the topic closer to true Phielyism; she's subtle and very good with small children.

'... that my daddy gives me these small little shoves in the small of the back when he wants me to go into rooms. It's like he influences influences me into rooms from behind. This tiny little irritating push, that makes me want to let him have it in the s.h.i.+n.' me into rooms from behind. This tiny little irritating push, that makes me want to let him have it in the s.h.i.+n.'

'Mmmmmm-hmm,' Avril muses.

It's impossible not to overhear, because things out in the waiting room right now are so comparatively silent except for the tinny hiss of Lateral Alice Moore's disengaged headphones and the conspiratorial murmur of Michael Pemulis trying to get her to drum on her chest and describe I-93 South's Neponset exit-ramp as one very long thin parking lot. Things are so quiet because the anxiety level in Tavis's waiting room is high.

'You're all in for some serious Pukers is my prediction,' Ann Kittenplan had said to Pemulis as they all first answered the intercom's summons, which was also about the time that Pemulis started in with the rodential chair-squeaking that made one half of Kittenplan's face spasm.

One of the tricky and sinister things about corrective discipline at a tennis academy is that punishments can take the form of what might look like straight-out athletic conditioning. Q.v. the drill sergeant telling the recruit to drop and give him fifty, etc. So but this is why Gerhardt Scht.i.tt and his prorectors are way more feared than Ogilvie or Richardson-Levy-O'Byrne-Chawaf or any of the regular academics. It's not just that Scht.i.tt's corporal reputation preceded him here. It's that Scht.i.tt and deLint make out the daily schedules for A.M. drills and P.M. matches and resistance-training and conditioning runs. But especially the A.M. drills. Certain drills are well known to be nothing more than att.i.tude-adjusters, designed to do nothing but dramatically lower life-quality for a few minutes. Too brutal to be a.s.signed on the daily basis that would contribute to genuine aerobic conditioning, drills like the disciplinary version of Tap & Whack 214 214 are known to the kids simply as Pukers. Puker-drills are really meant to do nothing but hurt you and make you think long and hard before repeating whatever you did to merit them; but they're still to all outward appearances exempt from any kind of VIII-Amendment protest or sniveling calls home to parents, insidiously, since they can be described to parents and police are known to the kids simply as Pukers. Puker-drills are really meant to do nothing but hurt you and make you think long and hard before repeating whatever you did to merit them; but they're still to all outward appearances exempt from any kind of VIII-Amendment protest or sniveling calls home to parents, insidiously, since they can be described to parents and police 215 215 alike as just drills a.s.signed for your overall cardiovascular benefit, with all the actual sadism completely sub rosa. alike as just drills a.s.signed for your overall cardiovascular benefit, with all the actual sadism completely sub rosa.

Kittenplan's prediction that the uppercla.s.smen are going to wear the whole brown helmet for the Eschaton free-for-all is hopefully reb.u.t.table by Pemulis's observation that Eschaton's extracurricular impulse and structure had been firmly in place before any of them'd even enrolled. All Michael Pemulis had done was codify basic principles and impose a sort of matrix of decidable strategy. Maybe helped create a mythology and established, mostly through personal example, a certain level of expectation. All Hal'd done was act as amanuensis on a lousy manual. The I.-Day Combatants had been out there of their own volition. Pemulis and Axford'd gotten Hal to write out most of all this in maximally rhetorical diction, which Pemulis had then embedded in a Pink2 printout so he could carry it around and study it and have it all nailed down before Tavis tried any boom-lowering. The strategy is to let Pemulis do all the talking but let Hal interject at will, the voice of reason, good-cop/bad. Axford's been instructed to count the Antron fibers between his shoes the whole time they're in there. printout so he could carry it around and study it and have it all nailed down before Tavis tried any boom-lowering. The strategy is to let Pemulis do all the talking but let Hal interject at will, the voice of reason, good-cop/bad. Axford's been instructed to count the Antron fibers between his shoes the whole time they're in there.

Hal has no idea what it might signify that the Headmaster's summons hasn't come for almost 48 hours. It might be odd that it hadn't once occurred to him to see Tavis personally, or to go to HmH and ask the Moms for intercession or info. It's not like he had the urge but resisted it; it hadn't even occurred to him.

For somebody who not only lives on the same inst.i.tutional grounds as his family but also has his training and education and pretty much his whole overall raison-d'etre directly overseen by relatives, Hal devotes an unusually small part of his brain and time ever thinking about people in his family qua qua family-members. Sometimes when he'll be chatting with somebody in the endless registration-line for a tournament or at a post-meet dance or something and somebody'll say something like 'How's Avril getting along?' or 'I saw Orin kicking the everliving s.h.i.+t out of the ball on an O.N.A.N.F.L. highlights cartridge last week,' there will be this odd tense moment where Hal's mind will go utterly blank and his mouth slack and flabby, working soundlessly, as if the names were words on the tip of his tongue. Except for Mario, about whom Hal will talk your ear off, it's almost like some ponderous creaky machine has to get up and running for Hal even to think about members of his immediate family as standing in relation to himself. It's a possible reason Hal avoids Dr. Dolores Rusk, who always wants to probe him on issues of s.p.a.ce and self-definition and something she keeps calling the 'Coatlicue Complex.' family-members. Sometimes when he'll be chatting with somebody in the endless registration-line for a tournament or at a post-meet dance or something and somebody'll say something like 'How's Avril getting along?' or 'I saw Orin kicking the everliving s.h.i.+t out of the ball on an O.N.A.N.F.L. highlights cartridge last week,' there will be this odd tense moment where Hal's mind will go utterly blank and his mouth slack and flabby, working soundlessly, as if the names were words on the tip of his tongue. Except for Mario, about whom Hal will talk your ear off, it's almost like some ponderous creaky machine has to get up and running for Hal even to think about members of his immediate family as standing in relation to himself. It's a possible reason Hal avoids Dr. Dolores Rusk, who always wants to probe him on issues of s.p.a.ce and self-definition and something she keeps calling the 'Coatlicue Complex.' 216 216 Hal's maternal half-uncle Charles Tavis is a little like the late Himself in that Tavis's C.V. is a back-and-forth but not indecisive mix of athletics and hard science. A B.A. and doctorate in engineering, an M.B.A. in athletics administration - in his professional youth Tavis had put them together as a civil engineer, his specialty the accommodation of stress through patterned dispersal, i.e. distributing the weight of gargantuan athletic-spectatorial crowds. I.e., he'd say, he'd handled large live audiences; he'd been in his own small way a minor pioneer in polymer-reinforced cement and mobile fulcra. He'd been on design teams for stadia and civic centers and grandstands and micological-looking superdomes. He'd admit up-front that he'd been a far better team-player engineer than out there up-front stage-center in the architectural limelight. He'd apologize profusely when you had no idea what that sentence meant and say maybe the obfuscation had been unconsciously deliberate, out of some kind of embarra.s.sment over his first and last limelighted architectural supervision, up in Ontario, before the rise of O.N.A.N.ite Interdependence, when he'd designed the Toronto Blue Jays' novel and much-ballyhooed SkyDome ballpark-and-hotel complex. Because Tavis had been the one to take the lion's share of the heat when it turned out that Blue Jays' spectators in the stands, many of them innocent children wearing caps and pounding their little fists into the gloves they'd brought with hopes of nothing more exotic than a speared foul ball, that spectators at a distressing number of different points all along both foul-lines could see right into the windows of guests having various and sometimes exotic s.e.x in the hotel bedrooms over the center-field wall. The bulk of the call for Tavis's rolling head had come, he'd tell you, when the cameraman in charge of the SkyDome's Instant-Replay-Video Scoreboard, disgruntled or professionally suicidal or both, started training his camera on the bedroom windows and routing the resultant multi-limbed coital images up onto the 75-meter scoreboard screen, etc. Sometimes in slow motion and with multiple replays, etc. Tavis will admit his reluctance to talk about it, still, after all this time. He'll confess that his usual former-career-summary is to say just that he'd specialized in athletic venues that could safely and comfortably seat enormous numbers of live spectators, and that the market for his services had bottomed out as more and more events were designed for cartridge-dissemination and private home-viewing, which he'll point out is not technically untrue so much as just not entirely open and forthcoming.

Lateral Alice Moore is printing out WhataBurger RSVPs. The Intel 972 is cutting-edge, but she clings to a hideous old dot-matrix printer she refuses to replace as long as Dave Harde can keep it going. It's the same with the intercom system and its antiquated iron stand-up mike that Troeltsch says is an affront to the whole broadcasting profession. Lateral Alice has queer eccentric pockets of intransigence and Ludditism, due possibly to her helicopter-crash and neurologic deficits. The printer's needly sound fills the waiting room. Hal finds he can be confident of his face's symmetry and saliva only when he sits there with his right hand over his left cheek. Each line of Alice's printed response sounds like some sort of supposedly unrippable fabric getting ripped, over and over, a dental and life-denying sound.

For Hal, the general deal with his maternal uncle is that Tavis is terribly shy around people and tries to hide it by being very open and expansive and wordy and bluff, and that it's excruciating to be around. Mario's way of looking at it is that Tavis is very open and expansive and wordy, but so clearly uses these qualities as a kind of protective s.h.i.+eld that it betrays a frightened vulnerability almost impossible not to feel for. Either way, the unsettling thing about Charles Tavis is that he's possibly the openest man of all time. Orin and Marlon Bain's view was always that C.T. was less like a person than like a sort of cross-section of a person. Even the Moms Hal could remember relating anecdotes about how as a teenager, when she'd taken the child C.T. or been around him at Quebecois functions or gatherings involving other kids, the child C.T. had been too self-conscious and awkward to join right in with any group of the kids cl.u.s.tered around, talking or plotting or whatever, and so Avril said she'd watch him just kind of drift from cl.u.s.ter to cl.u.s.ter and lurk around creepily on the fringe, listening, but that he'd always say, loudly, in some lull in the group's conversation, something like 'I'm afraid I'm far too self-conscious really to join in here, so I'm just going to lurk creepily at the fringe and listen, if that's all right, just so you know,' and so on.

But so the point is that Tavis is an odd and delicate specimen, both ineffectual and in certain ways fearsome as a Headmaster, and being a relative guarantees no special predictive insight or quarter, unless certain maternal connections are exploited, the thought of doing which literally does not occur to Hal. This odd blankness about his family might be one way to manage a life where domestic and vocational authorities sort of bleed into each other. Hal squeezes his tennis ball like a madman, sitting there in the needly printout-noise, right palm against his left cheek and elbow hiding his mouth, wanting very much to go first to the Pump Room and then to brush vigorously with his portable collapsible Oral-B. A quick chew of Kodiak is out of the question for several reasons.

The only other time this year that Hal was officially summoned to the Headmaster's waiting room had been in late August, right before Convocation and during Orientation period, when Y.D.A.U.'s new kids were coming in and wandering around clueless and terrified, etc., and Tavis had wanted Hal to take temporary charge of a nine-year-old kid coming in from somewhere called Philo IL, who was allegedly blind, the kid, and apparently had cranium-issues, from having originally been one of the infantile natives of Ticonderoga NNY evacuated too late, and had several eyes in various stages of evolutionary development in his head but was legally blind, but still an extremely solid player, which is all kind of a long tale in itself, given that his skull was apparently the consistency of a Chesapeake crabsh.e.l.l but the head itself so huge it made b.o.o.boo look microcephalic, and the kid apparently had on-court use of only one hand because the other had to pull around beside him a kind of rolling IV-stand appliance with a halo-shaped metal brace welded to it at head-height, to encircle and support his head; but anyway Tex Watson and Thorp had broken C.T. down over the kid's admission and tuition-waver, and C.T. now figured the kid would need to say the least some extra help getting oriented (literally), and he wanted Hal to be the one to take him in hand (again literally). It turned out a couple days later that the kid had some kind of either family or cerebro-spinal-fluid crisis at home in rural IL and wasn't matriculating now till the Spring term. But back in August Hal had sat in the very chair Trevor Axford is now nodding off in, very late in the day, like dusk, having had an informal exhibition match with a visiting Latvian Satellite pro go an encouraging three sets that P.M P.M. so that he'd missed Mrs. C.'s stuffed peppers at supper, his stomach making those where's-the-food noises from around the transverse colon, alone in the blue room, waiting, the chair bobbing reflexively, with Lateral Alice Moore gone home to her long apartment with rooms only 2 m. wide in Newton and an opaque plastic dust-thing wrapped tight over her Intel processor and intercom-console and the little red danger-light on her DANGER: THIRD RAIL DANGER: THIRD RAIL plaque unlit, and the only lights besides the weak dusk outside were the hot 105W of his chairback's creepy blue-shaded magazine-lamp, plus the multiple lamps on in Charles Tavis's office (Tavis has a phobic thing about overhead lighting) as Tavis was doing a late-day Intake interview on impossibly tiny little Tina Echt, who just matriculated this fall at age seven. His doors were open because it was a brutal August and F. D. V. Harde had somehow rigged Lateral Alice's air-conditioner vent in the waiting room so it really put out. Tavis's office's outer door opened out while the inner door opened in, which gave his little inter-door vestibule kind of a jaw-like quality, when exposed. plaque unlit, and the only lights besides the weak dusk outside were the hot 105W of his chairback's creepy blue-shaded magazine-lamp, plus the multiple lamps on in Charles Tavis's office (Tavis has a phobic thing about overhead lighting) as Tavis was doing a late-day Intake interview on impossibly tiny little Tina Echt, who just matriculated this fall at age seven. His doors were open because it was a brutal August and F. D. V. Harde had somehow rigged Lateral Alice's air-conditioner vent in the waiting room so it really put out. Tavis's office's outer door opened out while the inner door opened in, which gave his little inter-door vestibule kind of a jaw-like quality, when exposed.

August Y.D.A.U. had been when Hal's chronic left ankle had been almost the worst it's ever been, after an erumpent but grueling summer tour of getting to at least the Quarters of just about everything, mostly on hard asphalt, 217 217 and he could feel his pulse in the vessels in the raw ligaments of the ankle as he sat flipping the s.h.i.+ny pages of a new and he could feel his pulse in the vessels in the raw ligaments of the ankle as he sat flipping the s.h.i.+ny pages of a new World Tennis World Tennis and watching the little ad-cards fall out and flutter; but he also couldn't help exploiting the open-jawed view of a substantial section of Charles Tavis at his office desk, looking as usual oddly foreshortened and small and with his hands together on the ma.s.sive desktop across from a partial-profile view of a girl who looked like she couldn't be much more than five or six, preparing to receive Intake papers as she listened to Tavis. There'd been no Echt parents or guardians anywhere in view. Some kids just get dropped off. Sometimes the parents' cars barely even stop, just slow down, throw gravel as they accelerate away. Tavis's desk drawers have squeaky casters. Jim Struck's folks' Lincoln hadn't even much slowed. Struck had been helped to his feet and taken immediately to the locker room to shower the gravel out of his hair. Hal had been in charge of his Orientation, too, when Struck transferred, booted out of Palmer Academy after his pet tarantula (named Simone - another long story) escaped and wouldn't even have and watching the little ad-cards fall out and flutter; but he also couldn't help exploiting the open-jawed view of a substantial section of Charles Tavis at his office desk, looking as usual oddly foreshortened and small and with his hands together on the ma.s.sive desktop across from a partial-profile view of a girl who looked like she couldn't be much more than five or six, preparing to receive Intake papers as she listened to Tavis. There'd been no Echt parents or guardians anywhere in view. Some kids just get dropped off. Sometimes the parents' cars barely even stop, just slow down, throw gravel as they accelerate away. Tavis's desk drawers have squeaky casters. Jim Struck's folks' Lincoln hadn't even much slowed. Struck had been helped to his feet and taken immediately to the locker room to shower the gravel out of his hair. Hal had been in charge of his Orientation, too, when Struck transferred, booted out of Palmer Academy after his pet tarantula (named Simone - another long story) escaped and wouldn't even have dreamed dreamed of biting the Headmaster's wife if she hadn't screamed and pa.s.sed out and fallen right on it, Struck explained as Hal helped pick up suitcases tumbled all over the drive. of biting the Headmaster's wife if she hadn't screamed and pa.s.sed out and fallen right on it, Struck explained as Hal helped pick up suitcases tumbled all over the drive.

Like many gifted bureaucrats, Hal's mother's adoptive brother Charles Tavis is physically small in a way that seems less endocrine than perspectival. His smallness resembles the smallness of something that's farther away from you than it wants to be, plus is receding. 218 218 This weird appearance of recessive drift, together with the compulsive hand-movements that followed his quitting smoking some years back, helped contribute to the quality of perpetual frenzy about the man, a kind of locational panic that it's easy to see explains not only Tavis's compulsive energy - he and Avril, pretty much the Dynamic Duo of compulsion, between them, sleep, in their second-floor rooms in the Headmaster's House - separate rooms - tend to sleep, between them, about as much as any one normal insomniac - but maybe also contributes to the pathological openness of his manner, the way he thinks out loud about thinking out loud, a manner Ortho Stice can imitate so eerily that he's been prohibited by the male 18's from doing his Tavis-impression in front of the younger players, for fear that the littler kids will find it impossible to take the real Tavis seriously at the times he needs to be taken seriously. This weird appearance of recessive drift, together with the compulsive hand-movements that followed his quitting smoking some years back, helped contribute to the quality of perpetual frenzy about the man, a kind of locational panic that it's easy to see explains not only Tavis's compulsive energy - he and Avril, pretty much the Dynamic Duo of compulsion, between them, sleep, in their second-floor rooms in the Headmaster's House - separate rooms - tend to sleep, between them, about as much as any one normal insomniac - but maybe also contributes to the pathological openness of his manner, the way he thinks out loud about thinking out loud, a manner Ortho Stice can imitate so eerily that he's been prohibited by the male 18's from doing his Tavis-impression in front of the younger players, for fear that the littler kids will find it impossible to take the real Tavis seriously at the times he needs to be taken seriously.

As for the older kids, Stice can make them all double up now merely by s.h.i.+elding his eyes with his hand and a.s.suming a horizon-scan expression whenever Tavis heaves into view, seeming to recede even as he bears down.

C.T. as Headmaster always has a number of introductory questions for matriculants, and Hal, now, in November, can't remember which one of these Tavis opened with with Echt, but he remembers seeing the little girl's sucker-stick sweep the air and a plastic Mr. Bouncety-Bounce 219 219 no-pierce earring swing wildly as she shook her head. Hal'd marvelled at her size. How high could somebody this little be ranked, even regionally, in 12's? no-pierce earring swing wildly as she shook her head. Hal'd marvelled at her size. How high could somebody this little be ranked, even regionally, in 12's?

And then yes the sumptuous squeak of Tavis's big seagra.s.s chair coming back forward as his elbows took his weight and he laced his fingers together out across meters of polymer-reinforced shale desktop, custom-designed. The Headmaster's smile as he leaned back, though hidden from Hal because of the shadow of the office's enormous StairBlaster, 220 220 was nevertheless audible because of the thing with Charles Tavis's teeth, about which maybe the less said the better. Looking discreetly in, Hal had felt an involuntary rush of affection for C.T. His maternal uncle's hair was straight and very precisely combed over, and his little mustache was never quite symmetrical. One eye was also set at a slightly different angle than the other, so that besides holding his hand up to scan Stice would also c.o.c.k his head slightly to the side whenever C.T. came near. Hal's involuntary grin is lopsided and only half-felt, now, remembering. The Axhandle's sitting there slumped, with his fist to his chin, a posture that he thinks makes him look meditative but that really makes him look was nevertheless audible because of the thing with Charles Tavis's teeth, about which maybe the less said the better. Looking discreetly in, Hal had felt an involuntary rush of affection for C.T. His maternal uncle's hair was straight and very precisely combed over, and his little mustache was never quite symmetrical. One eye was also set at a slightly different angle than the other, so that besides holding his hand up to scan Stice would also c.o.c.k his head slightly to the side whenever C.T. came near. Hal's involuntary grin is lopsided and only half-felt, now, remembering. The Axhandle's sitting there slumped, with his fist to his chin, a posture that he thinks makes him look meditative but that really makes him look in utero, in utero, and Kittenplan is chewing at her knuckles' tattoos, which is what she does instead of was.h.i.+ng them off. and Kittenplan is chewing at her knuckles' tattoos, which is what she does instead of was.h.i.+ng them off.

Then Ortho Stice had entered the hot waiting room, s.h.i.+rt wet and crew cut matted from the courts and toting his Wilsons, and made right for the AC-vent's downdraft outside Tavis's little vestibule. Stice's clothes were comped by Fila and when he played any sort of match he wore all black, and at E.T.A. and on the tour was known as The Darkness. He had a crew cut and the beginnings of jowls. He and Hal exchanged the very slight sorts of nods people use when they like each other past all need for politeness. They had similar games, although most of Stice's touch was at the net. Stice raised one hand to his eyes and c.o.c.ked his head slightly in the direction of the office's lamplight.

'The little guy going to be a long time in there?'

'You have to ask?'

Tavis was saying 'What actually we do for you here is to break you down in very carefully selected ways, take you apart as a little girl and put you back together again as a tennis player who can take the court against any little girl in North America without fear of limitation. With a perspective unmarred by the eyelashes of whatever pockets you brought here. A little girl now who can regard the court as a mirror whose reflection holds no illusions or fear for you.'

'Now the thing with the skull,' Stice said. Hal had watched gooseflesh rise on Stice's arms and legs as he stood under the cold air and faced up and breathed, hugging his gear to his chest.

'One possible way of couching it is to choose to say that we will take apart your skull very gently and reconstruct a skull for you that will have a highly developed b.u.mp of clarity and a slight concave dent where the fear-instinct used to be. I'm doing my best to cast all this in terms the you you are right now can be comfortable with, Tina. Though I need to tell you I feel uncomfortable adjusting a presentation toward or down toward anyone in any way, since I'm terribly vain, both as a man and an educator, about my reputation for candor,' Tavis said. The audible smile. 'It is one of my limitations.'

Stice withdrew without even having to say goodbye to Hal. They were at complete ease with one another. It had been a bit different the year before, when Hal was still in Boys' 16's. Hal heard Stice say something to somebody out in the lobby. Part of C.T.'s impression of distance just past the eye's focal length was the fact that the two sides of his face didn't quite go together. It wasn't as drastic as a stroke-victim's face or a deformity; the subtlety of it was part of it, the essential vagueness about himself that Tavis fought by sort of peeling his skull back and exposing his brain to you without any sort of warning or invitation; it was part of the man's preoccupied frenzy.

Between Ortho Stice's exit and the Moms's entry Hal had been flexing the ankle and watching the swelling s.h.i.+ft slightly under the multiple socks. He stood and put his weight on the ankle experimentally a couple times and then sat back down and flexed it, watching the swelling very intently. The way he knew suddenly that he was going to go down and get high in secret in the Pump Room before showering was that it hadn't occurred to him to ask The Darkness about making some sort of arrangements to eat together, since Stice had missed supper too. His viscera were putting out the sound of one of those teakettles that doesn't have a whistle and so just rumbles as it boils. A compet.i.tive athlete cannot skip meals without terrific metabolic distress.

After a little while Avril Incandenza, E.T.A.'s Dean of Academic Affairs, had lowered her head under the waiting room's jamb and come in, looking fresh and totally untouched by the heat. She had one of the Orientation packets in its customary red-and-gray binder.

The Moms always had this way of establis.h.i.+ng herself in the exact center exact center of any room she was in, so that from any angle she was somehow in the line of all sight. It was part of her, and so to that extent dear to Hal, but it was noticeable and kind of unsettling. His brother Orin, during a late-night round of Family Trivia, had once described Avril as The Black Hole of Human Attention. Hal had been pacing, rising up on the toes of the left foot, trying to gauge the exact level of physical discomfort he was feeling. That's when she'd come in. Hal and the Moms always greeted each other kind of extravagantly. When Avril entered a room, any sort of pacing reduced to orbiting, and Hal's pacing became vaguely circular around the waiting room's perimeter as Avril rested her tailbone on the receptionist's desk and crossed her ankles and produced her cigarette case. Her manner always became very casual and almost sort of male when she and Hal were alone in a room. of any room she was in, so that from any angle she was somehow in the line of all sight. It was part of her, and so to that extent dear to Hal, but it was noticeable and kind of unsettling. His brother Orin, during a late-night round of Family Trivia, had once described Avril as The Black Hole of Human Attention. Hal had been pacing, rising up on the toes of the left foot, trying to gauge the exact level of physical discomfort he was feeling. That's when she'd come in. Hal and the Moms always greeted each other kind of extravagantly. When Avril entered a room, any sort of pacing reduced to orbiting, and Hal's pacing became vaguely circular around the waiting room's perimeter as Avril rested her tailbone on the receptionist's desk and crossed her ankles and produced her cigarette case. Her manner always became very casual and almost sort of male when she and Hal were alone in a room.

She watched him walk. 'The ankle?'

He hated himself for exaggerating the limp even slightly. 'Tender. Sore at the very worst. More like tender.'

'No, now, now no need to cry, cry,' C.T. was exclaiming as he knelt at the side of the chair from which little legs dangled and were spasming around. 'I didn't mean literally literally break, as in break open your break, as in break open your head, head, Tina. Please let me acknowledge that this is Tina. Please let me acknowledge that this is totally totally my fault my dear for presenting what we'll be up to here in just my fault my dear for presenting what we'll be up to here in just exactly exactly the wrong sort of light.' the wrong sort of light.'

Avril had casually produced a 100-mm. rodney from the flat bra.s.s case and tamped it on an unlined knuckle. Hal produced no lighter. Neither of them had looked toward Tavis's office's maw. Avril's smock-type dress was blue cotton, with a kind of scalloped white doily around the shoulders and white stockings and painfully white Reebok cross-trainers.

'I am horrified horrified that I've made you cry like this.' Tavis's voice had a.s.sumed that stressed character of issuing from the end of a long corridor. 'Just please know that a totally unthreatening lap is available if you want a lap, is all I can think of to say.' that I've made you cry like this.' Tavis's voice had a.s.sumed that stressed character of issuing from the end of a long corridor. 'Just please know that a totally unthreatening lap is available if you want a lap, is all I can think of to say.'

Avril always smoked with her smoking-arm up and elbow resting in the crook of the other arm. She would frequently hold a rodney just this same way without lighting it or even putting it in her mouth. She permitted herself to smoke only in her E.T.A. office and HmH study and one or two other venues outfitted with air-filtration equipment. Her posture, that night, with her coccyx against something and looking down the length of her legs, was awfully close to the way Himself used to stand around. She indicated C.T.'s door with her head.

'I gather he's been in there a while.'

Hal despised even the very slight suggestion of whine that came in: 'I've been waiting here coming up on an hour.' And that he liked it a little that she looked pained for him as her tiny eyebrows (unplucked, just naturally tiny and arched) went up.

'You've had nothing to eat, then, yet?'

'I was summoned summoned.'

Tavis's voice in there: 'I'll invite you right here and now to sit in my lap and let me make such soothing sounds as There There There.'

'Want my Mommy and Daddy Daddy.'

Avril said, 'That's the old tum making those sounds then, and not the air conditioner?' with that smile that was also a kind of wince.

'Couldn't even start start to describe the sounds coming from down there, like that whistleless kettle Himself used to leave on when -' to describe the sounds coming from down there, like that whistleless kettle Himself used to leave on when -'

An apple appeared from a deep pocket in her smock. 'Happen to have a spare Granny Smith here, to tack body to soul while we wait.'

He smiled tiredly at the big green apple. 'Moms, that's your apple. That's all you're going to eat between 12 and 23, I happen to know.'