Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [113]
“Mother,” Carolyn said, “you know, he’s right.”
Douglas, sensing that nobody would correct his table manners at this moment, reached halfway across the table for a handful of biscuits.
Mrs. Bridge was considering the gravy boat, and she appeared ten years older.
“Suppose we leave it as it is,” Mr. Bridge said. “The thing was not meant to be soldered. All of us can be a little more careful.”
Douglas said, “It’d be a cinch to fix. It’d take about two minutes. I could fix it myself at school.”
“You could?” she asked.
“Sure. In metal shop we do soldering.”
“If it’s going to be done it will be done professionally,” Mr. Bridge said. “I know you could do the work, Douglas, but this was a wedding gift and your mother thinks a great deal of it.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “If Mother wants me to, I can. Otherwise, okay. It’s no skin off my tail.”
“Sharpe’s does awfully nice work,” Carolyn suggested.
In a choking voice Mrs. Bridge said: “I want Douglas to do it. If he thinks he can do whatever needs to be done I want him to do it. Nobody else is going to touch it!” She began to cry.
“What in the world is going on around here!” Mr. Bridge muttered, and flung down his napkin like a gauntlet.
123 Football
Tryouts for the team began soon after school opened in September. Douglas approached his father for permission and confidently held out a mimeographed sheet of paper.
“They don’t issue uniforms to the guys until they get this signed at home.”
Mr. Bridge accepted the paper, scanned it, and gave it back. Douglas gazed up at him with a stricken expression.
“You are not playing football.”
“What do you mean? What do you mean I’m not playing football?”
“Just what I said. I won’t have you breaking an arm or a leg.”
“You’re kidding!”
“That sport is dangerous. I have heard of too many cases where some boy has been injured.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I mean it.”
“Everybody in creation is going out for the team.”
“You are not.”
“Who did you ever know who got hurt? Name one. I mean, really hurt? Just name me one.”
“There have been a number of instances. And every year or so some boy is killed playing football. You may as well make up your mind to it. I will not have you run the risk of serious injury, or worse, for anything as insignificant as football.”
“Vandermeer’s father signed the permit.”
“What has that to do with you?”
“It’s pretty obvious. I mean, what am I going to say when Coach asks for my permit?”
“You tell the coach your father did not give you permission to play.”
Douglas clutched his head. “Oh. Oh, sure. Sure. Sure, I can just see that, all right. In front of all the guys.”
“Nonsense. You are not going to be the only one.”
“If Rodney Vandermeer can play, why can’t I? He only outweighs me about fifteen pounds. And David Griffith got his permit signed. And so did all those guys who made the team last year.”
“We are not going to get involved in a discussion.”
“I just want to try out for halfback. I don’t want to be a tackle or guard. I probably can’t make the team anyway because they got Nichols and Kurtz, and then there are a lot of other guys that didn’t graduate so I probably haven’t got a Chinaman’s chance anyhow, but I don’t see why I can’t even at least try out.”
“Well, you are not. And that is that.”
“But why not? I mean, how come? I won’t get hurt. I never broke a leg yet, did I?”
“You can play basketball, or you can play tennis, or you can try to make the swimming team. These are all fine sports. There should be several athletic teams you can try out for. Swimming is an excellent sport.”
“I want to play football.”
“You play some after school, do you not?”
“That’s only touch. You can’t play tackle without equipment. You need helmets and shoulder pads and all that stuff. Touch isn’t even real football.”
“I’m afraid ‘touch’ will have to do. I don’t want you being tackled by some boy twice your size.”
“You sound like I was made out of porcelain or something.”
“You are flesh and blood. It might be a good idea to start getting used to the idea. As you grow older you will discover