Rodin's Debutante by Ward Just

Author:Ward Just [Just, Ward]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE NEXT EVENING, the team gathered for a farewell meal in the dining hall. The occasion was subdued, as if all the energy and elation of game day had been no more than a distant illusion, not quite credible. The game was alive only in their memories, and the memories were wound down like an old clock, details fading in slow motion. Headmaster Weddle gave a listless speech. Hopkins was awarded the game ball. Lee was chosen by his teammates to give a response. He was tempted to describe the encounter with Tommy Ogden and his words of wisdom concerning the uselessness of defeat and the necessity of keeping any pleasure from victory to yourself because the world didn't give a shit. But in the end he said nothing of Ogden and gave the usual thanks to the usual people, specifically including Gus Allprice and the Packer Svenson. That night they organized a beer party at the gazebo well away from the Hall and the dormitories. Everyone got blind drunk and Hopkins had to be carried back to his room after he drove his Oldsmobile into a tree. The housemasters knew all about it but did not intervene. The beer party marked the definitive end of the undefeated season, and soon Christmas break arrived and the distant illusion became a very distant, very satisfying memory, one without any suggestion of regret or ambiguity. Lee knew without being told that there were few such experiences in life, at least in Illinois.

The day before Christmas robin's-egg-blue boxes arrived by special messenger at the homes of the twenty-two members of the Ogden Hall football team. They were from Tiffany's, New York. Each box contained a three-ounce silver cup with the boy's name and jersey number and the year engraved on the inside rim. The mothers noticed the stamp on the bottom that indicated sterling silver and said in astonishment, Well! My goodness! There was no note with the box or any indication of who sent it, befuddling the mothers who insisted that their sons write a thank-you note at once; but there was no one to send it to. Lee Goodell knew, but he believed that Tommy Ogden was owed his anonymity, if that was what he wanted. He certainly did not want the old man to be inconvenienced, forced to read twenty-two notes of appreciation, all composed by hand in schoolboy script. The benefactor thus remained unknown. Lee was delighted by the gesture and wherever he went thereafter he took the silver cup with him in his shaving kit, wrapped in its yellow chamois sleeve. Whenever he had something to celebrate he filled the cup with whiskey or cognac and gave the old man a salute before he drank it off; the vessel was identical to Tommy Ogden's. At such times he remembered the final game, Hopkins's two touchdowns and his one, the missed point-after, the cheering all afternoon, long-haired Willa jumping, Mr. Svenson's tears, and Tommy Ogden's open Cadillac idling beyond the far goalpost.

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