Happy in his self-complicity, he went on to school; a servant of the people; anonymous in duty Mr. Gordon, boy's gym instructor. Mr. Gordon.

Outside school he met Joel Beck.

They looked at each other, smiled, then walked into the building, mutual with silent tongue-tied intimacy. Inside they faltered, not knowing what to say. Not daring to make any conspicuous departure, each from the other, or to say any of the usual cliche things people still bandy in the casual game of pretending they're nice people being nice to nice people.

Then Mr. Gordon had an unlucky inspiration. He took Joel into an empty class room. To talk, to explain. Mr. Kurkey saw. Squinted his eyes to think. Thought. Then followed them. This took some minutes of his time, he was being extremely careful in case. Well, he was being careful. He remembered Mrs. Beck.

Joel did not hate Mr. Gordon. His mother had talked to him a long time last night, quiet words out of her woman's wisdom; tender truths out of an understanding deep and lovely as all natures; beauty out of a mother's heart. Out of a mother's hope for her boy's future-

Joel, there are some men who do evil, men we can't understand but must try to forgive. I want you to remember-

Joel remembered. Long hours of obvious wisdom spoken in commonplace love. He remembered, he would remember all of his life.

But somewhere in the world, sometime, he will face his accounting. And if you're there with him, he'll need a friend-

Still, Joel did an involutary thing. He looked at Mr. Gordon's fly. The stain was gone, the pants were new. But the emotions arousing in Mr. Gordon were old; delinquent, customary, recent, reminded. His male parts writhed and erected. Bulged. Joel stood staring. Timid with watching, his Eden-like face bright with the unwilling promise of Eden; the imploring Serpent of Eden tempting paradise. Foreshadowing doom. And, DOOM was Mr. Kurkey-

Not thinking. As though playing his part in a group recitation, Joel reached his hand and caught Mr. Gordon in the groin, making his fingers follow that big bulging outline, making his childish attempt to show his complete forgiveness. To Mr. Gordon. But Mr. Kurkey saw. He strode into the room and shut the door-

Well. Well. WELL?

His voice boomed out of his mouth, with meaning louder than thunder. Meaning which flashed an instant in all three faces; then vanished into the murk of minds. WELL? Mr. Gordon disengaged Joel's hand, choked over a possibility, and turned crimson. Joel looked like a violated Raphael in spite of himself; he'd only kept his hand there to make clear his forgiveness, even to Mr. Kurkey. Mr. Kurkey turned white. Blubber. Lard. Impressive too, to watch him. A mountain warming up to a volcano. Then he exploded, terrible in his mood; gentle, too gentle in his

manner.

You, you. You. You pervert-

Mr. Gordon turned white, stood up under an Ice age, then turned red again. Pervert. Me? Pain. Mr. Gordon began to cry. Mr. Gordon. It struck Joel as uncalled for, a man. He felt sorry, though; but he had to smile. Remembering what his mother had said about Mr. Kurkey:

That lemon-mouth liar, coming around to sweet talk me-

Joel couldn't know he was becoming the new school celebrity. All this huff and puff over a boy 14. But Mr. Kurkey knew.

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