In One Person

"Uncle Bob . . ." I started to say, but Herm Hoyt grabbed the Racquet Man by both shoulders and shook him.

"Bob--stop pissin'!" the wr

estling coach shouted.

When Bob's eyes blinked open, he was as caught off-guard as anyone working in the office of Alumni Affairs at Favorite River Academy ever would be.

"Espana," the Racquet Man said, when he saw me.

"Jeez, Bob--be careful what you say," Herm Hoyt said.

"Espana," I repeated.

"That's where he is--he says he's never coming back, Billy," Uncle Bob told me.

"That's where who is?" I asked my drunken uncle.

Our only conversation, if you could call it that, had been about Kittredge; it was hard to imagine Kittredge speaking Spanish. I knew the Racquet Man didn't mean Big Al--Uncle Bob wasn't telling me that Miss Frost was in Spain, and she was never coming back.

"Bob . . ." I started to say, but the Racquet Man had nodded off again. Herm Hoyt and I could see that Bob was still pissing.

"Herm . . ." I started to say.

"Franny Dean, my former wrestlin'-team manager, Billy--he's in Spain. Your father is in Spain, Billy, and he's happy there--that's all I know."

"Where in Spain, Herm?" I asked the old coach.

"Espana," Herm Hoyt repeated, shrugging. "Somewhere in Spain, Billy--that's all I can tell ya. Just keep thinkin' about the happy part. Your dad is happy, and he's in Spain. Your mom was never happy, Billy."

I knew Herm was right about that. I went looking for Elaine; I wanted to tell her that my father was in Spain. My mother was dead, but my father--whom I'd never known--was alive and happy.

But before I could tell her, Elaine spoke to me first. "We should sleep in your bedroom tonight, Billy--not in mine," she began.

"Okay--" I said.

"If Richard wakes up and decides to say something, he shouldn't be alone--we should be there," Elaine went on.

"Okay, but I just found out about something," I told her; she wasn't listening.

"I owe you a blow job, Billy--maybe this is your lucky night," Elaine said. I thought she was drunk, or else I'd misheard her.

"What?" I said.

"I'm sorry for what I said about Rachel. That's what the blow job is for," Elaine explained; she was drunk, extending the number of syllables in her words in the overly articulated manner of the Racquet Man.

"You don't owe me a blow job, Elaine," I told her.

"You don't want a blow job, Billy?" she asked me; she made "blow job" sound as if it had four or five syllables.

"I didn't say I didn't want one," I told her. "Espana," I said suddenly, because that's what I wanted to talk about.

"Espana?" Elaine said. "Is that a kind of Spanish blow job, Billy?" She was tripping a little, as I led her over to say good night to Grandpa Harry.

"Don't worry, Bill," Nils Borkman suddenly said to me. "I am unloading the rifles! I am keeping a secret of the bullets!"

"Espana," Elaine repeated. "Is it a gay thing, Billy?" she whispered to me.

"No," I told her.