“I just wish you wouldn’t be so stubborn. Please, go to the dining room, have a bite to eat, take the truck into town. We’ll see about having you for a tryout this summer.”

Azariah had risen from his seat before Yolek finished speaking. His socks left wet prints behind him on the floor. He picked up his guitar case in his right hand, hung his knapsack over his left shoulder, and bravely managed a polite, intimidated smile. Nevertheless, there was desperation and even terror in his eyes, the terror of a naughty child who has been caught in the act. Yolek, still in his armchair, cocked his head to look at him sideways as if something had just confirmed all his previous suspicions. The sense of having been right gave him his usual sharp pang of pleasure.

The visitor stumbled toward the door, grabbed hold of it, and furiously began pulling on a handle that was meant to open outward. His predicament temporarily dumbfounded him. Murmuring something that Yolek failed to catch, he put his guitar case down, figured out the secret of the door, and, once outside, cast back an anguished look.

“Goodbye,” he said twice. “Forgive me.”

“Just a minute,” called Yolek. “Wait.”

Panic-stricken, the young man turned around, bumping his shoulder against the door. There was a flare of fear in his green eyes, as though a trap had closed at the last minute, when escape seemed sure.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you say halftracks? What did you say you did in the army?”

“Nothing special. I was just a technical sergeant. Not exactly a sergeant. An acting sergeant, private first class.”

“What exactly is a technical sergeant?”

“I’m not going back into the army!” Azariah Gitlin shot back fiercely, bristling like a cornered cat. “And no one can make me! I was honorably discharged three-and-a-quarter weeks ago.”

“Easy there, young man. Easy there. Perhaps you could simply explain what a technical sergeant does? Anything to do with garage work?”

At once the lights were relit in the young man’s face, as though, having abandoned every hope, he had been unexpectedly acquitted of all charges. Yolek felt his curiosity stir dimly. There was something about the newcomer that aroused his suspicion and approbation at the very same time.

“Yes, Comrade Yolek, yes, it’s definitely garage work, and lots more too, armaments, combat gear, engine testing, everything, mechanics, automotive electronics, maintenance, repairs, even ballistics and some metallurgy, everything.” He spoke at breakneck speed, in a single long breath.

“Eh?”

“Combat gear. I said armaments and combat gear.”