My fear of him was gone. In fear’s place was a new self-possession; I understood why people keep animals. I rose from my chair—carefully holding A Complete Guide to Heraldry in front of my body, just to be safe—and I didn’t even bother pretending to have a hurt foot. So what if Lester said something? It was late and the time had come at last to go over to the African masks, choose a colorful headdress from the wall, put it on my head, then run around and shout the kinds of obscenities that get people mad.

“Come on, Gunner.”

Together this dog and I padded quietly past the injured sprawled on the sofas, past the men lying on pillows or simply facedown on our colorful rug. Along the way I peered up to see whether Father’s face had reappeared while I was getting acquainted with Gunner. But there was no face, only the brown water stain, made darker by a new leak running from the area where Father’s mouth would be, if Father were present. A bunch of men were convened around the big leather sofa. They called to me as I approached, “Doug! Think fast!”

I looked up and saw a sofa pillow flying through the air at me. The pillow was blue and I wouldn’t’ve seen it had it not worn gold, braided tassels. These caught the light and I caught the pillow, and Seamus, our coach, hollered, “Good reflexes, Doug. Bring that pillow in.”

There was nothing to do except cooperate. Seamus said, “Doug, you’re a veteran quarterback so I’m going to let you call your own plays.” Then Angus kindly pointed out the scrimmage line—it was the place where our Bokhara’s rich blue border meets red—and I placed the pillow right on this woven border, and Seamus said, “The rug is the field.”

We huddled. Gunner stuck his wet nose into the huddle. That made eight of us plus the Doberman, who could be counted on to growl at oncoming rushers. I got down on one knee, peered up into my brothers’ faces.

We were not young men. Not at all. None of us wore the right kind of shoes. I said, “What in Gods name are we doing this for at this hour?”

“What time is it?” asked Nick.

“It’s after two,” Ralph said, and Angus asked, “Can it be that late?” and Gregory said, “I don’t see how,” but Frank insisted, “It is after two,” and Angus argued, “But we just ate,” to which Ralph replied, “We ate hours ago.” I interrupted, “Quiet in the huddle. Pay attention. Has anyone got anything to drink? The quarterback needs a drink.”

After that our huddle did fall quiet. You could feel, I thought, that everyone was a little depressed.

I told the team, “I’ll fake a handoff to Angus. Angus, go short up the weak side and cut left at the third reindeer. Nick, go wide down the line along Intellectual History. Topper, go for the long toss up the middle over Maxwell, then fake like you’re going to high-step over Virgil, but cut across Barry instead.”