of last wed(s eclipse. Good morning in
the afternoon to the cranked-up cockatoo
outside my cafe, on my neighbor's shoulder,
my constant strangers, each day at 4 P .M.
I love morning's unmenacing purpled beauty,
its silvered cxtn:mities, how it tamps beginningsbut cheers us through sunrise's slow ascending
flannel blue. Say this, say that, this fair hour
we want to feel as hope, as I write now
past midnight: I'm not waiting for day but know
it's here, a California sun rising on
our Americas, on school.kids, gun nuts, nomads,and megachurch and gospel choirs that sing
to heal the hearts of shopkeepers and cops,
poets, snowplow drivers, unionists.
I shout morning blessings on them, 0 world
of chronic pain and tenderness. Dear day,
protect me and our common. Sponsor us.breadth differeru:e between in and out,
over and over again? Of course, it's so
clear now: for a privately negotiated fee,
Martin had agreed to cede the match
to his lesser-ranked opponent, thereby
enriching bettors who'd phced money,
hundreds upon thousands, on the greater
odds that the man across the net from
Martin, so inexperienced in victory,
would be the one to move on to the
next round. And to think that the sup-
port check Toby's father had given him
was ten thousand more than usual-
because Martin had moved him with
his tales of growing up on the wrong
side of the Chilean economic divide!
No other boy of Martin's class had even
thought to pick up the game, having no
access to private courts or coaching fees.
How many yeais had he persisted with
a racket held together with tape? Days
spent skulking around the public courts
and even some of the exclusive ones,
hoping for turned backs so that he could
make awaywith rogue tennis balls. Play-
ing either in the early mornings or late
at night, when everyone else was gone,
hitting ceaselessly into the void.
This was probably all true-a way
for Martin to deflect judgment for what
he was later caught doing, a way of lay-
-W. s. Di Piero
ing the groundwork for cause, as well
as affecting a soulfuln.css that loosened
his sponsor's check-writing hand. Ai;
they say in Cltlnese business circles:
win-win.
Toby's father had boasted to the
Chilean of his son's tennis glory, the
private coaches, in addition to the fust-
rank instruction he was receiving from
the taskmasters at Bollettieri. And Toby
had even won a score of matches, get-
ting to the semifinals of a far-flung
juniors and to the finals of another-
nothingwas a fluke and now everything
was wasted. Don't think Toby's father
emit smell the marijuana wafting from
Toby's part of the housc--don't think
he doem't know all about marijuana!
And Toby's reply, always: I could
ne'CJeT In Nadal.
Who's askingyou to be Rafud Nadal!
His father's voice was booming, his man-
ner full of threat. He'd even put his tum-
bler of Scotch down on the dining table.
You don't understand! Ifl can't play
as beautiful, I'd rather not play at all!
Stupid high ideas! All my fault, be-
cause I raise you in this environment.
Give you everything I don't have when
I was growing up. Only son, raised like
a prince, don't know how to cope withhardship. One setback and immediately
want to quit. Should have sent you to
the old country, live with my father and
mother--see if they let you sleep all
day with that marijuana-marijuana!
You don't have to worry-I'm going
to college, and you won't have to see
me for years!
What college will take you, tell me
that!
With your money? Every one of
them!
Heyl Where you going! Don't tum
your back on me. You think you can
pay your way for everything, and ev-
erything will be all right?
Why not? Toby said. It's the lesson
you taught me.
O.K.. From now on-no allowance!
Of course Toby had had to slink
back, like a wet cat. Licking his paws
and blinking, before finally rubbing
himself against the old man. Sorry,
Dad. I'll try again with tennis, if that's
what you want.
Toby's father tender, too. Not im-
portantwhatl want--what do you want?
You don't want to hear it, but I will
never be good enough. It's not about
laziness. Talk to the physio: my quick-
twitch muscles, there aren't enough of
them.And my hand-eye coOrdination:
you can't teach stuff like that.
Toby's father ignored the informa-
tion. What's wrong with your body? Is
much better than mine. You skinny, I
am fat. You still young, I am old-old.
He waited a moment before repeating,
with great disgust: Old.P
avel wins the next round, and the
round after that. He also claims
the quarter-finals, where he reveals
himself to be a nascent servc-and-vol-
lcyer. Finicky, though-having to hit
more than one approach shot before
he finally gets to net, as if never trust-
ing that it's the right time to come in.
Each of these is a mere two-set fight,
and, 1inally, Toby's father is again the
gregarious host of old. No more talk
of cheating, of Martin the Sequel.
After the second-round match, To-
by's father took them to the Empire
Dragon at the mall, inaugurating a cus-
tom: a hearty Chinese banquet to cel-
ebrate victory. With many courses and
much talk of tennis. Tennis dreams.
Luckily, Pavel loves Chinese. The grease