Fall by Colin McAdam

pointing everywhere. We walked through the main gate and Julius gestured to the RCMP.
    Chuck said, “I want steak and fries.” He apparently always told the police what he wanted for his meal.
    I saw a Marine stationed near the front door.
    We went in through the staff entrance and into the kitchen. The chef was a French-Canadian woman named Marie-Claude. When she met me I noticed that she felt no need to hide her curiosity about my eye. I in turn was impressed by her moustache. Julius said, “This is Noel” and “You know Chuckie.” She had a nice smile and said, “Trois steak-frites, avec un Band-Aid.” I could tell that she loved Julius.
    We stayed in the kitchen. I saw no more of the house. I was trying to settle into how casual the event was. Julius inviting me out of the blue. Chuck not showing any obvious curiosity or disapprovalof my company. The steak wasn’t as good as I thought it would be. Marie-Claude turned her attention to us as we were eating and said, “Okay?” She stared at my eye as I ate. It usually goes into spasms when I chew.
    I wondered whether Marie-Claude was the kind of woman who liked to be asked for second helpings. Julius asked me if I wanted more.
    “Please.”
    “Noel is beefing up,” he said.
    Chuck looked at my shoulders.
    “You play rugby?” he asked
    “Not really.”
    “There’s a game this Saturday. We play pick-up with local teams. You could play prop.”
    “Ant plays our prop,” said Julius.
    “And he sucks,” said Chuck.
    “He doesn’t suck. He just wins by filth. Pure dirt. He puts his fingers in eyes and assholes.”
    “Beware Ant’s finger,” said Chuck.
    “You could be a backup prop for when Ant gets his head knocked off by whoever he gooses.”
    “I’ve never really played,” I said.
    Chuck gave me a suit-yourself shrug. I wanted to push the table across the room. I liked the idea of rugby, of running at someone’s shoulders. “I’ll play,” I said.
    Neither of them said “good” or “great” because that’s not what they were like. Marie-Claude gave us three more steaks, with less friendliness, and we walked back to school.
    A strange suspense lingered through the rest of the day. Was this a new world, and how should I prepare for it?
    “You can borrow my cleats,” said Julius, “I’ll wear my soccer ones.”
    I was nervous and didn’t say much. The game was on school grounds and the opponents were the Ottawa Irish—mostly middle-aged men.
    “These guys like violence,” Julius said when we got to the pitch. “They’re bald and full of resentment.”
    They were all solid, and I remember thinking that the hair on their legs looked unashamedly pubic.
    I had no idea how to play rugby. I had spent the rest of that week doing research. Invented at Rugby School. Tom Brown’s Schooldays. Game of ruffians played by gentlemen. I had never liked watching it in Australia, but that was Rugby League, a vulgar version. We were going to play Rugby Union, and my role as prop was to anchor the scrum. “Stay low and push” was the advice I got from everyone. Julius told me to tape my ears and put Vaseline on my face and I thought he was joking.
    I had expected to be nervous throughout but once the game started I felt absorbed and hungry. I focused on Ant, who was playing my position. I thought, as I watched, that I could at least mimic his movements.
    We learned about the strength of older men, the power of fat and disappointment. Speed was the crucial element in those games for us. Get the ball out to the wing, to Julius, who could run like the goal of upright evolution. Every time he got the ball it moved to surprising places. But if we couldn’t get the ball to him there was a swamp of pain around the scrum. The men would push our team back, stomp us into the ground.
    I realized that Ant wasn’t very good. I noted that his legs in shorts were not as big as mine. He laughed whenever the scrum fell down, the laugh of someone pretending not to