"Who's going to bathe McLean?" said Murray.

"Not me," said Jim. "I'm in charge of burning his uniforms and disinfecting his socks."

"If a fly shits in here, wipe his little ass for him," said Webb.

"Negative, put diapers on him before he shits," said Eddie Sheer.

Mark, Tradd, and I watched our classmates in silence. Then we began the long preparation for the most important inspection of our lives.

When I Walked out onto the quadrangle for inspection the next morning, my shoes were astonishing things, all black dazzle, glittering in the bright sunlight like two small lakes seen from a plane. I felt as if I were wearing two pieces of furniture instead of shoes.

The seniors gathered around me and Mark, inspecting us with their trained and expert eyes. Henry Peak brought out his shine rag and removed a smudge from my breastplate. I felt hands straightening my webbing from behind, adjusting my cartridge box, and wiping the lint from my shako.

John Kinnell brought me my rifle as if he were delivering good news to the king. I took it from him gingerly.

"This rifle better be clean, dumbhead," I said to him. "Mudge better not find any oil on this deadly anachronism."

"I boiled it down last night," John replied, winking at me.

"That's illegal, son. That's against all the rules of the Institute. I feel it is my duty as an exemplary cadet to report you to the proper authorities."

"Go ahead and report me," John said. "The inside of that rifle is as clean as a new baby's asshole. You could perform surgery with that mother and not worry about infection. If Mudge gives you any demerits for that rifle, then I'm going to tell him after inspection that I was the one who cleaned it."

"Thanks, John. Thanks for everything."

"I'd like to see them give you a single demerit," he said. "You look good. You almost look as good as me."

"I feel like a jewel," I said. "A fucking jewel. I just love shining up. I think I'm turning into a military dick."

A cadet in full-dress salt-and-pepper looked like a baroque piece from a nineteenth-century chess set. The uniform blouse, with its shiny bronze buttons and its tight cut, emphasized the curve of the chest and shoulders and the strength of the young back. The starched white pants came up high against the crotch, and the emphasis again was boldly erotic as you felt the tightness around the buttocks and the pull against the groin. Inspection, like parade, was fraught with sexuality.

I never felt entirely comfortable in the everyday cotton fields we wore to class, but in full dress I felt like an absurd and fantastic hybrid. But on this morning I felt pure and untouchable. There was a snap and cleanliness in the air and I was soldierly. I was ready for the Major. I stood there, alert and frisky, the sharpest son of a bitch in the regiment.

I watched as the Major approached R Company in his familiar erect swagger. I did not hear the Bear approach me from the rear. I smelled his cigar and saw the smoke come over my left shoulder. I remembered the picture of the Bear watching the elimination of Poteete.

"I thought you were dead, Bubba," he said. "I haven't heard from you in a while and the Bear gets nervous when one of his lambs deserts the flock."

"I've been right here, Colonel," I whispered. "Shining my shoes and bucking for rank. You know how I am."

"Unfortunately, I do, Bubba," he said. "You are a bum, McLean. A blight on the reputation of the Institute, a living, breathing sacrilege against all the ideals for which this school stands. Why have you rolled over and played dead with me, Bubba?"

"I know everything now, Colonel," I said. "The game is over and you don't have to play it anymore. They should have told you that."

"Told me what, Bubba?" he said, coming around in front of me, his cigar blazing near my face. "Who should have told me what? Answer me, mister."

"You set me up, Colonel," I said in a flat, emotionless voice. "You set me up and I'll never forgive you as long as I live."

"Bubba, the Bear has never been good at riddles. That's because the Bear is slow sometimes and stupid at other times. I've checked on Pearce and he's riding high over in second battalion. They're treating him like he's setting up E Company with free black poontang. But I've just gone over last night's DL and someone sure does have a hard-on when they walk into your room."

"Big shock, huh, Colonel?"

"Bubba, if you get smart with me, I'm going to burn out both your eyes with this cigar and give you an extra nostril or two in the big Irish nose. Now I don't know what's going on, but you and I are going to have a heart-to-heart before this week is up."

"No, sir," I said firmly. "I have nothing to say to you, sir."

He reached in his pocket, pulled out a handful of white slips, and waved them in front of my eyes.

"Do you see these, Bubba?" he said. "Major Kleber handed me these slips this morning. He inspected your room yesterday and tore it apart. You picked up ten demerits and that somber dago you hang out with picked up sixteen. What's going on, Bubba?" the Bear said, speaking so low no one else in the platoon could hear. "There's talk in the Corps that something's up."

"You know what's going on, Colonel. You're part of what's going on. I'm finished with people like you. It's going to be over soon."

"You aren't kidding, Bubba," he said. "You'll be filling out applications to Clemson in a few days if you don't tell me what this is all about."

"I don't need your help, Colonel."

"Bubba, you come see me tomorrow. That's a direct order. You come to my quarters or to my office or so help me Jehovah I'll crucify you without nails. I'm giving you a direct order to report to me."

He left quickly, angrily. A plume of smoke hung in the air where he had been standing as Mudge approached my platoon for inspection.

He spent five minutes inspecting Mark and I could tell things were going badly for my roommate. Then he rapidly went down the lines of cadets. I would be the last cadet he inspected in R Company. I did not feel quite so splendid when he crossed into my field of vision. He squinted as though he was observing me through unadjusted field glasses.

I snapped the bolt of my rifle open for his inspection. He snatched it from me expertly, examined it, peered into the barrel, then presented it back to me.

"Gross rifle-SMI," he said to the guidon corporal, who marked down my infraction. I could see the look of astonishment on John Kinnell's face out of the corner of my eye.

Then the Major's eyes traveled from my shoes to my waistplate, to my breastplate, to my shako. He shook his head negatively, sadly, disgustedly.

"Gross Personal Appearance-SMI," he said. "Try to do something about your shoes, Mr. McLean. They're a disgrace."

"Why are you doing this, Major?" I said. "What did they promise you? You're a West Pointer, not one of them."

He did not answer me, but he looked both surprised and amused. He turned again to the guidon corporal and said, "Improper Behavior at SMI."

He looked back at me and smiled.

Then he left the barracks.

Mark and I both had received fifteen demerits apiece. We were the only cadets in R Company to be burned. But it was the first error of judgment The Ten had made since they had taken Pearce out of the barracks. It alerted the seniors of R Company that two of their classmates were victims of a conspiracy, a conspiracy sanctioned by the only tactical officer any of us had ever had at Carolina Military Institute.

I did not pass one hundred demerits until the following Friday, when Major Mudge conducted a morning room inspection. Mark passed that watermark of expulsion later in the day. A sense of torpor and resignation had entered the room and infected us spiritually with that species of painless despair which comes when you have accepted the inevitable and know how things inexorably must end.

We dressed for Friday's parade in absolute silence until Mark said, "It's over, Will."

"It looks that way."

"I don't want you two to talk about it around me," Tradd said, close to tears. He turned toward the open window and stood there watching two faculty wives playing a game of tennis. "I can't bear that any of this is happening. All of this has been so upsetting and there's not a single thing anyone can do about it."

"We've got to take it like men," Mark said, looking very much like a boy. "We won't crawl before those motherfuckers, Will. OK? We'll go out of here like champs."

"I'm not going to give them my ring," I said.

"You've got to give it to them, Will," Tradd said. "You've got to play their game or they won't give you your records or transcripts or recommend that you be admitted to another college. And you can't blackmail the General with what you know about The Ten because he'll make sure you never graduate anywhere in this country."

"Fuck him," I said. "I earned this ring and I'm going to keep it. I paid for it. It's mine."

"Not if you don't graduate, Will," Tradd said. "You know how the game is played."

"I'm out of the game, Tradd," I answered. "I ain't playing the game no more."

"I'm going to kick the shit out of Cain Gilbreath, John Alexander, and that pimp Braselton before I go," Mark grumbled, putting on his white gloves.

"You'll have to wait your turn," I said.

"You boys are talking pure nonsense," Tradd said. "Now get control of yourselves."

"Straighten my webbing, Tradd?" I asked. "It's all twisted in the back and I want to look sharp for my last parade."

"The last parade," Mark said. "I'll buy you a drink afterwards, Will. Why don't you and your parents come along, Tradd? We'll go to Henry's and get drunk."

"We're going down to Fort Benning to look for an apartment for me when I report in," Tradd said. "And besides, I haven't told Mother and Father any of these terrible things that have been happening to you. I haven't been able to bring myself to do it. Mother was so upset about. . ."

He stopped before he said Pig's name. "We're leaving right after parade."

"Have you told your mother, Will?" Mark asked.

"No," I answered. "I want her to be happy for at least a couple of more days in her life. I kept thinking that this really wouldn't happen, that they really wouldn't go through with it. Denial is a wonderful thing sometimes."

"I want to stop talking about it," Tradd insisted.

"See what I mean about denial?" I said, going up and putting my arm around his shoulders. He was embarrassed by the gesture and pulled back shyly.

"I haven't told my parents either," Mark said, adjusting his shako. "Every relative I've got from North Philly to southern Italy is planning to come for graduation next week. It's hard to get up the nerve to tell them there's not going to be a graduation."

"Room, attention!" Tradd suddenly shouted.

The Bear filled the doorway and he moved swiftly into the room, with angry eyes blazing. He let loose with a yell that caused all of us to jump.

"Out of here, Santoro. Move it, boy. Out of here, St. Croix. Move, move. Move. Stand fast, McLean. Get those shoulders back, mister, and stand tall like a cadet. Take those beady eyes off me. You want to buy this uniform, mister?"

"No, sir, I ..." I began.

"Shut up," he roared.

It had been a long time since I had heard the Bear in top form, using his spectacular voice like a weapon requisitioned from ordnance. Mark and Tradd sprinted out the door, their swords slapping against their thighs as they ran.

His face was flushed and agitated. Placing his thick loose lips against my earlobe he began racking me like I was a knob again.

"Mister, I thought I told you to report to me after inspection last Saturday. I thought I gave you a direct order to get your fat ass over to see me on the double. Do you think I like wasting my time tracking all over this campus looking for my wayward lambs, boy?"

"Sir," I tried to say.

"Shut up. You'll answer me when I want you to, boy. Now, speak," he ordered.

"Sir, I . . ."

"Shut up," he yelled, blowing cigar smoke into my face. "Now what do you have to say for yourself, boy? I want to hear your excuse."

"Sir, my excuse is. . ."

"Shut up," he yelled again. "I'm sick of playing your little games, McLean. I'm tired of it and you're in serious trouble, lamb."

"Sir."

"Shut up," screamed the Bear, shoving me against my desk. "Unless I'm mistaken, Mr. McLean, the Institute is still a military college and you're still a cadet and you're still subject to the rules of the Blue Book even though it looks like you're not going to be subject to those rules in a couple of days, Bubba. The Bear wants to know what's been going on over here in fourth battalion and why you've started to look at me like I was some kind of low-grade dogshit."

"Because I think you're some kind of low-grade dogshit, Colonel," I said.

I thought he was going to knock me on the floor; in fact, I braced myself to be struck by the Commandant of Cadets. I didn't know if the Bear was a powerful man physically but he had a craggy, massively roughhewn face that gave him the appearance of being a fighter of extraordinary gifts. At that moment, I both hated and feared the man.

But he said nothing and made no hostile advances toward me. Instead, his eyes softened and his voice sounded hurt as he turned away from me and said, "Why, Bubba? I don't understand it."

"It's no good to act any longer, Colonel. It's over."

"You're damn right it's over, lamb," he said, waving a memorandum in front of my eyes. "This is an order from the General, Will. He wants you to report to his office at 1300 on Monday. See the color of this paper, Bubba? That's a code. Anytime the General sends me an order typed on blue paper that cadet is long gone. Long gone, Bubba, and there's nothing that can bring him back. You go in at 1300. Santoro follows at 1330. Then I meet with you, process you, and drive you to the Gates of Legrand."

"We'll go peacefully, Colonel."

"Why didn't you come to me for help, Bubba? Why didn't you come and tell me what was going on? I don't understand it. I should have seen this coming but I was too busy with the other lambs. Two thousand cadets is too many for one man. If this was VMI, I'd only have twelve hundred lambs to watch after, and you boys couldn't take a crap without the Bear being there to hand you toilet paper. But it's hard to keep up with this big a flock."

"You're one of them, Colonel," I said, wanting to spit in his face.

"One of whom, Bubba?"

"The Ten, Colonel. I've known for a long time now. So you don't have to pretend any longer. I don't even care anymore. I'm getting where I don't even want to graduate from a school like this."

"This is a great school, Bubba, so don't talk about the school."

"Yeh, it's a fabulous school. I hear botulism's a nice disease, too."

"Who told you I was a member of The Ten?"

"Another member of The Ten."

"Names, Bubba. The Bear deals in names."

"I'm not going to give you any names. I'm not going to give you anything, Colonel."

"He's a goddam liar."