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sounded like beasts prowling the darkness. He turned on the “Tonight” show, then took off his shirt and smeared Ben Gay on his aching shoulders. It had been a long time since he’d worked out in a gym, though he kept telling himself he was going to start jogging again. His gut was as soft as marshmallow; he knew he could really get hurt there if his opponents didn’t pull the kicks and punches. But he decided to worry about that tomorrow-there was always tomorrow-and he put on his bright red pajamas and lay back in bed to consume his snack and watch the tube.
    He was halfway through the doughnuts when an NBC News bulletin interrupted the celebrity chatter. A grim-looking newsman came on, with the White House in the background, and he began talking about a “high-priority meeting” the president had just had with the secretary of defense, the Armed Forces chief of staff, the vice-president and other advisors, and that sources confirmed the meeting involved both SAC and NORAD. American air bases, the reporter said with urgency in his voice, might be going to a higher level of readiness. More bulletins would break in as the news was available.
    “Don’t blow up the world till Sunday,” Josh said through a mouthful of doughnut. “I’ve got to collect my paycheck first.”
    Every night the newscasts were filled with the facts or rumor of war. Josh watched the broadcasts and read the newspapers whenever he could, and he understood that nations were jealous and paranoid and downright crazy, but he couldn’t fathom why sane leaders didn’t just pick up their telephones and talk to each other. What was so tough about talking?
    Josh was beginning to believe the whole thing was like professional wrestling: the superpowers put on their masks and stomped around, roaring threats and swinging wildly at each other, but it was a game of macho, strutting bluff. He couldn’t imagine what the world would be like after the nuclear bombs fell, but he knew it’d be pretty damned hard to find a box of glazed doughnuts in the ashes, and he surely would miss them.
    He had started on the Oreos when he looked at the telephone next to the bed and thought of Rose and the boys. His wife had divorced him after he’d left pro football and become a wrestler, and she had custody of their two sons. She still lived in Mobile; Josh visited them whenever the circuit took him down that way. Rose had a good job as a legal secretary, and the last time Josh had seen her, she’d told him she was engaged to be married to a black attorney at the end of August. Josh missed his sons very much, and sometimes in the arena crowds he glimpsed the faces of boys who reminded him of them, but the faces were always yelling and jeering at him. It didn’t pay, he knew, to think too much about people you loved; there was no point in driving the hurt too deep. He wished Rose well; sometimes he longed to call her, but he feared a man would answer.
    Well, he thought as he opened another cookie to get at the creamy stuff, I wasn’t cut out to be a family man, anyhow. No, sir! I like my freedom too much, and by God, that’s just what I’ve got!
    He was tired. His body ached, and tomorrow would be a long day. Maybe he’d call the hospital before he left, find out about Johnny Lee Richwine. The boy would be smarter for what he’d learned tonight.
    Josh left the set on because he liked the sound of human voices, and he slowly fell asleep with the package of Oreos balanced on the mound of his stomach. Big day tomorrow, he thought as he drifted off. Gotta be mean and strong again. Then he slept, snoring softly, his dreams filled with the noise of a crowd shouting for his head.
    The devotional came on. A minister talked about beating swords into plowshares. Then the “Star Spangled Banner” played over scenes of majestic snow-capped mountains, wide, waving fields of wheat and corn, running streams, verdant forests and mighty cities; it ended with an image of the