Thank you," he murmured to her as he slowly spooned the rich broth into his bruised mouth. He aroused just sufficiently to acknowledge her, and her gift of the small wooden bowl of soup from her mother's kitchen. All else was black, hidden, unspeakable. Only the blessed light of her presence and her gift of food was allowed to enter his tortured mind."It is so little," she murmured, her soft blue eyes gazing into his dark, half-lidded eyes, sunken into his pale, tear-streaked face. "Please take this bread, also; I will return after evening vespers with more if ma-ma allows." She crept away, leaving his small chamber.Dreams came, throngs of upthrust faces, voices strident and hoarse with shouted cheers and praises, the tumult rising and blending into a cacophony of surging sound, beating, throbbing, flooding in a deluge, a vocal avalanche inundating him and those who stood with him upon the small shelf high above the sea of humanity. The torrent crashed again and again against his. We’d competed in local tournaments, but they were all club tournaments. There just aren’t enough teams locally for an intercollegiate tournament and the school wasn’t funding long trips, not that we had time to leave for five days to go to California anyway.I played every team we could field. Walt frequently got the brunt of my attention as the only other guy on the team who was playing singles. Brent and Franklin took their turns and when that wasn’t enough, I played the two of them. When Tonya was able to practice, I played against her and Whitney, but Tonya’s schedule was just beginning to loosen up as the SCU women’s basketball team had just been eliminated from the playoffs. Something weird, though, was that the eliminated teams continued to play each other, even though they were no longer competing for a title. She was at least making our two team practices a week now. Of course, Whitney was ramping up to leave racquetball and hit the spring track meets. She was hoping for a.
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