A Separate Peace by John Knowles

chairs, a pipe rack, frayed brown rug, a room which students rarely entered except for a reprimand—I saw on the pad not an operator’s number from my home town, but one which seemed to interrupt the beating of my heart.
    I called this operator, and listened in wonder while she went through her routine as though this were just any long-distance call, and then her voice left the line and itwas pre-empted, and charged, by the voice of Phineas. “Happy first day of the new academic year!”
    â€œThanks, thanks a lot, it’s a—you sound—I’m glad to hear your—”
    â€œStop stuttering, I’m paying for this. Who’re you rooming with?”
    â€œNobody. They didn’t put anyone else in the room.”
    â€œSaving my place for me! Good old Devon. But anyway, you wouldn’t have let them put anyone else in there, would you?” Friendliness, simple outgoing affection, that was all I could hear in his voice.
    â€œNo, of course not.”
    â€œI didn’t think you would. Roommates are roommates. Even if they do have an occasional fight. God you were crazy when you were here.”
    â€œI guess I was. I guess I must have been.”
    â€œCompletely over the falls. I wanted to be sure you’d recovered. That’s why I called up. I knew that if you’d let them put anybody else in the room in my place, then you really were crazy. But you didn’t, I knew you wouldn’t. Well, I did have just a trace of doubt, that was because you talked so crazy here. I have to admit I had just a second when I wondered. I’m sorry about that, Gene. Naturally I was completely wrong. You didn’t let them put anyone else in my spot.”
    â€œNo, I didn’t let them.”
    â€œI could shoot myself for thinking you might. I really knew you wouldn’t.”
    â€œNo, I wouldn’t.”
    â€œAnd I spent my money on a long-distance call! All for nothing. Well, it’s spent, on you too. So start talking, pal. And it better be good. Start with sports. What are you going out for?”
    â€œCrew. Well, not exactly crew. Managing crew. Assistant crew manager.”
    â€œAssistant crew manager!”
    â€œI don’t think I’ve got the job—”
    â€œAssistant crew manager! ”
    â€œI got in a fight this after—”
    â€œ Assistant crew manager! ” No voice could course with dumfoundment like Finny’s. “You are crazy!”
    â€œListen, Finny, I don’t care about being a big man on the campus or anything.”
    â€œWhaaat?” Much more clearly than anything in Mr. Ludsbury’s study I could see his face now, grimacing in wide, obsessed stupefaction. “Who said anything about whoever they are!”
    â€œWell then what are you so worked up for?”
    â€œWhat do you want to manage crew for? What do you want to manage for? What’s that got to do with sports?”
    The point was, the grace of it was, that it had nothing to do with sports. For I wanted no more of sports. They were barred from me, as though when Dr. Stanpole said, “Sports are finished” he had been speaking of me. I didn’t trust myself in them, and I didn’t trust anyone else. It was as though football players were really bent on crushing the life out of each other, as though boxers were in combat to the death, as though even a tennis ball might turn into a bullet. This didn’t seem completely crazy imagination in 1942, when jumping out of trees stood for abandoning a torpedoed ship. Later, in the school swimming pool, we were given the second stage in that rehearsal: after you hit the water you made big splashes with your hands, to scatter the flaming oil which would be on the surface.
    So to Phineas I said, “I’m too busy for sports,” and he went into his incoherent groans and jumbles of words, andI thought the issue was settled until at the end he said, “Listen, pal, if I