The Vagabond

Weaving through the Holyoke Street blast, Vag clutched the paper in his pocket, and, reassured, kept on up the street. He remembered when the long, heavy envelope had arrived. He'd looked at it suspiciously, noticing the return address. Dimly, in the background, he'd heard martial music playing as he extracted, in order, a small card, a large, many-itemed form, and a snide little scrap of yellow paper. It was to this last that he'd addressed wary attention; it was closely printed with a series of crisp pronunciamentos, studded with "you will," "do not fail," and "all men . . ." Its final edict was simple: Vag was to be present at a certain place at a certain time for a "veteran's" physical exam. He was to fill out the big white form and bring it. Above all, he was not to forget the white form. He was to fill out the form and bring it, bring it along. . . . Next, he'd read the little card, which told him several times not to miss the appointment. He might miss a class (or a final exam), but he was not, repeat not to fail to appear. If he missed it would he be shot? No, not shot, Vag had reassured himself, fingering his grey flannels--fined.

Vag tried not to resent the whole thing, like a good soldier. After all, he thought, what could you expect with a military man running the whole set-up? It was probably the efficient method. And perhaps this was the way to handle veterans; hit 'em with a crisp military tone and they'll comply before the daze wears off. "You can't treat these guys too soft," he could imagine one Harvard Medical Officer sneering. "They're used to the rough stuff."

Well-disciplined and thoroughly cowed, Vag turned into the eave at 15 Holyoke Street, holding the paper in his left hand, leaving the right free for saluting. Painstakingly, he followed signs to a nice lady and for her read the color-blind numbers, but declined when she asked him to do it again. Upstairs there was some difficulty in the laboratory; Vag bridled a little at the fourth sign in a row saying "Have you forgotten to put your came on the bottle-cap?" and he was annoyed when he reached the doctor's office. The questions started--exactly the same as the Grant Study's had been, four years ago, Vag thought. Four years. . . "Do you like people?" What a question! Say no and they kick you out of college? "Yes," he said. Like people! Some people, maybe, but he hated a lot, too, and he hated officiousness and military ways of doing things, and he wanted to forget them. Yet for a little while, please?