Black Diamond

hell for as long as you can. We’ve got to pile up at least thirty points before they know what’s hit them. And then just keep possession and kick the ball away if you have to. We’re bigger and taller than they are so we can win most of the scrums. And watch out for women with handbags. Good luck!”
    Putain!
It was even colder than it had been during his dawn walk, thought Bruno as the players trotted out of the changing room and through the crowd to the pitch. The youngsters were already warming up and showing off their speed. Standing by the gap in the railings that led to the field was Father Sentout, a thick black cloak over his soutane, giving his customary blessing to the players. Laughing and cheering at their fathers and uncles and husbands, the crowd gave them a great welcome with the women blowing kisses and shouting out jokes about stretchers and ambulances. Bruno saw Pamela and Fabiola waving as he jogged past, and he gave them a mock salute. Perhaps he should have asked for a handkerchief or a garter, like some knight of old wearing his lady’s favor on his breast.
    The weather had turned. The sky was dull and gray and the ground had been sodden all week. There was a sheen of ice on the puddles beyond the rugby posts. The field would be mud within twenty minutes, which would slow down the older men, but it meant the kind of grinding struggle between the forwards that should suit their style of play. A firm pitch and easy running would have helped the youngsters. Stéphane was captain and lost the coin toss, so the oldsters lined up to receive the opening kick.
    Short and squat and a fine forward, Lespinasse from the garage caught the ball and turned his back on the charge of hisson Edouard. Taller than his father but maybe half the weight, Edouard simply bounced off his father’s bulk as Lespinasse passed the ball to Raoul, who gained another ten yards before he slipped the ball to Stéphane, who bulled his way forward with three youngsters hanging on to his legs before he flipped the ball across to Marcel.
    The big, middle-aged men lurched their way forward through the tackles, Bruno keeping himself out slightly to the flank. Finally the youngsters brought the drive to a halt. But Marcel rose from the melee and tossed the ball back to Jacquot. Just thirty-five, the youngest man on the team, Jacquot ducked and darted his way around to score as the first drops of rain began to come down.
    And so it went. Each time the old men got the ball they used their bulk to drive through and score. When the youngsters got possession, Bruno had to make tackle after tackle, and not the easy ones around a running opponent’s legs, but a high tackle to grab the arms and keep his man up until his teammates could plunge into the melee and haul the ball away.
    The old forwards scored twice more. The youngsters now had the ball, but there was no way they were going to be able to hold the weight of the older men as the two lines of forwards crashed into each other. Bruno put one hand down to the pitch to make it easier to sprint up and catch their runner. But the ball carrier had his own ideas and darted like quicksilver. Bruno barely managed to catch the boy’s ankle as he went past, sending the boy crashing onto his face. The ball bounced perfectly into Bruno’s arms.
    One sidestep and he was in the open field with only two players to beat. He heard Jacquot coming up to his right shoulder and sensed another dark blue shirt to his left. Brunofended off one pursuer with a straight-arm to the face. Then as the other players dived low at his legs Bruno passed the ball to Jacquot, who darted over the goal line.
    His hands on his knees, Bruno breathed hard as Jacquot converted the kick. That made it twenty-eight to zero.
    “Didn’t you see me?” came a crisp voice. It was Pons. “I was right at your shoulder waiting for that pass and it was clear in front of me. You should have passed the ball.”
    “I did pass the ball,” said Bruno. “I passed it to Jacquot, who scored.”
    “I was better placed,” Pons said. “Still, a good play, Bruno. Just remember there are other guys on this team.”
    Christ, thought Bruno, a prima donna. As Pons walked away, Bruno saw that there wasn’t a speck of mud on him. His shirt and shorts were still immaculate. Bruno looked as if he’d been living underground for the past month. He shrugged and looked at the clock. Just over thirty minutes gone so far, still in the first