The door opened wide. “Please come in, sir,” said the man he’d talked to earlier. “Come in.”
The foyer was paved with bluish-green flagstones and contained no furniture of any kind. Dead ahead was a living room carpeted in sculpted ivory shag with little sparkly things woven into it. Two sofas, a coffee table, and a TV were neatly arranged there, looking as clean and unused as if they had just been delivered from the furniture-rental place. Sitting on one of the sofas was a man in a suit, twiddling the TV’s remote control nervously in his hands, though he kept the channel fixed on CNN.
The first man was a wrestler; Clyde could tell because, like many Dhonts, he looked as if he had a nylon stocking over his face even when he didn’t, and he had cauliflower ears. He seemed to be paying a lot of unwarranted attention to Clyde’s armpit and waistband, and so, as a confidence-building gesture, Clyde set the food basket down on the floor and shrugged his jacket off. The man leaped forward and took it from him but, rather than turn his back on Clyde to hang it in the closet, simply draped it over one forearm while his eyes traveled over the lines of Clyde’s neatly tucked-in flannel shirt, looking for untoward bulges. “Can’t stay for long anyway,” Clyde said. “My daughter’s out in the station wagon.”
There was an awkward moment of silence, as if this man couldn’t believe the bit about the daughter.
“So,” Clyde said, “what’s your major?”
The man in the living room made a tiny little coughing noise.
“Please,” said the wrestler, and backed a couple of paces onto the ivory shag, holding out one thick arm toward the living room. “Please.” His hand was decorated with a couple of none too tasteful gold rings.
“Oh, do you mind?” Clyde said, and stepped forward into the living room. The second man hit the mute button on the remote control and stood up. With some effort this man caused a large, toothy expression to spread across his face, as if he were a thespian-in-training doing strange facial exercises. Clyde responded with a grin that probably looked about as lifelike.
“Well, howdy!” Clyde said, stepped forward, and extended his hand. “Clyde Banks.”
“My name is Mohammed,” said the man in the suit, shaking Clyde’s hand. He was wearing a watch that looked to have been hewn from a solid brick of gold bullion.
“Mohammed. Is that a common name where you are from?” Clyde said, speaking very clearly and distinctly and not using contractions, the way Anita Stonefield always did when addressing foreign students.
“Yes. Very common,” said the man.
“Well, Mohammed, I am sure that your studies here at Eastern Iowa University are keeping you very busy, and so I will not waste your time. I am from the Howdy Brigade. It is our duty to be ambassadors of goodwill to our foreign visitors. We would like you to have this food basket and this three-W packet, which contains much useful information about Wapsipinicon.”
Clyde proffered the two items. Mohammed’s eyes shifted in the direction of the wrestler, who stepped forward briskly, took the basket and the envelope from Clyde, and set them down on the coffee table.
“It is a great honor,” Mohammed said through clenched, grinning teeth. “Mrs. Knightly is a fine woman, and any friend of hers is a friend of ours.”
“How are your studies going so far?”
“Excellent, thank you,” Mohammed said, exchanging a secret look with the wrestler, as if he had just uttered a witticism. Then, forcing the issue: “Can I get you tea? Coffee?”
“Oh, that is very kind of you, Mohammed, but there are other foreign guests still waiting for a visit from the Howdy Brigade.”
“Then it would be a bad thing for me to keep you here one second longer,” Mohammed said, taking a step toward Clyde, and more or less forcing Clyde to step back toward the exit.
“I hope you enjoy that cheese,” Clyde said, reaching for his jacket. But the wrestler actually held it out for him. Clyde had helped many an old lady on with her coat and knew how the procedure was done on that end, but this was the first time anyone had performed the service for him, and he managed to get his arms all twisted around behind himself before the transaction was finished.
“Its smoky aroma is most enticing,” Mohammed said flatly. “We will have a rare feast tonight.”
“Please extend the Howdy Brigade’s greetings to the other fella,” Clyde said. “Is he off at the library studying now?”
“Yes,” Mohammed said, clenching his fist and making a little punching motion. “Hitting the books.”
The wrestler opened the door. “Well, it’s been real nice meeting you fellas, and keep in mind that my wife and I are your host family for as long as you are in Wapsipinicon. So if you ever have any questions or problems, give us a jingle.”