jg.paintedhouse-第25章

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　　　〃Let's　play　a　game；〃　my　father　said。　Bo　and　Dale　had　arrived；　also　shirtless　and　shoeless。　Miguel　was　consulted；　and　after　a　few　minutes　of　plotting；　it　was　decided　that　the　Mexicans　would　play　the　Arkansans。　Rico　would　catch　for　both　teams；　and　again　I　was　sent　to　the　house；　this　time　to　fetch　my　father's　old　catcher's　mitt　and　my　other　ball。
　　　When　I　returned　the　second　time；　Hank　had　appeared　and　was　ready　to　play。　I　was　not　happy　about　being　on　the　same　team　with　him；　but　I　certainly　couldn't　say　anything。　Nor　was　I　certain　where　Trot　would　fit　in。　And　Tally　was　a　girl。　What　a　disgrace：　a　girl　for　a　teammate。　Still；　the　Mexicans　had　us　outnumbered。
　　　Another　round　of　plotting；　and　it　was　somehow　determined　that　we　would　bat　first。　〃You　have　little　guys；〃　Miguel　said　with　a　smile。　More　planks　were　laid　around　as　bases。　My　father　and　Miguel　established　the　ground　rules；　which　were　quite　creative　for　such　a　misshapen　field。　The　Mexicans　scattered　around　the　bases；　and　we　were　ready　to　play。
　　　To　my　surprise；　Cowboy　walked　out　to　the　mound　and　began　warming　up。　He　was　lean　but　strong；　and　when　he　threw　the　ball；　the　muscles　in　his　chest　and　shoulders　bulged　and　creased。　The　sweat　made　his　dark　skin　shine。　〃He's　good；〃　my　father　said　softly。　His　windup　was　smooth；　his　delivery　seamless；　his　release　almost　nonchalant；　but　the　baseball　shot　from　his　fingers　and　popped　into　Rico's　mitt。　He　threw　harder　and　harder。　〃He's　very　good；〃　my　father　said；　shaking　his　head。　〃That　boy's　played　a　lot　of　baseball。〃
　　　〃Girls　first；〃　somebody　said。　Tally　picked　up　the　bat　and　walked　to　the　plate。　She　was　shoeless；　and　wearing　tight　pants　rolled　up　to　her　knees　and　a　loose　shirt　with　its　tail　tied　in　a　knot。　You　could　see　her　stomach。　At　first；　she　didn't　look　at　Cowboy；　but　he　was　certainly　staring　at　her。　He　moved　a　few　feet　toward　the　plate　and　tossed　the　first　pitch　underhanded。　She　swung　and　missed；　but　it　was　an　impressive　swing；　at　least　for　a　girl。
　　　Then　their　eyes　met　briefly。　Cowboy　was　rubbing　the　baseball；　Tally　was　swinging　the　bat；　nine　Mexicans　were　chattering　like　locusts。
　　　The　second　pitch　was　even　slower；　and　Tally　made　contact。　The　ball　rolled　by　Pepe　at　third；　and　we　had　our　first　base　runner。　〃Bat；　Luke；〃　my　father　said。　I　strolled　to　the　plate　with　all　the　confidence　of　Stan　Musial；　hoping　that　Cowboy　wouldn't　throw　the　hard　stuff　at　me。　He　let　Tally　hit　one；　surely　he'd　do　the　same　for　me。　I　stood　in　the　box；　listening　as　thousands　of　rabid　Cardinal　fans　chanted　my　name。　A　packed　house；　Harry　Caray　yelling　into　the　microphone…then　I　looked　at　Cowboy　thirty　feet　away；　and　my　heart　stopped。　He　wasn't　smiling；　nothing　close。　He　held　the　baseball　with　both　hands　and　looked　at　me　as　if　he　could　saw　my　head　off　with　a　fastball。
　　　What　would　Musial　do？　Swing　the　damned　bat！
　　　The　first　pitch　was　also　underhanded；　so　I　started　breathing　again。　It　was　high；　and　I　didn't　swing；　and　the　Mexican　chorus　had　a　lot　to　say　about　that。　The　second　pitch　was　down　the　middle；　and　I　swung　for　the　fence；　for　the　left　field　wall；　350　feet　away。　I　closed　my　eyes　and　swung　for　the　thirty　thousand　lucky　souls　in　Sportsman's　Park。　I　also　swung　for　Tally。
　　　〃Strike　one！〃　my　father　yelled；　a　little　too　loud；　I　thought。　〃You're　tryin'　to　kill　it；　Luke；〃　he　said。
　　　Of　course　I　was。　I　tried　to　kill　the　third　pitch；　too；　and　when　Rico　threw　it　back；　I　was　faced　with　the　horror　of　being　down　two　strikes。　A　strikeout　was　unthinkable。　Tally　had　just　hit　the　ball　nicely。　She　was　on　first　base；　anxious　for　me　to　put　the　ball　in　play　so　she　could　advance。　We　were　playing　on　my　field；　with　my　ball　and　bat。　All　of　those　people　were　watching。
　　　I　stepped　away　from　the　plate　and　was　stricken　with　the　terror　of　striking　out。　The　bat　was　suddenly　heavier。　My　heart　was　pounding；　my　mouth　was　dry。　I　looked　at　my　father　for　help；　and　he　said；　〃Let's　go；　Luke。　Hit　the　ball。〃　I　looked　at　Cowboy；　and　his　nasty　smile　was　even　nastier。　I　did　not　know　if　I　was　ready　for　what　he　was　going　to　throw。
　　　I　stutter…stepped　back　to　the　plate；　gritted　my　teeth；　and　tried　to　think　of　Musial；　but　my　only　thoughts　were　of　defeat；　and　I　swung　at　a　very　slow　pitch。　When　I　missed　for　the　third　time；　there　was　total　silence。　I　dropped　the　bat；　picked　it　up；　and　heard　nothing　as　I　walked　back　to　my　team；　my　lip　quivering；　already　daring　myself　not　to　cry。　I　couldn't　look　at　Tally；　and　I　sure　couldn't　look　at　my　father。
　　　I　wanted　to　run　into　the　house　and　lock　the　doors。
　　　Trot　was　next；　and　he　held　the　bat　with　his　right　hand　just　under　the　label。　His　left　arm　hung　limp；　as　always；　and　we　were　a　little　embarrassed　at　the　sight　of　this　poor　kid　trying　to　swing。　But　he　was　smiling　and　happy　to　be　playing；　and　that　was　more　important　than　anything　else　at　the　moment。　He　hacked　at　the　first　two；　and　I　began　to　think　the　Mexicans　would　beat　us　by　twenty　runs。　Somehow；　though；　he　hit　the　third　pitch；　a　gentle　looping　fly　that　landed　behind　second　base；　where　at　least　four　Mexicans　managed　to　miss　it。　Tally　flew　around　second　and　made　it　to　third；　while　Trot　shuffled　down　to　first。
　　　My　humiliation；　already　enormous；　grew　even　greater。　Trot　on　first；　Tally　on　third；　only　one　out。
　　　Bo　was　next；　and　because　he　was　a　large　teenager　with　no　visible　handicaps；　Cowboy　stepped　back　and　threw　from　a　full　windup。　His　first　pitch　was　not　too　fast；　but　poor　Bo　was　already　shaking　by　the　time　the　ball　crossed　home　plate。　He　swung　after　Rico　caught　it；　and　Hank　roared　with　laughter。　Bo　told　him　to　shut　up；　Hank　made　some　response；　and　I　thought　we　might　have　a　Spruill　family　brawl　in　the　top　of　the　first　inning。
　　　The　second　pitch　was　a　little　faster。　Bo's　swing　was　a　little　slower。　〃Make　him　throw　it　underhand！〃　Bo　yelled　at　us；　trying　to　laugh　it　off。
　　　〃What　a　sissy；〃　Hank　said。　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Spruill　had　joined　the　spectators；　and　Bo　glanced　at　them。
　　　I　expected　the　third　pitch　to　be　even　faster；　so　did　Bo。　Cowboy　instead　threw　a　change…up；　and　Bo　swung　long　before　the　ball　arrived。
　　　〃He's　mighty　good；〃　my　father　said　of　Cowboy。
　　　〃I'm　hittin'　next；〃　Hank　announced；　stepping　in　front　of　Dale；　who　didn't　argue。　〃I'll　show　you　boys　how　it's　done。〃
　　　The　bat　looked　like　a　toothpick　as　Hank　hacked　and　chopped　with　his　practice　swings；　as　if　he　might　hit　the　ball　across　the　river。　Cowboy's　first　pitch　was　a　fastball　away；　and　Hank　didn't　swing。　It　popped　into　Rico's　glove；　and　the　Mexicans　erupted　in　another　burst　of　Spanish　jeering。
　　　〃Throw　the　ball　over　the　plate！〃　Hank　yelled　as　he　looked　at　us　for　approval。　I　was　hoping　Cowboy　would　drill　a　fastball　into　his　ear。
　　　The　second　pitch　was　much　harder。　Hank　swung　and　missed。　Cowboy　caught　the　ball　from　Rico；　and　glanced　over　at　third；　where　Tally　was　waiting　and　watching。
　　　Then　Cowboy　threw　a　curve；　a　pitch　that　went　straight　for　Hank's　head；　but　as　he　ducked　and　dropped　the　bat；　the　baseball　broke　and　fell　magically　through　the　strike　zone。　The　Mexicans　roared　with　laughter。　〃Strike！〃　Miguel　yelled　from　second　base。
　　　〃Ain't　no　strike！〃　Hank　yelled；　his　face　red。
　　　〃No　umpires；〃　my　father　said。　〃It's　not　a　strike　unless　he　swings　at　it。〃
　　　Fine　with　Cowboy。　He　had　another　curve　in　his　arsenal。　It　at　first　appeared　quite　harmless；　a　slow　fat　pitch　headed　toward　the　center　of　the　plate。　Hank　reached　back　for　a　massive　swing。　The　ball；　however；　broke　down　and　away　and　bounced　before　Rico　blocked　it。　Hank　hit　nothing　but　air。　He　lost　his　balance　and　fell　across　the　plate；　and　when　the　Spanish　chorus　exploded　again；　I　thought　he　might　attack　all　of　them。　He　stood　up；　squinted　at　Cowboy　and　mumbled　something；　then　resumed　his　position　at　the　plate。
　　　Two　outs；　two　strikes；　two　on。　Cowboy　finished　him　off　with　a　fast…ball。　Hank　speared　the　bat　into　the　ground　when　he　finishing　flailing　at　the　pitch。
　　　〃Don't　throw　the　bat！〃　my　father　said　loudly。　〃If　you　can't　be　a　sport；　then　don't　play。〃　We　were　walking　onto　the　field　as　the　Mexicans　hurried　off。
　　　Hank　gave　my　father　a　look　of　disgust；　but　he　said　nothing。　For　some　reason　it　was　determined　that　I　would　pitch。　〃Throw　the　first　inning；　Luke；〃　my　father　said。　I　didn't　want　to。　I　was　no　match　for　Cowboy。　We　were　about　to　be　embarrassed　at　our　own　game。