“Sit down, boys,” Daddy said.
We were already sitting and we looked at him, puzzled-like.
“Oh,” he said and gulped down some tea. “Boys …” He stopped.
Ma cleared her throat and sat up. A bead of sweat was hanging off the tip of her nose. “Your father has something he wants to tell you.”
We looked back at Daddy.
Daddy’s eyes were locked on Ma and then sorta snapped to and said, “Boys, your mother is crazy.”
We looked over at Ma and she nodded and smiled.
“Huh?” Martin was shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, son,” said Ma, “I’m crazy.”
Martin and I just sat there at the table staring at each other. We stared at each other for a good long while and then Ma got up and walked out into the yard. Daddy rubbed his handkerchief across his forehead.
“Maybe it’s the heat,” Daddy said.
“Why is she wearing that coat?” I asked.
Daddy looked at me and wiped the back of his neck. “She’s crazy, Craig.”
“You’re a doctor, Daddy,” Martin said. “Fix her.”
“I can’t help her,” Daddy said and got up and walked to the screen door. He looked out into the yard at Ma. She was now hoeing in the garden. “Ain’t nothing I can do.” He stood there leaning against the doorframe, drinking his tea and wiping his face and neck.
“Why is she wearing that coat?” I asked again.
“Maybe it’s the heat,” Daddy said, eyes fixed on Ma. He turned to my brother and me. He picked the newspaper up off the counter and walked out of the kitchen.
“What do you think?” Martin asked.
“I’m only ten years old.”
Martin got up and walked over to the door and stared through the screen at Ma.
I started crying.
“Hush that noise up,” Martin said.
“Our mama’s crazy,” I cried.
He just looked back out into the yard at her and I heard him sniff a little, but I didn’t say anything.
Martin and I went down to the pond and threw rocks at the ducks. Martin hit one of the birds in the head and it flapped away screaming.
“Maybe we could hit her in the head and knock some sense into her,” Martin said.
“You think so?”
“How the hell should I know?” Martin looked up at the telephone lines and stared at the sparrows. “Go get my BB gun.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Just get it.”
I ran back home and when I walked into Martin’s and my room I found Ma sitting on Martin’s bed looking at the girlie magazines that he kept hidden between the mattress and box spring. I stopped in my tracks.
“Come here, Craigie,” she said, patting a spot on the bed beside her.
I walked over and sat down. I was scared. She was crazy.
She put her arm around me and pulled me close and with her free hand grabbed the meat of my cheek. “You’re a good boy, Craigie.”
I tried to get up, but she pulled me down. “I’ve gotta take Martin his BB gun.”
“You see this?” she asked, showing me a couple of pages stuck together. “You see this? Your brother is a bad boy.” She dropped the magazine on the floor.
Just being so close to her coat was making me hot and sweaty and itchy. “Why are you wearing a coat, Ma?”
“I’m not wearing a coat, silly.” She looked at me and pulled her mouth tight. “It’s called masturbation.”
I just looked at her.
“What he does with these pictures …” She moved her fist up and down over her lap. “Don’t you ever do that. You’ll go blind.”
I started to get up again and she pulled me back. She started unbuttoning my shirt and I reached up and folded my arms over my chest.
“I want you to take a bath,” she said.
“It’s the afternoon,” I complained.
“Take your clothes off!” she screamed through her teeth. Her eyes had a real strange sparkle.
“But—”
“Now!”
I undressed. She was crazy. She pulled me by the hand into the bathroom. “Get in the tub!”
I stepped into the tub.
“Sit down!”
I sat down and she began to pull a dry washcloth over my body.
“Ma,” I said, “there ain’t no water.”
“The water is not too hot!” she screamed and then she stood up. “The water is not too hot.” She walked out.
At noon the next day I’m up and just out of the shower and buttoning my shirt when Lou Tyler comes in.
“Don’t you ever knock?” I ask him.
“Never,” he says, looking around the room. “Where’s Nicks?”
“Shower.”
“How’s the leg?”
I look at him, puzzled, and sit on the bed and start pulling on my socks. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my leg.”
“But Tuck said … Never mind. How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” I tell him.
“Feel okay?”
“I feel fine.”
“Big game today,” he says and pushes a stogie into his face. “We’ve got to get back on the right track. You hear me? The right track.”
David comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him and says hello to Lou. Lou pulls his cigar out and nods a hello and then he turns back to me. “Get your mind on the game.” He turns to David. “Nicks, you keep an eye on him. Don’t let him think about nothing but baseball.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” David asks and pulls on his pants.
“I don’t give a shit, just do it.” Lou walks to the door and as he’s leaving he says, “The bus leaves at five.”
I watch the door close behind him.
“Hey, don’t worry,” says David, “you’ll break out of it.”
We have breakfast, watch some TV, and head for the stadium. We’re in the clubhouse and Butch Backman, the catcher, walks over to me.
“I hope you play good today,” he says in that dumb voice of his.
“I hope I play good, too,” I says, mocking the sound of his voice.
Butch stares at me for a long second and then walks away.
“Lighten up,” David says to me.
I look at David and I know he’s right, so I walk over to Butch and apologize. Butch tilts his head and looks at me through those slits he calls eyes. “I’m just a little uptight,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” he says, putting his finger in my face. “I might not be as smart as you, and maybe I didn’t go to college, but I know enough to give a hundred percent on the field.” He slams his locker and leaves the room.
It’s not a real hot night, but I’m sweating before the game starts. As I’m standing by the dugout, some kid leans out over the railing and hands me a program and a pen. He wants me to pass it to David Nicks.
The first inning ends scoreless and hitless and our cleanup man, Pete Turner, flies out in the second. So, I’m up and I look at the board and there’s my batting average staring me in the face, 198, first time ever under.200. Before I know it, I’ve got two strikes on me. The third pitch comes blowing in and I swing and hit nothing, but the catcher muffs the ball. He can’t find the handle, so I’m on base.
David’s at the plate and I’m taking a short lead toward second and I’m thinking about my slump and like something out of a dark room the pitcher makes a move to first and I dive for the bag. I’m out.
I brush the dirt off my clothes and walk back to the dugout shaking my head. I sit down beside old Tuck McShane.
“So, you gonna let me wrap that leg for you?”
Now I’m beginning to think that maybe something is wrong with my leg and I nod.
Tuck pulls up my pant leg and wraps my right leg. He wraps it pretty tight and I can’t bend my leg or straighten it out completely.
“It’s a little tight.”
“Naw, it’s fine,” he says.
We’re taking the field again and I’m limping. I was not limping before.
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