Chaim Potok: The Chosen

'That hurt,' he said, grinning at me.

'Good catch,' I told him.

'That hurt like hell,' he said, and put his glove back on his hand.

The batter who stood now at the plate was broad-shouldered and built like a bear. He swung at the first pitch, missed, then swung again at the second pitch and sent the ball in a straight line over the head of the third baseman into left field. I scrambled to second, stood on the base and shouted for the ball. I saw the left fielder pick it up on the second bounce and relay it to me. It was coming in a little high, and I had my glove raised for it. I felt more than saw the batter charging toward second, and as I was getting my glove on the ball he smashed into me like a truck. The ball went over my head, and I fell forward heavily onto the asphalt floor of the yard, and he passed me, going toward third, his fringes flying out behind him, holding his skullcap to his head with his right hand so it would not fall off. Abe Goodstein, our first baseman, retrieved the ball and whipped it home, and the batter stood at third, a wide grin on his face.

The yeshiva team exploded into wild cheers and shouted loud words of congratulations in Yiddish to the batter.

Sidney Goldberg helped me get to my feet.

'That momzer!' he said. 'You weren't in his way!'

'Wow!' I said, taking a few deep breaths. I had scraped the palm of my right hand.

'What a momzer!' Sidney Goldberg said.

I saw Mr Galanter come storming onto the field to talk to the umpire. 'What kind of play was that?' he asked heatedly. 'How are you going to rule that?'

'Safe at third,' the umpire said. 'Your boy was in the way.' Mr Galanter's mouth fell open. 'How's that again?'

'Safe at third,' the umpire repeated.

Mr Galanter looked ready to argue, thought better of it, then stared over at me. 'Are you all right, Malter?'

'I'm okay' I said, taking another deep breath.

Mr Galanter walked angrily off the field.

'Play ball!' the umpire shouted.

The yeshiva team quieted down. I saw that the young rabbi was now looking up from his book and smiling faintly.

A tall, thin player came up to the plate, set his feet in the correct position, swung his bat a few times, then crouched into a waiting stance. I saw it was Danny Saunders. I opened and closed my right hand, which was still sore from the fall.

'Move back! Move back!' Mr Galanter was shouting from alongside third base, and I took two steps back.

I crouched, waiting.

The first pitch was wild, and the yeshiva team burst into loud laughter. The young rabbi was sitting on the bench, watching Danny Saunders intently.

'Take it easy, Schwartzie!' I shouted encouragingly to the pitcher. 'There's only one more to go!'

The next pitch was about a foot over Danny Saunders' head, and the yeshiva team howled with laughter. Sidney Goldberg and I looked at each other. I saw Mr Galanter standing very still alongside third, staring at the pitcher. The rabbi was still watching Danny Saunders.

The next pitch left Schwartzie's hand in a long, slow line, and before it was halfway to the plate I knew Danny Saunders would try for it. I knew it from the way his left foot came forward and the bat snapped back and his long, thin body began its swift pivot.

I tensed, waiting for the sound of the bat against the ball, and when it came it sounded like a gunshot. For a wild fraction of a second I lost sight of the ball. Then I saw Schwartzie dive to the ground, and there was the ball coming through the air where his head had been, and I tried for it but it was moving too fast, and I barely had my glove raised before it was in center-field. It was caught on a bounce and thrown to Sidney Goldberg, but by that time Danny Saunders was standing solidly on my base and the yeshiva team was screaming with joy.

Mr Galanter called for time and walked over to talk to Schwartzie. Sidney Goldberg nodded to me, and the two of us went over to them.

'That ball could've killed me!' Schwartzie was saying. He was of medium size, with a long face and a bad case of acne. He wiped sweat from his face. 'My God, did you see that ball?'

'I saw it,' Mr Galanter said grimly.

'That was too fast to stop, Mr Galanter,' I said in Schwartzie's defence.

'I heard about that Danny Saunders,' Sidney Goldberg said. 'He always hits to the pitcher.'

'You could've told me: Schwartzie lamented. 'I could've heen ready.'

'I only heard about it,' Sidney Goldberg said. 'You always believe everything you hear?'

'God, that ball could've killed me!' Schwartzie said again.

'You want to go on pitching?' Mr Galanter said. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and he looked very grim.

'Sure, Mr Galanter: Schwartzie said. 'I'm okay.'

'You're sure?'

'Sure I'm sure.'

'No heroes in this war, now,' Mr Galanter said. 'I want live' soldiers, not dead heroes.'

'I'm no hero,' Schwartzie muttered lamely. 'I can still get it over, Mr Galanter. God, it's only the first inning.'

'Okay, soldier,' Mr Galanter said, not very enthusiastically. 'Just keep our side of this war.'

'I'm trying my best, Mr Galanter,' Schwartzie said.

Mr Galanter nodded, still looking grim, and started off the field. I saw him take a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipe his forehead.

'Jesus Christ!' Schwartzie said, now that Mr Galanter was gone. 'That bastard aimed right for my head!'

'Oh, come on, Schwartzie,' I said. 'What is he, Babe Ruth?'

'You heard what Sidney said.'

'Stop giving it to them on a silver platter and they won't hit it like that.'.

'Who's giving it to them on a silver platter?' Schwartzie lamented. 'That was a great pitch.'

'Sure,' I said.

The umpire came over to us. 'You boys planning to chat here all afternoon?' he asked. He was a squat man in his late forties, and he looked impatient.

'No, sir,' I said very politely, and Sidney and I ran back to our places.

Danny Saunders was standing on my base. His white shirt was pasted to his arms and back with sweat. 'That was a nice shot,' I offered.

He looked at me curiously and said nothing.

'You always hit it like that to the pitcher?' I asked.

He smiled faintly. 'You're Reuven Malter,' he said in perfect English. He had a low, nasal voice.

'That's right,' I said, wondering where he had heard my name; 'Your father is David Malter, the one who writes articles on the Talmud?'

'Yes.'

'I told my team we're going to kill you apikorsim this afternoon.' He said it flatly, without a trace of expression in his voice.

I stared at him and hoped the sudden tight coldness I felt wasn't showing on my face. 'Sure,' I said. 'Rub your tzitzit for good luck.'

I walked away from him and took up my position near the base. I looked toward the wire screen and saw Davey Cantor standing there, staring out at the field, his hands in his pockets. I crouched down quickly, because Schwartzie was going into his pitch.

The batter swung wildly at the first two pitches and missed each time. The next one was low, and he let it go by, then hit a grounder to the first baseman, who dropped it, flailed about for it wildly, and recovered it in time to see Danny Saunders cross the plate. The first baseman stood there for a moment, drenched in shame, then tossed the ball to Schwartzie. I saw Mr Galanter standing near third base, wiping his forehead. The yeshiva team had gone wild again, and they were all trying to get to Danny Saunders and shake his hand. I saw the rabbi smile broadly, then look down at his book and resume reading.

Sidney Goldberg came over to me. 'What did Saunders tell you?' he asked.

'He said they were going to kill us apikorsim this afternoon.'

He stared at me. 'Those are nice people, those yeshiva people,' he said, and walked slowly back to his position.