About the B'nai Bagels (14 page)

Spencer smiled real big, which is unusual for Spencer. I often wonder if he got out of the habit when he had his braces. “You can do it, fellas,” he said. And then he gave us our batting order. #3, Burser (3b); #10, Botts (2b); #7, Jacobs (1b); #4, Sylvester (ss); #6, Hersch (c); #2, Mark (cf); #8, Sonefield (rf); #12, Polsky (lf); #5, Simon (p).

Mother and Aunt Thelma had conferred and decided that letting Sidney start in a crucial game would be as beneficial to his development as losing weight had been.

The game actually got under way five minutes early because everyone was so ready and so excited and the bleachers so full that no one, not even the umpires, could see any reason for not starting. Waiting around is a sure nervous-maker. There was no score at all in the first three innings. And then we went ahead in the fourth. Hersch had struck out. I was next at bat and I got a single, which swelled to a double because their right fielder couldn’t pick the ball up fast enough. To be able to get a hit in a pinch like that makes a guy feel like he invented success. Sonefield struck out, but Sidney got a single. His tutor cheered; his mother did everything but pass out
cigars. Simon drove everything home with a high fly ball, which the Elks would have caught if they had not caught the jitters instead. None of the Bagels minded Burser’s out because we were feeling good and comfortable; a three run lead can give you that good and comfortable feeling.

Temporarily.

The Elks chewed our lead down to two runs in the fifth inning. Mother noticed that Simon was tiring, and she went out on the mound to talk to him. The umpire stopped Aunt Thelma halfway there; Aunt Thelma looked deprived.

With our two run lead and Simon getting tired, Mother wanted to build up our lead in the bottom of the fifth. Botts was lead-off batter and got a double. Barry was up next, and Mother signalled for him to bunt; he took a good swing at the ball. The signal for bunting was for Mother to rub her nose and scratch her ear. Mother rubbed, and Mother scratched. Barry swung at one ball after another. He went out swinging: A, B, C; strike, strike, strike. Sylvester’s hit advanced Botts to third, but both were left stranded because Hersch hit into a double play. So we finished the fifth inning by not improving our lead. It was obvious, though, that we would have had one more run if Barry had bunted because then Sylvester’s hit would
have given Botts passage home. Mother spoke to Barry when he came out of the batter’s box. No one could hear what she was saying, but it wasn’t necessary. She was doing great imitations of herself rubbing her nose and scratching her ear. Barry looked over at his mother while my mother was talking to him. Then he smiled, shrugged his shoulders at his mother, and walked to the dugout. I don’t think I’ve ever disliked a guy so bad. Much, much worse than when he called her Old Lady Bagel.

The leftovers of Simon’s virus must have caught up with him in the sixth inning. He didn’t seem to have the strength to finish his practice pitches. And then. And then he gave up the two runs that the Elks needed to tie up the game.

The bottom of the sixth and the bottom of our batting order. Me, first, then Sonefield and Polsky. I took the signal from Mother, swung and missed. Then I got three balls right in a row before I began hitting a long series of foul balls, which at least had the virtue of tiring their pitcher; he was beginning to lose stuff. I looked up at Mother for the little bubble of encouragement she usually gave us guys at bat, but she wasn’t there. And then we all heard the noise, and the umpire called time out.

Mrs. Polsky had marched onto the field. Invaded the field. Mrs. Polsky was raising her voice and raising her arms and waving a copy of
Playboy
.

“This boy,” she yelled to the umpire as she pointed to Franklin P. Botts, “is creating a disturbance.”

The umpire said, “Madam, you’ll have to leave the field.”

Spencer added, “Calm down, Mrs. Polsky. Please calm down.”

The whole audience had moved to the stand behind our dugout.

“Calm down! I am calm,” she shrieked.

The umpire said, “Madam, you’ll have to leave the field.”

“I warned you, Bessie Setzer, that I would put a stop to this if you didn’t,” she yelled at Mother and pointed to the magazine the whole time.

The umpire said, “Madam, you’ll have to leave the field.”

“I will not leave until this magazine is in proper hands.”

“It’s in proper hands right now. Yours,” Mother said. “So, go already, Mrs. Polsky, and let us finish our game.”

Mrs. Polsky wouldn’t leave. It seemed as if she wanted to make a speech now that she had a platform. She didn’t really have anything more to say. She just kept
saying, “I told you I would put a stop to this.” She seemed at a loss for words but not for time.

Spencer cupped Mrs. Polsky’s elbow in his hand and led her from the field. “Come now, Sarah…” he said.

“Mrs. Polsky,” she corrected.

Aunt Thelma shrieked, “Sarah Polsky, get up in those bleachers where you belong so that we can finish our game. You’ve delayed it long enough.”

And that’s how Mrs. Polsky left the game. With Spencer gently pushing her and
Playboy
up the bleacher steps.

The game resumed. I walked. Sonefield and Sidney struck out. Simon, #5, was up next. Simon, #5, hit a home run and gave us a two run lead. Simon, #5, hit left-handed. Simon had never before been a switch hitter. Funny.

Funny, too, that Simon pitched left-handed against their three powerful left handers in the next inning. He held them to a single hit, and we won the game and the championship by the two runs batted in by Simon, #5. I was one of the runners brought home from my walk.

The team was jubilant. The whole audience swooped down onto the field like a huge mud sink being drained. Everyone was patting everyone on the back; Mother and Spencer must have felt like tympani.

There was only one person left in the bleachers, and
it was Fortune Cookie Rivera. I left the mob on the field and walked to where she was sitting with her elbows resting on her knees and her chin resting in her hands. I got right down to the subject at hand. “Why would Barry sitting in our dugout watching an exciting baseball game buy a look at a magazine he already has a subscription to?” I asked.

“Because he knew that Mrs. Polsky would make a big fuss.”

“Is that when Simon and Sylvester did it?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Must be. They came out of the locker room right afterwards.”

“Are you sure they did it?”

“How can I be sure? I couldn’t count their teeth from up here. Could you?”

“I was trying to get a hit, remember?”

“Your mother didn’t notice?”

“I guess not. She was pretty agitated about Mrs. Polsky. She doesn’t know about the teeth anyway. She has a terrible time keeping them straight.”

“And Spencer didn’t notice either?”

“Probably not. He was spending his time keeping an eye on Mrs. Polsky and Botts.”

“And your Aunt Thelma?”

“I doubt it.”

“All I know is that neither of my darling twin brothers is clever enough to think of how they could pull the switch.”

“Someone who knew that Mrs. Polsky would make a big fuss must have planned it,” I said.

“Who knew?”

“Barry Jacobs, for one. His mother knew, and she tells Barry everything.”

“And Botts knew, too. Your mother had called him and told him how upset Mrs. Polsky had been.”

“But Barry Jacobs knew that he was costing us the game because he hadn’t bunted. If you’re sure your brothers didn’t plan it, that leaves Barry and Botts as the only other ones who knew Mrs. Polsky would delay the game.”

“And your mother,” Cookie added.

“What’s my mother got to do with this?”

“I just mentioned that she was also one who knew that Mrs. Polsky would fuss long enough for the twins to switch.”

“Yeah, but Barry and Botts both had better reasons for wanting a victory.”

“Don’t get so excited. I just mentioned that if you’re counting up all the people who had better reasons for wanting a victory, you have to add your mother’s name to the list. That’s all I’m saying.”

“You’re saying something else, too. Behind the lines, Cookie Rivera. You’re saying that my mother is the only one who knew that we needed a left hander.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Spencer knew as well as your mother did. And your Aunt Thelma knew, too. Your Aunt Thelma even said, ‘You’ve delayed the game enough.’ And that makes a lot of Setzers who suddenly didn’t notice that they had a left hander pitching instead of a right hander. A lot of Setzers.”

“My Aunt Thelma is not a Setzer.”

“I won’t tell you what I think your Aunt Thelma is.”

“And I won’t tell you what I think your brothers is. Are.”

“And I won’t tell you what I think your mother is. A Rebekah!”

“Nah! Nah! You just told me! Rebekah who?”

“I won’t tell you
that
!” And Cookie walked away.

I left the bleachers and walked back into the crowd, which was just beginning to show signs of wanting to go home.

Everyone came into the house triumphant. I came in worried. Dad was the only one to notice and the only one to ask what was the matter. He had followed me up to my room and was standing outside the door.

I answered the usual, “Nothing.”

“Are you maybe disappointed that the season is over?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

‘It’s not like losing a friend. Soon there will be swimming,” Dad said as he walked into my room.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Well, Moshe, it was a great season,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah.”

“Spencer tells me that you’ve become quite a little ball player.” He kicked off his shoes.

“Spencer tells you! That’s great. That’s just real helpful. Why didn’t Spencer tell me? I can think of a few times it would have helped.”

“I guess he figures that being good is something you know by yourself. It would have been awkward for him to tell you in front of everyone. It would have seemed that he was playing favorites.”

I said nothing. Like Spencer I filled in the overlaps with a nothing vocabulary.

The silence thickened; Dad tunnelled through it with, “Well, you’ll certainly still have enough to keep you busy, getting ready for your Bar Mitzvah and all. How are the Bar Mitzvah lessons going?”

“Not too bad since I’ve learned
fortissimo
. The rabbi doesn’t look like he’s hearing a heavenly choir, but at least now he seems as if he’s closer to laughing than to crying.”

Dad smiled. One of those smiles that is pushed from the inside; it started at his eyes and pulled his mouth upward.

“Speaking of Hebrew lessons,” I said.

Dad said, “Yes.” If there’s anything that can make my dad happy, it is if you ask him some questions he can be an authority on. Sometimes I wouldn’t ask him even though I knew that it would save me time and make him happy if I did, and I guess that shows I have a mean streak in me. But right then, I wanted to find out something.

“About the story of Esau and Jacob,” I began.

“Yes,” Dad answered, “the twins from the Bible. Genesis, Chapter Twenty-seven.”

See what I mean about Dad being eager to show off to me about his knowledge? Everyone knows that Esau and Jacob were twins and that the story is in Genesis. Only Dad would add the chapter number. But I went on. “Yes, the twins from the Bible. Genesis, Twenty-seven. You remember how Jacob disguised himself as Esau by putting on Esau’s clothes and all, and how he stole Esau’s blessing from Isaac, their father?”

“Remember? Of course I remember.”

I continued being patient. “What I want to know is, did Rebekah, their mother, know about the switch?”

“Know about it? My dear young man, she gave Jacob the idea altogether. She choreographed the whole thing.” That’s another thing about my dad. He uses words like
sophomoric
and
choreograph
. He likes words a lot. Maybe they are a relief from numbers for him.

“What she did was pretty dishonest. How come she got away with it?”

“Because before she gave birth to the twins, Esau and Jacob, she received from God a message that told her she would bear twins and that the older, who was Esau, would serve the younger, who was Jacob.” And then Dad quoted some passage of the Bible in Hebrew. He sure knows a lot, my father. He ended up by saying, “Rebekah knew that Jacob should have had the blessing; she merely helped arrange things to happen that way.”

I paused a minute before I said, “Mother talks to God a lot. She’s always saying things to that light fixture in the kitchen. Do you think she ever got a message back? Like that she should win the Little League championship? And that maybe she should put in a Jacob for an Esau?”

“I’m sure your mother wouldn’t bother the Lord about Little League.”

“She sure would! She even tells Him when I don’t finish my spinach. ‘For such an ungrateful child you cause green grasses to grow?’ she says. You just don’t listen to her, Dad. She’s been bugging God about Little League ever since she became manager. You should have heard her when Spencer came down with the virus!”