Bang The Drum Slowly (15 page)

“Then you are no use on the bench,” said Porter. “Get out!”

“With pleasure,” said Dutch. “May you die in boiled oil,” and he went back in the clubhouse, the first time he been give the thumb all year, though not the last, and Joe took over and said, “Stall,” and the boys stalled some more, and soon the rain come down hard, and Porter called it off.

And then not 30 minutes after the lecture, not 30 minutes, Perry and Keith and Jonah and Wash Washburn started singing “K-K-K-Katie, B-B-B-Beautiful Katie” in the shower again, only sticking these filthy and vulgar words to it.

“They are ragging us, Arthur,” said Bruce.

“Yes,” I said.

“You know,” he said, “they are ragging me more than they are ragging you any more.”

“You bastards,” I shouted. “Did it all go in one ear and out the other?”

They pretended they did not hear me.

“Honey lamb,” sung Perry, “tell me if I am the first.”

And Keith sung out in this high, girly voice, “No, my sweetie pie, but there been only 4,000 before you.”

“Sweet husband pie,” sung Wash Washburn, “that will be $20.”

“B-B-B-But I am your husband,” sung Perry.

“It makes no difference,” sung Wash, and Jonah laughed. The whole place shook when Jonah laughed, and you would of laughed yourself to hear him, laughing and hanging on the shower sprays to keep from falling, and finally falling down in a heap and rolling over and laughing, too weak to rise, and Dutch heard them, and he come out of his office and said, “Turn off the water,” and they done so. “That will be $100, boys, to the 4 of you,” and they quieted down fast then and begun figuring out if he meant 100 each or only 25. I never did know what he meant myself, and I never did know what they paid. In the end Dutch probably kicked it all back anyhow.

ARTHUR,” said Bruce to me, “how do I change my beneficiary?”

“Who do you wish to change it to?” said I. “

To Katie,” said he. “She is going to marry me at last.”

“When?” said I. “When you change your beneficiary?”

“Arthur,” said he, “you got no right to tell me who I can and who I can not change my beneficiary to.”

“Why did she not marry you last year?” said I. “Or the year before?”

“She never loved me before.”

“Before what?” said I.

“Before now,” he said.

“How is now different?” said I.

“Will you change it for me,” said he, “or not?”

“I will write away to Arcturus,” I said.

“When?”

“Tuesday.”

“Why not now?” said he. “

Because it is time to go to the park,” I said. “You have time,” he said. “I seen you dash off many a letter in the cab or standing against the wall.”

“This is a matter of $50,000,” said I. “Such a large figure must be handled sitting down with plenty of time to wet your pencil.”

“Very well,” said he, “but do not forget and do it Tuesday.”

Holly hit town that night, her belly button all punched out and 600 Dollars kicking up a fuss. “He is practicing slides,” said I.

“This is nothing,” she said. “You should feel him when he is swinging 3 bats before taking his swipes.”

“He will be no hitter,” said I.

“Sid sure been hitting,” said she.

“He is neck and neck with Babe Ruth,” said I.

“But something is wrong,” said she, “for you should of long since shook Washington.”

It was good having her there. It was good talking to somebody that knew the truth, for it was heavy carrying it around alone. We shoved the beds together, her in Bruce’s bed, though the linen new. Bruce was up at Katie’s all night. “I think Katie knows,” I said, and I asked her did I have the right to swindle him out of a change of beneficiary, and she said I did, and she laid for a long time tapping her teeth with her finger like she does, and she said, “I am just now elected the new Change of Beneficiary Department of the Arcturus Company.”

“That is a pretty damn smart idea,” said I, “even if I do say so myself.”

“I am thinking for 2,” she said.

“I personally been doing the same for some months now,” I said. “It is keeping me hopping. It is a strain.”

“Where do you stow your official Arcturus paper?” she said.

“In the flat desk in the little bedroom,” I said.

“It is no longer there,” she said. “There is a crib there now.”

“Where is the flat desk?” I said.

“In the play-room,” said she.

“Whatwhat?” I said. “In the what?”

“In the play-room, which was formerly your ex-work-room,” she said.

“Where is my work-room?” said I.

“In the kitchen,” she said.

“Why not the living-room by the fire?” said I.

“It is too near the baby’s room,” she said. “You are libel to keep him awake swearing.”

“I never swear,” said I. “Or if I do I must of picked it up somewheres.”

We seen the first game of the doubleheader Memorial Day from the Moorses box on the third-base side. There was a couple automobile people in it plus the Prince of Persia. I rather sit on the first-base side myself except I wished to watch Murtha work, a right-hander, the same boy Bruce stole off and told the boys how, which we would of done Memorial Day again except we hardly got anybody on base.

Down the right-field line, just shaded fair from the flagpole, the fans went mad when Sid come up, standing and hollering, “Here! Here!” upper and lower decks both and holding up these big signs with the number “16” painted red, meaning Sid should swat Number 16 in there. They probably had “17” and “18” and “19” along as well, but Sid swatted nothing off Murtha, and nobody else did neither. The power was off. We had a little rally going in the fourth, but Jonah popped out. We started moving again in the seventh, and Dutch yanked him altogether and sent Ugly up to hit, and Ugly drove in a run, the first and only run we scored off Murtha, and Bruce took over for Jonah. It was 2–1 at the time. I said “Goodby” to Holly, and she said “Good luck,” and I went down and got dressed. It was 5–1 a minute later, for Kussuth homered off Van Gundy, the best hitter Boston ever owned since Casey Sharpe. He give me more trouble all year than all the rest of Boston lumped together. Dutch yanked Van Gundy.

I no sooner hit the clubhouse than he walked in, Van Gundy did, and I said, “What did he hit off you?” and he said, “I do not know any more. It makes no difference. You simply can not get the son of a bitch out. I think I rather face Goldman,” and he tossed his glove down and kicked it across the floor, a drop-kick, like in football. Mick picked it up and dusted it off. Poor Mick! He must greet you alone in your worst minutes.

I got dressed and went out. The board showed Washington smearing Brooklyn all over the place, which cut our lead to 1½, the lowest it been all year. Bruce picked up a hit in the ninth, a hard single pumped down the line in left, and that made me feel better, though not much, and as soon as it was over I begun warming with Goose.

And that was really the big switch, when everything changed or at least begun changing.

I naturally had no idea. I walked over towards the warm-up rubber with Goose, not talking, for we never talk, me and him. There was never anything to say. He had a couple balls in his hand, rolling one down his arm and giving it a little ride with the inside of his elbow, popping it with, rode trains with, and showered with, but never liked, nor him me, and I said, “I wonder what it is a good idea trying throwing that Kussuth,” but I never got an answer, for the loudspeaker said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the national anthem of Persia,” and we stood still a minute while they played it through, and the Prince of Persia took a bow, and Goose seen Holly in the box and said, “How is your wife, Author?” which for a minute never registered because he never asked me such a thing before, never cared about me, would not of thought much about it one way or the other if I dropped dead. “You know,” he said, “I ain’t took my wife out to the ball game in 11 years.”

“Take her when we hit Chicago,” I said.

“I actually first laid eyes on her in a ball park,” he said. He was looking at me. I could see his eyes. They were halfway between brown and gold. His beard was 3 days old, and his breath stunk from these mints he ate to stink out the liquor he drunk. Sweat was hanging off the hair of his chin. He never even bothered wiping it off any more. It sparkled in the sun. “I probably looked like you,” he said. “I shaved my face every day, and every new Kussuth that come along I went around asking everybody what to throw him. But there was Traphagen and all, and finally the only person that loved me I bashed her in the eye now and then to keep up my spirit. Yet I love her. Or at least I better start loving her again because I am all washed up and broke and will wind up in skid row without help.”

“It is never too late for an annuity,” said I.

“No, no, it is much too late. I am too old.”

“With 7 or 8,000 in Series money,” said I, “I can fix you up with a plan as a starter. 7 or 8,000 will take up a lot of back slack.”

”I was thinking of asking you,” he said, “only a fellow hates to ask a punk of 23 for tips on things.”

“What do you own?” I said.

“Own? You know what I own? I own a couple catcher’s mitts and a baseball signed by each and every member of the 1944 Mammoths and a medal pinned on me by General Douglas McCarthy. Put them all together and you can get $5 in any hockshop in Chicago. What I own is debts.”

“We will declare bankruptcy,” I said.

“How?” he said.

“I will show you,” I said. “But you must do me one favor. You must lay off Pearson.”

“A man has got to have a little fun,” he said.

“He is dying,” I said.

The balls dropped out of his hand and he bent down and picked them up and then dropped them again and left them roll. “You mean dying? You mean where he is libel to blank out for good and ever? You mean soon? You mean any day?”

“They give him 6 months to 15 years,” I said.

“Does Dutch know?”

“No,” said I. “You must not tell him. You must not tell anybody, for Dutch would cut him loose in a minute.”

“I can not believe it,” he said.

“Only me and you know,” I said.

“Only us will ever know,” he said, and we shook hands, which must of looked peculiar out there, 2 fellows shaking hands. “We better start warming,” he said.

I was blinding fast all day. In the beginning I could not think, and I was wobbly. “You fool I” said I to myself. “You fool, with your foot in your mouth for a change.” I was sure I done wrong, and I wished I could take it back. I felt like going down the line and telling Goose it was only a gag. But it passed, and I become lost, thinking only of the hitter.

Goose was steady. The first couple innings I kept getting behind my hitter, and he kept pulling me out. He sung a little, singing, “No bopay ho, no bopay ho,” meaning “No ballplayer here, no ballplayer here,” until his wind give out along around the seventh. I could see how he was once a top-flight catcher, for he handles you nice, second fiddle all his life to Red Traphagen, but top-flight all the same, doing most of your worrying for you. He kept flashing 2 signs, and I flashed back the one I liked best, and he sung, “Lefflie, lefflie,” “Leave her fly, leave her fly,” playing mostly by memory now, no legs, no arm, but steady, and I give up only one hit in 8 innings.

It was 0–0 in the top of the ninth when a pinch-hitter name of Macklin slapped a single off me and was sacrificed along by Aleck Olson. Macklin was the first runner that reached second off me all afternoon. I was getting set to face Kussuth with 2 down and Macklin still on second when Dutch signed for the pick-off. What it is is the pitcher and the second baseman go into a count, counting “One cigarette, 2 cigarette, 3 cigarette, 4 cigarette, 5 cigarette,” and after cigarette 5 the second baseman cuts for second and the pitcher whirls and throws. You must count exactly the same speed, the 2 of you, you and the second baseman. Many a time Dutch will say in the clubhouse, “Count by cigarette,” and the pitchers and Perry and Tyler and Wash Washburn all stand and count together in their head, “One cigarette, 2 cigarette, 3 cigarette, 4 cigarette, 5 cigarette,” and then all whirl and throw while Perry and Tyler and Wash all cut, all winding up their count on the same exact breath, and I signed, “OK, I got it,” adjusting my cap with the glove hand, and Perry signed that he also had it, singing “This hitter is much of a phonus bolonus. This hitter is much of a phonus bolonus,” Coker signing, Canada leaning in, ready to break and back in case the throw went wild, and on the second “bolonus” we begun counting, Coker drifting off towards third, Perry off down towards first, making Macklin feel comfortable with a big lead, me toeing in and counting, Perry counting, “One cigarette, 2 cigarette, 3 cigarette, 4 cigarette, 5 cigarette,” and then I whirled and threw, and Perry broke and dove across the bag and took the throw, and Macklin roared back in but seen he could not make it, and dug, backing and turning and heading for third, Perry up off his belly and running him down the line a little and firing to George, Macklin spinning again and George starting down the line after him, me backing George, and George fired to Coker, and Coker to me, Macklin reversing and reversing and reversing again, back and forth, me firing to Perry then, and Perry shouting “I got him,” and starting after Macklin and catching him halfway and putting the tag on the son of a bitch.