Chapter Nine

THE GAME

Michiko’s mother stuffed rice bags with newspaper for the bases. Ted erected a small wooden platform. On it he put three chairs and a small table. His carpentry business made all the chairs and tables for the people in the orchard.

The news had spread. Everyone was coming to watch the game.

Clarence and Michiko waited on the edge of the platform for the rest of the team to arrive. She noticed the little scars that marked his bare white knees. Close to him, Michiko could smell Clarence’s body. He had a woody smell, like a fireplace. It was not a bad smell, but a definite one. She knew her grandfather smelled of fish and soap and her mother of warm sweet baking. She guessed every person had a smell and wondered what hers might be.

Somewhere a cicada buzzed. Clarence looked at the clear cloudless sky. “Perfect day for baseball,” he said.

“Are you the boy who hit the ball into the lake?” a small Japanese man asked Clarence.

Clarence looked up in surprise and nodded.

“You can’t play without a glove,” the man said. He held out a baseball glove with fingers stitched and tied several times. “It’s good and solid,” he said, smacking the old leather mitt with his fist.

Clarence reached out to touch the smooth walnut brown leather.

“I polish it with oil once a week,” the man told him. “It’s old like me, but a classic.” He handed Clarence the glove. “Can’t play ball without a glove,” he repeated, walking away to join the gathering crowd.

Clarence stared up at the man in disbelief. Then he put the glove to his face, closed his eyes, and drank in the smell of leather.

Fine clouds of dust rolled up behind the wheels of an old lumber truck. Several men jumped out and unloaded chairs for those who needed to sit.

Behind it came the Security Commission truck. Kiko waved from the front as the rest of their team emptied out of the back. Then it turned around.

“I bet he’s going back for more people,” Clarence said miserably.

“Of course,” Michiko squealed, circling her arms in the air. “This is going to be big.”

“I wonder if Mrs. Morrison is going to come,” Clarence said. No sooner had he spoken than Bert’s familiar green pickup truck rounded the corner.

“Yoo-hoo,” their stout friend called out from the window, waving the tip of her knitted shawl. Mrs. Morrison’s rocking chair bounced about the truck bed as Bert pulled on to the field.

Sadie, waving madly, pointed to the truck. Michiko watched her family join Mrs. Morrison in the back. Geechan stumbled getting up, but her mother caught his arm.

Bert ambled off to the crowd of townsfolk gathering nearby.

“Good luck,” Michiko whispered to Clarence. Kiko beckoned, paper and pencil in hand.

As Michiko headed toward the truck, two boys from her school were walking beside her. She couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.

“He can’t just push us around like that,” the small one complained.

The bigger boy got in front of him and took hold of him by the shoulder. “Listen,” he said, giving the small boy a shake, “you should have just kept quiet.”

“All I said was he never played baseball,” the small boy grumbled.

“That George kid doesn’t want to have anything to do with us,” the bigger boy explained. “You should have walked away.”

“All I said was the truth,” the small boy protested in anger. “You can tell by the way he threw the ball into the bushes he’d never played baseball. What’s wrong with telling the truth?”

“That’s why he shoved you in the dirt. You can’t make fun of hakujin.”

“George …” Michiko repeated. “Excuse me,” she said, turning to the boys, “was it George King? Was he the boy you had a problem with?”

“All I know is his first name is George,” the bigger boy said. “He hates Japanese.”

“He knocked me down when I tried to get my ball back,” the little boy complained. “He said it was his ball, because it was on his property and his family owned the whole town.”

“I tried to make him give it back,” his older brother said. “He shoved me too.”

Michiko nodded in sympathy as a roar went up from the crowd. Kaz Katsumoto had mounted the platform. The boys and Michiko rushed to watch the game.

Mr. Hayashi picked up the megaphone and welcomed the crowd. Mr. Katsumoto and Raymond, their team captain, flipped a coin. Everyone took their places. As she settled herself in the back of the truck, Michiko refused to think about George anymore.

“Stepping up to the plate is Kobe Arai,” the announcer called out. “Pitching for the adult team is Kaz Katsumoto, known to many as the ‘Man with the Golden Arm.’”

“I didn’t know that,” Kiko exclaimed, writing rapidly. Then she put the end of the pencil in her mouth and chewed it nervously as she watched.

Kaz Katsumoto rolled the ball in his fingers. Then he readied himself, reared back, and fired the ball toward the plate. SAAAWAAK was all they heard. The ball hit the catcher’s glove right in the centre of the pocket.

“Stee-rike one,” the umpire called out.

“Here comes the pitch,” the announcer told the crowd. “Arai swings. Ladies and gentlemen, kiss it goodbye.”

The crowd whooped, whistled, and clapped as Kobe ran home.

“First ball to find its way into the lake,” the announcer commented.

“The second ball into the lake,” Michiko said smugly. “Clarence’s was first.”

“Clarence the Red is a hard hitter and a skilled outfielder,” the announcer said.

Clarence shot a nervous look at the crowd.

“Clare-ence, Clare-ence,” the kids from town shouted from the roof of the General Store.

“Hi, Clarence,” Hiro’s small voice called out. The crowd chuckled.

Clarence raised his eyes to the sky and then faced the pitcher.

Michiko glanced at Geechan. “He looks scared,” she said. Her grandfather patted her shoulder, keeping his eyes on the boy.

From a full windup, Mr. Katsumoto shot one across the plate. Clarence watched it go past for a called strike.

The next pitch flew across his knees for strike two. The third pitch whizzed in like an arrow. It looked slightly high, but Clarence swung.

“You’re out!” said the umpire.

A huge sigh came from the crowd.

Clarence slung his bat in despair.

Michiko watched him walk back to the bench, head bowed. “He feels bad,” she said.

“What do you expect?” Kiko said. She bent her head and wrote with fury. “He’s playing against Asahi!”

Michiko saw Raymond put his hand on Clarence’s shoulder and speak. Clarence nodded, even though he seemed occupied with the webbing on his glove.

Raymond went to bat. He managed a pop fly but the fielder caught it.

“They’re pulling down balls like bees to honey,” Kiko commented in Japanese as she wrote. Geechan nodded and smiled.

The adults went up to bat.

“Here’s a man that followed the dream of every young boy. He wore the Asahi uniform at the age of nine.” The announcer introduced Kaz Katsumoto. “Katsumoto started out as a Clover, became a Beaver, worked his way through the Athletics, and is here today as Asahi.”

Kiko wrote as quickly as she could.

Kaz Katsumoto went to bat. He smashed the first pitch deep to the left field where it ricocheted off the front of the General Store. The boys from the orchard, lining the field, yelled and cheered as Kaz Katsumoto made his way home.

Michiko watched the baseball streak toward her Uncle Ted. It dropped into the catcher’s glove. “Stee-rike one,” the umpire called out. The next pitch was faster. Ted didn’t look at anyone else except the pitcher. The ball smacked into the catcher’s glove.

“Stee-rike two,” was the call.

On the third pitch Ted hit it up the middle. The pitcher dove but missed the ball. When he finally threw it to first the baseman caught it with a loud plop, but too late to tag the runner.

“Yay, Uncle Ted,” Michiko called out. Everyone in the truck bed clapped.

“You are cheering for the wrong team,” Kiko told her with a roll of her eyes.

The sun moved lower in the sky. No one paid much attention when Geechan stepped down from the truck. Hiro followed him and Michiko had to chase him down. “Stay here,” she said when she handed him back to her mother.

“It’s two down and Clarence the Red has two strikes,” the announcer called out.

The crowd went quiet.

Clarence raised his chin and hunched his body, this time determined to give it his all.

The third pitch was like the first two.

Clarence bunted and raced for first, just as Geechan taught him. The catcher threw, but the baseman missed. Clarence headed for second. The ball rolled out to right field, where Mr. Hayashi fumbled it. Clarence made it to third.

Mr. Hayashi threw the ball home but the catcher was talking to someone.

“Head for home, head for home,” the crowd chanted.

Clarence tripped on a lump in the field, fell and scrambled along the ground, and dove into home plate as the catcher picked up the ball.

Applause and laughter exploded from the fans.

“A home run all on errors?” yelled Kiko. She shook her head unbelievingly.

“That’s Clarence,” bragged Michiko, glancing at the group of farmers off to one side. They were cheering and clapping each other on the back. She saw Bert leave the group and approach Mr. Katsumoto.

The crowds broke up in the deepening dusk. “Who would have thought,” Michiko heard one woman say, “we would be watching baseball again.”

“With such handsome players,” another commented.

“The men around town have been looking for something to do,” Mrs. Morrison said, fanning herself with a piece of folded newspaper. “Maybe they can get a team together.”

Michiko climbed down to tell Geechan the news. But as she rounded the front of the truck she gasped. Her grandfather lay face down in the dirt. Her scream brought her mother and Aunt Sadie to his side.

Bert, Ted, and Sam raced across the grass to see what was happening. Bert tossed Mrs. Morrison’s rocking chair over the side and helped to lift Geechan into the back of truck. They covered him with Mrs. Morrison’s shawl.

Michiko clutched Kiko’s hand as the green truck raced its way to the hospital.