The Chosen (3 page)

‘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.

The next batter hit a long fly ball to right field. It was caught on the run.

‘Hooray for us,’ Sidney Goldberg said grimly as we headed off the field. ‘Any longer and they’d be asking us to join them for the Mincha Service.’

‘Not us,’ I said. ‘We’re not holy enough.’

‘Where did they learn to hit like that?’

‘Who knows?’ I said.

We were standing near the wire screen, forming a tight circle around Mr Galanter.

‘Only two runs,’ Mr Galanter said, smashing his right fist into his left hand. ‘And they hit us with all they had. Now we give them our heavy artillery. Now we barrage them!’ I saw that he looked relieved but that he was still sweating. His skullcap seemed pasted to his head with sweat. ‘Okay!’ he said. ‘Fire away!’

The circle broke up, and Sidney Goldberg walked to the plate, carrying a bat. I saw the rabbi was still sitting on the bench, reading. I started to walk around behind him to see what book it was, when Davey Cantor came over, his hands in his pockets, his eyes still gloomy.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘Well what?’ I said.

‘I told you they could hit.’

‘So you told me. So what?’ I was in no mood for his feelings of doom, and I let my voice show it.

He sensed my annoyance. ‘I wasn’t bragging or anything,’ he said, looking hurt. ‘I just wanted to know what you thought.’

‘They can hit,’ I said.

‘They’re murderers,’ he said.

I watched Sidney Goldberg let a strike go by and said nothing. ‘How’s your hand?’ Davey Cantor asked.

‘I scraped it.’

‘He ran into you real hard.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Dov Shlomowitz,’ Davey Cantor said. ‘Like his name, that’s what he is,’ he added in Hebrew. ‘Dov’ is the Hebrew word for bear.

‘Was I blocking him?’

Davey Cantor shrugged. ‘You were and you weren’t. The ump could’ve called it either way.’ .

‘He felt like a truck,’ I said, watching Sidney Goldberg step back from a close pitch.

‘You should see his father. He’s one of Reb Saunders’ shamashim. Some bodyguard he makes.’

‘Reb Saunders has bodyguards?’

‘Sure he has bodyguards,’ Davey Cantor said. ‘They protect him from his own popularity. Where’ve you been living all these years?’

‘I don’t have anything to do with them.’

‘You’re not missing a thing, Reuven.’

‘How do you know so much about Reb Saunders?’

‘My father gives him contributions.’

‘Well, good for your father,’ I said.

‘He doesn’t pray there or anything. He just gives him contributions.’

‘You’re on the wrong team.’

‘No, I’m not, Reuven. Don’t be like that.’ He was looking very hurt. ‘My father isn’t a Hasid or anything. He just gives them some money a couple times a year.’

‘I was only kidding, Davey.’ I grinned at him. ‘Don’t be so serious about everything.’

I saw his face break into a happy smile, and just then Sidney Goldberg hit a fast, low grounder and raced off to first. The ball went right through the legs of the shortstop and into center field. ‘Hold it at first!’ Mr Galanter screamed at him, and Sidney stopped at first and stood on the base.

The ball had been tossed quickly to second base. The second baseman looked over toward first, then threw the ball to the pitcher. The rabbi glanced up from the book for a moment, then went back to his reading.

‘Malter, coach him at first!’ Mr Galanter shouted, and I ran up the base line.

‘They can hit, but they can’t field,’ Sidney Goldberg said, grinning at me as I came to a stop alongside the base. ‘Davey Cantor says they’re murderers,’ I said.

‘Old gloom-and-gloom Davey,’ Sidney Goldberg said, grinning. Danny Saunders was standing away from the base, making a point of ignoring us both.

The next batter hit a high fly to the second baseman, who caught it, dropped it, retrieved it, and made a wild attempt at tagging Sidney Goldberg as he raced past him to second.

‘Safe all around!’ the umpire called, and our team burst out with shouts of joy. Mr Galanter was smiling. The rabbi continued reading, and I saw that he was now slowly moving the upper part of his body back and forth.

‘Keep your eyes open, Sidney!’ I shouted from alongside first base. I saw Danny Saunders look at me, then look away. Some murderers, I thought. Shleppers is more like it.

‘If it’s on the ground run like hell,’ I said to the batter who had just come onto first base, and he nodded at me. He was our third baseman, and he was about my size.

‘If they keep fielding like that we’ll be here till tomorrow,’ he said, and I grinned at him.

I saw Mr Galanter talking to the next batter, who was nodding his head vigorously. He stepped to the plate, hit a hard grounder to the pitcher, who fumbled it for a moment then threw it to first. I saw Danny Saunders stretch for it and stop it.

‘Out!’ the umpire called. ‘Safe on second and third!’

As I ran up to the plate to bat, I almost laughed aloud at the pitcher’s stupidity. He had thrown it to first rather than third, and now we had Sidney Goldberg on third, and a man on second. I hit a grounder to the shortstop and instead of throwing it to second he threw it to first, wildly, and again Danny Saunders stretched and stopped the ball. But I beat the throw and heard the umpire call out, ‘Safe all around! One in!’ And everyone on our team was patting Sidney Goldberg on the back. Mr Galanter smiled broadly.

‘Hello again,’ I said to Danny Saunders, who was standing near me, guarding his base. ‘Been rubbing your tzitzit lately?’

He looked at me, then looked slowly away, his face expressionless.

Schwartzie was at the plate, swinging his bat.

‘Keep you eyes open!’ I shouted to the runner on third. He looked too eager to head for home. ‘It’s only one out!’.

He waved a hand at me.

Schwartzie took two balls and a strike, then I saw him begin to pivot on the fourth pitch. The runner on third started for home. He was almost halfway down the base line when the bat sent the ball in a hard line drive straight to the third baseman, the short, thin boy with the spectacles and the old man’s face, who had stood hugging the base and who now caught the ball more with his stomach than with his glove, managed somehow to hold on to it, and stood there, looking bewildered and astonished.

I returned to first and saw our player who had been on third and who was now halfway to home plate turn sharply and start a panicky race back.

‘Step on the base!’ Danny Saunders screamed in Yiddish across the field, and more out of obedience than awareness the third baseman put a foot on the base.

The yeshiva team howled its happiness and raced off the field.

Danny Saunders looked at me, started to say something, stopped, then walked quickly away.

I saw Mr Galanter going back up the third-base line, his face grim. The rabbi was looking up from his book and smiling.

I took up my position near second base, and Sidney Goldberg came over to me.

‘Why’d he have to take off like that?’ he asked.

I glared over at our third baseman, who was standing near Mr Galanter and looking very dejected. .

‘He was in a hurry to win the war,’ I said bitterly.

‘What a jerk.’ Sidney Goldberg said.

‘Goldberg, get over to your place J’ Mr Galanter called out.

There was an angry edge to his voice. ‘Let’s keep that infield solid!’

Sidney Goldberg went quickly to his position. I stood still and waited.

It was hot, and I was sweating beneath my clothes. I felt the earpieces of my glasses cutting into the skin over my ears, and I took the glasses off for a moment and ran a finger over the pinched ridges of skin, then put them back on quickly because Schwartzie was going into a windup. I crouched down, waiting, remembering Danny Saunders’ promise to his team that they would kill us apikorsim. The word had meant, originally, a Jew educated in Judaism who denied basic tenets of his faith, like the existence of God, the revelation, the resurrection of the dead. To people like Reb Saunders, it also meant any educated Jew who might be reading, say, Darwin, and who was not wearing side curls and fringes outside his trousers. I was an apikoros to Danny Saunders, despite my belief in God and Torah, because I did not have side curls, and was attending a parochial school where too many English subjects were offered and where Jewish subjects were taught in Hebrew instead of Yiddish, both unheard of sins, the former because it took time away from the study of Torah, the latter because Hebrew was the Holy Tongue and to use it in ordinary classroom discourse was a desecration of God’s Name. I had never really had any personal contact with this kind of Jew before. My fathet had told me he didn’t mind their beliefs. What annoyed, him was their fanatic sense of righteousness, their absolute certainty that they and they alone had God’s ear, and every other Jew was· wrong, totally wrong, a sinner, a hypocrite, an apikoros, and doomed, therefore, to burn in hell. I found myself wondering again how they had learned to hit a ball like that if time for the study of Torah was so precious to them, and why they had sent a rabbi along to waste his time sitting on a bench during” a ball ‘game.

Standing on the field and watching the boy at the plate swing at a high ball and miss, I felt myself suddenly very angry, and it was at that point that for me the game stopped being merely a game and became a war. The fun and excitement was out of it now. Somehow the yeshiva team had translated this afternoon’s baseball game into a conflict between what they regarded as their righteousness and our sinfulness. I found myself growing more and more angry, and I felt the anger begin to focus itself upon Danny Saunders, and suddenly it was not at all difficult for me to hate him.

Schwartzie let five of their men come up to the plate that half inning and let one of those five score. Sometime during that half inning, one of the members of the yeshiva team had shouted at us in Yiddish, ‘Burn in hell, you apikorsim!’ and by the time that half inning was over and we were standing around Mr Galanter near the wire screen, all of us knew that this was not just another ball game.

Mr Galanter was sweating heavily, and his face was grim. All he said was, ‘We fight it careful from now on. No more mistakes.’ He said it very quietly, and we were all quiet, too, as the batter stepped up to the plate.

We proceeded to play a slow, careful game, obeying Mr Galanter’s instructions. I noticed that no matter where the runners were on the bases, the yeshiva team always threw to Danny Saunders, and I realized that they did this because he was the only infielder who could be relied upon to stop their wild throws. Sometime during the inning, I walked over behind the rabbi and looked over his shoulder at the book he was reading. I saw the words were Yiddish. I walked back to the wire screen. Davey Cantor came over and stood next to me, but he remained silent.