Raising Demons (24 page)

“If you cry I'll tell Laurie,” Dot said to me out of the corner of her mouth.

“Same to you,” I said, blinking.

The sky was blue and the sun was bright and the boys stood lined up soberly in their clean new uniforms holding their caps while the band played “The Star-Spangled Banner” and the flag was raised. From Laurie and Billy, who were among the tallest, down to the littlest boys in uniform, there was a straight row of still, expectant faces.

I said, inadequately, “It must be hot out there.”

“They're all chewing gum,” Dot said.

Then the straight lines broke and the Red Sox, who had red caps, and the Dodgers, who had blue caps, went off into the bleachers and the Giants, who had green caps, went into their dugout, and at last the Braves, who had black caps, trotted out onto the field. It was announced over the public-address system that the Braves were the home team, and when it was announced that Georgie was going to pitch for the Braves I told Marian that I was positively relieved, since Laurie had been so nervous anyway over the game that I was sure pitching would have been a harrowing experience for him, and she said that Artie had been perfectly willing to sit out the game as a substitute, or a pinch hitter, or something, but that his manager had insisted upon putting him at first base because he was so reliable.

“You know,” she added with a little laugh, “
I
don't know one position from another, but of course Artie is glad to play anywhere.”

“I'm sure he'll do very nicely,” I said, trying to put some enthusiasm into my voice.

Laurie was on second base for the Braves, and Billy at first. Marian leaned past me to tell Dot that first base was a
very
responsible position, and Dot said oh, was it? Because of course Billy just wanted to do the best he could for the team, and on the
Braves
it was the
manager
who assigned the positions. Marian smiled in what I thought was a nasty kind of way and said she hoped the best team would win. Dot and I both smiled back and said we hoped so, too.

When the umpire shouted, “Play Ball!” people all over the park began to call out to the players, and I raised my voice slightly and said, “Hurray for the Braves.” That encouraged Dot and
she
called out, “Hurray for the Braves,” but Marian, of course, had to say, “Hurray for the Giants.”

The first Giant batter hit a triple, although, as my husband explained later, it would actually have been an infield fly if the shortstop had been looking and an easy out if he had thrown it anywhere near Billy at first. By the time Billy got the ball back into the infield the batter—Jimmie Hill, who had once borrowed Laurie's bike and brought it back with a flat tire—was on third. I could see Laurie out on second base banging his hands together and he looked so pale I was worried. Marian leaned around me and said to Dot, “That was a nice try Billy made. I don't think even
Artie
could have caught that ball.”

“He looks
furious
,” Dot said to me. “He just
hates
doing things wrong.”

“They're all terribly nervous,” I assured her. “They'll settle down as soon as they really get playing.” I raised my voice a little. “Hurray for the Braves,” I said.

The Giants made six runs in the first inning, and each time a run came in Marian looked sympathetic and told us that really, the boys were being quite good sports about it, weren't they? When Laurie bobbled an easy fly right at second and missed the out, she said to me that Artie had told her that Laurie was really quite a good little ballplayer and I mustn't blame him for an occasional error.

By the time little Jerry Hart finally struck out to retire the Giants, Dot and I were sitting listening with polite smiles. I had stopped saying “Hurray for the Braves.” Marian had told everyone sitting near us that it was her boy who had slid home for the sixth run, and she had explained with great kindness that Dot and I had sons on the other team, one of them the first baseman who missed that long throw and the other one the second baseman who dropped the fly ball. The Giants took the field and Marian pointed out Artie standing on first base slapping his glove and showing off.

Then little Ernie Harrow, who was the Braves' right-fielder and lunched frequently at our house, hit the first pitched ball for a fast grounder which went right through the legs of the Giant center-fielder, and when Ernie came dancing onto second Dot leaned around to remark to Marian that if Artie had been playing closer to first the way Billy did he might have been ready for the throw if the Giant center-fielder had managed to stop the ball. Billy came up and smashed a long fly over the left-fielder's head and I put a hand on Marian's shoulder to hoist myself up. Dot and I stood there howling, “Run run run,” Billy came home, and two runs were in. Little Andy placed a surprise bunt down the first-base line, Artie never even saw it, and I leaned over to tell Marian that clearly Artie did not understand all the refinements of playing first base. Then Laurie got a nice hit and slid into second. The Giants took out their pitcher and put in Buddy Williams, whom Laurie once beat up on the way to school. The score was tied with two out and Dot and I were both yelling. Then little Ernie Harrow came up for the second time and hit a home run, right over the fence where they put the sign advertising his father's sand and gravel. We were leading eight to six when the inning ended.

Little League games are six innings, so we had five more innings to go. Dot went down to the refreshment stand to get some hot dogs and soda; she offered very politely to bring something for Marian, but Marian said thank you, no; she would get her own. The second inning tightened up considerably as the boys began to get over their stage fright and play baseball the way they did in the vacant lots. By the middle of the fifth inning the Braves were leading nine to eight, and then in the bottom of the fifth Artie missed a throw at first base and the Braves scored another run. Neither Dot nor I said a single word, but Marian got up in a disagreeable manner, excused herself, and went to sit on the other side of the field.

“Marian looks very poorly these days,” I remarked to Dot as we watched her go.

“She's at
least
five years older than
I
am,” Dot said.

“More than that,” I said. “She's gotten very touchy, don't you think?”

“Poor little Artie,” Dot said. “You remember when he used to have temper tantrums in nursery school?”

In the top of the sixth the Braves were winning ten to eight, but then Georgie, who had been pitching accurately and well, began to tire, and he walked the first two batters. The third boy hit a little fly which fell in short center field, and one run came in to make it ten to nine. Then Georgie, who was by now visibly rattled, walked the next batter and filled the bases.

“Three more outs and the Braves can win it,” some man in the crowd behind us said. “I don't
think
,” and he laughed.

“Oh,
lord
,” Dot said, and I stood up and began to wail, “No, no.” The manager was gesturing at Laurie and Billy. “No, no,” I said to Dot, and Dot said, “He can't do it, don't let him.” “It's too much to ask of the children,” I said. “What a terrible thing to do to such little kids,” Dot said.

“New pitcher,” the man in the crowd said. “He better be good,” and he laughed.

While Laurie was warming up and Billy was getting into his catcher's equipment, I suddenly heard my husband's voice for the first time. This was the only baseball game my husband had ever attended outside of Ebbetts Field. “Put it in his ear, Laurie,” my husband was yelling, “put it in his ear.”

Laurie was chewing gum and throwing slowly and carefully. Barry took a minute off from the little truck he was placidly filling with sand and emptying again to ask me if the big boys were still playing baseball. I stood there, feeling Dot's shoulder shaking against mine, and I tried to get my camera open to check the magazine of film but my fingers kept slipping and jumping against the little knob. I said to Dot that I guessed I would just enjoy the game for a while and not take pictures, and she said earnestly that Billy had had a little touch of fever that morning and the manager was taking his life in his hands putting Billy up there in all that catcher's equipment in that hot shade. I wondered if Laurie could see that I was nervous.

“
He
doesn't look very nervous,” I said to Dot, but then my voice failed, and I finished, “does he?” in a sort of gasp.

The batter was Jimmie Hill, who had already had three hits that afternoon. Laurie's first pitch hit the dust at Billy's feet and Billy sprawled full length to stop it. The man in the crowd behind us laughed. The boy on third hesitated, unsure whether Billy had the ball; he started for home and then, with his mother just outside the third-base line yelling, “Go back, go back,” he retreated to third again.

Laurie's second pitch sent Billy rocking backward and he fell; “Only way he can stop it is fall on it,” the man in the crowd said, and laughed.

Dot stiffened, and then she turned around slowly. For a minute she stared and then she said, in the evilest voice I have ever heard her use, “Sir, that catcher is my son.”

“I beg your pardon, ma'am, I'm sure,” the man said.

“Picking on little boys,” Dot said.

The umpire called Laurie's next pitch ball three, although it was clearly a strike, and I was yelling, “You're blind, you're blind.” I could hear my husband shouting to throw the bum out.

“Going to see a new pitcher pretty soon,” said the man in the crowd, and I clenched my fist, and turned around and said in a voice that made Dot's sound cordial, “Sir, that pitcher is
my
son. If you have any more personal remarks to make about any member of my family—”

“Or mine,” Dot added.

“I will immediately call Mr. Tillotson, our local constable, and see personally that you are put out of this ball park. People who go around attacking ladies and innocent children—”

“Strike,” the umpire said.

I turned around once more and shook my fist at the man in the crowd, and he announced quietly and with some humility that he hoped both teams would win, and subsided into absolute silence.

Laurie then pitched two more strikes, his nice fast ball, and I thought suddenly of how at lunch he and Billy had been tossing hamburger rolls and Dot and I had made them stop. At about this point, Dot and I abandoned our spot up on the hill and got down against the fence with our faces pressed against the wire. “Come on, Billy boy,” Dot was saying over and over, “come on, Billy boy,” and I found that I was telling Laurie, “Come on now, only two more outs to go, only two more, come on, Laurie, come on. . . .” I could see my husband now but there was too much noise to hear him; he was pounding his hands against the fence. Dot's husband had
his
hands over his face and his back turned to the ball field. “He can't hit it, Laurie,” Dot yelled, “this guy can't hit,” which I thought with dismay was not true; the batter was Butch Weaver and he was standing there swinging his bat and sneering. “Laurie, Laurie, Laurie,” screeched a small voice; I looked down and it was Sally, bouncing happily beside me. “Can I have another nickel?” she asked. “Laurie, Laurie.”

“Strike,” the umpire said and I leaned my forehead against the cool wire and said in a voice that suddenly had no power at all, “Just two strikes, Laurie, just two more strikes.”

Laurie looked at Billy, shook his head, and looked again. He grinned and when I glanced down at Billy I could see that behind the mask he was grinning too. Laurie pitched, and the batter swung wildly. “Laurie, Laurie,” Sally shrieked. “Strike two,” the umpire said. Dot and I grabbed at each other's hands and Laurie threw the good fast ball for strike three.

One out to go, and Laurie, Billy, and the shortstop stood together on the mound for a minute. They talked very soberly, but Billy was grinning again as he came back to the plate. Since I was incapable of making any sound, I hung on to the wire and promised myself that if Laurie struck out this last batter I would never never say another word to him about the mess in his room, I would not make him paint the lawn chairs, I would not even mention clipping the hedge. . . . “Ball one,” the umpire said, and I found that I had my voice back. “Crook,” I yelled, “blind crook.”

Laurie pitched, the batter swung, and hit a high foul ball back of the plate; Billy threw off his mask and tottered, staring up. The batter, the boys on the field, and the umpire, waited, and Dot suddenly spoke.

“William,” she said imperatively, “
you catch that ball.
”

Then everyone was shouting wildly; I looked at Dot and said, “Golly.” Laurie and Billy were slapping and hugging each other, and then the rest of the team came around them and the manager was there. I distinctly saw my husband, who is not a lively man, vault the fence to run into the wild group and slap Laurie on the shoulder with one hand and Billy with the other. The Giants gathered around their manager and gave a cheer for the Braves, and the Braves gathered around
their
manager and gave a cheer for the Giants, and Laurie and Billy came pacing together toward the dugout, past Dot and me. I said, “Laurie?” and Dot said, “Billy?” They stared at us, without recognition for a minute, both of them lost in another world, and then they smiled and Billy said, “Hi, Ma,” and Laurie said, “You see the game?”

I realized that my hair was over my eyes and I had broken two fingernails. Dot had a smudge on her nose and had torn a button off her sweater. We helped each other up the hill again and found that Barry was asleep on the car robe. Without speaking any more than was absolutely necessary, Dot and I decided that we could not stay for the second game of the double-header. I carried Barry asleep and Dot brought his dump truck and the car robe and my camera and the box score which she had not kept past the first Giant run, and we headed wearily for the car.