by Vincent Yee
The catcher signaled for a curveball, but Hiroshi shook his head. The catcher already knew that Hiroshi’s arm was tired, since he didn’t feel the sting in his mitt any longer. The catcher again signaled for a curveball, to which Hiroshi shook his head. Hiroshi just wanted to finish off the current batter and he had just thrown a fastball to him already. The batter would be expecting a change up from the fastball. The catcher shifted his feet in the dirt and grudgingly signaled for the fastball. Hiroshi nodded in agreement and straightened up. He sensed the man on second and mentally relaxed his pitching arm. He exhaled slowly and like a catapult, raised his left leg, lunged forward and in one fluid motion arced his arm over his body and sent the ball hurtling toward the batter.
The ball was set free, accelerating toward its destination, as the whizzing sound tore through the air. The leather of the mitt was in sight, expecting to wrap the ball in its warmth when suddenly the wooden bat came into its path. The bat met the ball head on and reversed its trajectory in an instant. But instead of going high, it went low and straight, right back at Hiroshi who had just completed his throw.
Hiroshi’s heart jumped and his eyes widened as he saw the ball throttling right back at him. There was only a moment to react as he lurched backward and instinctively brought his mitt up to intercept the ball’s path. Luckily, he caught the ball for the last out. Though he would have preferred to strike out the batter, catching it before the batter could even take three steps toward first base was good enough.
Hiroshi walked back toward the bench to the encouragement of his teammates as he rotated his right shoulder a few times to relieve the soreness. The coach marched down the bench and caught Hiroshi’s attention.
“How’s the shoulder son?” inquired the coach. The closest teammates also looked up with expressions of curious concern.
“It’s good coach, it’ll be better by the next inning,” said Hiroshi.
The coach nodded his head, thought to himself for a moment as he gnawed on the chewing tobacco. A moment later, he tilted his head to the right and spit out the tobacco. “No, you’re done pitching son. You gave it eight great innings...”
“But coach!” interjected Hiroshi. “I’ll be fine…” protested Hiroshi before the coach cut him off.
“No, I need you ready to bat. We’re down three runs and we need runs to win this game son,” the coach said firmly.
Hiroshi looked at the coach with some resignation but reluctantly agreed. They needed runs to win the game. Hiroshi sat down on the bench and continued massaging his right shoulder.
In the bottom of the eighth, the opposing pitcher allowed two runs to give Hiroshi’s team a trailing deficit of only one run. One run would tie it up and two to win, if their relief pitcher could just hold off the batters in the top of the ninth. The closing pitcher for Hiroshi’s team made steady work and struggled to hold off the batters. There was a man on second and third, which brought deafening silence from the crowd but everyone gave a sigh of relief when the last pitch ended up to be a pop up that the catcher caught to finish off the top of the ninth.
It was the bottom of the ninth and the opposing team decided to send in their relief pitcher. It was Kiddache. He hadn’t made an appearance all day. It seemed that they were saving him to close the game.
Next at bat was Gordy, who marched up to the batter’s box. His gargantuan size overshadowed the entire batting area, and the bat he angled over his shoulder looked like a toothpick in his arms. Gordy hunched over and was ready to swing. Kiddache looked down the pitching path with his stern eyes, wound up his pitch and let out a fastball. Gordy swung but missed. “Strike One!” yelled the umpire. Gordy stared down at the umpire, who quickly averted his eyes. Gordy angled his bat behind him and prepared to swing. Kiddache wasted no time and sent down another fastball, but Gordy’s swing connected and sent the ball over the second baseman’s head despite a valiant effort to jump up for it. The ball landed in center field and the center fielder had to run to pick it up, allowing Gordy’s hulking frame valuable time to arrive safely at second base.
Hiroshi was up next. There were no outs in the bottom of the ninth, but he wanted to end the game quickly. If he could just hit a home run and send Gordy home, his team would win, he thought. He walked up the bench as his teammates cheered him on. He picked up his favorite bat, which was lying against the other end of the bench. He tapped the bat against his palm to get a feel for it, and walked up to the batter’s box. He swung a couple of times but winced on the second swing as his right shoulder tightened up. He rotated his shoulder a couple of more times, hoping to get rid of the knot for just one good swing. He dug his feet into the dirt and then he looked toward Kiddache.
Kiddache had a smirk on his face, but his eyes showed a sense of determination. He would enjoy striking out Hiroshi and making him look like a failure in front of everyone. As usual, Kiddache released another long stream of spit that splattered in front of the pitcher’s mound. Kiddache ignored his catcher’s recommendation for a slider and acknowledged the signal for a fastball.
The moment was tense, on the field and in the bleachers. Minami held her breath as she allowed Yoshi to stand up to get a better view. He was short enough that he didn’t bother anyone behind him. When Minami pointed out Hiroshi to Yoshi, he simply turned to Minami with a gleeful expression and raised both of his arms with clenched fists straight into the air and exclaimed, “Home run!” Minami laughed and imitated Yoshi and brought her arms up as well and echoed Yoshi’s little cheer, “Home run.”
The little act did not go unnoticed by an older Japanese man sitting a couple of rows behind Minami and Yoshi. He then looked straight ahead and from a stoic posture, shot both of his arms into the air and yelled out “Home run!” He had a firm look on his face as he looked to his left and a couple of people did the same. To Minami’s unexpected surprise, Yoshi had started something. As a sign of encouragement to their Japanese American baseball hero, groups of people started to send their arms up triggering a wavelike sensation across the bleachers that reached the right side of the bleachers.
At first, Hiroshi didn’t know what to make of the wave of raised arms moving from the left side of the bleachers to the right. It was frankly just odd, but he heard the steady chant from the bleachers. It was “home run!”
Meanwhile, Kiddache was entirely oblivious to these happenings behind him. He wound up his pitch and sent a fastball down to Hiroshi’s head. It was déjà vu all over again as Hiroshi ducked away. He thought Kiddache would have outgrown the childish behavior, but obviously, he didn’t. The umpire chided Kiddache and gave him a warning. He only smiled and tossed the ball up and down into his hands a couple of times as Hiroshi regained his batting posture. He swung the bat a couple of times and found his shoulder still sore. Kiddache was fresh, so his pitches would be pretty decent. Kiddache checked Gordy at second and released another fastball down toward home plate. Hiroshi took a swing. He missed as the ball landed in the pitcher’s mitt. But as Hiroshi followed through on the swing, he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder, as if someone was wrenching it out. Hiroshi spun around and fell to his knees, drawing a gasp from the crowd just as the umpire yelled out, “Strike one!”
For a moment, Hiroshi just lay there on his side, his right shoulder throbbing in agonizing pain. He realized his last swing hurt his arm, but he couldn’t let his team down. He planted the butt of his bat into the ground and used it to help himself up using his left arm. He held his right arm crooked as he straightened up and tried to extend it. He winced from the pain that shot out from the back of his right shoulder and up through the back of his neck. He couldn’t bat with his right arm and his eyes welled up with tears of pain when he tried to stretch it out. But he held back his tears as determination prevailed and he did something that he had never done before. He crossed over home plate and assumed a left-handed batting position.
“He’s not a lefty,” said Minami underneath her breath.
“He’s not a left
y,” said the coach.
“He’s not a lefty,” said Gordy from second base with an expression of dumbfounded disbelief.
And from the crowd, whispers ricocheted throughout the bleachers, “He’s a lefty?”
No one could believe it more than Hiroshi himself. He played around with batting left-handed for fun but never made it a habit. He held the bat in his left hand and grasped it slowly with his right hand. He would just use his right hand to guide the bat and let his left arm follow through. Hiroshi took a couple of swings to get used to the new posture and brought the bat back behind him. Then as if on cue, everyone in the bleachers performed the odd wavelike gesture with their arms again. Hiroshi looked straight up toward the pitcher’s mound and focused all his attention on the pitch.
Kiddache stared in disbelief at Hiroshi’s seemingly incredulous attempt to bat lefty. It made him believe he would be able to strike out Hiroshi even faster. He ignored his catcher and was simply going to send down two fastballs for two easy strikes. He exhaled, wound up his pitch and released a fastball. It was a bit inside but Hiroshi saw it coming and swung at it in a surprisingly smooth fashion. But he tipped the ball on the top of his bat and it landed soundly in the catcher’s mitt. “Strike two!” yelled the umpire.
Hiroshi looked dejected as his gaze shifted downwards. What was he trying to do by batting lefty? What was he trying to prove? That he was the best baseball player in the entire prison camp? He didn’t know what had gotten into him, but blind determination and perseverance was driving him to try the impossible. He was going to finish this, for better or for worse.
Hiroshi swung a couple of more times and was a bit relieved to have a little more feeling in his right arm. He readied the bat and let out a long exhale as he prepared for the pitch. He was determined to focus on Kiddache’s every move to anticipate his pitch. Kiddache glared toward Hiroshi with indignation, thinking that he was making him out to look like a fool. Hiroshi was hurt, and one more fastball would finish him off for the rest of the game and put him in his place, he thought. He wound up and with all the force that he could muster, hurled the ball toward Hiroshi.
Hiroshi timed Kiddache’s pitch. His eyes locked on the ball as Kiddache released it. It was a fastball heading dead center into the strike zone. Hiroshi tensed for one moment and then his body released all the pent up energy it had stored for the swing. He brought the bat around and it made that distinct sound to the delight of any batter. It was the “crack” that could be heard throughout the baseball field. The ball flew high into left field as all eyes from both teams, the umpire, the catcher, Gordy on second base, and even Kiddache followed its path.
Minami’s worried expression turned into utter shock and excitement as she heard that crack. As she watched the ball soar into her direction, she became anxious. The ball arced high into the sky and for a moment, it seemed like it disappeared into the sun itself. Minami then recalled what Hiroshi told her about a ball like that and instinctively raised both of her hands, cupped together, right under the blazing rim of the sun. Before she knew it, the ball landed in her hands as if it was meant to. Minami had caught the home run ball that gave Hiroshi’s team the winning runs.
Minami was so elated she jumped up and down with the ball in her hands. She looked back into the field just as Hiroshi was crossing over home plate. His teammates immediately rushed toward him, and he disappeared among them. But soon he emerged atop of Gordy’s massive shoulders. Minami could see a great big cheerful smile on his face as he slapped his teammates’ hands with his good arm. Minami then turned to watch the Japanese American fans send their arms up and down in uncanny unison and shout “Home run! Home run! Home run!” Right there and then, Minami was so proud of Hiroshi that she had to share the moment with him.
She looked down at her mother and asked if it would be okay for her to run down to meet Hiroshi. Her mother smiled approvingly. Minami smiled and with the home run ball clutched in her hand, carefully made her way down the bleachers through the crowd of excited fans. She briskly walked toward the crowd of elated white players, who were grunting and slapping one another’s hands and backsides. Nervousness started to swallow her whole, as she was not only the lone woman there, but also the only Japanese American among the white men. She made her way slowly among them while watching them laugh and shake their heads as beads of sweat splashed away from their matted hair. They were totally oblivious to her as she tried to walk around them hoping to find Hiroshi. Hiroshi was nowhere to be seen.
“Looking for Hiroshi, Miss?” said a voice from behind.
Minami spun around to see Captain Doxers. He looked relieved, if not downright happy. There were beads of sweat dripping along his temple. Whether the sweat was his or came from his men she did not know. He had taken off his baseball cap, revealing his dark grayish tousled hair.
“Yes, do you know where he is?” replied Minami in a somewhat nervous tone.
“His arm was smarting so he went back to his barrack to nurse it. Said he’d be back soon enough.”
“Thank you,” replied Minami.
“If you don’t mind me asking Miss, are you his girlfriend?” asked the captain.
Minami was a little embarrassed by the question but she composed herself and with pride she said, “Yes, I guess I am.”
“Take good care of him. Hiroshi did a lot of good today,” the captain replied.
Minami smiled gratefully, “I sure will,” she said. She headed out of the gate back toward Hiroshi’s barrack. It was a long trek. The entire prison camp was like a ghost town with only a few people walking about, looking like listless wraiths in the boiling heat. It seemed that almost everyone else was at the game. She finally reached barrack number 5, carefully walked up the steps and pushed aside the door. The entire barrack was empty. She looked toward the back where Hiroshi’s unit was. It was partitioned off with blankets, very much like her own unit. She saw a momentary movement of light from underneath the partition where it met the floorboards. It was as if someone had stepped in front of a window or something, and she figured it was Hiroshi. She bounded down the center of the barrack with glee, strode past the partition and yelled out “Hiroshi!”
She straightened up after entering the partition and she saw Hiroshi standing in front of the center window, which was covered in yellow lined paper. The sun’s rays bore down on the window and gave it a warm glowing effect as it illuminated the dust drifting in the air like specks of gold. Hiroshi was standing with his right side to the window, at somewhat of an angle. He seemed in the middle of undressing. His jersey was fully unbuttoned and the top button of his pants was undone, revealing the top of his underwear. He was in the middle of dousing himself with water from that familiar pail. He was holding the pail over his head with his left hand, which allowed the water to spill onto his head. It then cascaded down over his closed eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his lips and his chin. She could see it trickling down his broad chest and over every ripple of muscle across his stomach until finally the water soaked into his pants. The rest just splashed down on the floor by his bare feet. Minami simply stared at him. She did not know if she felt embarrassed or somewhat aroused.
Hiroshi lowered the pail to his side and as if there was a delayed response of some sort, he opened his eyes as water droplets clung to his eyelashes. He slowly turned his head and saw Minami. There was something very deliberate in his eyes as he looked at her standing there as if she had interrupted something. He dropped the pail, which hit the floorboard with a metallic clunk, and walked toward Minami.
Minami froze as she watched Hiroshi, water dripping from his hair, with his open jersey exposing the droplets of water clinging to every muscle on his torso. His arms hung at his sides. Each step was firm and deliberate as the distance closed between them.
Minami finally smiled and lifted the ball up in her hand and said, “I caught the home…”
She couldn’t finish her sentence as he closed the distance, drew her forcefully inward at the
waist as he placed his lips upon hers. Minami was taken aback by his aggressiveness as his hand appeared behind her neck and pressed her lips tighter against his. His hot breath surprised her and she gave into the rapturous moment. Her eyes closed, her words muffled by his kiss and soon her arms found themselves around his neck. Their lips melded together as Hiroshi’s hunger for Minami grew. His tongue soon found Minami’s as they locked in a wet and steamy embrace. She felt his strong tongue twirling about her own. Barely able to breathe, she broke the kiss to catch a breath of air.
With a giggle Minami exclaimed, “You’re all dirty and wet!”
Hiroshi didn’t relent and stepped toward the wall with Minami firmly in his embrace until her body was pressed up against it. He firmly drove his crotch into her, grabbed the back of her hair, pulling it to the side and pressed his hot lips along her exposed neck. Minami gasped, her neck arched backwards as her breathing became rapid. A sudden sensation of warmth welled up around her face and neck. With a primal urge, Hiroshi then dug his teeth firmly along her neck. Minami felt like being devoured alive as she let out another gasp when the baseball fell from her hand. She ran her fingers through the back of his hot wet hair and the palm of the other crawled up the back his jersey, feeling his hot and sweaty skin.
Hiroshi firmly brought her thigh around his waist as he massaged it. His thumb caught the hem of her dress as it gave way as his fingers raked along the silky skin of her slender thigh as reddish streaks trailed them.