Bat 6

by Virginia Euwer Wolff

  I looked around at the adults and some of them had their eyebrows raised up a little bit from the normal height.

  I knew what I might have heard, but I didn’t know what I absolutely heard. I didn’t know if Piper’s father might have heard it too. I could not say for sure if I heard anything. I sure did not hear anything clear enough to say I positively heard it.

  They stared at me.

  I was so mad at everything. I could just open my mouth and say what I thought I heard and that girl would be in such terrible trouble she’d never get out. I could send her to reform school if I told what I thought I heard. She would be thrown in a stone cell and never fed. But maybe she did not say any words. Maybe she was just making sounds before hitting the ball.

  And then I would grow to an old lady knowing I sent a young girl to reform school and made her be tortured.

  But look what she did to Aki.

  I looked at both preachers sitting on chairs waiting for me to know right from wrong. If only I heard that girl clearly, what she said. Or didn’t say. If only she was completely clear in her words. If only that girl did not even make any sound when she was at bat. But she did make some sound. I knew that.

  “She made a sound,” I said.

  “A sound with her voice, or…. Well, a sound with her voice?” asked the Barlow preacher.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Yes. A sound with her voice.”

  “What kind of sound, Tootie?” said the minister from our church.

  It was a sound of a warning, maybe. Or maybe it was just a sound of being determined to get a hit. It was something in her voice but it was not clear enough for me to know. Something about an arbor, like that tree arbor in the minister’s garden behind the church. But I could not say for sure it was that. Maybe it was not that sound, maybe it was just a sound of a batter getting ready to swing.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you sure you don’t know?” another man asked.

  I looked inside my heart. I still could not be sure I heard any sound I understood. I could pretend I was sure and send her to reform school.

  I said yes, I was sure. “It was a sound. I don’t know what kind of sound.”

  They looked around at one another. Then Susannah’s mother said, “Is there anything else you can tell us, Tootie? Anything else you saw or heard?”

  No. There wasn’t. Not anything.

  The Community Council called in many people after me. It took hours.

  Brita Marie

  Never in my life did I think I would stand in front of the Community Council.

  All the time I was in there I kept seeing Shazam on the first day of school, in that tablecloth dress and those ugly brown shoes from the rummage sale.

  They asked me, “How well do you know Shirley, Brita Marie?”

  I told them she makes sure everybody calls her Shazam. Some of the grownups didn’t know the word and I had to explain about Captain Marvel. “It’s the magic word, it’s Captain Marvel power.” I told them about when she came to Barlow. “The first day she ever came to our school, she was alone there by the flagpole…. I felt sorry for her. We all felt — It was a combination of sorry and mystery.” I thought but did not say how pitiful she looked with that dress and those shoes.

  “We found out she could hit left- and right-handed, and throw both too. We thought God sent her to us. I don’t know who said it first. We all thought it, I guess.”

  They sat there looking at me and thinking.

  The Gospel Reverend asked, “What if someone did not want to call Shirley this name Shazam?”

  I said how it was better to call her that. “But Mrs. Winters, she always calls her Shirley,” I said.

  They kept asking if I could think what got into her head to do such a thing. I kept saying I didn’t even have any idea. After a while, they let me go.

  Audrey

  All together totaled up the number of people that had to answer questions to the Community Council was nearly a dozen. Including Shazam’s old grandmother and Shazam herself.

  They didn’t get no more out of her than a stone.

  While Brita Marie was in there I sat on the bleachers and waited to walk home with her. The ambulance had probably got to the hospital by then.

  Many people had went home in disappointment after the umpire’s announcement. My parents and my grandmother had gone home. The ball field was nearly empty, just some folks at the booths. And some Boy Scouts looking after their fire.

  We would go down in history as the team with such bad behavior we had to have our game stopped. We would have trouble to hold our heads up over such disgrace. I kept saying to myself, We won’t finish our game, it is all over.

  Over at the Gospel Church table where there was still foods for sale but nobody was buying them, several grownups was talking so I could hear, including my great-uncle Beau. I will repeat what they said, I remember it that clear:

  “She’s one of God’s forgotten children, that number 7.”

  “No she ain’t. The Lord didn’t forget that one. The Lord loves her just as much as anybody. Maybe more.”

  “Yeah! More! She’s a lost lamb, He —”

  And Uncle Beau interrupted with his big voice: “You none of you are paying any attention! This ain’t a case of the Lord, it ain’t a case of no lost lambs — this is a case of somebody hurt somebody.”

  In my private mind I agreed with Uncle Beau, not just because he is my uncle. But I also was thinking about how Shazam should of had some of the Lord’s love before things got out of hand.

  One of the other people over there shook her head and said, “Jesus died for that child’s sins….”

  Now, I do not know if this was supposed to help solve the problem of that girl loaded in the ambulance, or it meant Shazam would get forgave by God.

  A thing that made me so sad I would not of been able to speak if anybody wanted me to was this: There would be no “Beautiful for Spacious Skies” this year to end the game. In 1948 we all sung it with the Gospel Church choir director leading with her arms.

  I hummed a short piece of it all by myself, there on the bleachers. It was the “God shed His grace on thee” part. It made me feel a little bit better, it is a pretty song of our land.

  My great-uncle Beau, what would he paint on the big board over at the Flying Horse gas station?

  Shazam

  Dotty Rayfield come to my rescue when those girls was manhandling me she said to me I could come with her now. You can come with me now Shazam she said. They let go my arms Audrey let go my chest where she was holding me too tight. Dotty Rayfield she says lets walk over there she points her head to the stump way back almost to the blackberry tangle. So we walked out there Dotty Rayfield she was holding my arm. Not any grabbing like those girls done that I thought was my friends of the Pioneer Team.

  Dotty Rayfield said how come did I hit that girls head. I did not know how come so I did not say. Dotty Rayfield kept saying to me there is a hurt girl in a ambulance going to a hospital did I understand and how come did I make her get hurt. I did not say nothing to Dotty Rayfield she brang me back where I had to go to the principals office.

  I was running I could not breathe my elbow come up.

  In the principals office they was 6 grownups said how come did I hurt that girl.

  The Japs killed my only father I ever had. They was mean faces sitting on them chairs I did not say that word to them I shut up my face.

  They asked me was I happy at Barlow I did not say.

  They said theres a girl in a hospital did I understand. I said yes.

  They kept asking me did I this was I that. I did not say.

  I couldnt breathe too many Jap faces there was one over there at first base my elbow come up.

  Ila Mae

  It was my fault. I should of told. I should of told somebody. Mrs. Winters. Coach Rayfield. Audrey. Darlene. Beautiful Hair. My mother. The Gospel Reverend. Somebody.

  I selfishly kept it hid all that whole
time from November to May 28th and would not of told anybody even then. Not even then. Not if I did not have to by God telling me to do so. God told me I had to let this bad secret out. It took me a long time to do it, many days after May 28. But I done it. I did it.

  Lola and Lila

  We knew. We knew. We knew there was something wrong with her. We should have told somebody. We should have said right at Wink’s party, “You peeked, you should not get the prize.” We were afraid to stand up for the right thing, instead we went along with everybody else and we was nice to her when we should not have been nice.

  She came in here to our town and took over. Everybody got different. Audrey was her math teacher and then Wink too. Hallie had her over. Darlene was always so generous to her. We all was. Every single one of us made extra room in our daily life for her.

  We knew it and we should have told.

  We did not even tell our parents which if we did they would do something to make justice. Then this never would happen, this bad horrible thing to send a person to the hospital, maybe dead.

  Hallie

  We went home in poor spirits like I don’t remember we ever got since my dad’s bad injury. My dad and my mom were in the pickup and me and my sister sat in the back, leaning up against the cab.

  My sister kept saying, “This never happened before. It shames us all.”

  She said it and she said it, and I got mad and I told her, “We already know that. Don’t you think we already know that? We already feel bad enough. You don’t have to rub it in so bad.” I took off the good-luck socks and I put them back in my sister’s hand and left my shoes beside the cab. Then I slid across all the wood chips to the very back end of the pickup and hung my head over to look at the road going away underneath. It was just a road like normal everyday life. You’d never know such a terrible thing happened if you just kept your eyes down there staring at the road going by.

  Before I even had a chance to change out of my Pioneer uniform, my dad wanted me to go out walking with him in the field between the woodshed and the woods. Being out there gave me the willies, remembering him hitting fungoes to me and Shazam in the sunshiny, cold afternoon way last fall.

  I walked on my dad’s good-hearing side like usual, and he started right away to tell me his important thing.

  “That day I took Shirley home after we practiced out here, you remember?” he said to me. I said Sure I remember. “She said something in the pickup, I was never sure I heard her right. I’ll tell you what she said.” He stopped walking, so I did too. I looked up at him out from under the shade of my Pioneer cap. He said, “She must’ve seen Mr. Utsumi. Or Mrs. Were they there?”

  I thought back to that cold, shivery afternoon. Shazam had climbed in the pickup after my dad got it started, and they drove away.

  What else? Oh yeah: My mom came out on the porch to say good-bye. Were the Utsumis there? I couldn’t remember.

  “I don’t know. What did she say?” I said up to him.

  My dad looked way off to the place where the grouse have their nest in the spring. “They must’ve been there. Or one of them.”

  And I remembered the ginger smell. “Yes! Mom brought out cookies, the ginger kind — she had two sacks, one for the Utsumis and one for Shazam, and she gave one to Shazam and she handed me the other to give to old Mr. Utsumi by the fence. Why was he there?”

  “I don’t remember. Was he really there, Hallie? Tell me for sure.” My dad was urgent.

  “Yes. He was for sure there. I gave him the sack of cookies and he said thanks and he went off home.” He carried the sack of cookies, leaning on his tall walking stick with his bent posture from being so old and from having his son die. When he got partway across the field, he stopped and ate a cookie out of the bag and then he turned around to wave to my mom, but she’d gone back inside off the cold porch, and he stood there waving to the empty yard.

  “What did Shazam say?” I asked him again. “In the pickup.”

  “Oh, I ain’t sure she even said it. What I thought she said —” He stopped and kept looking at the grouse nest territory in the woods.

  “Well, what did you think she said?”

  “Hallie, I just never was sure. I couldn’t hear clear with the engine running….” He turned directly toward me and lowered his voice. “I thought I heard her say, ‘You could get that Jap.’ ”

  In my shock I just looked at my dad.

  “But I couldn’t hear her clear. I never knew if she really said that or not.” My dad looked down at me serious. “I’ve carried a heavy heart, Hallie. It’s never left me, what she said. Only I never knew if she did say it — or if she didn’t.”

  I put my arms around my dad there in the field. He felt so bad. “What did you say back to her?” I asked his hearing side.

  “I told her they’re our neighbors. I said, ‘Shirley, they’re our neighbors.’ But then I wondered if I’d heard her wrong, and I just drove her on home.” My dad stood so still with me hugging him. “Maybe if I’d said something then. If I’d told Coach Rayfield. Or the principal. Or anybody. I’ve carried a heavy heart.”

  I kept my arms around my dad. There was nothing we could do now.

  But in the middle of the night I woke up and remembered Mr. Utsumi, exactly why he was there that afternoon. I went to my mom and dad’s room, I could see just the shapes of them asleep. I shook my dad awake very gentle. He turned his head so he had his good ear up and I told him there in the dark. “Mr. Utsumi was bringing back the hay fork, remember? He had it all mended, a new handle put in the shaft, he was bringing back the hay fork. That day.”

  And my dad he breathed out hard and he whispered to me, “Oh, yeah, I remember. The hay fork. Yeah. I remember.” And he shook his head for sadness there in the dark.

  Little Peggy

  When they said Aki didn’t die I had known it already in my heart; I personally was not surprised. I knew God wouldn’t take away my best friend; I knew that wouldn’t be a reasonable thing for God to do.

  Her horrible injuries, her head and neck in the huge brace, her having to not move and not talk for so many weeks that the summer would be over by the time she could be regular again — her not remembering what had happened at the game — all that was terrible like a nightmare. But it wasn’t as terrible as what might have happened.

  I had never prayed so hard for anything.

  Shadean

  Only a few good things happened from that worst day of our lives:

  Our two teams got to know each other by emergency. We were all in that terrible mess together, and the score will remain tied till our dying day, and we got acquainted in our resentfulness. Mr. and Mrs. Porter said us girls were very brave and grown-up in the question of we did not let our unfinished Bat 6 ruin our lives.

  It is hot summer now and several girls even went trout fishing together that did not know each other till May 28.

  And Aki’s father’s deer fence is getting built slow but sure by the work of that girl Shirley with the bad psychology.

  Many adults say we have learned a bad lesson of race prejudice and we will always remember it. Well, I would rather not learn this lesson because of what Aki has to go through.

  Especially, I got to know Hallie on the Barlow team who is so nice and we got jobs together for the summer, hoeing berries in Hirokos’ berry patch. And then picking when they got ripe. And I promise I’ll never call her Beautiful Hair. But her hair is knockout beautiful all down her back.

  Hallie needs a friend, on account of she knew a little bit of that lunatic girl’s crazy mind. She just didn’t know enough. Hallie feels burdened with her guilt but we get in good spirits together. So much that Mr. Hiroko comes and tells us to keep our minds on our work.

  Hallie went with me to Aki’s one day, we took her a Wonder Woman comic book and a whole bunch of forget-me-nots, even though she had so many flowers all over her room already.

  Wink

  My list, I had everything on a list, it ain’t any
good anymore. Things didn’t go like my list.

  These 2 towns never been so upset before. In the Barlow Store Audrey’s grandmother said, standing right beside the oleomargarine, “We fought that war so all races could live fair! Hitler was the one that did that to people that had different faces. Not us. We don’t do that in America!”

  And right away, Manzanita’s father said, “In America they do it to them Negroes all the time. That gal she just did it out in the open for all to see.”

  And then Miss James, the third-grade teacher Alva worked so hard for to earn money for her softball glove, she was in the store too, buying a new mop for her floor, and she up and said, “We put the Japanese in those camps. We do too do it in America. Forgive me for saying so, but I am ashamed.”

  Manny’s father might be a little bit odd on account of his daughter gets the spirit, so people don’t listen to him much. But all the same, he is right about the Negroes. Even Jackie Robinson has people yelling at him to get off the white man’s field. So I agreed with Miss James, although I did not say so out loud.

  And besides, Manny’s father mended the backstop almost by himself in time for our game that never got finished, so he can’t be completely wrong.

  I am still mad my list didn’t work out. I don’t think Hank Greenberg ever had anything this terrible happen to him.

  But there is a good part. I am mixed about admitting it happened while that poor girl lain in the hospital. But it did. Daisy which played third base for the Ridge, and Lorelei which was their center field, invited me to be their friend. They are the nicest girls and Lorelei has real paintings in her house.

  But then just as sudden as I got these new friends there was the problem about Daisy and the Catholic school.

  Kate

  Well, my dad he got so riled up he took matters unto his own hands and said us girls should not go to school with a criminal girl and he said he would not send me to the Consolidated. He would school me at home better than have me contaminated. Contaminate my mind, that’s what he said. He would let the boys go to school because they do not have riffraff in their grades, but me he would keep home.