Bang The Drum Slowly

by Mark Harris

  “Sure,” he said, “and be quick,” and he give me his number and I wrote it down on top of one of my pages and stuck them in my pocket and went and pushed the elevator. I give a couple elevators the go-by until finally Peter come, and I told him ride me up and down empty once or twice. “What is new?” said I.

  “Dutch’s Mrs. is here,” said he. We rode up the top and got out and he took a couple puffs on his cigar. He leaves a cigar burning on top of the fire-box up there. He laid it back on top of the box and we got back in and started down again. “Patricia is also here,” he said. “Tootsie can tell you more. The long distance been flying far and fast all over creation.” I got out on the lobby and bought some cigars and took them back and give them to Peter, and I strolled over and said to Tootsie, “Tootsie, I never seen you looking quite so gorgeous before.”

  “It sure was good to hear Red,” she said. “And he was right, every word he said. You should of shook them long and long ago. It is not your fault, Author, for you are 17 and 8 on the year and been pitching your heart out, but something is wrong beyond understanding. I could use 2 grandstands any day or night the week you get back from Washington.”

  “Sold,” I said.

  “Old Man Moors is flying down from Detroit and Mike Mulrooney is flying in from QC with Piney Woods. Swanee Wilks is flying out from Appalachia to manage QC for Mike. Doc Loftus and Doc Solomon been on the wire all day with Rochester, Minnesota. I only catch a little bit now and again but I do not believe they are getting any satisfaction.”

  “Concerning Pearson?” I said.

  “Certainly,” she said. “Who else?”

  “What is wrong with Pearson?” said I.

  “I do not know. They are talking this medical doubletalk. I believe he has a leak in his blood somewheres. For 2 more grandstands on the following day I heard something else.”

  “Sold,” said I.

  “You are in the doghouse because of the bonus clause in your contract.”

  “The bonus clause?” said I.

  “Certainly,” said Tootsie. “What else?”

  “How did they find out?” said I. “I mean how did they find out about Pearson?”

  “Dutch’s Mrs.,” said Tootsie. “She heard it off Mrs. Joe Jaros who beard it off Joe who heard it off you who heard it off Goose Williams, for Goose was in Rochester, Minnesota, all winter with Pearson. They got some kind of a big hospital out there. Third-base side, Author, lower deck, not too far back and not behind no pillars nor posts.”

  I called Red from a pay phone, and I told him what was up, the whole truth, and he said he would call Dutch and try and jack the pay up a little and fly on in, and I went up to Dutch’s sweet and knocked, and they said “Come

  Everybody was there, Dutch and his Mrs. and Patricia and the coaches and Ugly and Doc Loftus and Doc Solomon and 2 lawyers, one a man and the other a lady. “Good evening to all,” I said.

  “So!” said Dutch. “I knew that I would get to the bottom of it.”

  “Good evening to you,” they said. They all sat around not talking. My contract was on the table in front of the lawyers, and every once in awhile they picked it up and looked at it and threw it down again. I waited for somebody to say something, and finally Patricia spoke up. “I never heard of anything quite so terribly horrible,” she said. “I can not understand why I am not crying.”

  “Keep your hanky handie, dearie,” said Dutch’s Mrs., “for it first must penetrate your skull. I myself thought nothing of it when she told me but only went about my business shucking my shoulders until all of a sudden it knocked me down.”

  “You keep thinking it could be your own,” said Joe. “I started dreaming these dreams.”

  “Do you not think,” said Dutch, “that we already discussed it enough as far as how very terribly horrible it is? Can we not stick to the subject? Tomorrow is a baseball game as usual and we are no nearer knowing than before.” He looked at me now. “Author,” he said, “you got us into this, so now get us out.”

  “What is the problem?” said I.

  “The problem is what to do,” said he. “If you will back out of your clause like a man we can release him and bring in some protection, which I doubt that you will have the kindness and decency to do but would rather go on knifing us in the back. I admire you for it, believe me. I knew something was up when I left YOU put the clause inbut had no sleep in several nights due to that goddam motorcycle driver, which the idea of putting up with the rest of the summer makes my belly crawl.”

  The telephone rung, Red, and Dutch clapped his hand over it and said, “How much can I offer?”

  “The sky is the limit,” said Patricia, “but use good taste.”

  “Hello there, old pal,” said Dutch.

  “Hello there yourself,” said Red. I could hear his voice but I could not hear the words. “It would all sound fine to me,” said Red, “except I can not leave here. They can not find another man on such short notice.”

  “To do what?” said Dutch. “They can find 40,000 men in a minute.”

  “I am making money hand over fist out here,” said Red.

  “Horsefeathers,” said Dutch. “Nobody makes money in such a racket but the football coach. I will up it 33⅓% and not one penny more.”

  “I can not stand the noise and the excitement,” said Red. “I quit it for good and never miss it and am glad to be done with it. Keep it and best of luck.”

  “Very well,” said Dutch, “I am sorry to troubled you.”

  “Goodby,” said Red.

  “Goodby,” said Dutch.

  “Goodby,” said Red.

  “I will up it 16⅔% more,” said Dutch. “That is twice the first wire plus 33⅓% plus 16⅔%. I am under strict orders to go no higher.”

  “Tell him I said hello,” said Ugly.

  “Ugly says hello,” said Dutch.

  “Tell him I also said hello,” I said.

  “Author also says hello,” said Dutch.

  “Sold,” said Red, and Dutch hung up, “Somebody remember and can Diego Roberto when Red hits town,” he said. “Every cloud got its silver lining.”

  The lawyers looked at the contract again, and Dutch looked at me, and then away. “I still believe we are in title to some help from the Commissioner,” he said. “Cleveland was helped when Mays killed Chapman if memory fails me. Why Cleveland and not New York?”

  “You can not get help from the Commissioner and keep it in this room both at the same time,” said Joe.

  “Then we must let it out,” said Dutch, “except she says it would not be human. Yet is it human to lose the flag? What have you thought up yet, Doc?”

  “Nothing else,” said Doc Solomon. “We been thinking.”

  “You are a slow thinker,” said Dutch.

  “You must be calm,” said his Mrs. “You must think of the boy.”

  “I am thinking of the boy. I been thinking of nobody but the boy all afternoon and all night and am not libel to stop. It is more thinking than I done about him in my life before. He was $1,000,000 worth of promise worth 2¢ on delivery. It is Mike Mulrooney’s fault, goddam his Irish soul if you will pardon the expression.” He looked at the lady lawyer.

  “I am not Irish,” said she.

  “I thought you were,” he said. “Goddam his Irish soul then, a great and wonderful man but a soft-hearted bastard. Now I must put up with him and Red and that motorcycle driver. What in hell was his name? Do you mean to tell me he is libel to die without any warning? Why in hell do they call it that?”

  “Piney Woods,” said Ugly.

  “That was it,” said Dutch. “My good hope from Good Hope, Georgia.”

  “It is named for Hodgkin, the man that discovered it,” said Doc Loftus.

  “Maybe he knows something about it,” said Dutch. “Is he alive himself? Maybe he thought up a cure by now which those jugheads out in Rochester, Minnesota, ain’t heard about yet. What kind of a place is that to have a goddam hospital, anyhow, out there in
the wilds of nowhere? Does a man not freeze his ass off by the time they get him in bed?”

  “It is pretty built up,” I said.

  “They have got some of the best-paid amateur leagues in the country out there,” said Ugly.

  “You ought to know,” said Dutch to me. “You were there. You sneaked out there in the middle of the winter, and all the rest was hokus, Mary Pistologlione and hunting on the ice and gags by telephone and miracle drugs for the clap. Then I hired a goddam detective. What was his name, Author, anyhow?”

  “Rogers,” I said. “Mr. Rogers.”

  “Fine name,” said Dutch. “He could not detect cow-flop in a barnyard.”

  “Leave us go sleep on it,” said Patricia. “We will decide something,” and we went. But I don’t think they ever decided anything, or if they did they never left me in on it. Red come in and coached catchers, and Mike come in and kept Bruce’s spirit high, and Piney with him, just in case. Tuesday was baseball again as usual, like Dutch said it would be. We lost to Brooklyn, Washington beating Boston and chipping the cushion to 2.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE FIRST the boys knew anything was up, Piney Woods walked in the clubhouse in Brooklyn Tuesday night wearing cowboy clothes, pants and shirt and a 10-gallon hat and high-heel boots and a rope and a gun on his belt and carrying a guitar. “Howdy, partners,” he said.

  “Howdy there, Piney partner,” the boys all said.

  “Did you come in by horseback from QC?” said Gil.

  “No, partner,” said Piney, “we flew.”

  “Did you stop and camp along the way and cook up your grub by the fire?” said Herb.

  “No,” said Piney, “we ate on the plane.”

  “Who is we?” said Sid.

  “Me and Mike,” he said, and the boys all begun wondering how come Mike come. “How come Mike?” they said.

  “I do not know,” he said. “All I know is you been needing catching protection.”

  “We been needing no such a thing,” said Goose. “Pearson been doing a man-size job.”

  “Probably they shipped you along to water the coyotes,” said Horse, “and keep the rustlers out of Brooklyn.”

  “I guess I could,” said Piney, taking his gun off his belt. He put it up on the shelf, and it fell off, and everybody jumped. It broke open, and the bullets spilled on the floor and rolled here and there and everywhere, and he crawled around after them and put them back in.

  By Wednesday morning the whole of New York knew something was up. Red hit town in the morning. The paper just got through wondering all over the place why Mike was there, and now Red give them new food for their fire. They begun calling everybody up and rapping on the door.

  The only individual in town it made no impression on was Bruce. “It sure is good to see Mike,” he said, and that was all, except when Red come he said it sure was good to see Red, and he looked in the paper and told me who said what, saying, “Tex O’Malley says in his column Dutch is on the outs with the Moorses and being canned,” and saying “Winston Waters says in his column Dutch is splitting with his wife,” and saying “Krazy Kress says in his column Piney Woods is a sure bet for 56,” and I kept waiting for the paper to stop hitting around it and learn the truth, which I doubted O’Malley or Winston Waters would ever do, though Krazy might of, for he is quite a writer about 2 shots in 5, and then when he closed the paper Red come busting in, and I got out of bed and never went back.

  He was looking very white. “I live in a foggy part of the town,” he said, and he sat down and we talked, the first time we seen him in over 2 years, and Mike come in soon after and also sat down, and Goose and Horse, and I sent for coffee for all, though by the time it come Ugly and Joe drifted in, and I sent the boy back for more, and then Patricia come and I got back in bed on account of these pajamas I hang out in. Somebody should invent pajamas with zippers, though to tell you the truth she is far from the blushing type.

  And writers come, and they said, “Tell us what is up, boys,” and dragged chairs in and sat down and looked around and drunk coffee. “I can not figure it,” said Krazy. “All of you here that I doubt I ever seen in one room before, people that never hung together in their life off the ball field,” which was true when you thought about it, for Red has no use for Patricia, and Patricia none for Ugly, and Mike none for Red, and Goose and Horse no use for anybody but themself. But nobody told the writers what was up, and after awhile they stopped asking, and they left, and the boy kept bringing coffee, and then food, and all of a sudden it was quite a large party for such a small room. Dutch wandered in, the first time in my life Dutch ever come to my room since the morning of Opening Day in 52, page 198 in “The Southpaw,” 202 in the quarter book. “It looks like Pearson and Author are the most popular fellows on this ball club,” said he.

  “That is all right,” said Bruce. “Have a chair,” and he got up and give his chair to Dutch and sat on the window, and every so often he turned around and spit down and told what he spit, incurve or outcurve.

  “It is too bad a fellow can not pitch spit,” said Dutch.

  “I would sure have a lot of breaking stuff all right,” said Bruce, and everybody laughed very hard, too hard in my opinion, and I said to myself, “Lay it on thin, boys.”

  “I got the Mrs. off my back and on the train,” said Dutch.

  “I guess that is a day’s work,” said Joe.

  “I do not mind seeing her too much,” said Dutch. “She keeps me human. Probably many a boy gets the idea I am not human. Did you ever get such an idea, Author?”

  “Not personally,” I said. “People sometimes tell me you are not human, but I say you are. It simply never shows.” Everybody got a great laugh out of that.

  “Probably you sometimes thought I was not human,” said he to Bruce.

  “No sir,” said Bruce.

  “Probably I ate you out now and then. But I never ate you out without reason.”

  “No sir,” said Bruce. “You ate me out for doing dumb things.”

  “I ate you out for the good of the club,” said Dutch, “and for the good of your own pocket, never for anything personal because you know as well as I do that personally I never had only the greatest respect for you as a human being.”

  “Yes sir,” said Bruce. “That was how I always felt.”

  “I guess I have my human side all right,” said Dutch. “Maybe not in the summer, but certainly in the winter.”

  “Yes,” said Mike, “you are no doubt very human in the winter.”

  “Or anyhow in the very coldest part,” said Red. “Leave us get over to Brooklyn,” which we done.

  Red put on his old number again, and Mike the same, Mike after 10 years in QC, and Dutch locked the clubhouse against the writers. It was a very large crowd for a Wednesday night. Thousands were over from New York for a sight of Red again, plus it was me vs. Scudder, always a great ball game usually. Red warmed me. Me and him come up out of the dugout together, and there was this tremendous ovation, cheering from the Mammoth fans and booing from Brooklyn, for they always hated Red in Brooklyn, and I said, “I will bet you get nothing like this out there in San Francisco, California.”

  “No,” said he, “they pray that I do not show for the class, and if I am 10 minutes past the hour they run out laughing for a beer,” and he touched his cap, and Mammoth fans begun singing “Happy Days Are Here Again,” and the Brooklyn band tried drowning them out, playing “California, Back I Come,” and the bulbs popped, and he laughed and yet cried a little. “It is a mad country, Author, and bound to go down.”

  “I do not think so,” I said. “I been in 4 countries, Mexico, Cuba, Canada, and Japan, and we got them all beat.”

  “Beat at baseball maybe,” he said. “These clucks been educated to read a scorecard. They are like the seals in the zoo, which if you feed them and give them a roof they will jump on a box and bark. Throw me a few easy until I sharp my eye a little.”

  I threw a few down easy, and little by litt
le he lowered himself to the crouch. “Now I am down,” he said, “but I am not sure I will ever get back up.” I threw more. What a man he is to throw to! He knows what you are doing before you do it, knows how you feel before you say. “You are tired tonight,” he said.

  “Yes,” said I, “a little.”

  His ear forgot nothing. He knew what was being hit where by the sound, hearing all the sounds behind him, and seeing all that went on in front, stopping and turning and watching Jonah in the cage, then crouching back down again and thinking about Jonah, telling Jonah take over and warm me awhile, and standing and watching Jonah, studying, studying, like you read in the paper where a fellow knew somebody died far away and sure enough he done so though nobody told him, eyes in the back of his head, eyes in front, eyes to the side of him, all eyes and ears, picking up everything eyes and ears pick up plus a few things eyes and ears miss but some other part of him picks up, his 6 sense. “You are warm,” he said, “go wash your face and run your wrist in cold water and tell Doc give you a green pill and a lemon-color pill.”

  “Them phoney pills?” I said.

  “Wash down the green pill with a coke and the lemon-color pill with black coffee. They will wake you up.”

  “They are phoney pills,” I said.

  “OK,” said he, “fall asleep on your feet then.” We stood in the dugout a minute. He watched Bruce hit with one eye and Scudder warming with the other, and then we went back in and I told Doc give me a green pill and a lemon-color pill, and I washed them down with coke and black coffee, and I woke up on the spot. Mick give Red a rub and the boys come drifting in.

  There was no lecture that night. Dutch stood on the scale, and I thought there would be, but there was not. He only said, “Piney Woods, where is your gun?”

  “In my belt,” said Piney.

  “Hand it here,” said Dutch, and Piney fished it off the shelf and handed it to him, the barrel end first, and Dutch turned it around quick and held it facing the floor. “I am not in the mood to see somebody laid up with a bullet wound.”