Thumb on a Diamond (6 page)

“I never knew escalators were so noisy,” she said. “Or so scary.”

“Scary?”

“Yeah. I think we've each been up and down twice. Getting on isn't all that bad, although Little Liam is having a hard time. It's the getting off that's tricky. In the movies everyone just sort of walks right off, but it feels like that space between the steps is going to hook on your shoelace and suck you right under the floor. You've been on an escalator before, right?”

“Not for a few years.”

“When people in books want to say that something's easy once you learn it, they always say that it's like riding a bike, but since I've never ridden a bike, that expression doesn't mean anything to me. Is riding an escalator like riding a bike? Do you still remember how?”

“I think so.”

“Hey, guys,” shouted Susan. “Let Thumb try. He's ridden an escalator before.”

Susan pushed me up to the front of the line, where Little Liam was still staring at the moving steps under him.

I looked at Little Liam and at everyone else. They all stared back at me, waiting.

“You just look down and step where there isn't a crack,” I said. “If you do step on a crack, just scoot forward a bit. And when you get off, wait for the step to be almost flat and then step onto the floor. Watch.”

I stepped easily onto the escalator and rode to the top. I stepped off, turned to the crowd below and bowed. My teammates cheered loudly.

Mr. Entwhistle suddenly stood beside me.

“Lads and lasses,” he yelled. “May I have your attention, please?”

He waited for Big Bette to hop off the Up escalator before crossing his arms. “I think you have just learned a valuable lesson,” he shouted. “Other teams are going to be able to catch and remember where to throw quite easily. These same tasks are going to seem difficult for you, just like riding this escalator. After all, you've never tried to hop off an escalator or complete a double play or catch a soaring fly ball. So, ride this escalator. All of you. Ride it four times or fourteen times or forty times. Ride it until you know that your bodies are relaxed. And tomorrow, when a fly ball is coming down at you, remember how much easier it is to do things when you are relaxed and confident. We're meeting outside for dinner in half an hour.”

* * *

ONCE A YEAR THERE WAS
a community dinner in the New Auckland gym. It was in September on Firewood Day. Our houses were all heated with wood, so on Firewood Day our fishing boats cruised the edges of the bay, searching for fallen trees that could be reached easily. When a good dead tree was found, a couple of people hopped into a small aluminum boat with an outboard motor. The small boat dragged one end of a long chain or rope to the shore and the crew tied the rope around the tree. Then the fishing boat crew winched the tree into the ocean and hauled it back to the village where another crew in an aluminum boat untied it and hauled it up to the beach so that others could chop the tree into firewood. The wood was stacked on racks next to the sidewalk so that anyone could walk over with a wheelbarrow and take what they needed.

After the firewood was chopped up we had a big supper in the gym. The tables were pieces of plywood set on sawhorses. We tried not to have a basketball practice or game scheduled for the night before so that the gym didn't smell too much like sweat and dirty socks. It was a potluck dinner, although everybody pretty well knew what everybody else would bring.

I mention the dinner in the gym because it was about the only time that any of us ate around lots of people who weren't in our family.

We didn't go to a fancy restaurant, although we did have to wait to be seated, which was confusing to Big Bette. She kept pointing to empty tables and asking why we couldn't just go sit down.

We sat at three tables close together. Our table didn't even have an adult. We sort of knew what to do when the waiter came and stood beside us with a pad and paper but only because we'd seen lots of movies.

I ordered the roast chicken with fries and gravy. I also ordered a Coke. Robbie and Susan and Big Bette just nodded and said “the same” when the waitress looked at them.

“Whew,” said Big Bette when the waitress left. “That was scary.”

“Yeah,” said Susan.

We looked around at the different tables. Some families were eating. Others were waiting for their food. Little Liam was inspecting the sugar packets on the table, frowning.

“What do we do now?” asked Robbie.

“We wait.”

“They never wait in the movies.”

“That's because it would be boring to watch people just wait for their meals.”

“It's also boring to do. How long does it take?”

“I don't know. Around fifteen minutes. Why?”

“My parents call me when it's time to eat. I don't think I've ever just sat at a table and waited for dinner. Can't we go outside to play or something?”

“No. We just sit here.”

“And wait?”

“And wait.”

We sat and waited, with nobody saying a word. It took sixteen minutes and forty-three seconds, according to Susan. She was probably right.

After dinner, we walked back to the hotel. We had to cross three streets, one with a stoplight and a crosswalk button that we had to press so there would be enough time for us to cross on the green light. Big Bette thought the crosswalk button was the silliest thing she'd ever seen.

After we got back to the hotel, all the kids met in the room that Robbie and I shared. It was crowded, but we all fit.

“So,” said Susan. “Here's the question. Are we going to try to play these games or are a couple of us going to get sick?”

“I'll get sick,” offered Robbie. “I checked on the Internet and there's a miniatures store about ten blocks away. I could go there while the rest of you tour the city.”

“I think we should play,” I said.

“Why?” asked Nick.

“Because we are kids. Most of us have never played baseball and if we don't play now we never will.”

“But look at all the things we can't do,” said Little Liam. “I wanted a hamburger tonight at the restaurant but I just said ‘the same' when the lady asked what I wanted to eat. I was too scared to say anything else. If I can't even order a meal, how can I play baseball?”

“I saw a baseball diamond in a park during the bus ride over here,” said Big Bette. “It was the first time I've even seen a real baseball diamond. And tomorrow I'm supposed to play in a game?”

“Against champions,” said Nick. “Not against kids like us, Thumb. Maybe, since you used to live in a city and can still remember how to ride escalators and order meals in restaurants, the idea of playing baseball doesn't seem so strange to you. But for me, it's terrifying. If we decide to play, I might just get sick for real.”

I glanced at Susan.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“My mind says that it would be stupid for us to play, that we can't win. But something else inside me says that if we don't play then we're not going to have any fun in Vancouver tomorrow or the next day. It's like Erwin Schrödinger's cat.”

“I don't know anybody named Schrödinger or even Erwin,” said Robbie.

“Schrödinger was a physicist,” said Susan, “but he is best known for a pretend experiment with a cat in a lead box. It's kind of a weird idea, but he said that, scientifically, we have to believe that the cat is both alive and dead until we open the box to peer inside. Schrödinger was trying to make some complicated point but here's what I got from it. We cannot assume that we will lose tomorrow. Anything is possible. There are two possibilities and neither is certain. In one future, we lose. In the other, we win.”

“And in one we don't play,” said Nick. “That's the future that's the easiest to handle. In that future, we know we don't embarrass ourselves.”

“That's right,” said Susan. “In one future we don't play. We don't open the box. We ignore it and put it on a shelf. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I have to open the box. I have to see if we can play baseball. I want to play baseball. I don't know why, but it's important.”

“You know,” said Robbie with a grin. “I'm feeling a little better already. I may not be sick after all.”

We all looked around and grinned at each other.

“We're going to play baseball,” said Nick with a sigh.

“Like real kids from a real town,” said Susan softly.

After everyone left, Robbie and I couldn't sleep. We were excited. We were also in a hotel room with a television set.

We left the television on all night, with the sound turned low. We kept the TV tuned to a sports channel so maybe we'd learn something about baseball in our sleep.

8
THE FIRST GAME

THE NEXT MORNING WE LEFT
the hotel and stood at the corner waiting for a city bus – nine kids and two adults wearing baseball uniforms. Mr. Entwhistle had bought us uniforms and hats and given them to us at breakfast. On the back of each uniform was a picture from a different Bobbie and Bernice book. Mine had a picture of Bobbie and Bernice building the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Susan's had a picture of Bobbie building a giant sleigh, from the book where Santa's sleigh is overloaded and it crashes in the forest and Bobbie and Bernice have to build him another one so that all the kids in the world can get their presents. Mr. Entwhistle says it's the Bobbie and Bernice book that sells the best but the one he likes the least.

Four men and three women waited with us at the bus stop. They were probably going to work.

“Look, a police car!” yelled Little Liam.

We all turned to look, expecting the car to swerve to a stop and for the officers inside to race down the street chasing somebody. Most of us had never seen a police car except in movies and they were always chasing bad guys.

We waved at the car as it slowly passed us.

“And there's a man walking a dog on a leash,” yelled Big Bette. The dog, a small white pile of fluff, strutted along with its head held high.

We all started laughing. The dogs in our village would probably pull you around the village three times if you tried to put a leash on them. But in New Auckland there are no cars and no place to go even if a dog did decide to run away. Besides, our dogs have to run free. They help keep skunks and other small animals away from the village.

There were eight different baseball diamonds at the park. We walked to number six. The team we were supposed to play was already out on the field, tossing balls and practicing. We couldn't believe how far they could throw and hit.

The coach from the other team jogged over to Dad. He was a tall man with a bushy brown moustache.

“I'm Mr. Darling of the Kamloops Kangaroos,” he said to Dad. “And, hey, I know there are no kangaroos in Kamloops. Somebody just thought the two words sounded good together. You're the team from up the coast?”

“Yes,” said Dad. “I'm Mr. Mazzei. I'm the coach.”

Mr. Darling moved a clipboard so he could shake hands with Dad. Mr. Darling wasn't looking at Dad, though. He was looking at our team.

Robbie was putting on the catcher's pads upside down. Big Bette was standing beside Dad, her uniform top so long that it looked like a dress on her. Nick and Little Liam were rolling in the grass and rubbing it with their hands. Susan and I were pulling at our uniforms, trying to feel more comfortable.

“We've just about finished warming up if you want to practice now,” said Mr. Darling from Kamloops.

“Actually,” said Dad, “why don't you folks carry on for a little while longer? We're not quite organized yet.”

Dad didn't say that the reason we wanted the Kamloops team to practice longer was so that we could see what to do when we were out on the field. We were pretty sure we understood the rules. We'd rented every baseball movie possible and watched them each about five times. We mostly watched them to see where people stood and what they did.

The stories were always the same. Some team had no skill but managed to win the big game anyway. A small kid with glasses usually made the big catch or hit the ball after having struck out every other time.

The movies taught us a lot. We knew how to look cool. We knew how to glance casually and calmly at the coach for a sign about where or how to hit the ball. We knew to stare at the pitcher so he'd get nervous.

We knew everything except how to hit and catch and where to stand and what a sign from the coach might look like and where to throw if we ever did manage to catch anything.

“Sure,” said Coach Darling, glancing at our uniforms and smiling. “So, you guys are the Northern Coast League champs, eh?”

“We're undefeated,” said Susan.

“Hey, aren't those pictures from the Bobbie and Bernice books on your uniforms? My son, our third baseman, he loved those books when he was little.”

“Yeah,” said Dad. “Our team is called the Beavers and Mr. Entwhistle, who writes and illustrates the Bobbie and Bernice books, lives in our village. Actually, he's right over there,” said Dad, pointing toward the street, where Mr. Entwhistle was inspecting a rose bush.

Mr. Darling glanced over at Mr. Entwhistle and then slowly looked at each of us. He wasn't really sure yet if we were a bad team or a really good team trying to psych him out.

Robbie was trying to shove his mitt on the wrong hand.

“Remember, Robbie,” said Susan calmly. “You put the glove on your left hand so that you can use your right hand for throwing.”

“But I still think it's more important for me to catch the ball first. I have a better chance of catching the ball if the glove is on my right hand.”

“Mr. Mazzei, do we all get to wear these?” asked Big Bette, holding up a catcher's mask. We didn't have a catcher's mask in our school kit but Dad had bought one after dinner last night.