The Given Day Read Free Page A

my day, but I ain't never--and I mean ever--seen anyone run like you." And then he was hugging Luther and clapping him on the back and saying, "Me oh my, what a sight!"
    And it was after they'd confirmed that he was, really, Babe Ruth. He was surprised so many of them had even heard of him. But Sticky Joe had seen him once in Chicago, and Ransom had caught him in Cleveland twice, seen him pitch and play left. The rest of them had read about him in the sports pages and Baseball Magazine, and Ruth's eyebrows went up at that, like he couldn't quite believe there were darkies on the planet who knew how to read.
    Ruth said, "So you'll be wanting some autographs?"
    No one appeared too interested in that, and Ruth grew long in the mouth as everyone found reasons to look at their shoes, study the sky.
    Luther thought about telling Ruth that standing here before him were some pretty great players themselves. Some bona fi de legends.
    That man with the octopus arm? He went 32-2 last year for the Millersport King Horns of the Ohio Mill Workers League--32-2 with a 1.78 ERA. Touch that. And Andy Hughes, playing shortstop for the opposing team of the hour, this being a scratch game, man was hitting .390 for the Downtown Sugar Shacks of Grandview Heights. And, besides, only white folks liked autographs. What the hell was an autograph anyway, but some man's chicken scrawl on a scrap of paper?
    Luther opened his mouth to explain this, but got one good look at Ruth's face and saw it wouldn't make no difference: man was a child. A hippo- size, jiggling child with thighs so big you'd expect them to sprout branches, but a child all the same. He had the widest eyes Luther'd ever seen. Luther would remember that for years after, as he saw them change over time in the papers, saw those eyes grow smaller and darker every time he saw a new picture. But then, in the fi elds of Ohio, Ruth had the eyes of a little fat boy in the school yard, full of hope and fear and desperation.
    "Can I play?" He held out his St. Bernard paws. "With you-all?"
    That just about busted everyone up, men bending over from the snickering, but Luther kept his face still. "Well . . ." He looked around at the rest of the men, then back at Ruth, taking his time. "Depends," he said. "You know much about the game, suh?"
    That put Reggie Polk on the ground. Bunch of other players cackled, swiped arms. Ruth, though, he surprised Luther. Those wide eyes went small and clear as the sky, and Luther got it right away: With a bat in his hand, he was as old as any of them.
    Ruth popped an unlit cigar in his mouth and loosened his tie. "Picked up a thing or two in my travels, Mr. . . . ?"
    "Laurence, suh. Luther Laurence." Luther still giving him that stone face.
    Ruth put an arm around him. Arm the size of Luther's bed. "What position you play, Luther?"
    "Center field, suh."
    "Well, boy, you don't have to worry about nothing then but tilting your head."
    "Tilting my head, suh?"
    "And watching my ball fly right over it."
    Luther couldn't help himself; the grin blew across his face.
    "And stop calling me 'suh,' would you, Luther? We're baseball players here."
    Oh, it was something the first time Sticky Joe whiffed him! Three strikes, all right down the pipe like thread following the needle, the fat man never once touching cowhide.
    He laughed after the last one, pointed his bat at Sticky Joe and gave him a big nod. "But I'm learning you, boy. Learning you like I'm awake in school."
    No one wanted to let him pitch, so he subbed for a player each inning in the rest of the field. Nobody minded sitting for an inning. Babe Ruth--Lord's sake. Might not want no sad little signature, but the stories would buy some drinks for a long time.
    One inning he played left and Luther was over in center and Reggie Polk, who was pitching for their side, was taking his sweet time between pitches like he was apt to do, and Ruth said, "So what do you do, Luther, when you're not playing ball?"
    Luther told him a