Reach the Shining River Read Online Free PDF Page A

said.
    “That right?”
    “My third baseman, George Barlow” – Sam’s voice dropped – “he knew Eddie, worked with him. He’s gone missing.”
    “A number of folks missing.”
    “Especially with the rumors.”
    “What are they saying? You tell me.”
    “Death consistent with certain methods, shall we put it.”
    The cloth in Mr. Watkins’ pants shimmied, change jangled in his pocket. Wardell felt the floor shake beneath him. A silence stopped his ears and a chill came over him. He sneezed.
    Mr. Watkins peered behind the piano. “Wardell? What are you doing? Come on out of there.”
    He was trembling. Mr. Watkins bent over him. “What’s the matter, son? You all right?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “How long have you been sitting back there?”
    “Don’t reckon I know, sir.”
    Mr. Watkins put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and stared at him. He smiled and said, “You heard about this young man’s curve ball, Mr. Crawford?”
    “Don’t believe I have.”
    “How old are you, Wardell?”
    “Eleven years old.”
    “Eleven years old. With a bona fide breaking ball and a wind-up like Satchel Paige hisself. Am I right, Wardell?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Always use another pitcher on the Monarchs,” Sam said. “Can’t have enough good pitching.”
    Mr. Watkins winked at Sam and gently steered Wardell towards the kitchen. “This is a tough day for your mama, son. You know that, don’t you?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “You do the family thing, you hear? You look after your mama.”
    In the kitchen Arlene sat with Alice and several other women drinking coffee. His mama’s face was puffy and covered with tiny dots of sweat. She wore a dress she had made herself, black wool with matching velvet collar and pockets. And a brooch Wardell loved. It was the shape of a treble clef and shiny with small bright stones.
    “Come here, honey.”
    Her voice was like falling water. She held him close, so that he smelled her perfume mixed with the aromas of food and something musty in the folds of the dress. The other women patted his head and stroked his mama’s arms.
    “That’s a hard week.”
    “Nobody knows what y’all been through.”
    “Your mama loves you, baby.”
    His mama cried as she held him and the women fluttered around them. And though his heart was breaking for his mama, he felt safe at last within her arms and within the bigger circle of women, with their warm bodies and voices like honey.
    Evening fell. Most of the guests left. The ballplayers and musicians stayed on, the night people, and the atmosphere went back door and down home. More whisky. The house grew smoky. The piano came to life and Mary Lou Williams stuck her head in the kitchen door.
    “Pete Johnson’s playing,” she said. “Y’all come in and listen.”
    Like Eddie, Pete played at the Sunset. A boogie-woogie man. He was playing “Honky Tonk Train Blues” and the room was rocking.
    “Roll for me, Pete. Come on, roll ’em.”
    “Make ’em jump.”
    “Yeah. I say yeah.”
    After several choruses Arlene joined in, singing with her eyes closed. They followed with “Shuffle Boogie” and “You Don’t Know My Mind”. A harp appeared. Hot Lips found a trumpet. The jam session had begun.
    A little later Sam Crawford told Wardell to come out back. The stars hung above the cottonwoods like Christmas lights. At the dark end of the yard were low voices and the glow of cigarette coals. The sweet smell of reefer. But Wardell felt safe with Mr. Crawford.
    “Can’t see much,” Wardell said.
    “That’s all right.” He took up Jesse’s mitt and tossed Wardell the ball. “Stay close to the porch light. Show me your stuff.”
    He threw. Curve ball. Fast ball, such as it was. Little blooper thing he liked to try.
    “Not bad, kid. Keep it coming.”
    The night pressed in. The air hummed and the ball smacked leather. The house beside him was like a big ship, all lit up. He threw, Jesse’s mitt a tiny bull’s eye in the gloom. The darkness out