The Natural Read Online Free PDF Page B

Whammer — he with a newspaper raised in front of his sullen eyes — had kept up a leechlike prodding about Roy, asking where he had come from (oh, he’s just a home town boy), how it was no major league scout had got at him (they did but he turned them down for me) even with the bonus cash that they are tossing around these days (yep), who’s his father (like I said, just an old semipro who wanted awful bad to be in the big leagues) and what, for God’s sake, does he carry around in that case (that’s his bat, Wonderboy). The sportswriter was greedy to know more, hinting he could do great things for the kid, but Sam, rubbing his side where it pained, at last put him off and escaped into the coach to get some shuteye before they hit Chicago, sometime past 1 A.M.

    After a long time trying to settle himself comfortably, he fell snoring asleep flat on his back and was at once sucked into a long dream that he had gone thirsty mad for a drink and was threatening the slickers in the car get him a bottle or else. Then this weasel of a Mercy, pretending he was writing on a pad, pointed him out with his pencil and the conductor snapped him up by the seat of his pants and ran his freewheeling feet lickity-split through the sawdust, giving him the merry heave-ho off the train through the air on a floating trapeze, pioop into a bog where it rained buckets. He thought he better get across the foaming river before it flooded the bridge away so he set out, all bespattered, to cross it, only this queer duck of a doctor in oilskins, an old man with a washable white mustache and a yellow lamp he thrust straight into your eyeballs, swore to him the bridge was gone. You’re plumb tootin’ crazy, Sam shouted in the storm, I saw it standin’ with me own eyes, and he scuffled to get past the geezer, who dropped the light setting the rails afire. They wrestled in the rain until Sam slyly tripped and threw him, and helterskeltered for the bridge, to find to his crawling horror it was truly down and here he was scratching space till he landed with a splishity-splash in the whirling waters, sobbing (whoa whoa) and the white watchman on the embankment flung him a flare but it was all too late because he heard the roar of the falls below (and restless shifting of the sea) and felt with his red hand where the knife had stabbed him —.
    Roy was dreaming of an enormous mountain — Christ, the size of it — when he felt himself roughly shaken — Sam, he thought, because they were there — only it was Eddie holding a lit candle.
    “The fuse blew and I’ve had no chance to fix it.”
    “What’s the matter?”
    “Trou-ble. Your friend has collapsed.”
    Roy hopped out of the berth, stepped into moccasins and ran, with Eddie flying after him with the snuffed wax, into a darkened car where a pool of people under a blue light hovered over Sam, unconscious.
    “What happened?” Roy cried.
    “Sh,” said the conductor, “he’s got a raging fever.”
    “What from?”
    “Can’t say. We’re picking up a doctor.”
    Sam was lying on a bench, wrapped in blankets with a pillow tucked under his head, his gaunt face broken out in sweat. When Roy bent over him, his eyes opened.
    “Hello, kiddo,” he said in a cracked voice.
    “What hurts you, Sam?”
    “Where the washboard banged me — but it don’t hurt so much now.”
    “Oh, Jesus.”
    “Don’t take it so, Roy. I’ll be better.”
    “Save his strength, son,” the conductor said. “Don’t talk now.”
    Roy got up. Sam shut his eyes.
    The train whistled and ran slow at the next town then came to a draggy halt. The trainman brought a half-dressed doctor in. He examined Sam and straightened up. “We got to get him off and to the hospital.”
    Roy was wild with anxiety but Sam opened his eyes and told him to bend down. Everyone moved away and Roy bent low. “Take my wallet outa my rear pocket.” Roy pulled out the stuffed cowhide wallet. “Now you go to the Stevens Hotel