Birch delivered him back to the hotel, along with Gus. Birch hugged him. A dewy moment. They went in the side door and up the back stairs and almost did not make it. They sat together on the stairs and considered each other with deep pity.
Gus: “Poor fella. Bet you’re really shot. How do you feel? Listen, I can’t carry you, s’help me. I’m smashed. Hit by a shell in the Great War. Can’t hardly breathe. But … heee.” He sat there and began to giggle. Then he began to laugh. He laughed for a long time. Then he finished, wiping tears from his eyes with Kleenex he’d obtained from God knows where, and then helped a stupefied Chapel to his feet and they made it up the stairs to the doorway opening up into Chapel’s hall—only safe way to get into Chapel’s room without people blocking the way, and it had all been set up for them by the hotel, which had arranged to have the door open and a bellhop there to just see him go by and help him, with gratitude, into his own room. He went into the darkness with Gus and plunked down on the bed. First touch of sadness. The day is done. But, ah … this day.
Gus was in a deep chair. He sat there and started to giggle again. Then he guffawed.
“Oh, Christ, I can’t stop thinking.…”
“What you thinking?”
“All my life …” he lifted a fat finger, pointed upward, waggling, “all my bloody life they been tellin’ me … hee hee … they tell me that, quote: nobody’s perfect. Always remember, nobody’s perfect.” He collapsed again, leaned down over the chair, and wheezed. “Gotta tell all the gran’-children. Hee. Hell. First, gotta get Grandpa to believe … who would have ever thought.…” The phone rang. Gus clutched it, said mushily, haughtily: “Whossat? Who? Nah. Absolooly not. Mr. Chapel is at rest and please do not disturb him no more. Got that? No further calls from nobody. Right. Yep. Happy holiday. Same to you. Many of ’em.”
He hung up.
There was one soft light in the room, and in the moments to come the peace began to settle through Chapel’s mind, the silence to grow, the great wide calmness of a happy, weary man on the edge of the deep and splendid sleep not far off now. They talked a bit, but it faded. Done. Gus, slowly, stood up.
“Well. Billy.”
“Yeah. Gus.”
‘Well. I guess I’ll leave you be.” Pause. “You need anything?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Pause. “Jeez, I could sit here all night … don’t want it to end. You know.”
“I know.”
“Well, Billy. Mr. Chapel. Sir. I’ll be movin’ on.” But he did not move. Then he said: “Billy?”
“Yep.”
“Watcha gonna do?”
Chapel said nothing.
Gus: “Shouldn’t ask. Couldn’t help. But … you be here tomorrow? Or … you goin’ home?”
“I think … I’ll go home.”
Gus nodded. “Figures. No point in all them interviews. Well.” He had a small bottle in his hand. He raised it: “Salud,” he said.
Chapel moved to the window, looked out at the night sky. No stars visible. Shame.
Gus: “Well. Guess I won’t see you for a while.”
Chapel turned.
Gus: “No chance I guess … to go to New Zealand?”
Chapel: “Never know.”
“Yep. Keep the faith. My little Bobbie—you remember the lady … she was really lookin’ forward.…”
“Maybe sometime.”
Gus came forward, put out the hand. Chapel took it.
Gus: “Time for me to take off.” Pause. “Got to say one thing. Thanks, Billy.”
Chapel: “Gus. Thank you.”
Gus held the hand.
“Billy? Next year … they’ll offer the moon. You think you’re ever comin’ back?”
Chapel moved his left hand up, held the muscle of the right arm. He said: “Gus … I don’t think there’s anything left.”
Gus: “Ah.…”
“I think it’s all gone, Gus. So I think I’m goin’ home.”
“You give it a rest this winter. And next year, you wait’n see.”
“Sure. I’ll do that.”
“So there’s always a chance. I bank on you. Well. Good-bye, Billy. So long. Good night.” He went to the door, opened it, stood for a moment in that strong light. Then he said: “God bless” and was gone.
Chapel remained alone in the dark.
Phone would not ring. Instructions below.
So it’s done.
The day is done.
Rest now. Think no more.
I can’t help it.
Well, go to sleep. Go home. Don’t think of her.
I can’t help that.
“Billy, you don’t need me.”
If she saw it, and we were together now, and I could tell her how it was, lie there in bed sharing it with her, all the moments.…
Day is not done.
He went back to the window, looked up into the black night for a star.
Must be done.
He went to the phone, dialed Carol’s home.
He did not expect an answer. He thought of praying for an answer. Then: her voice:
“Hello.”
“Carol. It’s me.”
“Oh.”
“Hope you don’t mind.”
Silence.
“Won’t take a moment. Just wanted to know if you … knew what happened today.”
“Oh, Billy.”
“You know?”
“Yes. I know.”
‘Well. That’s fine.”
Her voice was strange. She said: “I heard about it. People were turning TV on so I watched. I saw … that ending. Oh, Billy.”
“It was.… Boy.”
“I was.… so proud.”
“Well. Me, too. I.…” Pause.
“I started cheering for you. I wish you’d seen me. Just like high school again. Cheering and screaming. Wish.…”
Silence.
Time to talk. He said: “I got something to tell you.”
She waited.
Chapel: “You said a funny thing today, in the park, and it kept goin’ through my head, through the whole game, while I was pitching. You said I didn’t need you.”
No answer.
Chapel: “I want you to know … honey, I don’t expect anything. I’m not asking for anything. I want you to be happy and do what makes you happy. But before you go, I want you to know … what I’ve never said but I’ve known for … a long time.” Pause. “I love you.”
Long pause. Nothing but silence.
Chapel: “I have for a long time. You’re the only girl I ever did … fall in love with. I think you’re the only one I ever will. You were the best thing that ever.… And I will miss … but I wanted you to know. Because, boy, I’m in … I’m just sitting here in the dark, alone, and I had to tell you. Before I go.”
Pause.
Carol: “You’re alone in the dark?”
“Yep.”
“Me, too.”
“You, too?”
“Yep.” Pause. “God. It’s awful.”
“Sure is.”
“Billy?”
“Yep.”
“Do you need me?”
“Yep.”
Pause. “Can you wait a few minutes?”
“Can I wait? I can wait … as long.…”
“Well, you see … it’s hard to say … must be different (was she crying?) for us old people. But you see, I love you, too, Billy. Oh, God. I’ll be there soon as I can.”
Phone hung up.
He stood in the exploding dark.
He went to the window.
Now he could begin to see the stars.
Said to himself: know what you did today, Billy? You grew up.
She’s coming.
Will she ever leave?
Don’t let her. Love her.
He looked up, from star to star.
Remembered the prayer in the ninth inning. He put the tired right hand to his forehead, gave an old-fashioned salute, said aloud: “Sir? Thank you
.”
Michael Shaara, For Love of the Game
(Series: # )
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