The Natural by Bernard Malamud Read Free Book Online

that,” he said to Red. “That thief in the tower might have sixty per cent of the stock but I have it in writing that I am to manage this team and approve all player deals
as long as I live.”
    “I got a contract,” said Roy.
    “Lemme see it.”
    Roy pulled a blue-backed paper out of his inside coat pocket.
    Pop scanned it. “Where in blazes did he get the figure of three thousand dollars?”
    “It was for a five thousand minimum but the Judge said I already missed one-third of the season.”
    Pop burst into scornful laughter. “Sure, but that entitles you to about thirty-three hundred. Just like that godawful deadbeat. He’d skin his dead father if he could get into the grave.”
    He returned the contract to Roy. “It’s illegal.”
    “Scotty’s your chief Scout?” Roy asked.
    “That’s right.”
    “He signed me to a contract with an open figure and the Judge filled it in. I asked about that and Scotty said he had the authority to sign me.”
    “He has,” Red said to Pop. “You said so yourself if he found anybody decent.”
    “That’s right, that’s what I said, but who needs a fielder old enough to be my son? I got a left fielder,” he said to Roy, “a darn good one when he feels like it and ain’t playing practical jokes on everybody.”
    Roy stood up. “If you don’t want me, Merry Christmas.”
    “Wait a second,” said Red. He fingered Pop up close to the fountain and spoke to him privately.
    Pop calmed down. “I’m sorry, son,” he apologized to Roy when he returned to the bench, “but you came across me at a bad time. Also thirty-four years for a rookie is starting with one foot in the grave. But like Red says, if our best scout sent you, you musta showed him something. Go on in the clubhouse and have Dizzy fit you up with a monkey suit. Then report back here and I will locate you a place on this bench with the rest of my All-Stars.” He threw the players a withering look and they quickly turned away.
    “Listen, mister,” Roy said, “I know my way out of this jungle if you can’t use me. I don’t want any second pickings.”
    “Do as he told you,” Red said.
    Roy rose, got his valise and bassoon case together, and headed into the tunnel. His heart was thumping like a noisy barrel.
    “I shoulda bought a farm,” Pop muttered.

    The pitcher in the shower had left the door wide open so the locker room was clouded with steam when Roy came in. Unable to find anybody he yelled into the shower room where was the prop man, and the one in the shower yelled back in the equipment room and close the door it was drafty. When the steam had thinned out and Roy could see his way around he located the manager’s office, so labeled in black letters on the door, but not the equipment room. In the diagonally opposite corner were the trainer’s quarters, and here the door was ajar and gave forth an oil of wintergreen smell that crawled up his nose. He could see the trainer, in a gray sweatshirt with KNIGHTS stenciled across his chest, working on a man mountain on the rubbing table. Catching sight of Roy, the trainer called out in an Irish brogue who was he looking for?
    “Prop man,” Roy said.
    “That’s Dizzy — down the hail.” The trainer made with his eyes to the left so Roy opened the door there and went down the hall. He located a sign, “Equipment,” and through the window under it saw the prop man in a baseball jersey sitting on a uniform trunk with his back to the wall. He was reading the sports page of the
Mirror
.
    Roy rapped on the ledge and Dizzy, a former utility pitcher, hastily put the paper down. “Caught me at an interesting moment,” he grinned. “I was reading about this catcher that got beaned in Boston yesterday. Broke the side of his skull.”
    “The name’s Roy Hobbs, new hand here. Fisher told me to get outfitted.”
    “New man — fielder, eh?”
    Roy nodded.
    “Yeah, we been one man short on the roster for two weeks. One of our guys went and got