The Natural by Bernard Malamud Read Free Book Online

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.
    â€œThe fuse blew and I’ve had no chance to fix it.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
    â€œTrou-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.
    â€œWhat happened?” Roy cried.
    â€œSh,” said the conductor, “he’s got a raging fever.”
    â€œWhat from?”
    â€œCan’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.
    â€œHello, kiddo,” he said in a cracked voice.
    â€œWhat hurts you, Sam?”
    â€œWhere the washboard banged me—but it don’t hurt so much now.”
    â€œOh, Jesus.”
    â€œDon’t take it so, Roy. I’ll be better.”
    â€œSave 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.
    â€œTake my wallet outa my rear pocket.”
    Roy pulled out the stuffed cowhide wallet.
    â€œNow you go to the Stevens Hotel—”

    â€œNo, oh no, Sam, not without you.”
    â€œGo on, kiddo, you got to. See Clarence Mulligan tomorrow and say I sent you—they are expecting you. Give them everything you have got on the ball—that’ll make me happy.”
    â€œBut, Sam—”
    â€œYou got to. Bend lower.”
    Roy bent lower and Sam stretched his withered neck and kissed him on the chin.
    â€œDo like I say.”
    â€œYes, Sam.”
    A tear splashed on Sam’s nose.
    Sam had something more in his eyes to say but though he tried, agitated, couldn’t say it. Then the trainmen came in with a stretcher and they lifted the catcher and handed him down the steps, and overhead the stars were bright but he knew he was dead.
    Â 
    Roy trailed the anonymous crowd out of Northwest Station and clung to the shadowy part of the wall till he had the courage to call a cab.
    â€œDo you go to the Stevens Hotel?” he asked, and the driver without a word shot off before he could rightly be seated, passed a red light and scuttled a cripple across the deserted street. They drove for miles in a shadow-infested, street-lamped jungle.
    He had once seen some stereopticon pictures of Chicago and it was a boxed-up ant heap of stone and crumbling wood buildings in a many-miled spreading checkerboard of streets without much open space to speak of except the railroads, stockyards, and the shore of a windy lake. In the Loop, the offices went up high and the streets were jampacked with people, and he wondered how so many of them could live together in any one place. Suppose there was a fire or something and they all ran out of their houses to see—how could
they help but trample all over themselves? And Sam had warned him against strangers, because there were so many bums, sharpers, and