The Purple Heart (15 page)

The ball was set free,
accelerating toward its destination, as the whizzing sound tore through the
air. The leather of the mitt was in sight, expecting to wrap the ball in its
warmth when suddenly the wooden bat came into its path. The bat met the ball
head on and reversed its trajectory in an instant. But instead of going high,
it went low and straight, right back at Hiroshi who had just completed his
throw.

Hiroshi’s heart jumped and
his eyes widened as he saw the ball throttling right back at him. There was
only a moment to react as he lurched backward and instinctively brought his
mitt up to intercept the ball’s path. Luckily, he caught the ball for the last
out. Though he would have preferred to strike out the batter, catching it
before the batter could even take three steps toward first base was good
enough.

Hiroshi walked back toward
the bench to the encouragement of his teammates as he rotated his right
shoulder a few times to relieve the soreness. The coach marched down the bench
and caught Hiroshi’s attention.

“How’s the shoulder son?”
inquired the coach. The closest teammates also looked up with expressions of
curious concern.

“It’s good coach, it’ll be
better by the next inning,” said Hiroshi.

The coach nodded his head,
thought to himself for a moment as he gnawed on the chewing tobacco. A moment
later, he tilted his head to the right and spit out the tobacco. “No, you’re
done pitching son. You gave it eight great innings...”

“But coach!” interjected Hiroshi.
“I’ll be fine…” protested Hiroshi before the coach cut him off.

“No, I need you ready to
bat. We’re down three runs and we need runs to win this game son,” the coach
said firmly.

Hiroshi looked at the coach
with some resignation but reluctantly agreed. They needed runs to win the game.
Hiroshi sat down on the bench and continued massaging his right shoulder.

In the bottom of the
eighth, the opposing pitcher allowed two runs to give Hiroshi’s team a trailing
deficit of only one run. One run would tie it up and two to win, if their
relief pitcher could just hold off the batters in the top of the ninth. The
closing pitcher for Hiroshi’s team made steady work and struggled to hold off
the batters. There was a man on second and third, which brought deafening
silence from the crowd but everyone gave a sigh of relief when the last pitch
ended up to be a pop up that the catcher caught to finish off the top of the
ninth.

It was the bottom of the
ninth and the opposing team decided to send in their relief pitcher. It was
Kiddache. He hadn’t made an appearance all day. It seemed that they were saving
him to close the game.

Next at bat was Gordy, who
marched up to the batter’s box. His gargantuan size overshadowed the entire
batting area, and the bat he angled over his shoulder looked like a toothpick
in his arms. Gordy hunched over and was ready to swing. Kiddache looked down
the pitching path with his stern eyes, wound up his pitch and let out a fastball.
Gordy swung but missed. “Strike One!” yelled the umpire. Gordy stared down at
the umpire, who quickly averted his eyes. Gordy angled his bat behind him and
prepared to swing. Kiddache wasted no time and sent down another fastball, but
Gordy’s swing connected and sent the ball over the second baseman’s head despite
a valiant effort to jump up for it. The ball landed in center field and the
center fielder had to run to pick it up, allowing Gordy’s hulking frame
valuable time to arrive safely at second base.

Hiroshi was up next. There
were no outs in the bottom of the ninth, but he wanted to end the game quickly.
If he could just hit a home run and send Gordy home, his team would win, he
thought. He walked up the bench as his teammates cheered him on. He picked up
his favorite bat, which was lying against the other end of the bench. He tapped
the bat against his palm to get a feel for it, and walked up to the batter’s
box. He swung a couple of times but winced on the second swing as his right
shoulder tightened up. He rotated his shoulder a couple of more times, hoping
to get rid of the knot for just one good swing. He dug his feet into the dirt
and then he looked toward Kiddache.

Kiddache had a smirk on his
face, but his eyes showed a sense of determination. He would enjoy striking out
Hiroshi and making him look like a failure in front of everyone. As usual,
Kiddache released another long stream of spit that splattered in front of the
pitcher’s mound. Kiddache ignored his catcher’s recommendation for a slider and
acknowledged the signal for a fastball.

The moment was tense, on
the field and in the bleachers. Minami held her breath as she allowed Yoshi to
stand up to get a better view. He was short enough that he didn’t bother anyone
behind him. When Minami pointed out Hiroshi to Yoshi, he simply turned to
Minami with a gleeful expression and raised both of his arms with clenched
fists straight into the air and exclaimed, “Home run!” Minami laughed and
imitated Yoshi and brought her arms up as well and echoed Yoshi’s little cheer,
“Home run.”

The little act did not go unnoticed
by an older Japanese man sitting a couple of rows behind Minami and Yoshi. He
then looked straight ahead and from a stoic posture, shot both of his arms into
the air and yelled out “Home run!” He had a firm look on his face as he looked
to his left and a couple of people did the same. To Minami’s unexpected
surprise, Yoshi had started something. As a sign of encouragement to their Japanese
American baseball hero, groups of people started to send their arms up
triggering a wavelike sensation across the bleachers that reached the right
side of the bleachers.

At first, Hiroshi didn’t
know what to make of the wave of raised arms moving from the left side of the
bleachers to the right. It was frankly just odd, but he heard the steady chant
from the bleachers. It was “home run!”

Meanwhile, Kiddache was
entirely oblivious to these happenings behind him. He wound up his pitch and
sent a fastball down to Hiroshi’s head. It was déjà vu all over again as
Hiroshi ducked away. He thought Kiddache would have outgrown the childish
behavior, but obviously, he didn’t. The umpire chided Kiddache and gave him a
warning. He only smiled and tossed the ball up and down into his hands a couple
of times as Hiroshi regained his batting posture. He swung the bat a couple of
times and found his shoulder still sore. Kiddache was fresh, so his pitches
would be pretty decent. Kiddache checked Gordy at second and released another
fastball down toward home plate. Hiroshi took a swing. He missed as the ball
landed in the pitcher’s mitt. But as Hiroshi followed through on the swing, he
felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder, as if someone was wrenching it out.
Hiroshi spun around and fell to his knees, drawing a gasp from the crowd just
as the umpire yelled out, “Strike one!”

For a moment, Hiroshi just
lay there on his side, his right shoulder throbbing in agonizing pain. He realized
his last swing hurt his arm, but he couldn’t let his team down. He planted the
butt of his bat into the ground and used it to help himself up using his left
arm. He held his right arm crooked as he straightened up and tried to extend
it. He winced from the pain that shot out from the back of his right shoulder
and up through the back of his neck. He couldn’t bat with his right arm and his
eyes welled up with tears of pain when he tried to stretch it out. But he held
back his tears as determination prevailed and he did something that he had
never done before. He crossed over home plate and assumed a left-handed batting
position.

“He’s not a lefty,” said Minami
underneath her breath.

“He’s not a lefty,” said
the coach.

“He’s not a lefty,” said
Gordy from second base with an expression of dumbfounded disbelief.

And from the crowd,
whispers ricocheted throughout the bleachers, “He’s a lefty?”

No one could believe it
more than Hiroshi himself. He played around with batting left-handed for fun
but never made it a habit. He held the bat in his left hand and grasped it
slowly with his right hand. He would just use his right hand to guide the bat
and let his left arm follow through. Hiroshi took a couple of swings to get
used to the new posture and brought the bat back behind him. Then as if on cue,
everyone in the bleachers performed the odd wavelike gesture with their arms
again. Hiroshi looked straight up toward the pitcher’s mound and focused all
his attention on the pitch.

Kiddache stared in
disbelief at Hiroshi’s seemingly incredulous attempt to bat lefty. It made him
believe he would be able to strike out Hiroshi even faster. He ignored his
catcher and was simply going to send down two fastballs for two easy strikes.
He exhaled, wound up his pitch and released a fastball. It was a bit inside but
Hiroshi saw it coming and swung at it in a surprisingly smooth fashion. But he
tipped the ball on the top of his bat and it landed soundly in the catcher’s
mitt. “Strike two!” yelled the umpire.

Hiroshi looked dejected as
his gaze shifted downwards. What was he trying to do by batting lefty? What was
he trying to prove? That he was the best baseball player in the entire prison
camp? He didn’t know what had gotten into him, but blind determination and
perseverance was driving him to try the impossible. He was going to finish this,
for better or for worse.

Hiroshi swung a couple of
more times and was a bit relieved to have a little more feeling in his right
arm. He readied the bat and let out a long exhale as he prepared for the pitch.
He was determined to focus on Kiddache’s every move to anticipate his pitch.
Kiddache glared toward Hiroshi with indignation, thinking that he was making
him out to look like a fool. Hiroshi was hurt, and one more fastball would
finish him off for the rest of the game and put him in his place, he thought.
He wound up and with all the force that he could muster, hurled the ball toward
Hiroshi.

Hiroshi timed Kiddache’s
pitch. His eyes locked on the ball as Kiddache released it. It was a fastball
heading dead center into the strike zone. Hiroshi tensed for one moment and
then his body released all the pent up energy it had stored for the swing. He
brought the bat around and it made that distinct sound to the delight of any
batter. It was the “crack” that could be heard throughout the baseball field.
The ball flew high into left field as all eyes from both teams, the umpire, the
catcher, Gordy on second base, and even Kiddache followed its path.

Minami’s worried expression
turned into utter shock and excitement as she heard that crack. As she watched
the ball soar into her direction, she became anxious. The ball arced high into
the sky and for a moment, it seemed like it disappeared into the sun itself.
Minami then recalled what Hiroshi told her about a ball like that and
instinctively raised both of her hands, cupped together, right under the
blazing rim of the sun. Before she knew it, the ball landed in her hands as if
it was meant to. Minami had caught the home run ball that gave Hiroshi’s team
the winning runs.

Minami was so elated she
jumped up and down with the ball in her hands. She looked back into the field just
as Hiroshi was crossing over home plate. His teammates immediately rushed
toward him, and he disappeared among them. But soon he emerged atop of Gordy’s
massive shoulders. Minami could see a great big cheerful smile on his face as
he slapped his teammates’ hands with his good arm. Minami then turned to watch
the Japanese American fans send their arms up and down in uncanny unison and
shout “Home run! Home run! Home run!” Right there and then, Minami was so proud
of Hiroshi that she had to share the moment with him.

She looked down at her
mother and asked if it would be okay for her to run down to meet Hiroshi. Her
mother smiled approvingly. Minami smiled and with the home run ball clutched in
her hand, carefully made her way down the bleachers through the crowd of excited
fans. She briskly walked toward the crowd of elated white players, who were
grunting and slapping one another’s hands and backsides. Nervousness started to
swallow her whole, as she was not only the lone woman there, but also the only Japanese
American among the white men. She made her way slowly among them while watching
them laugh and shake their heads as beads of sweat splashed away from their matted
hair. They were totally oblivious to her as she tried to walk around them
hoping to find Hiroshi. Hiroshi was nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for Hiroshi,
Miss?” said a voice from behind.

Minami spun around to see
Captain Doxers. He looked relieved, if not downright happy. There were beads of
sweat dripping along his temple. Whether the sweat was his or came from his men
she did not know. He had taken off his baseball cap, revealing his dark grayish
tousled hair.

“Yes, do you know where he
is?” replied Minami in a somewhat nervous tone.

“His arm was smarting so he
went back to his barrack to nurse it. Said he’d be back soon enough.”

“Thank you,” replied
Minami.

“If you don’t mind me
asking Miss, are you his girlfriend?” asked the captain.

Minami was a little
embarrassed by the question but she composed herself and with pride she said,
“Yes, I guess I am.”

“Take good care of him.
Hiroshi did a lot of good today,” the captain replied.

Minami smiled gratefully,
“I sure will,” she said. She headed out of the gate back toward Hiroshi’s
barrack. It was a long trek. The entire prison camp was like a ghost town with
only a few people walking about, looking like listless wraiths in the boiling
heat. It seemed that almost everyone else was at the game. She finally reached
barrack number 5, carefully walked up the steps and pushed aside the door. The
entire barrack was empty. She looked toward the back where Hiroshi’s unit was. It
was partitioned off with blankets, very much like her own unit. She saw a
momentary movement of light from underneath the partition where it met the
floorboards. It was as if someone had stepped in front of a window or something,
and she figured it was Hiroshi. She bounded down the center of the barrack with
glee, strode past the partition and yelled out “Hiroshi!”