The Natural

“Two bits he had the grub poisoned.”

“That’s not fu

He asked Memo if the manager knew what was going on.

She was sweet again. “Don’t worry about him, Roy. I’d’ve invited him but he wouldn’t fit in at all here because we are all young people. Don’t get anxious about the party, because Gus said not to serve any hard liquor.”

“Nice kid, Gus. Must be laying his paper on us for a change.”

Memo made no reply.

Everybody was there by then. Dave Olson had a cheerful blonde on his arm. Allie, Lajong, Hinkle, and Hill were harmonizing “Down by the Old Mill Stream.” Fowler was showing some of the boys how to do a buck and wing. The cigar smoke was thick. To Roy things did still not sit just right. Everybody was watching everybody else, as if they were all waiting for a signal to get up and leave, and some of the players looked up nervously every time the door opened, as if they were expecting Doc Knobb, who used to hypnotize them before the games. Flores, from across the room, stared at Roy with black, mournful eyes, but Roy turned away. He couldn’t walk out on Memo.

“Some blowout,” Fowler said to him.

“Watch yourself, kid,” Roy warned him in an undertone.

“Watch yourself yourself.”

Roy threw him a hard look but Memo said, “Just let Roy head over to the table. He is dying for a bite.”

It was true. Though the thought of having her tonight was on the top of his mind, he could not entirely forget the appetizing food. She led him to the table and he was surprised and slightly trembly at all there was of it — different kinds of delicatessen meat, appetizing fish, shrimp, crab and lobster, also caviar, salads, cheeses of all sorts, bread, rolls, and three flavors of ice cream. It made his belly ache, as if it had an existence apart from himself.

“What’ll it be?” said the little chef. He had a large fork and plate poised but Roy took them from him, to his a

Memo helped. “Don’t be stingy, Roy.”

“Pile it on, honey.”

“You sure are a scream the way you eat.”

“I am a picnic.” He kidded to ease the embarrassment his appetite caused him.

“Bump liked to shovel it down —” She caught herself.

After his plate was loaded, Memo placed a slice of ham and a roll on her own and they sat at a table in the far corner of the room — away from where Flores was standing — so Roy could concentrate on the food without having to bother with anybody.

Memo watched him, fascinated. She shredded the ham on her plate and nibbled on a roll.

“That all you’re eating?” he asked.

“I guess I haven’t got much appetite.”

He was gobbling it down and it gave him a feeling of both having something and wanting it the same minute he was having it. And every mouthful seemed to have the effect of increasing his desire for her. He thought how satisfying it would be to lift that yellow dress over her bare thighs.

Roy didn’t realize it till she mentioned it that his plate was empty. “Let me get you some more, hon.”

“I will get it myself.”

“Food is a woman’s work.” She took his plate to the table and the busy little chef heaped it high with corned beef, pastrami, turkey, potato salad, cheese, and pickles.

“You sure are nice to me,” he said.

“You are a nice guy.”

“Why did you get so much of it?”

“It’s good for you, silly.”

Roy laughed. “You sound like my grandma.”

Memo was interested. “Weren’t you brought up in an orphan’s home, Roy?”

“I went there after grandma died.”

“Didn’t you ever live with your mother?”

He was suddenly thoughtful. “Seven years.”

“What was she like? Do you remember?”

“A whore. She spoiled my old man’s life. He was a good guy but died young.”

A group of girls flocked through the door and Memo hastily excused herself. They were her showgirl friends from a Broadway musical that had just let out. She welcomed them and introduced them around. Dancing started and the party got livelier.

Roy polished his plate with a crust of bread. He felt as if he had hardly eaten anything — it was sliced so thin you could hardly chew your teeth into it.

Memo returned. “How about having something different now?” But Roy said no and got up. “Lemme say hello to some of the gals that came in.”

“You are all alike.” He thought she sounded jealous and it was all right if she was. The girls she brought him around to were tickled to meet him. They felt his muscles and wanted to know how he belted the ball so hard.

“Clean living,” Roy told them.

The girls laughed out loud. He looked them over. The best of the bunch was a slightly chubby one with an appealing face, but in her body she did not compare to Memo.

When he told Memo she had more of what it took than the rest of them put together, she giggled nervously. He looked at her and felt she was different tonight in a way he could not figure out. He worried about Gus, but then he thought that after tonight he would be getting it steady, and then he would tell her he did not want that glass-eye monkey tailing her around.

Memo led him back to the table. She pointed out what she wanted for Roy and the chef ladled it into the plate. Her own came back with a slice of ham and a roll on it. He followed her to the corner table. He wondered if Flores was still standing in the opposite corner, watching, but he didn’t look.

Gazing at the mountain of stuff Memo handed him, he said, “I am getting tired of eating.”

Memo had returned to the subject of his mother. “But didn’t you love her, Roy?”

He stared at her through one eye. “Who wants to know?”

“Just me.”

“I don’t remember.” He helped himself to a forkful of food. “No.”

“Didn’t she love you?”

“She didn’t love anybody.”

Memo said, “Let’s try some new combinations with the buffet. Sometimes when you eat things that you didn’t know could mix together but they do, you satisfy your appetite all at once. Now let’s mix this lobster meat with hidden treats of anchovies, and here we will lay it on this tasty pumpernickel and spread Greek salad over it, then smear this other slice of bread with nice sharp cheese and put it on top of the rest.”

“All it needs now is a shovel of manure and a forest will grow out of it.”

“Now don’t be dirty, Roy.”

“It looks like it could blow a man apart.”

“All the food is very fresh.”

After making the sandwich she went to the ladies’ room. He felt depressed. Now why the hell did she have to go and ask him questions about his old lady? Thinking about her, he chewed on the sandwich. With the help of three bottles of lemon pop he downed it but had to guzzle three more of lime to get rid of the artificial lemon taste. He felt a little drunk and snickered because it was a food and pop drunk. He had the odd feeling he was down on his hands and knees searching for something that he couldn’t find.

Flores stood at the table.

“If you tell them to go home,” he hissed, “they weel.”

Roy stared. “Tell who?”

“The players. They are afraid to stay here but they don’t go because you stay.”

“Go ahead and tell them to go.”

“You tell them,” Flores urged. “They weel leesten to your word.”

“Right,” said Roy.

Memo returned and Flores left him. Roy struggled to his feet, broke into a sweat, and sat down again. Fowler grabbed Memo and they whirled around. Roy didn’t like them pressed so close together.

His face was damp. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and felt Iris’ letter. For a second he thought he had found what he was looking for. More clearly than ever he remembered her pretty face and the brown eyes you could look into and see yourself as something more satisfying than you were, and he remembered telling her everything, the first time he had ever told anybody about it, and the relieved feeling he had afterward, and the long swim and Iris swimming down in the moonlit water searching for him, and the fire on the beach, she naked, and finally him banging her. For some reason this was the only thing he was ashamed of, though it couldn’t be said she hadn’t asked for it.