But the hubbub went on, and the Bomber did seem about ready to burst open and spill us onto the blacktop. In the pasture whipping past, moon-faced cows watched us go by.
Muscles said, “Sergeant-at-Arms Clerval, ten-HUT!”
Jumbo got up, his head turtle-ducked to keep from scraping the ceiling.
“Sergeant-at-Arms Clerval, remove from this assembly anyone whose behavior upsets the scales of justice,” Muscles said. “Toss em out a window.”
“Yessir.” Jumbo didn’t smile. Even in his clumsy stoop, he towered like a grizzly. It was half a joke and half a real threat. When everyone got quiet, he sat back down.
Muscles said, “Mr Evans, a party of some probity and maybe even unimpeachable expertise has accused you of-”
“Brown noser!” Hoey shouted.
Muscles ignored him. “-a demonstrated ignorance of the art of bunting. How do you plead?”
“Give him a defense attorney!” Quip Parris said.
“Turkey Sloan,” Evans said. “Give me Turkey.”
“Nyland Sloan, the court hereby appoints you to defend the incompetent accused,” Muscles said. “Mr Dunnagin, you must prosecute.”
Sloan traded places with Fanning so he could talk with Evans, and Muscles asked anyone willing to witness to say so. Sosebee, Fanning, and Sudikoff agreed to testify for Evans; Nutter, Curriden, Hoey, and Snow to speak against.
“How does your client plead?” Muscles asked Sloan.
Sloan stood up and said, “Your Honor, Mr Evans thinks these whole proceedings reek of kangaroo dung. The fix is in. A skinny kid from Brunswick ”-he meant Dobbs-”grabbed his starting role thout so much as a by-your-leave n-”
“A by-your-leave?” Mister JayMac roared. “Mr Dobbs beat Mr Evans like a drum! What’s this by-your-leave folderol?”
“Sorry, Mister JayMac,” Sloan said. “Just a formal legal way of speaking. It don’t mean pig tracks, actually.”
“Then you admit it’s a lie,” Mister JayMac said.
“Sir, you’re out of order,” Muscles said. “Mr Sloan, how does your useless scumbag of a client plead?”
“Objection!” Evans said.
“Shut up,” Muscles said. “I mean, hush. Overruled. I can’t say anything objectionable. I’m the judge.”
Sloan stretched out one arm and cleared his throat:
“The question is, Can Trapdoor bunt?
Does he know how, or is it a stunt
When he assumes the stance and then
Allows the ball to bruise his shin
Or bounce off his bat like popping corn?
Does he deserve our ruth or scorn?”
“For Christ’s sake, Turkey, how’re you pleading the sap?” Hoey said. “We aint got time for the goddamn Iliad.”
Sloan blinked and continued:
“Is a player who cannot bunt
A guilty lout or a innosunt
Victim of our expectations?
Blame we him or those vile matrons
Who sewed the ball to such a trim
Its twisting seams bamboozled him,
Causing him to look a lout
By poking it up, for an out?
So how pleads Evans this fine day?
Like this: Nolo contendere.”
“Okay,” Muscles said. “Mr Evans, I hereby fine you two bits and sentence you to practice bunting with Mr Snow.”
“Wait a sec,” Hoey said. “Don’t I get to present my testimony against the bastid?”
“Yeah,” Curriden said. “What about Nutter and me? Evans can’t bunt any bettern he can fart ‘ America the Beautiful.’ ”
“He doesn’t say otherwise,” Muscles said. “I’ve assessed the fine and stated the penalty. Case closed. Court continues in session, however. Next case!”
The Bomber groaned along, belching and smoking. Nobody said anything. I looked out the window. A line of oaks or elms split one of the rising pastures. Their branches dripped with Spanish moss. Red-winged blackbirds perched on the weeds in the roadside ditch; puzzled cattle looked out from hardwood clumps along the pasture ridge. Despite the bus’s growling, I felt nearly peaceful enough to fall asleep.
“Cmon, you guys,” Muscles said. “Next case!”
Jerry Wayne Sosebee stood up. “Awright.” He swallowed. “I accuse Jumbo and young Boles there of hoodwinking the boss. He gives em special road privileges that hurt team morale and affect how we play.”
A flight of locusts wheeled through my gut. The bus went quiet as a morgue.
Mister JayMac turned in his seat. “Hoodwinked?”
Only Hoey got a kick out of Sosebee’s accusation. “Jerry Wayne thinks Dumbo and Jumbo mumbo-jumboed you, sir.”
A couple of players sniggered. Guys with sense, though, hung on bent tenterhooks and bided their time.
“Do you really believe a speechless flea like Mr Boles could hoodwink me into anything, Mr Sosebee?” Mister JayMac said.
“Sir, I jes don’t believe Mr Boles cain’t talk. I think he could if he tried.”
“Case thown out,” Muscles said. “Mr Sosebee has based his accusation on ill will and prejudice. Therefore-”
“No, no,” Mister JayMac said. “I assume Mr Sosebee plans to demonstrate how Messieurs Clerval and Boles hood-winked me?”
“Well, mebbe Dumbo didn’t,” Sosebee said. “He’s jes flying on Jumbo’s coattails.”
“You excuse Mr Boles from your accusation?” Muscles said.
“Yeah, sure. I mean, the real favorite in this business is ol Goliath there.”
“And you see yourself as David?” Mister JayMac said.
“Nosir. Well, mebbe,” Sosebee said. “Jumbo needs to be brought down, though. Somebody has to do it.”
“Brought down? From what?” Mister JayMac said. “Leading us in home runs and RBIs? Playing his bag bettern any other first baseman in the league?”
“Taking advantage and stirring up ill will,” Sosebee said.
“You must be talking about yourself, Jerry Wayne,” said Lamar Knowles. Wow. Knowles never came down on anybody. If you pulled a merkle, he’d sidle over and tell you to forget it.
Jumbo stood up. “I confront my accuser.”
Sosebee’s jowly gills went ashy-gray, but he kept facing Jumbo across five seat backs. He didn’t sit.
“Mr Sosebee must speak for others too,” Jumbo said. “How many agree that Mr JayMac’s kindnesses to me have undone your good will or degraded the quality of your play?”
No one answered.
“A fair question,” Mister JayMac said. “Do any of you play sloppy ball because Jumbo gets commercial rooms on the road?”
“I resent the special treatment,” Trapdoor Evans allowed. “I don’t play any worse for it, though.”
“It’d be hard for you to play any worse than you did this past weekend,” Buck Hoey said.
“An honest admission,” Mister JayMac said. “Give credit.”
That remark-praise instead of a lynching-opened some more guys’ mouths. Sloan, Sudikoff, and Fanning all spoke up-not malcontents, exactly, but ballplayers who always looked outside themselves for Christs to hang on trees.
Jumbo said, “Last year I lodged alone, both in Highbridge and on the road. By nature I’m a solitary person, and Mister JayMac saw that I could tolerate the compelled camaraderie of our sport, or of any joint human enterprise, for only so long. I did not demand this favor. I asked it humbly and received it most gratefully.”
“He speaks true,” Mister JayMac said.
Sosebee kept standing: Jumbo was answering his charge. He looked less hepped than before, though. His skin had turned ashy-gray. Sweat showed in loops under the arms of his shirt.
“I would have agreed to the lodgings that Mister JayMac arranges for us,” Jumbo said, “except that small children and a great many female adults find mine a fearsome presence. I also discomfit not a few men. I didn’t wish to test the hospitality of Mister JayMac’s host families by presenting myself to them as a guest. I had no wish to burden them.”
“He still speaks true,” Mister JayMac said.