by Vincent Yee
Hiroshi jaunted back to the bench with his mitt under one arm and looked over to Minami who was clapping with joy. Hiroshi smiled and winked in her direction when he heard the coach’s voice. “Good pitching, son.”
“Thanks coach,” replied Hiroshi.
“Now let’s see if you can really hit like you claim,” he motioned Hiroshi to the batter’s box.
Hiroshi raced up to the other end of the bench and looked at the selection of bats when one caught his eye. He slowly pulled it out and held the bat in his hands. It reminded him of the bat that he had at home and for a moment, the entire bat seemed to glow. He walked up to the batter’s box, which was outlined in white chalk, and took up his position. He looked up at the pitcher’s mound and saw the soldier he had humbled a few days ago. It was Private Kiddache. He stared down at Hiroshi. He turned his head to the side and let out a copious wad of spit that splattered along the pitcher’s mound. Hiroshi took a couple of swings and then readied himself for the pitch. Kiddache wound up his pitch and sent it down to Hiroshi. Hiroshi had to duck as the catcher raised his mitt and caught the ball where Hiroshi’s head was. Hiroshi straightened himself up and heard a few chuckles coming from the opposing team and Kiddache snickering as he caught the baseball. Hiroshi stepped back into the batter’s box and took a couple of swings and prepared himself. Kiddache thought he’d have another attempt at fun with Hiroshi and let out another pitch toward Hiroshi’s unprotected head. But instead of ducking, Hiroshi caught the baseball firmly in his left hand. Hiroshi didn’t even flinch as the catcher’s jaw dropped in awe. Hiroshi stared down into Kiddache’s eyes and then turned to look at the catcher. With a grin, he dropped the ball into the catcher’s mitt and said, “Tell him to throw me something I can hit.”
The catcher nodded in astonishment and got back into his crouched position and signaled for a fastball. Kiddache was more annoyed than anything. The Jap made him look like a fool a few days ago and he just made him look like a fool all over again. Kiddache was determined and wound up his pitch. No more playing, he thought. He would strike out the Jap and send him back to the bench where he belonged. But that wasn’t the case, as Hiroshi hit the next pitch squarely sending the ball into left field. The left fielder ran back and attempted a half-hearted lunge for the ball that was out of reach as it fell unchallenged onto the ground. Hiroshi ran as fast as he could and slid into third by the time the left fielder threw the ball in. His teammates gave out a few cheers of encouragement and finally Hiroshi felt his luck was changing as he dusted off his jeans. He looked up at Minami and saw her standing up, clapping her hands with Yoshi. Hiroshi smiled and concentrated on getting home. That was easy, as the next batter sent the next pitch into right field, allowing Hiroshi to give another run to his team.
As Hiroshi doubled back to the bench after touching home plate, his teammates nodded in muted approval of his efforts. Hiroshi nodded back and then took his seat. As he made himself comfortable, the coach came down to the end of the bench. Hiroshi was about to rise when the coach said, “At ease son, no need to get up.” The coach continued in his low voice, “That was some fine pitching and batting you did out there. You think you can hold down their batters and help us score at least three more runs to win this game for us?”
In a confident voice, Hiroshi simply stated, “Yes Sir!”
“Okay, you’re in the game now. But it’s up to you to stay in the game,” advised the coach.
“Yes Sir,” replied Hiroshi.
The coach walked away as his next batter got ready.
Hiroshi looked up at the pitcher’s mound and saw Kiddache staring back at him as if he was going to send the pitch down to Hiroshi instead. Hiroshi glared back at him without flinching and Kiddache let out another brown stream of spit that splattered forth from his vile mouth before he sent another pitch down to the batter. It was another hit to right field sending the man on second home, scoring another run for the team. Hiroshi clenched his fists in approval and let out a low “yeah.” His mind was totally focused on the game–it was finally getting exciting for him.
Minami watched on with Yoshi. She was so impressed with Hiroshi sending those balls moving so fast that were barely noticeable. She gasped when Hiroshi had to duck from that deliberate pitch at his head. But she grew even angrier when she realized that the pitcher was the same soldier who made those rude suggestive remarks to her. In her mind, she just wanted Hiroshi to rush up to him with that bat of his and teach him a lesson. Then Hiroshi caught that second pitch barehanded, and she was stunned. She never could have imagined Hiroshi doing something like that and realized that maybe there was something more to Hiroshi. She and Yoshi let out a cheer when Hiroshi was batted in scoring one for the team, even though she had no idea how the game was played. She just knew when Hiroshi did something good that it was good for the team.
Over the next three innings, Minami watched as Hiroshi made quick work of the batters. Kiddache regained his composure and delivered some good pitches as well. Kiddache had to use a combination of sliders and curveballs, but Hiroshi simply stuck to his hurtling fastballs. It was a scoreless eighth inning as the dueling pitchers shut down the batters. It was in the ninth inning with one man on second when Hiroshi sent a curveball from Kiddache hurtling into the stratosphere of left field to give Hiroshi his first home run and his team a one-run lead. As Hiroshi ran down the third baseline toward home, a few of his teammates got up and extended their hands to congratulate him. Hiroshi gladly slapped their hands. Kiddache’s team still had a chance to either tie it up or bring in a winning run in the bottom of the ninth, but that didn’t happen. As expected, Hiroshi’s pitching shut down the batters of the opposing team, giving the win to Hiroshi’s team.
As Hiroshi collected his things, two of the players on his team trudged up to Hiroshi. Hiroshi wasn’t sure what to expect but stood his ground. The first soldier was a tall man with a chest built like a tank. His hair was shaved close and it looked like he was holding in his breath as his head seemed ready to explode at any minute. He had obviously been in the sun too long as his entire face was a pinkish red. The second soldier was about Hiroshi’s build with dark hair. Actually he had quite a lot of hair. A thick curly hair that simply covered his arms that even extended down to his knuckles as puffs of hair extruded from his chest area. “Hey, I just wanted to say you did good job out there,” he said.
The first soldier echoed in a grunt like tone, “Yeah, you did good.”
Hiroshi nodded and responded, “Thanks, just doing my part for the team.”
“Yeah, speaking of team, I just wanted to say welcome. Eddie’s the name and this big fella is Gordon but we all just call him Gordy.”
“Hiroshi is the name.”
Eddie extended out his furry hand and Hiroshi shook it and then took in Gordy’s burly handshake.
“Hey careful Gordy, that’s his pitching arm,” said Eddie.
“Oh, sorry,” said Gordy.
“No problem,” as Hiroshi had to shake off Gordy’s vise-like grip.
“You know,” said Eddie. “I always thought I’d be fighting Japs but never did I think I’d be playing with one.”
“And I never thought I’d be placed in a relocation camp even though I was born in Los Angeles,” said Hiroshi.
“You don’t say? An American born Jap, who woulda figured? I guess you wouldn’t think that either,” remarked Eddie.
“Actually, if you don’t mind fellas, Japanese American,” said Hiroshi.
Eddie looked up at Gordy and then back at Hiroshi, “Yeah, you’re right, Hiroshi. We’re fighting Japs, not playing baseball with them. We’ll see you tomorrow morning. Take care.”
Gordy merely grunted as he and Eddie turned away from Hiroshi, who couldn’t help noticing that Eddie even had hair coming out from the back of his shirt collar. Hiroshi was a bit amused as he watched the odd pair walk away.
Hiroshi walked back into the prison camp and rushed toward Minami, who had her arms open to welcome
him. He lifted Minami and placed a quick kiss on her lips as Minami laughed and whispered, “Not here, my little brother is watching.” She turned away from Hiroshi with a smile and reached for Yoshi’s hand.
Hiroshi knelt down to greet Yoshi, who looked back at him in amazement. “How are you little guy? My name is Hiroshi.”
Yoshi simply shot both of his arms straight into the air and with a smile blurted out, “Home run!”
Both Hiroshi and Minami laughed. Hiroshi was still kneeling down with his back to the fence. But Minami’s look turned from elation to guardedness when Kiddache and another soldier walked past them. The other soldier was rambling on about an inning while Kiddache was obviously not listening. He simply glared at Minami with eyes that couldn’t be trusted, and then let out a stream of spit that landed just right of Hiroshi.
Hiroshi immediately straightened up and turned to Kiddache and stared back at him. “You should look where you’re kneeling, Jap,” was all he said as he walked away.
Hiroshi started after him but Minami stepped in front of him, placed the palm of both hands on his chest and in an admonishing and pleading tone said, “Don’t, please… They’ll lock you up.”
Though she continued to hold Hiroshi back, she could feel anger coursing through his body and flaring through his very nostrils. The red veins against the whites of Hiroshi’s eyes pulsated in quiet rage but it was slowly soothed away as Minami brushed his arms up and down. Yoshi, who was kicking up the sand to cover the splattered spit, simply looked up and said, “That’s gross.”
They could do nothing but laugh as Minami picked up Yoshi and giggled with him as the three of them walked back toward the barracks.
Over the next few weeks, the two teams played three games during the week and one afternoon game on Saturday. News of Hiroshi’s athletic prowess soon traveled throughout the prison camp, and he soon attracted the attention of many Japanese American onlookers. The casual games that the general instituted to boost morale among his troops had become a form of unexpected entertainment for the Japanese Americans as well.
Many of the Japanese Americans would simply take their breakfast out from the mess hall and lay out a blanket on the dry ground to watch the game. Soon, so many people were coming out that people actually rushed out of the mess hall to claim a prized spot along the fenced-in area overlooking the baseball field. Hiroshi was surprised by the unexpected turnout, never imagining that he would be such an attraction. But it was something more. To the many Japanese Americans who watched the game, Hiroshi represented to them a symbol of hope. They cheered on Hiroshi and his teammates and spared no love for the opposing team. As non-expressive many Japanese Americans typically were, things were a little different during those nine innings: They lived vicariously through Hiroshi with every single swing, pitch, and slide into home. Hiroshi was the pride of the Japanese American prisoners and represented everything that was good about them.
The weather had warmed up considerably, and Minami had become quite the fan of Hiroshi. She knew that everyone just loved him and felt even a bit jealous when other women talked about him. But after every game, Hiroshi returned to her. They shared many more nights atop the mess hall rooftop of block number twelve. During those times in between the kissing and romantic embraces, he taught her the intricacies of the game of baseball and she would just listen in wondrous awe of his passion.
Minami had become quite the avid baseball fan and when she had to confess to her mother that she was seeing Hiroshi, her mother responded by saying, “The baseball player?” It seemed that Hiroshi’s reputation had preceded him. Minami’s family then made it a point to go to every game, and even Yoshi had become quite the baseball fan.
With the unexpected growing crowds, the general in charge of the base had his men build some much-needed bleachers along the outfield. Though the bleachers were outside the confines of the relocation camp, he felt it was a low security risk since the Japanese Americans were only out there during the day and were not an unruly crowd.
It was on a Saturday afternoon toward the end of May when the final game between the two teams was held. The casual games had turned quite competitive. The two teams were tied up after thirty-four games, and whoever won the next game would be the champion. The win would be bittersweet, as many soldiers from both teams were due to ship out to the European Theater. Though the United States and its allies were making considerable progress against the Nazis, the United States was taking heavy losses and needed more troops. Because of the turn of events, that Saturday’s game would be their last.
Hiroshi was warming up in a marked off area designated as the bullpen. The catcher changed up the pitches to give Hiroshi the chance to loosen up his throwing arm, but it was his notorious fastballs that would be the crowd pleaser.
A line of people had gathered along the fence as they waited for the gate to open so that they could make their way to the bleachers. It was a scorching day as the heat was trapped in the bowels of the valley and simply simmered there. Finally the gate swung open. The soldiers in charge politely motioned to the Japanese American fans toward the bleachers. Minami and her family were one of the first in line and walked along the third base line when Minami caught sight of Hiroshi sitting on the bench. On that special day and seeing that it was hot, Minami had put on one of her favorite floral print sundresses with her low-heeled white shoes. She had also let her hair down; it now went past her shoulders, since she’d gone months without cutting it. But she kept it silky and voluminous by brushing it every single day. Hiroshi was retying his shoes when he looked up and caught sight of Minami. For a moment he had to admire how radiantly beautiful she was. As Minami and everyone else shuffled along, she gave a little wave and Hiroshi responded with a wink. The exchange did not go unnoticed by Minami’s mother. Minami turned back to meet her mother’s gaze when she said, “He’s quite the handsome boy.”
Minami smiled and responded sheepishly, “I know.”
Minami’s sisters giggled behind Minami but she paid them no attention. As Yoshi passed by Hiroshi, Hiroshi smiled and Yoshi simply raised both of his arms and exclaimed, “Home run!” Other fans nodded and smiled when they passed by Hiroshi and offered words of encouragement to which Hiroshi humbly accepted. The pressure was on and Hiroshi just hoped he could live up to his fans’ expectations. After thirty-four games, the players on the other team grew accustomed to Hiroshi’s skill and habits. He still pitched and batted well, but what was really going to win the game was strategy and experience.
For a moment, the Japanese Americans’ attention had turned in the direction of a jeep that was rumbling along behind the bleachers. It cut through a break in the bleachers, drove along the front of the center bleachers and came to a grinding halt as the driver fiddled with the gears. The man sitting in the passenger side sat still. There was a sense of authority about him as his teeth gripped a half smoked cigar. It was the general, and it was rare for anyone to ever see him about. He donned a pair of sunglasses that shielded his eyes from the bright mid-morning sun, and he wore his cap proudly. He dismounted the jeep, rose to full height, and along with a couple of military aides, stepped into the bleachers and sat down where the view was the best. The general looked to his right as he saw the bleachers still being settled into by the fans and then looked at the long line of people snaking along the fence and back into the relocation camp. He looked over at one of his military aides who took attention, cleared his voice and then said, “Boy, you build it and they will come.”
Minami and her family clambered up the bleachers with Miho and Yuka, lifting Yoshi over the steps as they each held onto his arms. Yoshi let out a yelp of glee each time he swung over a row of seats. Minami’s mother admonished her daughters to stop, fearing that Yoshi’s arms would disconnect from his body. Minami chose a row that was in the left field bleachers and everyone sat down. It took some time for the hundreds of fans to climb over the bleachers and settle in. Many of the women opened up umbrellas to ward off
the sun’s rays as others complained that the umbrellas were blocking their view. But the fans sounded off cheers as the players took to the field.
Hiroshi was the starting pitcher. Minami watched him as he stepped onto the mound. Along with the other players, he was given a baseball jersey to play in. He looked so athletic in it, thought Minami. Hiroshi took off his cap, ran his fingers through his hair and placed his cap back on his head. He removed his glove from under his arm and placed it on his left hand and slipped the baseball out. He tossed the ball a couple of times into the air to get a feel for it. The first batter stepped up to the plate and swung a few times to which the umpire yelled out, “Play ball!”
Hiroshi exhaled and assumed the pitching position. He acknowledged the catcher’s signal, a fastball. It was what was expected; as it would serve to remind the batters who was in charge and a fastball would do just that. Hiroshi effortlessly sent a fastball down the pitching path and it landed squarely in the catcher’s mitt. “Strike one!” yelled the umpire. And so began the start of the last game. Hiroshi was quite successful with his fastballs, but he had to throw more pitches than usual as the batters were more prepared for his pitches. But that was the extent of the excitement for the first few innings, as the game became one of strategy. There was a lot riding on the game for the coaches, as it would mean coveted bragging rights for the weeks if not months to come.
By the time the top of the eighth inning rolled around, Hiroshi was back on the mound. His jersey was drenched in sweat that soaked through to his back. He had undone a few buttons on his jersey, but even that did not relieve the intense heat of the day. His breathing was labored as he inhaled the hot, sultry air while bearing down on the next batter. He didn’t want to let on, but his pitching arm felt sluggish. After eight innings, he had already thrown over ninety pitches, but he was still able to hold down the batters. However, it didn’t look good. The score was seven to four, and his team needed three runs to tie it up. He still had one more strike to muster before his team could go up to bat. There was a runner on second, and he had to hold him there at the very least.
