“Medicine hut,” he said. “They put that hot rock inside and then one of their magic men throws hot water on it until the tent fills with steam. You sit in there for ten minutes and you’ll be hotter than a sheepdog in the bayou.”
“Why do they do it?”
“They say you can see things in those huts. Visions of your life.” Satch paused. “The government men want these people to give up their religion, so they hate those huts. Trust me, if a government man comes around here, that tent will disappear faster than Cool Papa can run from first to third.”
Nick’s brain tripped on the last bit of Satch’s sentence. “You know Cool Papa Bell?”
Satch smiled broadly. “Know him? I’ve played with the man. In fact, there ain’t no ballplayer worth a busted nickel who hasn’t played with old Satch.”
“Is he really as fast as they say?”
“Is Cool Papa fast? That boy could turn out the lights and get in bed before the room got dark. I’ve seen him hit a ground ball up the middle that hit him in the chest as he was sliding into second base.”
Nick could feel his forehead wrinkling. “Is that true?”
“Depends,” Satch said. “There’s book true and there’s baseball true.”
“What’s the difference?”
“There are thousands of people who would swear on the Bible that they saw that ground ball hit Cool Papa. And maybe it happened that way or maybe it didn’t, but the important thing is that it feels true. Because Cool Papa is the fastest man ever to play the game.”
“Faster than Ty Cobb?”
“Faster than Cobb?” Satch snorted. “Don’t take this personally, but a black man is always going to be faster than a white man. That’s just a hard fact of life. A white man running against a black man just ain’t going to cut it. That’s like asking a bulldog to keep up with a greyhound.”
Just then the Sioux man emerged from the tent clutching two glass jars filled with a yellowish liquid. Satch pulled a small wad of bills from his pocket and separated out a few dollars. As the two men traded the money for the jars, Nick stared at the liquid. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed like it had an evil tint.
“What is it?” Nick asked when he couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.
“Magic potion,” Satch said. “Folks come out to the ballpark because they want to see Satch pitch, so I’ve got to be ready every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”
“And that stuff helps?”
“It keeps my arm as fresh as a baby.” Satch handed one of the jars to Nick. It was slick on the outside with grease, and Nick had to clutch it tightly to keep it from dropping. “Use it on your bum leg. Just rub it in and wait for the heat.”
“My doctor said that medicine won’t help,” Nick said.
Satch rolled his eyes. “Doctors and religious folk will both tell you the same thing. . . . Their way is the only way. But the truth is that there’s more than one road in life. You understand what I mean?”
“Yeah.” Nick gave the liquid another glance. “I’ll give it a try.”
Satch patted him on the shoulder. “Good. But be careful with that stuff. First time I used it, my arm nearly jumped out of the room.”
A few hours later Nick was staring at the jar again, only this time he was back in the cabin. He had taken off his brace and was sitting on his bed wearing just his underwear, and as he stared down at his legs he realized that they looked as if they belonged to two different kids—the bad one was so skinny that his knee stuck out like a doorknob. When Nick finally found his courage, he carefully unscrewed the jar. The smell hit him first, a combination of kerosene and some fruit that Nick couldn’t identify, and it stung the back of his throat. Before he could second-guess himself, Nick stuck a rag in the jar, swirled it around, and then wiped his bad leg from midthigh to ankle. The smell became so intense that tears were running down Nick’s cheeks, and when
“Why do they do it?”
“They say you can see things in those huts. Visions of your life.” Satch paused. “The government men want these people to give up their religion, so they hate those huts. Trust me, if a government man comes around here, that tent will disappear faster than Cool Papa can run from first to third.”
Nick’s brain tripped on the last bit of Satch’s sentence. “You know Cool Papa Bell?”
Satch smiled broadly. “Know him? I’ve played with the man. In fact, there ain’t no ballplayer worth a busted nickel who hasn’t played with old Satch.”
“Is he really as fast as they say?”
“Is Cool Papa fast? That boy could turn out the lights and get in bed before the room got dark. I’ve seen him hit a ground ball up the middle that hit him in the chest as he was sliding into second base.”
Nick could feel his forehead wrinkling. “Is that true?”
“Depends,” Satch said. “There’s book true and there’s baseball true.”
“What’s the difference?”
“There are thousands of people who would swear on the Bible that they saw that ground ball hit Cool Papa. And maybe it happened that way or maybe it didn’t, but the important thing is that it feels true. Because Cool Papa is the fastest man ever to play the game.”
“Faster than Ty Cobb?”
“Faster than Cobb?” Satch snorted. “Don’t take this personally, but a black man is always going to be faster than a white man. That’s just a hard fact of life. A white man running against a black man just ain’t going to cut it. That’s like asking a bulldog to keep up with a greyhound.”
Just then the Sioux man emerged from the tent clutching two glass jars filled with a yellowish liquid. Satch pulled a small wad of bills from his pocket and separated out a few dollars. As the two men traded the money for the jars, Nick stared at the liquid. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed like it had an evil tint.
“What is it?” Nick asked when he couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.
“Magic potion,” Satch said. “Folks come out to the ballpark because they want to see Satch pitch, so I’ve got to be ready every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”
“And that stuff helps?”
“It keeps my arm as fresh as a baby.” Satch handed one of the jars to Nick. It was slick on the outside with grease, and Nick had to clutch it tightly to keep it from dropping. “Use it on your bum leg. Just rub it in and wait for the heat.”
“My doctor said that medicine won’t help,” Nick said.
Satch rolled his eyes. “Doctors and religious folk will both tell you the same thing. . . . Their way is the only way. But the truth is that there’s more than one road in life. You understand what I mean?”
“Yeah.” Nick gave the liquid another glance. “I’ll give it a try.”
Satch patted him on the shoulder. “Good. But be careful with that stuff. First time I used it, my arm nearly jumped out of the room.”
A few hours later Nick was staring at the jar again, only this time he was back in the cabin. He had taken off his brace and was sitting on his bed wearing just his underwear, and as he stared down at his legs he realized that they looked as if they belonged to two different kids—the bad one was so skinny that his knee stuck out like a doorknob. When Nick finally found his courage, he carefully unscrewed the jar. The smell hit him first, a combination of kerosene and some fruit that Nick couldn’t identify, and it stung the back of his throat. Before he could second-guess himself, Nick stuck a rag in the jar, swirled it around, and then wiped his bad leg from midthigh to ankle. The smell became so intense that tears were running down Nick’s cheeks, and when
Similar Books
