"Esther M. Friesner - Jesus at Bat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

At least the kid had been born in this country, but still, just wait until the
other Bobcats found out he was Jewish! (Brother's Meeting wasn't exactly world
famous for its cosmopolitan attitude in matters of religion. Old Mrs. Russell,
a
devout Presbyterian, had disinherited her daughter for entering into a mixed
marriage with a Lutheran.)
Maybe the kindest thing to do would be to send him out onto the field for the
tryouts and let him fall on his face. That shouldn't take too long. Everyone
knew for a fact -- including Victor Harris, who had once owned a Sandy Koufax
card -- that Jews played even worse baseball than Bobcats.

Of course the kid was dynamite. Prayers for smiting your enemies don't get
answered with your enemies just catching mild colds and missing a couple of
days' work, oh no! It's the plague or nothing. The same and more goes for a
child's prayer that the hand of the Omnipotent yank his Little League team out
of the cellar. Yes sir, one look at how little Yeshua ben Jose (simpler to
call
him "Bennie" and be done with it) hit, pitched, fielded, and ran, and Coach
Vic
was left slack-jawed, poleaxed, and passionately in love at home plate.
"Porter
Rickin'," he declared later that night while Barb cleared the dinner dishes.
"That's got to be the only explanation."

"What has?" Barb asked, not really giving a damn.

"That new kid, Bennie. I mean, with a last name like lose? I know he doesn't
pronounce it Spanish, but still -- I mean, there is no other way to account
for
how good he is and he's still Jewish. His folks might come from Israel, but
somewhere back along the line they must've had a Porter Rickin' in the kibbutz
woodpile. Or a Mexican at least. Now they can play ball!"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh," said Barb which was her little way of
playing
ball with her husband without having to endure the drag of actually listening
to
what he had to say.

"He's pretty good, isn't he, Dad?" Vic Junior asked brightly, proud of
himself.

"Good? Why he's a fuckin' mira -- !"

"Victor!" Barb's warning tone got drowned out by the shrilling of the
telephone.
Coach Vic was still going on about how he was going to play Bennie to best
advantage when she went to answer it.

She returned a grimmer woman.