"Waldrop, Howard - Man Mountain Gentian" - читать интересную книгу автора (Waldrop Howard)

Soon the other lackluster game was over, and Hari's team took the field.
The first batter for the Kawasaki Claudes, a twelveyear-old built like an orangutan, got up and smashed a line drive off the Mitsubishi Zeroes' third baseman's chest. The third baseman had been waving to his mother. They carried him into the dugout. Melissa soon saw him up yelling again.
So it went through three innings. The Claudes had the Zeroes down by three runs, 6-3.
In the fourth inning, Hari took right field, injuries having whittled the flu-ridden team down to the third-stringers.
One of the Kawasaki Claudes hit a high looping fly straight to right field. Hari started in after it, but something happened with his feet; he fell, and the ball dropped a meter from his outstretched glove. The center fielder chased it down and made the relay, and by a miracle they got the runner sliding into home plate. He took out the Zeroes' catcher doing it.
"It doesn't look good for the Zeroes," said Melissa.
"Oh, things might get better," said Killer Kudzu. "Didn't you know? The opera's not over till the fat lady sings."
"A diva couldn't do much worse out there," said Melissa.
"They still don't like baseball in my country," he said. "Decadent. Bourgeois, they say. As if anything could be more decadent and middle-class than China."
"Yet, you wear the flag?" She pointed toward the tattoo on his head.
"Let's just call it a gesture to former greatness," he said.
Bottom of the seventh, last inning in Little League. The Zeroes had the bases loaded, but they incurred two outs in the process. Hari came up to bat.
Things were tense. The infield was back, ready for the force-out. The outfielders were nearly falling down from tension.
The pitcher threw a blistering curve that got the outside. Hari was caught looking.
From the dugout the manager's voice saying unkind things carried to the crowd.
Eight thousand people were on their feet.
The pitcher wound up and threw.
Hari started a swing that should have ended in a grounder or a pop-up. Halfway through, it looked as if someone had speeded up a projector. The leisurely swing blurred.
Hari literally threw himself to the ground. The bat cracked and broke neatly in two at his feet.
The ball, a frozen white streak, whizzed through the air and hit the scoreboard one hundred ten meters away with a terrific crash, putting the inning indicator out of commission.
Everyone was stock-still. Hari was staring. Every
player was turned toward the scoreboard..
"It's a home run, kid," the umpire reminded Hari.
Slowly, unbelieving, Hari began to trot toward first base.
The place exploded, fans jumping to their feet. Hari's teammates on the bases headed for home. The dugout emptied, waiting for him to round third.
The Claudes stood dejected. The Zeroes climbed all over Hari.
"I didn't know you could do that more than once a day," said Melissa, her eyes narrowed.
"Who, me?" asked Kudzu.
"You're perverting your talent," she said.
"We're not supposed to be able to do that more than once every twenty-four hours," said Kudzu, flashing a smile.
"I know that's not true, at least really," said Melissa.
"Oh, yes. You are married to a sumotori, aren't you?"
Melissa blushed.
"The kid seemed to feel bad enough about that fly ball he dropped in the fourth inning. Besides, it's just a game."
At home plate, Hari's teammates congratulated him, slapping him on the back.
The game was over, the scoreboard said 7-6, and the technicians were already climbing over the inning indicator.
Melissa rose. "I have to go pick up Hari. I suppose I will see you at the tournament tomorrow."
"How are you getting home?" asked Killer Kudzu.
"We walk. Hari lives near."
"It's snowing."
"Oh."
"Let me give you a ride. My electric vehicle is outside."
"That would be nice. I live several kilometers away from-"
"I know where you live, of course."
"Fine, then."
Hari ran up. "Aunt Melissa! Did you see? I don't know what happened! I just felt, I don't know, I just hit it!"
"That was wonderful." She smiled at him. Killer Kudzu was looking up, very interested in the stadium support structure.
The stable in which Man-Mountain Gentian trained was being entertained that night. That meant that the wrestlers would have to do all the entertaining.
Even at the top of his sport, Man-Mountain had never gotten used to the fans. Their kingly prizes, their raucous behavior at matches, their donations of gifts, clothing, vehicles, and in some cases houses and land to their favorite wrestlers. It was all appalling to him.
It was a carry-over from traditional sumo, he knew. But Zen-sumo had become a worldwide, not just a national, sport. Many saved for years to come to Japan to watch the January or May tournaments. People here in Japan sometimes sacrificed at home to be able to contribute toward new kesho-mawashis, elaborate, heavy brocade and silk aprons used in the