The Rainmaker by John Grisham

Author:John Grisham
Format: epub, mobi, azw3, pdf

I’VE FALLEN into the habit of calling Donny Ray each afternoon, usually around five. After the first call several weeks ago, Dot mentioned how much it meant to him, and I’ve tried to call each day since. We talk about a variety of things, but never his illness or the lawsuit. I try to remember something funny during the course of the day, and save it for him. I know the calls have become an important part of his waning life.

He sounds strong this afternoon, says he’s been out of bed and sitting on the front porch, that he’d love to go somewhere for a few hours, get away from the house and his parents.

I pick him up at seven. We eat dinner at a neighborhood barbecue place. He gets a few stares, but seems oblivious. We talk about his childhood, funny stories from the earlier days of Granger when gangs of children roamed the streets. We laugh some, probably the first time in months for him. But the conversation tires him. He barely touches his food.

Just after dark, we arrive at a park near the fairgrounds where two softball games are in progress on adjacent fields. I study them both as I ease through the parking lot. I’m looking for a team in yellow shirts.

We park on a grassy incline, under a tree, far down the right field line. There is no one near us. I remove two folding lawn chairs from my trunk, borrowed from Miss Birdie’s garage, and I help Donny Ray into one of them. He can walk by himself, and is determined to do so with as little assistance as possible.

It’s late summer, the temperature after dark still hovers around ninety. The humidity is virtually visible. My shirt sticks to me in the center of my back. The badly weathered flag on the pole in centerfield does not move an inch.

The field is nice and level, the outfield turf is thick and freshly mowed. The infield is dirt, no grass. There are dugouts, bleachers, umpires, a scoreboard with lights, a concession stand between the two fields. This is the A League, highly competitive slow-pitch softball with teams consisting of very good players. They think they’re good anyway.

The game is between PFX Freight, the team with the yellow shirts, and Army Surplus, the team in green with the nickname Gunners on their shirts. And it’s serious business. They chatter, hustle like mad, scream encouragement to one another, occasionally ride the opposing players. They dive, slide headfirst, argue with the umpires, throw their bats when they make an out.

I played slow-pitch softball in college, but was never taken with the sport. It appears the object here is to knock the ball over the fence, nothing else matters. This happens occasionally, and the home run struts would shame Babe Ruth. Almost all of the players are in their early twenties, in reasonably good shape, extremely cocky and trimmed out with more garb than the pros use; gloves on all hands, wide wristbands, eye-black smeared across their cheeks, different gloves for fielding.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.