The Youngest Hero (32 page)

“Oh, God,” I said silently, “only You can forgive this man. It’s not in me.”

Neal stiffened in my arms. He was trying to stop crying. In his rigid shoulders I read the attitude,
If she doesn’t want to forgive me, I don’t want her pity either
.

I let him pull away. He wiped his eyes with his fingers. He did
not appear angry. Just frustrated, as if he knew I couldn’t stand a weak, blubbering man.

I remained close. I wanted to say something soothing, but I would not violate my own conscience. If forgiveness came from
my lips, it had to be in my heart and mind.

“You were one good-lookin high schooler,” I whispered, a smile playing at my lips.

Neal backed up and looked at me in surprise. “I was, wasn’t I?” he said, a painful grin forming.

“I was the envy of every girl in that high school when I landed you.”

His face contorted again and the tears came. “Yeah,” he whined, “and look what I did to you. I was so proud to have you as
my girl, and I spent the rest of my life ruining yours.” He struggled to compose himself. “When I see what kind of a mother
you’ve become, I only wish I’d been able to stay with you. I’ve got nobody but myself to blame.”

He tried to bury his face in his hands again, but I took them in my own and set my face before his. “Neal Woodell, you were
one scoundrel of a husband.”

“I know I was.”

I shushed him. “But it’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Isn’t it?” I repeated.

“Well, I’m sure sorry for it, I know that,” he said.

“I know you are. But you snuffed out every last flicker of love I could have had for you.”

“I’m not even hopin for that,” he said. “I just want you to believe I’m sorry and to forgive me.”

“You have been sorry so many times—”

“No, I wasn’t. I was lyin then. I’m not lyin now.”

His neck and shoulders felt bony. I would not forgive him simply because he was dying. I could forgive him only if I believed
him. And even then, as I had prayed, it wasn’t within me to forgive. God would have to do that. Who was I to be an agent of
mercy and grace?

God, help me
.

Neal’s breath came as if he were exhausted. “Forgive me, Mir,” he whispered. “Believe I’m sorry and forgive me.”

I took a fluttery breath and pulled him closer. “I believe you, Neal. I believe you, and I forgive you.”

N
eal didn’t stir, didn’t say anything. His breathing was even and deep, as if he had fallen asleep.

I felt an airy lightness, as if I myself had been forgiven. Some dignity had been restored. For years I had been in control
of this relationship. I had held the key to the lockbox of a debt of guilt. Now I had allowed the guilty to pay me. He may
have had no visible response, but I felt as if I could fly.

I gently steered Neal away from me until he was sitting up straight, staring. He seemed spent. He didn’t smile, didn’t thank
me, didn’t do anything but sit. Perhaps he was stunned to silence, unable to take it in.

“We need to go soon, Neal,” I said gently, wanting to run and jump and shout. Was I finally, truly free of my albatross of
all these years? And had it not really been him all along, but my own reaction to him?

Oh, it had been his fault. There was no question about that. But he was in prison, and though I was divorced and humiliated,
still I felt free!

“Would you like to talk to Elgin one more time?”

Neal squinted at me. “Awful tired,” he said. “Yeah, I’d like to see El one more time.” He touched my arm. “One more time is
probably it, you know. I’m never gonna see y’all again.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded.

Why didn’t I say that’s nonsense, that he would be fine, and that Elgin would make the trip again someday? Because I was past
playing games with Neal. What was the point of polite dishonesty at this stage of a man’s life?

Momma stayed with Chaplain Wallace as I went to my father again. “Are you going to be all right, Daddy?”

“Oh, I’ll be all right, El. I’ll be just fine now. Your mom and I got some things straight between us.”

“Did she forgive you?”

“Yes, sir, she sure did.”

“I didn’t know if she ever would, Daddy.”

“She probably shouldn’t have.”

“Why not? You were sorry. I knew that.”

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough. And I wasn’t as sorry as I am now.”

I wanted to talk baseball or anything but this. But somehow asking my dad about hitting the cutoff man didn’t fit now.

“El, I’ll probably never see you again. I—”

“Don’t say that!”

“Well, it’s true.”

“I’ll come see you again, Daddy. I promise. And I won’t wait till you’re sick again.”

Daddy appeared irritated. “Listen to me, boy. You ain’t never goin to see me alive again. The next time, I’ll be in the ground.”

I began to cry.

“I know that’s no way to tell a boy somethin, but I’ve been a bad enough father as it is by not tellin you the truth. Well,
that’s the truth. I’ll fight this thing, but they can’t fool me. It’s already whipped me and I can feel it.”

“Daddy, please! We can’t afford to come back down here soon! If you die, I won’t even be able to come back for your funeral.”

Daddy actually laughed. “What do you want me to do, die today so you’ll be in town for the fixins?”

“That’s not funny.”

“I just wanted to tell you, that’s all, El. Now you can go on and blubber about it, and I guess I can’t blame you. Except
I was such a bad dad you shouldn’t miss me too much. But it would make me feel a lot better, almost as good as your mom forgivin
me, if I knew you were gonna be a better man than I ever was.”

Should I tell my father that yes, I planned to be? Would that be nice? Or should I tell him that he was a good dad and that
I learned a lot from him? At least the last part was true. I said nothing.

“Just tell me you’ll take care of your ma, and—”

“Oh, Daddy!”

“—and that you’ll be honest and not get mixed up with drinkin.”

I nodded and tried to stop crying. “I love you, Daddy.” I hugged his neck.

“I love you too, El, even though I was never good at—”

“I’ve already forgiven you, Daddy, so quit talking about it, okay?”

Daddy sighed. “Okay, El. Okay.”

I pulled away and took a deep breath. “Daddy, I’m going to be the best ballplayer I can be, and I’m going to make the major
leagues. I’m going to make you so proud you won’t be able to stand it. When I play in my first big-league game, they’ll let
you out to come see me, won’t they?”

“I don’t know. I guess they might.”

“You keep thinking about that, and I’ll keep thinking about it. We’ll make it happen, Daddy. I’ll remember everything you
taught me.”

“Especially today?”

“Especially today.”

Daddy rose slowly and put a hand on the table. “Do me a favor, will you, El? If I can’t make it, will you tell ‘em you owe
a lot of your baseball success to your dad?”

“I’ll tell them I owe
all
my success to my dad!”

“No, no, now, that wouldn’t be honest. You know I didn’t give you that skill and that brain. And your mom deserves the credit
for all she done for you without a man in the house.”

“I know.”

“So you tell the whole story. I’ll be listenin.”

The next day, though Elgin’s and my train was not scheduled to pull out of Birmingham until early evening, I made the difficult
decision to not return and see Neal. Being closer to Hattiesburg, I made a few calls to relatives. My mother told me, “Word
we get here is that Neal is dying of AIDS. Don’t you dare touch him.”

“That’s a lie,” I told her. “He’s not well, but it’s alcohol-related.”

“Alcohol? Well, how in the world does he get booze in prison? I mean, I—”

“Momma, I gotta get off the phone, if you don’t mind. My love to everyone.”

I was amazed at my own reaction. I was actually defensive for Neal and insulted by the charge. Such talk was one of the reasons
I had moved to Chicago, and I couldn’t wait to get home.

Home
. I thought of Chicago as home. I had made the final break. I didn’t let my mother’s comment interfere with my joy.

“I don’t see why we can’t see him again,” Elgin said in our tiny hotel room. “We have time.”

“Someday you’ll understand,” I said.

“You always say that.”

“And I’m always right. Honey, he’d look even worse today. We wore him out. We’ve said all we could say, and he has done the
same. Let’s let it be for a while.”

“But he doesn’t think he’s going to live much longer.”

I didn’t respond.

“What do you think, Momma?”

Was it time to be as honest with Elgin as I had been with Neal?

“He looks pretty sick,” I said.

“You don’t think I’ll ever see him again, and you won’t let me see him today?”

“Elgin, sit down.” He sat on the bed. “I don’t think any of the three of us needs the distress of another meeting just now.
There’s nothing more to say or do. Let’s let him try to get stronger and see if he can turn this health thing around. Then
when we get some more money, we can come back and see him again.”

Elgin lay on his side. “You don’t believe that,” he said. “You know he’s going to die.”

“I don’t know for sure.”

“But you think it.”

“Yes, El, I do.”

“Then why can’t I see him?”

“Remembering the way he was yesterday is going to be difficult enough. Why would you want to risk seeing him even sicker?
Anyway, he wants you to remember his last advice.”

“I’ll never forget it.”

“Then let’s leave it at that.”

“Can I write to him?”

“Of course. We can give it to the chaplain when he drives us to the train.”

I wrote a note, repeating what my father had said and renewing my promise to make the majors, to make Daddy proud, and to
be sure to give him credit for my success.

“I still want you at my first game,” I reminded him.

W
hen our train finally pulled into the Illinois Central station in Chicago two days later, I heard my name.

The page was from Reverend Wallace: “Please phone me collect immediately.”

I could think of only one reason. I hurried to a phone.

“Neal had an uneventful night and seemed to rally the morning after you were here,” Chaplain Wallace told me. “Late the evening
your train left, about midnight, he had a seizure that led to a coughing spell. The seizure and the coughing caused a blood
pressure crisis and another heart attack. His kidneys failed by dawn. He was put on dialysis, but he was gone by noon. I’m
sorry.”

“Sir, my son gave you a note for him when—”

“I gave it to him and he read it.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“He had it in his hands when I left him that night.”

“Would you do me a favor and tell my son that?”

When Elgin handed the phone back, he buried his head in my chest as I finished up with the chaplain.

“I want you to know, ma’am, that I believe Neal did make his peace with God sometime back. He was never terribly knowledgeable
or articulate about his faith, but apparently he had
been a churchgoer in his youth. I feel his devotion at the end was genuine.”