The Caretaker of Lorne Field

Charlie let go of his knuckles and put his hand behind his neck as if he were feeling for bumps. “How about taking me to that field?” he asked.

“I can’t do it, Charlie. I’d like to, but I can’t.”

“I hear others have been up there.”

“They have, but not ’cause of me. I can’t violate the contract. Things just get harder when I do.”

“Five minutes, Jack. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Chrissakes, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Charlie’s face screwed up as if he were going to argue, but instead he pushed himself to his feet. “I understand,” he said. He didn’t look directly at Durkin. “I better get back to the bar.” He hesitated. “How about some food? You want anything?”

“A cheeseburger and fries?”

“Sure. No problem.”

When the food was ready, Charlie brought it over with another beer. This time he didn’t stop to talk. Just gave a polite nod.

Durkin tried watching the ballgame on TV, but his mind floated too much for him to follow it. One minute a batter would be up, the next he’d either be on base or heading back to the dugout, and Durkin would have no idea what had happened in between. It was as if slices of the game were disappearing on him. When he was done eating, he left the bar and pedaled home on Lester’s bike. Later, when he was on the sofa, it took almost ten minutes to pull his work boots off, and after he did, he soaked his feet and tried not to think of anything, especially the looks he caught out of the corner of his eye all night from Charlie.

That night he dreamt of his pa. He was back in high school, the night after his baseball team’s championship game. He almost won the game single-handedly, hitting two homeruns and a double and making several tough plays at third, but his team still lost 8-7. His pa missed the game like all his other games since he had to spend the day weeding Aukowies, but in the dream they had dinner together and afterwards he came up to the bedroom that Jack shared with his brother. His pa asked Joe to leave so him and Jack could talk alone.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there today.”

“I know, pa.”

“Your ma was telling me you almost carried your team on your back today.”

Jack was in the middle of oiling his glove. He wiped off some of the oil and rubbed what was left deep into the leather.

“My last at bat I was slow to the ball,” he said. “If I’d picked up on the spin faster I would’ve driven the ball over the fence instead of bouncing it off it. We would’ve won the game if I’d done that.”

“Sometimes it’s a matter of inches, son.”

“Yep.”

His pa sat silent for several minutes. Jack kept rubbing the oil deeper into his glove.

“Folks are saying you could be a big leaguer,” his pa finally said.

Jack shrugged.

“I’m sorry, son,” his pa said. “If it was up to me I’d make Joe the next Caretaker instead of you. But I can’t do it.”

“I know, pa.”

“Everything in the contract’s written for a reason. Any of us start messin’ with it and we’re all lost.”

Jack nodded and kept his eyes on his glove. He tried hard not to cry. He didn’t want his pa to see him crying.

“I know it ain’t fair,” his pa said. “I know it as well as anyone, son. But if I made Joe the next Caretaker, then what happens if he has two boys? Neither of them are going to want the job when the time comes. And they’ll have every reason to fight about it because I cheated with you. And then what? I can’t set that type of precedent, son, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“You don’t have to explain, pa.”

“But I want to. Nothin’ I’d want more than to see you have a chance playing professional ball. But if we start cheating on the contract, we got big problems. We have to follow the contract to the letter. This thing is bigger than you or me, Jack. Ain’t no job harder. You got the weight of the world on your shoulders. But you can do it, son. I got no doubt that you got it in you to be Caretaker. And as hard as the job is, people here will respect you for it. You’ll be saving their lives every day. It makes it easier knowing that. Most days it’s what keeps you going.”

The sixteen-year-old version of Jack Durkin in his dream nodded and wiped a finger across his eye, trying hard not to let his pa see that he was wiping away a tear.

Durkin woke up and realized he was crying in his sleep. He was ashamed of it, even though there was no one there to see it. He wiped a hand across his eyes, then lay in bed thinking about his dream. He tried to remember if he ever had had that talk with his pa and decided he hadn’t. He couldn’t even remember his pa ever eating dinner with them. It was just a dream, nothing more. His pa never talked to him about playing baseball. Never acknowledged that he was all-state or had set state records with both his twenty-two homeruns and. 620 batting average. The only talk he could remember having with his pa about something other than his future as Caretaker was after his freshman year of high school. His pa suggested that he drop out of school since there was no point in continuing.