Sam's Legacy by Jay Neugeboren Page B

the rummage shop, trading words and riddles. Maybe things like that happened when you got to Ben’s age, he thought. It was no skin off his back. Maybe, one morning, he’d even find Tidewater in the living room, wrapping black straps around his pale arms. Sam blew through his lips, sideways. That would be rich.
    â€œHere,” Tidewater said, and held the envelope toward Sam. The man’s voice was soft again. He seemed hesitant, embarrassed. “I’d planned to share this with your father, but he has forfeited his chance. ‘My son,’ he said to me, ‘will take my place.’ If you have the time, then, I’d like…”
    He set the envelope down, on the kitchen table. “It’s something I’ve been working on which I hope you’ll read. It has to do with baseball.”
    â€œYeah,” Sam said. He tried to figure, quickly, which would be the easy way out. “Ben said something once, about when you were young. He looks up to you.”
    â€œBen knows much of what is in here—I’ve shown him sections from time to time. Perhaps, after he leaves, you’ll come to my apartment sometime, and we can talk.”
    â€œSure,” Sam said, and sighed. “One of these first days.”
    Tidewater stood and approached Sam, his eyes bulging forward, revealing his anger. “Do not talk to me like that. I told you before: your father is worried about you. I’d like to help. He’s making a mistake.” Sam watched the man’s tongue, how it flicked his lips, his teeth. He saw a streak of darker skin inside Tidewater’s mouth—he’d seen it before: the man with the two-toned tongue, he’d called him. Tidewater’s breath, sweet like honey, washed over Sam’s face, but Sam stood his ground, looked straight into the man’s eyes. It was relaxing him—a surprise—simply to see the guy get carried away, out of control. The envelope was in front of Sam’s chin, held forward, and Sam tried to imagine what would happen between them, after Ben was gone, if he refused to read it. There was Flo to think about too; she might feel sorry for the guy. “It’s important to me that you read it, that you know. When you’re done, you do not have to say anything if you don’t want to, though I would welcome your reaction. Please? I—”
    â€œSure,” Sam said, and he took the envelope. What would it cost him, except a few hours, and once it was out of the way, maybe the guy would let him be. “I’ll take a look at it.” There was no point in saying anything about Ben’s leaving—but he could understand that too: how upset the guy might be, and how Flo might take his side.
    â€œIt is the story, not of my life, but of one part of my life—the part that was most crucial for me. I hope—”
    â€œYou don’t have to explain,” Sam said. “I said I’d take a look.”
    Tidewater was sitting again, his head back, as if dreaming. Maybe Ben had had this figured too, Sam thought—maybe it was just another favor he needed from Sam, one which, with his ways, he couldn’t have asked for directly. Sam wondered if Ben had told the hospital story to Tidewater, and if that was the reason the guy seemed to trust Sam so much. Then too, Ben might have bragged about Sam’s knowledge of sports—he was a father, after all. Sam held the envelope and listened…
    â€œMy earliest memory—or what I remember as being my earliest memory,” Tidewater was saying, “is connected with your father, you see. It is of a game we played on the weed-grown lawn of an old wood house situated across the road from our own houses—did he tell you that we lived, for several years, side by side?—and behind the houses and gardens of our neighbors.” He stopped. “Has Ben—or Andy—ever told you about their house, the