OCR Text |
Show 13 saw that the ball was going to Peter Brown in right field. That relaxed him enough that he could give a minute's thought to the implications of an instinct being shaped by incomplete knowledge. There was a body of shared information that he was excluded from, and he did not know how or when that had happened. Peter caught the ball and threw it to Marshall Fuller on third base. Marshall caught it, dropped it, and recovered it just as Jimmy Vialpando jumped for the base, and tagged Jimmy on the stomach with it. But here ambiguity entered. "You're out, Vialpando," Marshall said. "What do you mean out, man? I was on the base before you even touched me with that motherfucker." "You were not. You were still in the air." "Eat shit, motherfucker. I was on the base." Lew Hendrick walked over from shortstop position. "I think you were out, Jimmy," he said. "Marshall tagged you before you landed on the base. I could see." "Man, you're as crazy as you look," Jimmy said, and pushed Lew in the chest. Lew staggered back and Jimmy whirled around to look for somebody else to push. "You were out, God damn it," Marshall said. "Now get out of here and go sit down. That's two outs." "You want to get bad about it, man? I was safe." Jimmy made a move toward Marshall, and Marshall backed off a few steps. Just then something darted past Lorin. It was Dick Paxton, running over from center field, his face white. Dick was class president, and the one person in the world whom Lorin wished he could be. Dick got to wear the badge of hall monitor, and left class early each day to help the elderly crossing guard usher the |