“He used to come to the Terrace sometimes too in the older days. But he was rough and harsh- spoken and difficult when he was drinking. His mind was on horses as well as baseball. At least he carried lists of horses at all times in his pocket and frequently spoke the names of horses on the telephone. ”

— У ҳам авваллари бизнинг Террасимизга келиб турарди. Аммо ичиб олса, тамом, унга ҳеч ҳам бас келиб бўлмасди. У фақат бейсболгина эмас, от жинниси ҳам эди. Ҳар доим чўнтагида мусобақа программасини олиб юрар ва телефон орқали отларнинг номини атаб, уларга пул тикарди.

"He was a great manager," the boy said. "My father thinks he was the greatest."

"Because he came here the most times," the old man said. 'If Durocher had continued to come here each year your father would think him the greatest manager."

— У улуғ тренер эди,— деди бола.— Отам, у бутун дунёда энг улуғ тренер бўлган дейди.

— Уни бошқалардан кўпроқ кўргани учун шундай дейди. Агар Дюроше ҳам биз томонларга ҳар йили келиб турганда, отанг уни ҳам дунёда энг улуғ тренер, деб мақтаган бўларди.

The boy went out. They had eaten with no light on the table and the old man took off his trousers and went to bed in the dark. He rolled his trousers up to make a pillow, putting the newspaper inside them. He rolled himself in the blanket and slept on the other old newspapers that covered the springs of the bed. He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high capes and the great brown mountains. He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it. He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought at morning.

Бола кетди. Улар чироқ ёқмасдан овқатланишганидан, чол қоронғида ечиниб ётди. У кийимларига газетани ҳам қўшиб ўраб, ёстиқ ўрнига бошига қўйди. Чол одеялига бурканиб, каравотнинг қуруқ пружиналарига ташлаб қўйилган эски газеталар устига чўзилди. У ётди-ю, ухлаб қолди. Уйқусида ёшлик чоғлари ўтган Африка, унинг узун, олтин қирғоқлари ва кўзни қамаштиргудек оппоқ саёзликлар, юксак қоя ва ҳай-батли қўнғир тоғлар тушига кирди. Энди у яна ҳар кеча уйқусида шу қирғоқларга қўнар, уввос билан отилган тўлқинларнинг шовқинини эшитар ва ерлилар тушган қайиқни тўлқин қирғоққа қандай суриб бораётганини кўриб турарди. Тушида у ҳамон палубадан чиқаётган лос ва смола исини туяр, димоғига эрталабки шамол қирғоқдан олиб келган Африка нафаси уриларди.