The Chosen

by Chaim Potok

“Whenever I do or see something I don’t understand, I like to think about it until I understand it.” He talked very rapidly, and I could see he was tense. “I’ve thought about it a lot, but I still don’t understand it. I want to talk to you about it. Okay?” “Sure,” I said. “Do you know what I don’t understand about that ball game? I don’t understand why I wanted to kill you.” I stared at him. “It’s really bothering me.” “Well, I should hope so,” I said. “Don’t be so cute, Malter. I’m not being melodramatic. I really wanted to kill you.” “Well, it was a pretty hot ball game,” I said. “I didn’t exactly love you myself there for a while.” “I don’t think you even know what I’m talking about,” he said. “Now, wait a minute—” “No, listen. Just listen to what I’m saying, will you? Do you remember that second curve you threw me?” “Sure.” “Do you remember I stood in front of the plate afterwards and looked at you?” “Sure.” I remembered the idiot grin vividly. “Well, that’s when I wanted to walk over to you and open your head with my bat.” I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I wanted to.” “That was some ball game,” I said, a little awed by what he was telling me. “It had nothing to do with the ball game,” he said. “At least I don’t think it did. You weren’t the first tough team we played. And we’ve lost before, too. But you really had me going, Malter. I can’t figure it out. Anyway, I feel better telling you about it.” “Please stop calling me Malter,” I said. He loo...