"Ah. And where did you meet this Svetlana?" asked Baba, slowing further.

Ganady had no answer that made sense. He could say "in church," but he had first seen her on their front stoop. Of course, in either case he could just as easily say "in my dreams."

"I've seen her twice," he said. "Once on our front stoop and once in the sanctuary at Saint Stanislaus. The first time, I thought she was you, and then I thought she was Antonia."

The expression on his grandmother's face brought him up short.

"Sort of. What I mean is, I dreamed of seeing her."

Baba stopped walking, drawing Marija up short. "But she's a real girl, yes?"

"She said she was real."

"She said?"

"Well, I mean-of course she's real." He glanced over at Mr. O, who merely smiled back at him, nodding as if the topic of conversation were perfectly normal and one might meet girls in his dreams as a matter of course.

"Say, Ganny," he said, "game today. Why don't you drop by later and see?"

"Sure," Ganny said. And thought: Right after I go to confession.

oOo "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned...I think."

There, that sounded as if might cover the bases. Ganady wasn't at all sure that there wasn't a penalty for falsely reporting a sin.

"You think? You're not sure?" Father Z's voice came to him from beyond the screen.

"Oh...oh, I'm sure I've sinned sometimes, but I don't remember what I did."

There was a moment of silence, then the priest said,"Continue, my son."

Ganady took a deep breath and started again. "Bless me, Father, for I think I have sinned. I dreamed of a non-Catholic girl."

Father Zembruski was silent.

"In the sanctuary. At Saint Stanislaus."

More silence.

"With her head uncovered."

A strange sound came from beyond the screen. It sounded like a cough or a hiccup...or perhaps a sneeze?

"G.o.d bless you, Father," said Ganady.

"Oh," said the priest. "G.o.d bless you too, Ganady. And your...your sins are forgiven you. But..."

"Yes, Father?"

"You did no wrong in simply dreaming of this girl, my son. It wasn't you in the sanctuary with your head uncovered, after all. However, if you see your dream girl again, perhaps you should suggest that she go to confession. And cover her head, of course."

"But... That's just it. I don't think she's Catholic."

"These are your dreams, Ganady. You can make her Catholic."

It was a startling idea. Of course Father Zembruski was right. If she was in Ganady's dreams, then he should be able to make her Catholic if he wished.

The question that bothered Ganady was: Why hadn't he made her Catholic to begin with?

Eleven: Three Wheels.

The Puzdrovskys' first Friday ma.s.s was not their last. While they did not always attend it, they often did, as if it were necessary to keep reminding the Guercinos that they, too, were legitimately Catholic.

The ma.s.s also marked a change in Ganady's life. The two and a half years of age between him and his brother, once insignificant, seemed suddenly overwhelming. Nikolai Puzdrovsky was now a young man of nineteen; Ganny, though only weeks from seventeen, was still a boy.

They were still brothers, but no longer fast companions. Nick had left their trio to become part of a couple. Which left Ganady and Yevgeny paired as well. They would include Mr. O in their number for baseball games and such, but it was not the same and never would be again.

This realization, only half thought out, filled Ganady with a vague but vast sense of loss.

The first inkling Ganady had that life had changed even further was a Sat.u.r.day morning in late June that started much like any other Sat.u.r.day. He got to sleep in, for the family had attended late Friday ma.s.s. Mama made blintzes for breakfast, which put Ganady in a good frame of mind for his Sat.u.r.day ch.o.r.es. He had just started those when Yevgeny called to suggest they go to the ballpark as they did most Sat.u.r.days the Phillies played at home.

Ganny asked his mother-a mere formality, for the answer was always, "I suppose. But not before your ch.o.r.es."

He finished his ch.o.r.es, as always he did, and went upstairs to practice his clarinet until Yevgeny should arrive. He was putting the clarinet away when he heard his friend's knock on the front door, and his mother's greeting in the entry.

He closed his clarinet case, grabbed his glove and his Phillies cap and ambled downstairs. Two steps from the bottom, he stopped, brought up short by the sight in the foyer.

Yevgeny was there, but he was not alone. Beside him, looking like a pink and gold rose in pale green foliage, was the girl from their springtime adventure in Pa.s.syunk Park.

She smiled at Ganny shyly, her eyes seeming to match her green headband, which matched the green sweater that was draped across her shoulders, which in turn matched her rolled-down ankle socks. She carried a beat-up baseball mitt.

Yevgeny's smile held just the slightest hint of apology. "Hi, Ganny," he said. "You remember Nadia?"

"Sure. Hi."

"I...um...I invited her to the game."

She held up her glove. "I brought my mitt. To catch foul b.a.l.l.s."

Yevgeny beamed. "She knows all about baseball. Her brother plays for college."

"Penn State," said Nadia. "Nittany Lions."

Ganny glanced at his mother, who was hovering in the archway to the living room, a knowing smile on her lips. Their eyes met.

Rebecca Puzdrovsky excused herself, murmuring that she had better fix her husband's luncheon.

An awkward silence fell upon the foyer of the Puzdrovsky home, into which Ganady said, "Um, I guess we should go."

As he led the way down the front steps, Ganady heard Nadia's sweet voice behind him: "Ganny, Eugene says you got a ball with Eddie Waitkus's autograph on it. He said you'd tell me about it if I asked."

Ganny turned back to look at her as she reached the sidewalk. Her smile was eager and bright. Over her shoulder, 'Eugene' grinned at him.

oOo It wasn't a terrible afternoon, all things considered. Nadia really did know about baseball. Her brother was a star second baseman, her father a lifelong fan of the Boston Red Sox.

Ganady asked if the glove was her brother's.

"Oh, no," she said. "This is my glove. My Papa got it for me on my tenth birthday."

He had no choice but to be impressed. But that did not alter the fact that during the game Yevgeny spoke more often to Nadia, laughed in harmony with her at jests to which he was not party, and even held her hand.

Ganady knew before it happened that a Sat.u.r.day would come when he would go to the ballpark without his best friend.

It was a gradual thing. One Sat.u.r.day, Yevgeny took Ganady aside and confided in him that Nadia did not like going to Izzy's for their post-game treat.

"She says it smells of pastrami and old people," he explained, and Ganady had to allow she was right. At least about the pastrami. "She'd like to go to a real ice-cream parlor like the one over on 12th."

And so, that Sat.u.r.day, the three of them went to a "real ice-cream parlor." Afterward, Ganady went alone to Izzy's while Yevgeny walked Nadia home.

"Where's the other one?" Izzy asked as Ganny slid into a stool at the counter next to Mr. Ouspensky.

Ganny shrugged.

This was enough to raise Izzy's eyebrows. "You don't know where he is?"

"Yeah. I know where he is."

"You two have a falling out?" asked Mr. O.

"No. Just... Nadia wanted ice cream after the game."

"Nadia?" mused Izzy. "Oh, yeah. That cute little girl you've been bringing in. But I got ice cream. I even got Fifty-fifty bars."

"She wants ice cream in an ice-cream parlor," said Ganady.

Now Izzy shrugged. To each his own, the shrug said. "So what'll it be for you, Ganny?"

Ganny considered the ice cream in Izzy's freezer.

"Pastrami," he said. "On rye."

oOo The breeze was fresh and cool from over the right-field fence. It was twilight and the ball field had gone to gray wherever the stadium lights failed to reach. Set into the darkness like the gem in Rebecca Puzdrovsky's Sabbath brooch, the diamond was a vivid splash of green and ochre.

Ganady inhaled it all-the colors, the lights, the gra.s.s, the popcorn smell-and breathed it out again in a sigh.

"Nothing like it, eh, Ganny?" Mr. Ouspensky was settled into the seat next to him, his eyes on the bright jewel. "You know, the park has had lights since 1939. That was the year the Phillies came to play here. It was still Shibe Park then, of course."

Ganny nodded, watching the players take their positions. He realized with a start that he didn't know what inning it was. They were playing the Giants. It must be the top of the inning, for it was the Giants taking the field.

They had good seats-great seats-the kind of seats fans dreamt about. They were on the first-base line and practically on top of the infield. He wondered how the old man had come by such tickets.

"Change," said Mr.O, "is the only thing you can expect to remain the same. The lights, the wall, even the size and shape of the field have changed. Did you know center field was 515 feet originally? Last year it was 460 feet. Now, it's 468. Who knows what it will be next year. One year your favorite player is the hero, the next year he's the goat. And before you know it, he's retired or gone to another team."

He paused to watch the first batter stride to the plate, then said, "But you know, no matter how many times they change the walls or the dimensions, or the gra.s.s, baseball is the same."

Ganny nodded absently, watching the batter dig in. It was a player he didn't recognize. "Is that a new player?"

"New player? Ganny, that's Lefty O'Doul."

Ganady peered down at the batter's box, squinting a little. "But it can't-" he began, then realized that it was Lefty O'Doul. At least, the man looked like the pictures he'd seen of Lefty O'Doul in Mr. O's sc.r.a.pbooks.

He realized something else in that moment of recognition: he could see the chalk lines of the batter's box through the batter's legs.

A chill ran over the crown of Ganady's head and down his spine. His eyes went from player to player and found them all equally translucent.

He started to turn to Mr. Ouspensky, a question on his lips, but on the way, his eyes snagged on the grandstands-the empty grandstands. There was crowd noise, but there was no crowd to make it. He and Stanislaus Ouspensky were the only two people at the game.

"Uh, Mr. O..." he said tentatively, "is this ghost baseball?"

"No, silly," replied Svetlana. "You're dreaming."

He jumped and turned in his seat. She sat right where Mr. Ouspensky had sat, holding his popcorn. Her hair was caught up in a bright ponytail, and a Phillies cap sat rakishly atop her head. The old man's glove was on her left hand.

"Where's Mr. O? He was right there a second ago."

She smiled at him. "Things change, Ganny."

Blood drained from the dream-Ganady's face. "He's not-I mean, he hasn't..."

She poked his arm. "No, silly. This isn't about Mr. O. Didn't you hear what he was saying? This is about you and Nikki and Yevgeny." She grinned at him. "I mean, Eu-gene."

Eugene. He grinned back, remembering the first time Nadia had called his best friend by the hated Americanish name. And then, even more stunningly, referred to him as 'Gene'-all without protest on Yevgeny's part.

"I wonder why..."

"Why he lets her call him 'Gene?' Well, what if I called you 'Nady?'"

He wrinkled his nose. "I wouldn't like it."

The grin turned sly. "But you wouldn't stop me from doing it, would you?"

He looked down at the now empty field. "No. Probably not." He sat in silence for a moment, then added: "But I'd still have time for my best friends."