Home Game

by Endre Farkas

  Dear Marianne

  Hope you are doing OK. And that it worked out with your parents. You blew me away with that kiss. Probably your parents too. I miss you. I miss holding you, I miss you making me crazy.

  We are busy practising, playing and travelling. I don’t know if there is news about us in Mtl. But here, we are in the newspaper, on radio and TV. We lost our 1st game but only by 1 goal. That was pretty good. They’re very good. We have one more game in Budapest. I hope we can win this one. I can dream, can’t I?

  Speedy and I are getting along like old times, I think. Being here is strange. Even though it’s my birthplace, I feel like a visitor. Speaking Hungarian feels strange. And people are strange when you’re a stranger… the song has new meaning for me.

  Being here has brought back memories I had forgotten. Not all good. I’ve had some bad dreams…bad acid flashbacks? Ha Ha. I’m trying to breathe.

  How are the dance classes going? Going to any poetry readings? Say “high” to Naomi. I’ll tell you more about everything when I get home. I’ll probably be back before this letter gets to you.

  I’m going to crash now. Miss you.

  Love,

  Tommy

  45

  Coach Hus called for a meeting, but instead of holding it on the pitch, he found a classroom. He paced as he spoke. “We did good. We showed them that we could play with them. We showed ourselves that we could keep up with them.”

  “Almost,” Tito said, still pissed with himself about the second goal.

  “Now let’s see if they can play with us.”

  “What do you mean, Coach?” Ivan asked.

  “Well, they certainly have the skills and they can hustle, but I’m wondering if they can play football.”

  “What are you talking about, Coach?” Kostas asked. “Of course they can. They beat us, didn’t they?”

  “No, I don’t mean soccer, I mean football, Canadian style.”

  The boys sat in mute silence. They had no idea where the coach was going with this. “You want us to tackle them Canadian football style?” Schmutz joked.

  “Did you guys notice what happened on Archie’s goal?”

  “He scored?” Schmutz said.

  “Yeah, but how? Whether you guys knew it or not, we pulled a trap. Wolfie played the decoy. He lured the defence to the left and the middle opened up. Same thing happened when he almost headed one in. So we have to think in terms of traps Canadian football style. We don’t have much time to perfect them but if we can pull a couple of basic ones, I think we might surprise them. I think we could work a couple of basketball picks as well.”

  Coach Hus diagrammed a couple of plays on the blackboard. He kept it simple. Tommy had always thought of Coach Hus as a phys-ed teacher who knew the game from a book. He had joked that he was a star benchwarmer at university. But now, watching him draw Xs and Os, Tommy saw another side of him. His Huizinga practice, his it-ain’t-over cheerleading and bringing a Canadian perspective to the game gave Tommy a new respect for him. Mr. Papp was wrong about him. Sitting at old-style wooden desks with inkwells, Tommy and the boys were getting an education. He caught himself sitting up straight with his fingers interlaced. Tommy raised his hand, two fingers pointing to the sky, the way he was taught in grade one. “There’s one guy who yells a lot, Coach.”

  “So? What does he yell about?”

  “Their centre half is like a general on the field. He calls plays, which side to load and the like. I could try to do quick translations.”

  “Ah, our very own fifth columnist,” Luigi said.

  That afternoon, they walked through the plays that Coach Hustle had diagrammed. If it worked just once or twice, who knew what could happen.

  Anna was in the bleachers watching them. She waved. Tommy and Speedy waved back.

  Team suppers on the road were usually loud affairs, boys shouting at each other, joking, stealing each other’s cutlery, stabbing food from each other’s plates. Coach Hus usually had to yell at them to behave, that they were representing their university. Tonight, they ate in near silence. After supper, Luigi, Stanislaus and Ivan didn’t engage in one of their loud card games. Tito and Derek weren’t arguing about some war. Professor Archie, instead of holding court, was sitting alone reading Das Kapital, his favourite book. Even Schmutz in his corner armchair was quiet.

  Tommy went outside and sat on the steps. He lifted his eyes up. Clouds drifted by now and then, their shapes shifting. A chilly breeze caressed his face. As he rubbed his scar, it dawned on him that he had come within an inch of not existing. Of not getting to Canada, not meeting Marianne. Of not being part of this team here in Hungary. Was there a purpose to all this? Where were all these crazy thoughts coming from? He tried not to think of anything, but the churning of his stomach wouldn’t let him. He rose, stepped into the dark. He gazed up at the starry sky while he took a piss. He shook his head and went in back in.

  When Tommy came in, Schmutz began chanting, “spy, spy, spy.”

  Tommy smiled. “It’s what Nemecsek did,” he said.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Agostino asked.

  Tommy settled into an armchair. “Gather round, children, and I will tell you a story.”

  The boys looked up. No one said a word. “Listen and I will tell you the story of Nemecsek.”

  “What?” Stanislaus said.

  “Not what. Who.”

  “Okay. Who?” Tito asked.

  “This story is about Nemecsek and the deed of the underdog.”

  “Forget the literary analysis and get on with the story,” Archie said, slapping his book shut.

  “You’re one to talk,” Derek said. “You always analyze. Go on, mate.”

  “Okay, children. Once upon a time, there was a young boy whose name was Nemecsek. He was the smallest, frailest member of the Paul Street boys, a group who had their clubhouse in a lumberyard on Paul Street in Budapest. The lumberyard was their domain. Their enemy was The Red Shirt gang. The Red Shirts wanted to take over their territory. They challenged the Paul Street Boys to do battle for the ownership of the lumberyard.”

  “A fight. A fight. Good,” Ben yelled.

  The boys laughed.

  “Nemecsek was the lowest-ranked member of the boys.”

  “Like you,” Ivan said, throwing a pillow at Ben.

  “Shut up and listen!” Tommy snapped.

  The room grew silent. This was the second time the boys had heard Tommy snap like that. Speedy was usually Captain Loud. Tommy was Captain Quiet.

  “He was the only private in the group. Every other member had a rank or a title, but not Nemecsek. They were always bossing him around and saying he wasn’t big enough, strong enough or brave enough. So, the night before the big battle he sneaks over to the Red Shirts’ territory. It was in some sort of a botanical garden. He spies on them to learn their battle plans and to prove himself worthy of membership in the Paul Street gang. The Red Shirts catch him and interrogate him about the Paul Street plans. He refuses to betray his friends. So they dunk him in a pond. He still refuses and they do it again. By the time he gets home he is shivering and catches a very bad cold that makes him feverish and unable to fight with his pals. But he refuses to stay home while his friends are fighting, so he sneaks out and goes to the lumberyard. The battle is going badly for the Paul Street boys. The Red Shirts’ leader is about to snatch their flag, which would mean that the battle was over.” Tommy rose and walked out of the room.

  “Hey! What happened then? You can’t leave it like that,” Ben shouted after him.

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow, after the game.”

  “You’re a weird guy, loco in the coco,” Speedy said when they were back in their room.

  46

  “Hey, I’m going to check out room 101. Do you have another pair of nylons?”

  “N
o. I don’t think you should go.”

  “Why not? Anna invited me.”

  “You could get into trouble being out on your own.”

  “I won’t be on my own. It was very okay last time. I will have a lovely Hungarian chica to keep me company.”

  “Don’t…”

  “I’ll be careful, Mamasito. Later, amigo.”

  Lying in bed, Tommy remembered that the last time he read The Paul Street Boys he, Gabi and their parents were in the Dohany Street Synagogue. Tommy wanted to see that synagogue again, to see what it looked like to a nineteen-year-old prodigal son. He drifted off to memories of burnt-out tanks and overturned streetcars.

  The door flew open. He jumped awake. It was Speedy with two bulky forms behind him. They shoved Speedy in. Tommy scrambled out of bed.

  “Tell him Hungarian girls aren’t whores like American girls,” one said.

  “Who are you?” Tommy said, trying to calm himself.

  “We could arrest him. Translate!” the shorter of the two shouted.

  Tommy had never seen Speedy so enraged. “What happened?”

  “They were waiting inside with her.”

  There was something familiar in their faces. “Speedy, apologize!” he hissed.

  “The bitch set me up,” he snarled. “Soon as I got in she yelled rape. I should have...”

  Tommy shoved Speedy against the wall. “Look like you’re sorry,” Tommy growled at him.

  He let go of Speedy. “Sirs, please, my friend is very sorry. He understands what he did was wrong and would like to apologize.” Tommy went to the night table, took five hundred forints from his wallet and gave it to Speedy. “Shake hands,” he told him.

  One of the men grabbed Tommy’s wallet and took out the rest. He sneered and threw the wallet on the floor. “You say anything to anybody, and we will be back, you pieces of American shit!”

  When they were gone, Tommy and Speedy stared at each other in silence.

  Speedy kicked the door. “Fuck!”

  A shiver shot through Tommy. He squeezed his hands into fists and clenched his jaw. “Rotten lice!”

  47

  Coach Hus wanted the team to get to the stadium early so they could get the feel of the place and get over their nerves. The People’s Stadium, Hungary’s soccer temple, where Tommy’s childhood heroes had performed heroic deeds, could be seen from miles away.

  He had never seen a stadium so huge. Not even the Montreal Forum. His father had promised to take him to the People’s Stadium when he turned eight. And though he did spend his eighth birthday in Budapest, they weren’t there to see Puskás and the rest of the Mighty Magyars vanquish their foes. They were there to escape. Now, eleven years later, he was finally here, not as a fan, but to play on the Golden Green himself. He could hardly believe it.

  The groundskeeper led them through the dark corridors that snaked under the stands. He felt like he was in a labyrinth. When they arrived at the dressing room, the groundskeeper opened the door. Tommy was surprised. It was more like a cell than his heros’ royal chamber. It was a plain room with worn wooden benches that ran along three walls, peeling paint, rusty hooks and bare bulbs. Jarry Park’s dressing room was nicer than this. Still, it felt like a special place. “Speedy. Look.” He pointed to a number ten on the wall. He took off his jacket and hung it on the hook below it. “My jacket is hanging on Puskás’ s hook. I’m sitting in the same dressing room, maybe in the same spot where he sat. I can’t wait to tell my father.”

  He could see tell Speedy was still seething. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, amigo. We have a game to play.”

  “Fucking right,” Speedy hissed.

  “Something eh? Like sitting in the Habs room where The Rocket put on his jockstrap, eh?” Schmutz said.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “When a Canadian kid goes into the Habs’ dressing room, he can dream of becoming a Hab, the next Rocket, but I was denied that right.”

  Coach Hus clapped his hands together. “Okay, boys, Let’s go have a look at the field.”

  Tommy felt small on the huge pitch. He strolled to centre circle, slowly made a full turn, looked at all those empty seats rising to the sky and the nets at both ends, which seemed a million miles away. He lay down on his back, placed his palms on his chest and closed his eyes.

  “What are you doing? Grass angels again?” Luigi asked.

  “My father told me that the grass of the Golden Green was so soft that you’d want to lie down and sleep on it. He was right.” He closed his eyes. He heard 60,000 people call his name. He took a deep breath, as if inhaling its history, its tradition and its glory. This could have been my turf, he thought to himself.

  Back in the locker room, Tommy took his time getting dressed. He and Speedy sat side by side and followed their ritual. Today it was even more focused. Both Speedy and he had scores to settle.

  “Let’s put it into the game,” Tommy said.

  Speedy nodded. They sat quietly. The room was still but it wasn’t the same stillness as in Debrecen. The boys understood they were sharing a special moment, a high they might never experience again.

  Speedy stood up. “Okay, Sir Internationals, listen. We’ve come a long way. We’ve come from all over the world. We can curse in many languages. We are the Canadian university champions. We have one more game. We’re playing in Budapest on the field where Puskás played. Now we’re playing on it with our own Puskás. How can we lose?”

  “Puskás! Puskás! Puskás!” the boys chanted. Tommy’s eyes misted.

  “Okay Captain Puskás, lead us out,” Schmutz shouted. Tommy stood and circled the room, shaking hands with each of the players, Coach Hus and Ben. He led his teammates through the dark, cleats clicking and echoing, and stopped just where the light entered the tunnel.

  The two teams lined up under the stands. Tommy snuck a peek over to Gabi. He wasn’t smiling.

  A loud cheer greeted the teams. “God, there must be about 5,000 people,” said Agostino in awe.

  Gabi nodded as they shook hands. Tommy looked him in the eyes. There was a seriousness in them. Then at the last moment, Gabi winked.

  Tommy stood at centre field. The ceremonies seemed to go on forever. He felt like he was outside of it all, outside of the world’s reach, watching himself. He was in a silence where all chaos was stilled. The only sounds were his heartbeat and his breathing.

  The whistle blew and suddenly he was back in the world and everything was happening at a furious pace.

  Archie was right. Debrecen was coming at them faster and harder than they had in the last game. But the boys were expecting it. They were ready. And they weren’t intimidated.

  Coach Hus’s preparation focused them. They slowed the game down. “Don’t be afraid to play backward. Use Derek. Let him be the quarterback at the beginning,” he instructed them before the game. Led by Tommy and Speedy, both of whom were playing with a ferocity that energized the boys, they not only held their ground but pushed Debrecen back.

  Debrecen’s frustration built as the game wore on. Tommy felt it. Speedy was not only tiring the man covering him but defensively was challenging and tackling his opponents like a vicious beast. The centre half was calling out plays but it had an edge to it. Tommy translated as fast as he could. He didn’t try to control the game, just fed Luigi, Schmutz and Archie, who spread the ball to Stanislaus and Kostas on the wings, who were getting shots at Gabi. Nothing dangerous, but it was enough to keep Debrecen off balance.

  The game became more of a physical chess match, slow, tactical and mainly taking place midfield. Tommy had the ball. He pivoted to the left to send a short pass to Speedy. All of a sudden, he felt a cleat cut across his left ankle. He buckled. He let out a yell as he collapsed in a heap. He writhed in pain, curled up and grasped his ankle. It felt limp, like it was dangling by a
thread. Needles of pain shot through the flesh surrounding the bone. He looked up at the referee. The whistle never came. Debrecen’s attack swept in on Derek. A roar exploded in the stadium.

  Tommy lay there watching Debrecen mob their captain. Speedy tore off towards the referee.

  “Speedy!” Tommy screamed. Schmutz took off after Speedy. Reaching out, he grabbed Speedy by the sweater and yanked him back, just before he reached the referee. Speedy was screaming and cursing the referee in English and Spanish. The referee whipped out a yellow card and flashed it in his face. Schmutz pushed Speedy away.

  “Shut the fuck up!” he yelled at Speedy.

  Coach Hus and Ben were kneeling next to Tommy. Ben pressed gently on his left ankle.

  “Awww shit!” Tommy cried out.

  “You okay?” the coach asked. Tommy winced.

  “Is it broken?” Ben pressed a bit more firmly. Tommy winced again.

  “No, I don’t think so, but it’s badly bruised. It needs to be taped.”

  The referee came by. He looked at Tommy. Tommy glared back. He thought of his grade one teacher, Mrs. Gombás, who was supposed to be fair and protect him. In the end she turned on him. The referee signalled Coach Hus to get Tommy off the field and send on a replacement.

  “No,” Tommy said sharply as he sat up. “Just tape it. Quick.”

  “I can send you back after.”

  “No. International rules. Once you’re off, you’re off.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be back,” Tommy said to the referee as Ivan and Luigi helped him limp off. There was polite applause.

  Ben unlaced Tommy’s left cleat, pulled off his sock and immobilized his ankle. Tommy was biting his lip and staring at the game that had restarted. Debrecen was pushing again but the boys were holding down the fort. Tommy got up and tested his ankle. It hurt like a bitch. But he could walk. He trotted lightly. “Shit,” he hissed but kept at it. The throbbing subsided slightly.