‘“What friends?’” I asked, “Charith?” He laughed and told me that he hung out with gangsters. I thought he was trying to impress me.’
The Aussie batsman approached, hoping for a replay of the previous night.
As did each of Sri Lanka’s top order. But Danila stuck by her date. ‘He would have to be the first cricketer not to try and feel me up on the first night.’
The match was going well and Sri Lanka looked on the brink of an improbable victory. Pradeep said his girlfriend had told him to choose between his friends and her.
‘Who were the friends?’
‘I never got to meet any of them,’ says Danila, not without sadness.
They had an ‘on again, off again’ for two years, her longest relationship to date, aside from her recent broken engagement. While Shirali was away in Washington, they became weekend lovers, committed but not exclusive.
‘Why did Shirali leave him?’
She blushes and shrugs and tells me. ‘She caught him with me.’
‘He never got over it,’ says Danila. ‘Even when he was with me, he was with her.’
The tea company client arrives and she has to be excused. But she asks me one more question and it is the only time during the entire conversation that I feel I am speaking to the real Danila.
‘Last time you said he was dead. Is he?’
I tell her I am no longer sure.
Middle of the Bat
You may remember that I pinned my classified ad to the Bloomfield noticeboard sometime back. And that it resulted in Ari and me being banned from the club.
Before it was presumably torn down, the advert yielded one response. The GLOB, stalwart of Sri Lankan cricket for the last decade, still a part of the side despite being past his use-by date. The man who invited me to his first wedding, but not to his second.
While I am walking down to the shop to buy cigarettes I’m startled by a green Jaguar tooting its horn as it pulls up by my side. The window rolls down and the GLOB, wearing a suit and sunglasses, offers me a ride. He has been at a function at Mount Lavinia Hotel. The urchins on the street stare at this famous man sharing a car with the drunk from 17/5.
We drive down to the railway tracks, sit in the car and ignore the ocean. I smoke, he talks. He asks me how the hunt for Mathew is going. I tell him it is going OK. It is then that he tells me about the middle of the bat, about how Pradeep made him and how Pradeep almost broke him.
‘He played with me in the A-team in ’88, I think. He only told me to take a 2 feet stance. To forget about footwork, to hit on the up. To hit anything that was in the zone.’ He pronounces zone to rhyme with lawn.
The other coaches told the GLOB to get to the pitch, to get in line, play along the ground, play with a straight bat. Pradeep told him to swing for the coconut trees beyond the stands.
Every bat has its sweet spot, a cherry at the centre, buried within the blade’s meat. If the ball hits this area it stays hit. One can judge the batsman’s form and class by how well he middles the ball. Diffident, unskilled batsmen allow the ball to hit the blade anywhere from the shoulder to the toe, resulting in edges that reach the cupped hands of waiting fieldsmen.
‘I could never middle the ball when I faced Pradeep,’ says the GLOB. ‘Even in the nets, even if I was in good nick. I could never judge his bowling. I wasn’t the only one.’
The GLOB is not a textbook batsman. He hits with an angled blade, aided by powerful forearms and a terrific eye. On his day he was indestructible.
‘When I face him, I lose my confidence. He spins it both ways, same action. Can’t judge the bounce or the turn. I faced one over in a Mercantile match. I couldn’t see the ball at all.’
The GLOB describes that over from Mathew as the worst of his career. He missed every ball and was dismissed soon after. He suffered months of bad form and was dropped from the national squad.
‘Why did Bloomfield get upset when I asked about him?’
‘Mr Karuna, you have to understand, cricketers are jealous. Few places in the team and everyone wants them. If you have talent, like me for instance, you have to be humble. Especially to the seniors. No one likes an arrogant panditha bugger.’
When bowling in the nets, in boisterous tones Mathew had offered the Skipper hundred rupees for every ball he hit. The whole team looked on in horror as their leader was humiliated at the hands of a twenty-three-year-old upstart.
Each googly, undercutter and darter eluded the bat, many connecting with the Skipper’s stumps. Each was accompanied by taunts from the bowler.
‘He was saying “Come on, old man, where is your batting?” How can you say that to the Skipper?’
Mathew was not included in the 1987 tour of Pakistan, despite being the best spinner in the country. Many believe his display in the nets was to blame.
‘I know it was a shame,’ says the GLOB as he drops me at my doorstep. ‘But even I was glad to see him go. It helped my confidence not to face him.’
‘Any idea where he is?’
‘I think he jumped immigration in New Zealand. If you find him, let me know, would be nice to see the bugger. Now I think I could face him.’
From the way he says it, he doesn’t appear completely certain.
Dehiwela Zoo
Writing has become difficult. Perhaps there is too much to say. I no longer know what is true. And I no longer have a bottle to help me focus my gaze. Of course I see advantages. There are no more aches, my piss is yellow and my shit is brown and not vice versa. I don’t need the cane any more, though I still carry one. I have even acquired a potbelly, the true sign of Sri Lankan prosperity.
These days, life is what happens in between my smoke breaks. I have escalated to eight a day. Not bad, not good either. I have a love story that I do not understand. A cloak-and-dagger tale that makes no sense. Whither cricket? Whither genius?
Sheila brings me photos of my grandson playing football in a London backyard belonging to the ex-wife of my ex-son. Garfield is now playing with a rocker band and attempting to reconcile with his family. He is still wanted by immigration in Geneva. How he got past customs in London I can only guess. If he is caught, he will be deported and doomed to give guitar lessons in Rawatawatte. And that will be that.
Ari is upset that Danila did not trust him. ‘I brought up five girls single-handedly for three years. Who does she think she is? Personal life. Hmph.’
Ari’s TV has remained in my room since my illness, a permanent donation. My room is neat as it always is when I am not writing. Except for the stains of crow shit on my permanently open windows. Brian is on the screen previewing the upcoming test vs England at the Oval.
‘Wije. I thought this was our project.’
‘You’re jealous because the young lady prefers me.’
‘Why do you get the girl and I get the dwarf?’
‘I think you mean midget.’
The phone rings.
‘Can we meet tomorrow?’
‘Is this …’
‘Don’t say my name on the phone.’
‘I don’t think this is tapped.’
‘Every phone in every town is tapped.’
‘Tomorrow is OK. Where?’
‘The zoo.’
‘In Dehiwela?’
‘Where else?’
Click.
‘That was the nuisance caller?’
‘How did you know?’
‘Elementary, mon ami. You only look on edge when you’re talking to women. I could hear that it was a man or a gruff woman, so naturally I deduce … très bien?’
‘I’m confused. Are you Sherlock or Poirot?’
‘That is not the question. The question is why you are talking about Dehiwela with our prank caller.’
I take a deep breath and I spill the beans. Ari is silent for a long time.
‘Is this a true story or are you making it up?’
‘When I write about it, I’ll make stuff up. Why would I lie to you?’
&nbs
p; ‘Let me follow you.’
‘You’re too old to play cat and mouse. I will tell Kuga you are my partner. But only if you take me to the midget.’
‘Don’t talk crap. You know I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘You don’t know this character. He’s mad.’
‘But you’re OK to steal from him?’
‘Borrow. Anyway, forget it. I think you’re making this up.’
‘Too bad. You’d look distinguished in a blindfold.’
* * *
Asia Cup 1988. That was when I was sure.
Sure of what?
That Pradeepan was a god. That he commanded the earth and the air like Hanuman.
Like a monkey?
It was a simple set-up. India would lose to Sri Lanka. Pakistan would lose to India. Pakistan and India would hammer big run rates against Bangladesh and then get into the final. Pakistan would win. Tit for tat.
You’re saying ’88 Asia Cup was fixed?
Listen, will you. India went to plan. Pakis were supposed to beat SL in a close game. They couldn’t score enough runs so Lanka won. Luckily I didn’t bet on that one.
Sri Lanka was supposed to throw the game?
Mad? Only good teams throw matches. Sri Lanka were crap, but Malik and Shoaib couldn’t score off Mathew. He sent down five maidens. That cost them the match.
You fixed matches? Or just put bets?
I have been on both sides of every fence you can think of.
People like you destroy the game.
Bullshit. I have saved it. In ’88, Sri Lanka played like Bangladesh and Bangladesh played like Denmark. Where the contest? We make Sri Lanka pull off an upset, arouse a bit of interest, make the Bangladesh games about the run rate. We made every game in that tournament dramatic. We are for the game, not against it.
How much money did you make?
I do OK. But I don’t do it for money. I do it for the cricket. Upsets are good for the game. Like West Indies vs Kenya at the World Cup.
You did that?
Why? Did you put money on that? We don’t do impossible upsets that will attract attention. If Holland beats Pakistan, that’s not us. We work only with professionals. Like South Africa.
So the Cronje rumours are true?
When I fix it, you don’t even know it’s been fixed. If I was smart, I would’ve got into tennis or snooker. Easier to fix one guy. Cricket is too complicated.
Can’t fix everyone?
That’s the beauty of it. Unfixed player changes the script and then battles the fixed player. Bad for business, but a treat to watch.
Is that what Pradeep did? His performance got Sri Lanka into the final.
Which Sri Lanka lost.
Of course. That I made sure. Pradeepan took four wickets that match. But Lanka still lost.
So you bribed Sri Lankans for the finals?
No, I just weakened their best players.
With what?
The usual. Booze and whores. It’s hard to take diving catches when you’re hungover and have pulled a muscle trying to score a 69.
* * *
At the zoo, the animals are as shabby as the people looking at them. This was once the largest and finest menagerie in all of South Asia. Alas, the zoo’s great Burgher superintendent migrated along with most of our good ideas to Singapore. Now they have the best zoo in Asia, and Dehiwela is a half-dismantled prison filled with emaciated giraffes and black panthers that look like cartoon pink ones.
Even on a Wednesday, there are crowds. And even though the price of admission is less than half a pack of cigarettes, I’m sure that vast quantities of money flow into this place and go into building enclosures for biped mammals who wear white sarongs and drive Pajeros.
Daniel called me that morning and said to wait by the flamingos. It is only after passing cages of sleeping wolves that I realise they are at the entrance.
I struggle to understand why the boys can’t just pick me up from home. When I arrive at the flamingo pool, Sudu and Chooti are hot and bothered.
‘What the hell, Uncle? Now almost 12. Come quick,’ says the dark one, sweat forming a moustache above his lips.
Daniel is in the van and in a foul mood. ‘Next time we are not waiting, ah?’ A blindfold and a bumpy ride later I am on the terrace of a lane I do not know, where all the houses have unsolvable fractions on their gates.
‘Heard that Uncle was late,’ says Kuga. ‘Don’t be late. Can be very dangerous.’
He is wearing sunglasses and a tie. His moustache has been trimmed to a Clark Gable and his sideburns extend at sharp angles. There is also something different about his home which I am unable to fathom, and then it hits me.
It is the portraits at the entrance and on the walls of his office. Last time they were of a smiling Ms 2ndGeneration in her blue sari. Today they feature the Leader of the Opposition Mr NeverWas in a green shirt.
Mr OldSchoolTie, president in the 1980s, said that under the new constitution, the only thing a president couldn’t do was turn a man into a woman and a woman into a man. These days even that is a plane ride to Bangkok away.
* * *
I took Pradeepan to my brothel in Sharjah in ’88.
You own an Arab brothel?
I invest wherever business is good.
Did you fix Sharjah?
Sharjah is where things started. Suddenly there’s twenty one-day games back to back. I knew clients with too much money, I knew players with too little. Simple economics.
Was the brothel part of Pradeep’s payment?
That was to make him a man.
And the English lessons?
A man who is afraid of women will never be a man. A Sri Lankan without English has many doors closed to him.
Did he play well on the tour?
He was reserve. They don’t let Tamils become permanent members of the side.
That is nonsense.
I told him that being Tamil, he needed to be ten times as good. And to do that he would have to work and understand who he was.
Our greatest bowler is a Tamil.
Murali is not our greatest bowler. But yes, you are right.
Why have you got UNP pictures on your walls?
I support the opposition.
But I remember last week …
You remember wrong.
When Mathew was out of the side from ’89 to ’92, what was he doing?
He was with me, training. Recovering from his injuries.
From his fight?
Fight?
With skinheads in Melbourne.
You have done homework. No. Pradeepan was developing carpal tunnel from all the variations in his bowling. I got down a physio from Australia to help him. I hired a fitness trainer. I helped develop his deliveries.
You’re not the first to claim that.
That Nelson bastard collected 20 per cent of Pradeepan’s Bloomfield salary till I put a stop to it.
Newton. What happened to his coach and physio?
Whatmore and Kontouri. I got them jobs at the SLBCC.
I don’t accept that there is race discrimination in Sri Lankan cricket.
There is every sort of discrimination everywhere in this country.
What happened to his girlfriend?
That bitch? If I knew she would be like that I would never have set them up.
You did that as well?
I don’t appreciate your tone, Karuna. What do I gain out of lying to you?
What do you gain out of telling me the truth?
It might help you find him. And I would like you to find him.
What if I don’t?
Let me rephrase. I expect you to find him.
What if I publish everything you’ve told me in the Daily News?
They wouldn’t print it.
Why not?
Because, I’m pretty sure they already know.
* * *
From the terrace I can see how well paved this nameless road i
s. How well kept the gardens are. How every house has a Sudu and a Chooti lookalike standing at the gate. I ask Daniel who the neighbours are. He says he cannot say. I say I’m sure I don’t know them. He says he’s sure that I do. Right then, a neighbour comes out, a bearded man with a familiar face. He picks up the morning papers off his veranda and waves.
‘No movies, Rohana?’ shouts Daniel.
‘I’ll send,’ calls the man.
Daniel looks at me while Kuga gets off the phone. ‘Any film that man can get. Even before Hollywood. He has original Godfather 4. Film hasn’t even been made.’
‘Rohana who?’
‘Please don’t ask dirty questions.’
* * *
That Shirali was a curse. Every project I got for Pradeepan, she would reject.
Project?
Ads, tours. I could’ve made him a superstar.
Sri Lankan cricketers didn’t do ads those days.
What about Aravinda and Keells sausages? Who do you think set that up?
Really?
I had Gold Leaf and Lion beer willing to pay big bucks. Where? That bitch said no, no?
She didn’t approve of tobacco and booze.
She didn’t approve of anything. She even tried to get him back with his old coach.
You said you put them together. I heard a different story.
What?
About a beauty contest and a fight with skinheads.
No one mentioned me in your story?
I’m afraid not.
Are you sure? Karuna, I have photos of every famous cricketer with one of my girls. I have video recordings of Lanka’s seniormost cabinet minister grunting over a Russian tart like a baboon. I have organised complex operations for the government, the opposition and the LTTE. Sometimes at the same time.
Impressive.
You think I can’t fix a beauty contest and a bar fight?
* * *
Later in the afternoon, a cricket match is organised between the Sudu and Chooti lookalikes of each house. It is then that I realise they are all wearing the same clothes. White shirts worn tails out and black cotton slacks. It is then that I realise that these are uniforms. One of them has a gun tucked into his belt; in fact, all of them do.
The Legend of Pradeep Mathew Page 27