One week ago
Ms Trad, North Illaba’s multicultural teacher, knew very little about cricket but she knew what a big role sport played in Australia, and she appreciated how for new arrivals it could be a fast track to assimilation and acceptance. She had observed how young Tomas Nunez from El Salvador had flourished since joining the Nips’ cricket team, and how Akram Rajavi’s self-esteem had improved. She noted the new degree of respect the students had for Lan Nguyen. Well, most of them. There were always a few like Ryan West.
‘The government shouldn’t be spending money on illegal immigrants, giving them free houses and paying for them to play stupid games of cricket,’ Ryan said, as soon as Ms Trad had opened the discussion on asylum seekers.
Izram, who was seated behind Ryan, thumped him on the head. ‘Cricket isn’t a stupid game!’ he countered.
Ryan turned and hit him back. ‘It’s stupid and boring!’
It had taken Ms Trad a good five minutes to restore order in the classroom. ‘Rather than arguing about cricket, can we talk instead about who the team is going to play against next week. The asylum seekers at Braeburn.’ She hurried on before Ryan West could interrupt again.
‘These people, including, of course, the children, have come from places of war. They have seen their friends and family die. They have starved, they have been persecuted and rounded up by men with guns; they have been in and out of different crowded refugee camps. They have few possessions. Think how stressful it is to be in another strange place of detention where they hardly speak the language and know nobody.’
Lan didn’t need to think very long. His own parents had been boat people from Vietnam. He had heard their story many times. ‘But now the asylum seekers are safe in Australia,’ he said.
‘I don’t think they will feel safe anywhere for a very long time,’ Ms Trad said. ‘But perhaps this cricket game will help them feel a little more welcome.’
Saturday
‘You know what this team get if they win today?’ Izram asked, joining Lan at the lunch table. The Good Neighbour people had put on a barbecue, and the tantalising aroma of sizzling meat and onions drifted over the playing field.
Lan took a bite of his hamburger and shook his head. Mr Thistleton had said it was a friendly match. You didn’t win prizes in friendlies.
‘Points,’ Izram said.
‘Points?’
‘To buy food.’ He looked around and lowered his voice. ‘Nobody here has any money. You get fifty points a week to exchange for food. A point’s worth about a dollar. If the team wins this match, every player gets twenty-five points.’
‘How do you know?’
‘See that kid over there?’ Izram indicated a boy at the other end of the table. ‘His name’s Omro. His mum was sitting next to Ms Trad and she told her about the extra points and how it was his birthday next week and she was going to cook a special feast if the team won.’
‘So what are you saying?’ Akram, who was seated next to Lan, spoke through a mouthful of sausage. ‘That we lose the match so he can have a party?’
‘Everybody on the team gets extra food,’ Izram said. He turned to Lan. ‘How does it hurt us if they win? We’re not getting any prizes. We’ve got nothing to lose, but it’ll be a big deal for them.’
Lan could see the logic of this, but the idea of deliberately throwing the match, even if it was for a good cause, bothered him.
‘Everyone will know if we suddenly lose form,’ Akram objected. ‘It’ll look suspicious.’
‘Everyone wants us to lose!’ Izram replied. ‘Nobody will care. They’ll be happy.’
Lan realised, with a small shock, that he was right. It was surely what Mr Drummond, the Good Neighbour and Mr Thistleton had been hinting at, and why else had Ms Trad told Izram about the points? He knew now what it meant to cut a person some slack: it had nothing to do with uniforms. And it wasn’t necessarily for extra food points. It was to boost the rookie team’s confidence and give the whole Braeburn community a lift. How could he deny them that? On the other hand, how did you ensure that your team didn’t win?
‘I think we’d better have a quick team meeting,’ he said.
The opening batsman for the Nips, for the first time in his life, was Tomas. Lan had tried to explain the reason for this strategy, but Tomas had been too alarmed to properly take it in. He knew he was the weakest player in the team, but if Lan wanted him to go first he would do his best. He gripped the bat, wondering if his hands were too close together on the handle. Did he have time to adjust them? Up or down?
The approach to the wicket by the Apods’ opening bowler was, to say the least, weird. He skipped rather than ran, his arms spinning like a windmill, and the ball came out of the back of his hand, short and a little wide.
Tomas slashed at it and sent it straight into the hands of cover point.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered to Lan as he trudged off the field, his face red with embarrassment.
“Don’t worry about it,’ Lan said. He noticed Ms Trad on her feet and applauding as if hitting the ball for the fielders to catch was the whole point of the game.
Satto was in next. Like Tomas, he had been unexpectedly promoted in the batting order, but unlike Tomas he understood the reason for it. At the other end of the pitch, Hiroki screwed up his eyes to see who it was, and gave Satto a thumbs up.
Their partnership made six runs before Satto was bowled out. Hiroki battled on but was dismissed a few minutes later. Both of them had trailed back to the bench looking dejected.
In terms of cutting the Apods some slack, Lan had done a good job. But he didn’t feel good; it had meant putting pressure on three of his lower order players and exposing them to potential humiliation. Surely a captain shouldn’t ever do that? Jemal and Izram were in now but after them, in almost any order, came the best batsmen. He glanced at the scoreboard. In order for the Apods to win, they would have to bag some fast wickets – which was unlikely, given the expertise of their bowling attack – or the Nips would have to restrict their runs to no more than two per over.
There was a loud clattering of saucepans and Lan switched his attention back to the game. On the last ball of the over, Izram gloved the ball to the wicketkeeper, who looked as bewildered as if a bag of gold had unexpectedly dropped from the sky.
‘Losing sucks,’ Izram muttered to Lan as he walked off.
Before Lan could remind him that it had been his idea, Agi came up and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Why are you handing us a win?’
‘I’m not … we’re just…. making things more … even,’ Lan stammered.
‘Please don’t. It is insulting to us. The best team should win. How will we know who the best team is if the match is not fair?’
Lan stared at his retreating back. To throw a game for whatever reason….
How could he have forgotten?
Five months ago
Lan could hardly believe what he was reading. But there it was, stretched across the width of the morning newspaper under a huge headline. He went back to the beginning and started reading the story again.
Mr Nguyen came into the kitchen and saw him at the table. He nodded his head in approval. ‘Very wise of me to get newspaper delivery. One, it gets you out of bed early, even in holidays. Second, it makes you read more. Schoolwork can only improve.’
Lan could have reminded him that it was his idea to get a daily paper delivery, that he’d been the one to argue that it would help his English, that he’d had to beg for weeks before his father reluctantly agreed.
He said none of these things because he wasn’t listening; his mind was still on the astounding story in the paper.
His father brought his steaming cup of green tea to the table and peered over his shoulder at the newspaper. ‘Cricket match-fixing scandal,’ he said, reading the headline. ‘What was wrong with match? How you fix it?’
‘It means the match was rigged, that some of the players che
ated in order to lose,’ Lan said.
‘Why they want to lose?’ his father asked.
‘For money. Some of the players accepted bribes to throw – lose – the match.’
‘So the other side would win? I don’t understand.’
‘It’s to do with gambling and betting.’ He read from the newspaper account. ‘It says here that over two million dollars was made from the fixing of the fourth Test.’
Mr Nguyen whistled. ‘That’s a lot of money to win on a funny game. Well, off to work. Another day, another dollar.’ He’d overheard this phrase somewhere at the market, and had embraced it with delight since it exactly expressed his work ethic. He put his empty cup on the sink. ‘See you tonight. Be good. Help your mother.’
‘Bye, Dad.’ Lan barely looked up as his father headed out the door. Cricket might be a funny game with funny rules, but it was an honourable game too. He and the others had only been playing for a short time, but Spinner had taught them that much.
He ripped the page from the newspaper. He’d take it to practice this morning and ask the old man about it.
‘What’s that you’ve got in your pocket?’ Practice was over and Clarice ‘Spinner’ McGinty, former Test cricketer and volunteer coach, sat down next to Lan on the bench under the trees at the Denby Reserve and wiped his face with a rather grubby handkerchief. Larri, his small fox terrier, settled down at his feet.
Lan pulled out the newspaper page and unfolded it. ‘Did you read about this match fixing business?’ he asked.
Spinner nodded.
‘How could they do it?’
‘Didn’t happen in my day. Professional cricket’s all about money these days. Don’t get me started.’
Spinner’s yarns about the old days could go on for so long that birds fell out of trees, but Lan wanted to get certain things straight in his mind. ‘It’s wrong for bookies to fix matches and it’s wrong for players to accept bribes to throw the game. But is it cheating? You know, like claiming a catch when it bounced or not walking when you’ve edged a ball?’
Spinner scratched Larri’s head. ‘Remember your match against King’s?’
Lan nodded. Every detail of that game was permanently etched on his memory.
‘Their captain – what was his name?’
‘Macmillan. Matthew Macmillan.’
‘That’s the joker. Remember when he was on 38 and didn’t walk, and went on to get his half-century? Got a big hand, didn’t he? Whaddya reckon he was feeling at that moment?’
Lan shrugged.
‘What were you thinking?’
‘That he didn’t deserve it.’
‘Me too, matey. And every player on the field who heard the snick, and everyone watching who heard it. And you can bet that inside himself MacMillan was feeling the same way. In my book that’s the best reason for walking. Where’s the pride in a dishonourable win?’
Lan recalled the look of shame in Matthew Macmillan’s eyes after the game, when the captains had shaken hands. Spinner was right.
‘There’s different ways to cheat,’ Spinner continued. ‘And deliberately throwing the game, for whatever reason, is cheatin’. You’re cheatin’ the other side of an honourable win. You’re cheatin’ the spectators of a fair match. And you’re cheatin’ your team mates.’
Lan nodded. When he played for Australia, he would remember that.
Monday
‘You didn’t feel the need to consider the bigger picture?’ Mr Drummond inquired.
Lan wasn’t sure what he meant. In his mind, the bigger picture was cricket and the honour of the game. ‘The other side wanted a fair match,’ he said. ‘They wanted to test themselves against us. We went easy on them at first, but then we went for it.’
Mr Drummond clicked his teeth in disapproval. Hadn’t he told the boy that it hadn’t been about winning?
‘Well, it must have been a disappointing day for the internees,’ he said.
‘Um, no, sir. Everybody had a good time. They said it was a terrific match.’
‘Really? I’m surprised.’
‘Mr Kabiri said we were inspirational, and so did Agi, the captain. They asked us to come and play again.’
‘Did they?’ Mr Drummond peered over his glasses. ‘Well, I can only hope that next time you give them a sporting chance. All right, you may go to class now.’
Lan closed the door behind him. Mr Drummond didn’t seem to understand that cricket was a game full of sporting chances. It had been his mistake at Braeburn to try to limit them. It had nearly ruined everything.
At his desk, Mr Drummond stood up and cracked his knuckles. Lan Nguyen still didn’t quite appreciate the concept of good sportsmanship. Ms Trad would be useless at trying to explain it; perhaps he should ask Mr Thistleton to have a go. On the other hand – he opened the door and yelled for Mrs Moody to bring him a cup of tea – why bother? It was only a game.
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
To cross the river
the subway rises above ground
An ajummal1 sits silently
nudging her companion’s side to say
the snow is falling
An old man in the next seat shakes his grandson
whose eyes are half closed
and points outside the window with a part of his
finger missing
the snow is falling
A young man and woman who have been
standing sullenly
turn to look at each other
the snow is falling
A red-haired girl who sits reading a comic book
swiftly pulls out her cell phone
the snow is falling
Snow is falling on the Han River2
Snow is falling on the subway
All are grateful
when the subway comes above ground momentarily
1 A common Korean term for a middle-aged married woman
2 A river that runs through Seoul
I hate surprises, especially when they involve Dave. He hasn’t said anything since we hopped on the train after school. Bryan’s also taken a vow of silence.
‘So where are we going?’ I ask.
‘Just chill out, Benny,’ Dave says, ogling a couple of girls at the back of the carriage.
I groan. Dave is a player, and I don’t mean the computer games kind. Perving at girls is one of his main hobbies, followed closely by flirting with girls, and dating girls.
‘We’re going to Rashays,’ Bryan says.
I blink. It’s the coolest hangout in town. Though I wouldn’t know first-hand.
‘Just the three of us?’ I say.
‘I’m meeting Claire there,’ says Bryan, avoiding my eyes.
I glare at Dave.
‘Oh, and Wendy is coming too,’ Dave shrugs casually.
I stand up. ‘I’m getting off.’
‘It’s an express train to Liverpool,’ Dave says.
I swing my backpack over my shoulder. ‘I’ll jump off then.’
‘You’ll kill yourself on the tracks,’ Bryan says.
Anything would be better than being set up. Wendy works at the supermarket with Dave. He’s been trying to get us together for ages. I keep saying no but he just won’t give up.
Dave pulls me back down. ‘Come on, man, what have you got to lose?’
‘My dignity, my time and my money. In that order.’
‘What if I shout you a smoothie?’ Bryan says.
I liked it better when we were back in primary school, talking about less complicated things like Pokémon.
‘I’m okay with being alone.’
‘That’s what loners say,’ Dave says. ‘Our Year Ten formal is in a few weeks. You need a girl and almost all of them are taken, even the ugly ones.’
‘Who cares?’
I’ve hung around girls before but they can’t wait to shake me off. They always talk through me, trying to get to Dave.
‘Trust me, Wendy’s your type,’ Dave
says.
So she’s an awkward nerd.
‘How do you know that?’ I say.
‘Well, you’re both shy.’
‘I’m not shy,’ I say, sliding down in my seat.
‘She’s a bookworm too,’ Dave says. ‘She always has a thick book tucked under the cash register. And get this, she’s not even reading them for school.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘No angels or vampires on the cover?’
‘I swear, man, not one. I know how you hate those books,’ he says. ‘She’s just like you.’
‘I don’t want to talk to myself all night.’
‘C’mon, just take a chance.’
I take my glasses off and clean the lens. ‘I just don’t want to be set up.’
‘It happens all the time,’ Bryan says. ‘That’s why we make new friends – so we can meet people who might know better-looking people. How else are you going to meet the girl of your dreams?’
I elbow Dave in the ribs. ‘You introduced him to Claire, didn’t you?’
Dave grins.
‘Do you get a finder’s fee?’
The train announcer mumbles something about Liverpool Station and we get up. I put my glasses on and turn to go down the stairs but Dave has already spotted a group of giggling girls further along the platform. He heads off on the long cut, sticking his shoulders back and chest out. As he passes them, one girl with long, loopy hair hands him a note.
‘Here’s my name and number,’ she chirps. ‘Text me yours.’
‘For sure.’ Dave tucks the note in his back pocket. ‘Catch ya later, girls.’
I swear he’s a magician, pulling girls out of thin air. The only magic trick I can do is make girls disappear.
Bryan looks straight ahead, muttering Claire’s name under his breath. I trail behind him, head sunk into my chest. The girls turn away, putting on their earphones.
We catch up with Dave and he takes out the note and waves it in my face. ‘Shame you’re not a cutie up close, Sharon. But your friend is hot.’
Things a Map Won't Show You Page 7