by Omar Musa
‘OI!’
The secca is looking up at them, white face like a coin on the floor. Only one way out. ‘Go!’ They barrel down the stairs. Jimmy is zipping up the bag with one hand, making sure the bally’s still on with the other. The secca is yelling something repeatedly but they can’t tell what it is, with the ringing of the stairs and the sound of their breath. They get to the bottom. ‘Oi, stop!’ The secca’s got something heavy in his hand but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with it, a snake more scared of them than they are of him, so he just stands there. Solomon’s still got a can in his hand, which he aims, blasting yellow paint right in the man’s eyes. The secca yells, falling and holding his face.
Another man they hadn’t seen appears from the right with a torch, running and shouting at them. Light swings through the dark and he yells, ‘I called the fucken cops, you fucken idiots.’ He tackles Solomon to the gravel and gets some good punches in before Jimmy gets there. Jimmy has got a can in his hand and he busts him in the side of the head with it. Red. The man pitches over and shivers on the ground, like he’s having a fit. Solomon rolls away and they can see the dude’s teeth in the moonlight and it’s almost like he’s smiling. They freeze for a second then the first secca comes at them again, with blood and dirt and yellow paint all over his uniform. Solomon twists his ankle as he tries to run and lets out a yelp of pain but Jimmy pulls him up and they’re running.
Jimmy half dives, half falls through the hole in the fence, the one Solomon cut, tears his shirt, then is hurtling through the grass up a slope. He can feel blood trickling down his back, or it could be sweat. Solomon is behind him, puffing, swearing.
Neither of the seccas has followed them out of the yard, but the danger hasn’t passed. They run across a big road and then hide for a moment behind a bush. They take the ballys off and they become T-shirts again. They stuff them in the bag, then the gloves, and chuck the whole lot deep into the bush. They peek out and see a cop car pull up at the intersection.
They run across the remainder of the road, leap a fence, bolting, ducking and rolling. A car screeches around and it’s coming towards them. Jimmy is sprinting now, breath rattling like a ball bearing in a can. Can’t keep this up much longer – he’s getting dizzy, stomach curdling, metallic bile rising in his throat.
Then the sound of the car heads in the opposite direction.
‘Thank fuck.’
They fall underneath a Hills Hoist in some rundown backyard, breathing hard. Sheets billow around them like the skirts of spectral dancers. ‘Fuck. That was hectic.’ says Solomon. His face is shining.
Jimmy is still breathing too heavily to answer and he begins coughing nuggets of black.
Nevertheless, it feels good.
Like brotherhood.
11
The smell of himself, a grin of moonlight, and the sound of an inmate who has been designated to sweep the floors outside the cells. The sweeper is the way prisoners trade goods, buy cigarettes and pass on messages, something the guards know but let go. Aleks can hear inmates on the lower floor yelling, ‘Sweeper! Sweeper!’, a murmuring in one of the other cells and the sound of someone sharpening a toothbrush.
He takes out a little wooden prison spoon. He snaps it into two pieces and begins to plane them down with a razor that has been melted into the handle of a toothbrush, making sure to get the proportions right. Below him, Gabe sings softly to himself. Aleks feels the violent urge building, but instead grips the handle hard and focuses on planing the pieces smooth. It takes a week to get them as he wants, smooth and flawless, both with overlap notches so they fit perfectly together.
Now he needs superglue, which is harder to come by than he imagined. It becomes a full-scale, clandestine operation, and eventually he gets a glob of glue in cling film from the sweeper, as a favour from a Turkish mate. The glue would’ve come from the minimum security workshop. Finally he puts the pieces together and lets the final product sit there. He wishes he could show it to his cousin Nicko, who is very religious.
He concentrates and in ten minutes is able to transport himself back to Ohrid. Every year a priest stands on the pier and throws a cross over his shoulder. Hundreds of men in the freezing water swim for it, splashing up little coronas of white foam and gasping for air. Aleks smiles and looks at his new cross, thinking that, if he drills a hole in it and uses red and black string from a towel to make a cord, it would make a fine necklace.
In the yard, he is treated with deference and shows no signs of weakness. Every now and again he spies the flash of red hair and thinks about teaching Torture Terry a lesson. But he must control himself. Concrete, bars, concrete, bars, alliances and enemies, each man within ruminating his own ruin, falls, failings and loves, his place in the animal hierarchy. Though most of them would’ve done the air jiggle a century ago, there is even a type of brotherhood among some. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Aleks thinks.
The attack he expects never comes, but he sees every variation of violence. Unlike in Macedonia, here the prisoners are the ones to worry about, not the guards. He sees a man stomped to death, hears men raped in their cells. He sees jam packets heated into napalm in kettles and flung on the faces of paedophiles. Even the recreational boxing, where mitts are made from socks stuffed with stolen sponges, is just another outlet for tension and a way to show strength.
When he returns to the dark, silent cell, the presence beneath him almost seems big enough to devour him. There are times deep in the clockless hours when the man cries out and Aleks worries for him. Then he feels disgusted. So alien, so black.
In the morning, Aleks is about to go into the visitor’s area. He pulls his shirt, pants and underpants off, spreads his legs and stands against the wall as naked as a newborn. The security guard checks his armpits, hair, ears and mouth, then gets him to spread his legs, pull his dick up, squat and cough.
‘Nothing up there, mate? I found a mobile phone last week.’
‘Bullshit,’ says Aleks.
‘No bullshit. Saw the antenna sticking out.’
‘Old school. Motorola?’
‘Yeh. Bloke got it up there in a condom. Punched him in the side and half the bloody thing came out.’
‘Farkin hell. You gotta a find a better way to earn a living, brother,’ Aleks says over his shoulder, grinning.
‘Seriously, I’ve never worked around so many arseholes,’ the man replies, giving him his prison whites.
Aleks is still chuckling when he enters the visitation room. Instead of his wife and parents, whom he expected, he sees his cousin Nicko. He burns with a sense of loyalty for his cousin, who has done a lot for the community and trodden the straight path. They smile at each other. Nicko, who has dark bags under his eyes, passes his hands over his eyes, nose, lips then down the back of his neck.
‘What’s wrong, Nicko?’
‘Work. Don’t worry about it.’ He scratches at a birthmark on his arm.
‘Nah, nah. What about it?’
Nicko sighs and stares at the ceiling. ‘These people I work with, cuz . . . public service pricks. They look down on me so much, I swear. They’re the cream of the dregs, Atse.’
‘I bet. That’s how the kengurs do it —’ Aleks is about to go on a rant, but Nicko cuts him off.
‘Ah, don’t worry about it. How you going in here?’
Aleks, worried Nicko is going to go back to the community and gossip, says nonchalantly, ‘The food’s good. How are my ladies?’
Nicko seems to relax and his eyes brighten. ‘Good. Mila came around for a birthday party at mine the other day —’
‘Oh, of course! Happy birthday to little Suzana.’
‘Thanks, cuz. Little princesses – they grow up so quickly, ay? Giving us a run for our money already.’
‘I know.’
‘And Sonya. You see her?’ Aleks looks at him squarely.
Nicko scratches his birthmark again. ‘Yep. She dropped Mila off. Just looked a bit tired, that’s all. She cou
ldn’t come today cos she had a job interview. I thought she got the message through to you. Sorry you have to see my ugly mug instead.’
Aleks grins. ‘No way. Your ugly mug makes me feel better about mine.’ Then, thinking of Sonya, he says, ‘Harder to get a job than it used to be, ay?’
‘Yeah. Government’s cutting jobs in the public service, too. Atse. If you need any help, just let me know, all right?’
‘Of course. Of course,’ Aleks mutters. ‘You seen Jimmy around?’
‘Yeh. Running around with that dog of his, talking to it like it was a human.’
‘Sounds about right.’ They laugh easily.
‘Rare as rocking-horse shit, your mate. That’s dog’s lucky to have Jimmy. I heard most ex-racers get drained for their blood so vets can use it in transfusions. Poor doggies.’
‘Yeah,’ says Aleks. ‘What about Solomon?’
‘Dunno. Seems to have gone missing in action.’
12
Basketball playlist
Gang Starr – ‘Full Clip’
Nas – ‘Nas is Like’
Kanye West feat. Lupe Fiasco – ‘Touch the Sky’
Cam’ron – ‘Hey Ma’
Jurassic 5 – ‘What’s Golden?’
J. Cole – ‘Workout’
Verbaleyes and Mute – ‘Lingua Franca’
Jay-Z – ‘Roc Boys’
The Tongue – ‘The Show’
Talib Kweli – ‘Get By’
Home Brew Crew – ‘Basketball Court’
Method Man and Redman – ‘The Rockwilder’
The Roots – ‘Get Busy’
Outkast – ‘So Fresh, So Clean’
Mos Def – ‘Mathematics’
L-Fresh the Lion – ‘One’
Muhammad’s dad
A convivial Indian-Fijian shop owner
with snowy hair.
He seems to like what he sees on the court,
until his eyes alight on Toby.
‘That one. A bad influence, I think. His parents.’ He twirls a finger
around his temple then mimes drinking.
‘Yeah, I heard. Just needs a push in the right direction, Mr Khan.
Basketball’s good for him.’
He nods,
sizing me up,
then crushes two fifty-dollar notes
into my hand.
‘Get the kids some stuff they need.’
Shopping night
At the sport’s store,
an attendant keeps following me and Jimmy around,
looking at us heaps suss.
‘You all right?’ I call out.
She looks embarrassed and leaves.
I measure a few sizes of a Steph Curry jersey against myself
then decide on one.
‘That’s way too fucken small for you,’ says Jimmy.
‘It’s not for me, numbnuts. It’s for a kid.’
Sounds strange saying it.
‘Huh? What kid?’
‘A kid I’m teaching to play ball.’
Jimmy looks taken aback,
then grins.
‘You didn’t tell me about this. Watch out, bra. You might get put on
one of them lists.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Expensive present. Buy me one.’
I ignore him and go in search of sports cones.
I also get cheap basketballs
and water bottles.
Jimmy stares.
‘All right, it’s actually a few kids.’
I pay for the jersey with my own money,
the other stuff with Mr Khan’s.
I sniff the jersey on the way out
and almost wish I bought it for myself.
Fresh gear always makes you play better.
It’s like Reebok Pumps –
pure placebo.
Drinks
An outdoor bar with a Mexican theme.
Some boys I used to play ball with
are talking about Aussies in the NBA.
They’re all clean cut,
working in the public service now.
‘Mate, we’ve got a fucken awesome national team. Bogut, Dellavedova,
Baynes. Patty Mills is crushing it, too.’
‘Yair, heard of this new guy Dante Exum? He declared for the NBA
draft and everything. Jarryd Hooper’s going well at college, too.’
I feel a pang at the mention of Jarryd’s name.
Then I notice Jimmy,
very still, by himself,
on the margin of conversation.
I know what’s on his mind –
‘These people don’t even know I’m here.
I have nothing in common with
these rich, successful, white cunts.’
Then he’ll think about his dad.
Every small failure in Jimmy’s life
is magnified by his paranoid brain;
a massive ugly picture
of failure and loss.
To Jimmy,
it’s always been him against the world.
Beige
At first,
Jimmy told the kids in high school
he was half-Samoan.
But one day at the interchange,
I told them the truth –
that he didn’t know what he was.
After that,
everybody began to call him ‘Beige’.
Beige Beige Beige
Jimmy was jealous of the fair-skinned Koori kids,
so proud of their culture.
Seems fucked up now,
but I loved to torture him –
ignore him at the bus interchange,
see how far I could push it,
how the smallest jibe would affect him
like a lash to the back.
Hiding my own shame
at not being Samoan enough.
And Jimmy would take it
and take it
and take it,
until he found hip hop . . .
and that other stuff.
I wish I could rewind it all.
Sonya
He’s still got a good heart, though.
He’s worried that Sonya might not be going so well,
with her health,
with her cash.
‘Reckon we should help somehow?’
‘Yeah, maybe. Not sure how. It’s a bit awkward, don’t ya reckon? Aleks
would hate that.’
‘Yer.’
As Jimmy keeps talking,
my mind drifts to the court
and my team:
Amosa’s All-Stars!
Toby’s first present
Toby can’t seem to believe it.
He holds the jersey to his nose
and closes his eyes as he breathes in the scent,
just like I did.
Then he tears his T-shirt off
and puts the jersey on.
He shines on the court,
still a little clumsy,
but with gunpowder in his step now.
His jump shot like a heatseeker —
everything I taught him working at once.
Muhammad stops acting cocky for a moment
and seems pleased to see his mate so happy.
Some Sudanese kids have turned up,
one who’s nearly six-foot-three tall
at fifteen years old.
Diamond in the rough,
mad potential to be a good centre.
Word-of-mouth, ay?
I set up the cones
and I’m running drills with em
and finish with a proper five-on-five game.
I make sure to play music the whole time.
Most of kids are into Kerser,
but I play older shit
they mightn’t have ever heard.
Each one, teach one, ay?
The point of it all
Every point
a toe, heel or ball
touches,
is a point on a map.
And the map
points to something.
When the kids leave
I put on my favourite album,
‘A Long Hot Summer’ by Masta Ace.
Something melancholy but resilient
about the rhymes and the chopped samples.
I dribble to the beats,
and for a moment it feels
as if my muscles and bone have sheared off
and I am one with the wind, the music.
I think about Aleks again
and feel guilty.
He’ll feel betrayed
that I haven’t visited him.
Sometimes I think his presence
is rupture to the music,
that negativity only breeds more of the same.
Shared history, though –
you can’t just let it off
a leash like a dog.
The ethereal synths of ‘Beautiful’
come on.
I tilt my head,
sniff the air –
the dusty, sherbet sky enters my nostrils,
my mouth, ears, skin.