‘I am your mother…don’t forget that.’
TWENTY-ONE
It were so good to get out of town for a while, despite the emotion of having played my last game for the club. It weren’t the best way to go out – with Amejee trying to hijack the team coach and telling us the Day of Judgment had arrived – but luckily for us, Bowker and Lino decided not to get the police involved and the matter were closed.
But my day of judgement had arrived as I flew into Bergamo to see if everyting were sound. The decision to play here next season had already been made, but I wanted to the place to be decent enough so I wouldn’t feel homesick.
The flight were just over three hours and the shaky black letters gave us the same kick as seeing my name on the teamsheet for the first time. Okay, the name weren’t spelt correctly – for some reason it read ‘Sic Karim’– but there were no doubt the tall, slim bloke in a neat beige scarf were holding the piece of cardboard up for us.
I pushed my trolley a bit faster as I walked towards him. His light blue shirt – about a third unbuttoned – and brown trousers stood out in the small number of people waiting for arrivals. He were chewing on a toothpick as I approached.
‘Hello Mister,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘Welcome to Bergamo…I’m Gio.’
I shook his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Sid…I think you got my name wrong…’
He turned the card around to have a look at it. ‘That’s what the club gave me…’ he said, looking at it intensely. ‘It’s not Sic?’
‘No, it’s Sid.’
‘Oh, like Sid James yes?’
‘Aye, like him.’
‘No matter,’ he said. ‘It’s going in the trash anyways.’
He put the piece of cardboard down and flicked his scarf over his shoulder. He bent down to grab my suitcase off the trolley. He picked it up and walked off quickly. ‘This way,’ he said, heading towards the exit.
‘Are we nearly there?’ I said, throwing off my beanie hat as I sat on the back seat.
‘Not far away now…the Excelsior San Marco is just down this road.’
I slouched down with my head raised so I could only see the top of buildings and the bright blue sky. I pinched and pulled my sweaty white-t shirt so I could feel my sticky body. I blew down my chest to give it some cool air.
‘It won’t be a problem getting my Audi R8 over, will it?’
He glanced over his shoulder and then got his eyes back on the road. ‘Maybe not, but there are plenty of great cars over here…’
‘But I want that one.’
‘Well, we got a few months anyways, so we’ll see.’
I got my mobile out of my pocket and started browsing the internet.
He glanced over his shoulder again. ‘Atalanta are a good team…you’ll like it here…beautiful place. There’s Lake Como and the Citta Alta and plenty of other things. You can go to Milano, which is not far away. You can eat, drink, go out…plenty to do here…plenty.’
Listen mate, you can tell us about Milano, Lake Como and Perry fuckin’ Como if you want but all I want to know is will my team-mates understand what the fuck I’m blathering on about and do any of them speak English? I know that Rico and co have picked up the Queen’s lingo pretty well while they’ve been at Starcot – okay, it might be a bit top-heavy with b,f and c words – but the only Italian I know is ‘bada-bing’ and that ain’t gonna get me too far.
‘We love our foreign players,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Well, you probably know the feeling of being foreign in England anyways, eh?’
‘What do you mean?’ I said, looking up as I waited for a page to load.
‘Is not important,’ he said, looking ahead again. ‘If overseas players are good, they become heroes. Trevor Francis was merda for us…Reggie Hitchens did better.’
‘Who’s Reggie Hitchens?’
‘A player we used to have in the 1960s. We loved him.’
Gio slowed the car down. ‘It’s just on the end here…’
‘What?’ I said, looking out of the car window.
‘Excelsior San Marco…it’s just on the end of this block. He pointed with his right hand. ‘It’s that big white building over there.’
The tall white building were like a giant ice-cube rack put on its side. I wanted the squares to be pushed out and rain down us so we could cool off from the sweltering heat.
‘The club’s people will meet you at ten in the morning at the hotel,’ said Gio, slowing down and eventually stopping the car. ‘I’ll give you a card, you can call me if there are any problems. You’ll probably be tired anyways, you’ll want sleep.’
‘…And some food.’
Gio looked round and smiled. ‘Chips and gravy eh? I was design student in Manchester for a year, they eat nothing else…but there’s good food at this hotel. There’s the Collona restaurant and a great Roof Garden Restaurant. You have no problem.’
Bloody hell, it’ll be bad enough trying to twirl some pasta twists into my mouth but I draw the line at eating on the roof. What if some fucker falls off or throws up on the poor bastard below? I don’t want to be walking along the street at that time, that’s for sure.
‘Do they have mushy peas then?’ I asked.
We stepped out of the lift and walked towards my room.
‘Do you like the hotel?’ asked Gio, with the key in his hand.
‘Seems all right? They look all the same to us.’
‘No, no this is different…beautiful foyer. Big brown posts up to the ceiling and lovely orange seats…’
‘Well, if you say so. Anyhow there were this bloke asking us about ‘Inglazer’ while you were checking in for us. I didn’t understand him at first but told him I didn’t play for Manchester United.’
Gio smiled as he stopped abruptly by a room and put the key into the door. ‘Inglese,’ he said. ‘He was asking if you spoke Inglese…that’s English.’
‘Oh right…’
‘I think we need to start Italian lessons quickly.’
My Nokia 786 rang just as he opened the door.
‘Er, I’ve got to answer this,’ I said, walking into the room and throwing my bag onto the bed.
‘La Ragazza is it?
I shook my head.
‘Your girlfriend? Footballers get lots, yeah?’
I were about to answer but Gio raised his hand. ‘No need for details. I just order breakfast for you.’
‘Bit late for that isn’t it?’ I said, putting my hand over the phone.
He smiled and closed the door behind him.
I sat down on the bed. ‘Hello, sorry about that…’
‘Who was that?’
‘Oh Ruki, it’s you…bloody hell it’s great to hear your voice. It’s like a foreign country over here.’
‘I haven’t got much time but I just thought I’d tell you that I’ve finally got the ball from the pub. It’s here in front of me and I’m just about to open it. My father did say that you should be there too, but now that you’re thousands of miles away, there’s no point…’
‘No, no wait…why don’t you just fly over and bring it with you?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Why not? I’ll pay for the flight and the hotel and stuff – well, the club or me’ll pay…anyhow it doesn’t matter how, just get over here.’
‘I’m just editing my documentary, so I can’t. And anway I’ve got be in school on Friday.’
‘Are you using a computer?’
‘Yes, a laptop…’
‘So just bring it over…Oh come on, just for one night. Your dad said I’ve got to see this thing too, so you can’t cut me out of it.’
‘Where are you anyway?’
‘Er, Bregarmo…’
‘Bergamo isn’t it?’
‘Whatever…just come on over. I’m only here for two nights, so try and come today if you can.’
‘Don’t be stupid, I can’t just get on a plane. Mama’ll f
lip.’
‘So what about tomorrow?’
She sighed and didn’t speak for what seemed like minutes,
‘…Flights are from Manchester aren’t they?’ she asked.
‘Aye, only about three hours…I’ll get you a cab booked straight from the airport.’
‘Tomorrow’s impossible for me…’
I slept straight after knocking back breakfast, which were a hefty dose of fresh fruit, yoghurt, croissants and scrambled eggs. It were one of those long, lingering sleeps which lasted till about five and I felt there were little energy left to do anything worthwhile in the day. So I flicked through Classic and Sports Car magazine and World Soccer for a couple of hours while munching on the supply of Pringles, Snickers and Doritos that I’d brought with us. It were the first time I’d dipped into World Soccer mag and it just started to hit us that I’d have to join the style council to take on some of these blokes, with their polished hair and glowing skin. It weren’t pleasant, so I spent more time mulling over the motors.
There were a knock on the door just before seven. I walked up and wiped my mouth of a Dorito just before I opened the door.
‘You don’t deserve to play in a place like this,’ said Rukhsana, walking in with a ball under her arm and a black bag over her shoulder. ‘It’s so beautiful…’ She threw the shoulder bag onto the bed and sat down. ‘I haven’t got long,’ she said, feeling the ball with both hands. ‘I might go back tonight…’
I sat down on the bed next to her. ‘Don’t be stupid, you’re here now…stay the night at least.’
She looked at us like I were a knobhead or something. ‘It was hard enough getting this ball through customs; don’t push your luck.’ She put the ball down on the bed and unzipped a side pocket on her black bag. ‘I’ve come prepared.’ She pulled out a pair of big scissors: the kind Amejee used yonks ago when she were sewing clothes. She picked up the ball again in her other hand. ‘Right, ready? I can’t wait any longer.’
‘No, wait on,’ I said, raising my hand. ‘What if it’s something horrible?’
She sighed as she held the sharp end of the scissors against the leather. ‘There’s nothing worse than losing your father, so it can’t be anything more horrible than that. This has been driving me crazy for ages…’
I got up from the bed and walked towards the window. I turned around and picked up another Dorito from the bedside table. I nibbled it slowly and folded my arms. ‘Okay, I suppose we’ve got to put an end to this.’
She made sure the words ‘KATMINA 90’ were right in front of her and she stabbed the ball with the scissors like a pissed-off surgeon. It took her a few seconds to get in deep but eventually she prized it open like a melon, although it were still in one piece. She put the scissors down and it were obvious something were sticking out of the latex bladder, which Ibrahim loved because he said he never had to touch it. Ruki held the ball in her hands and she reached inside the bladder.
‘What is it?’
‘Looks like a disc or something…’
She picked it out and took a deep breath. ‘God, will it never end…’ She put the strange-looking football on the bed and unzipped her black bag again. She pulled out her laptop computer and rested it on the bed. She unzipped her ankle-length black boots and threw them onto the floor. She crawled up towards the pillows and sat cross-legged with the laptop in front of her.
I walked towards the bed slowly and sat down with my back on the bed rest and legs sprawled out in front of us.
‘Aren’t you going to take your trainers off?’
The last time I did that I lobbed a bottle of Lacoste Red onto my little toe, and I were out of the team for three weeks. It’s the kind of protection I can’t do without. I’m sure the Italians have got sturdier footwear than us to keep them clear of injury. After all, with the amount of perfume, deodorant and pansie polishing they do, they’d have to sleep, shag and have a shower with their shoes on.
‘I feel better with them on.’ I said,
She turned the laptop on and put the disc into the drive. ‘That just reminds me,’ she said, putting her hand on her head. ‘There’s been so much going on, I nearly forgot.’ She put her finger on the laptop’s mouse. ‘How much did you pay Yousuf to leave the country?’
It were like a ref had caught us pushing my funny bone into a defender’s jaw. I got up from the bed. ‘Aw, not this again,’ I said, walking away.
‘When he suddenly appeared after mama’s suicide attempt, I went through all his pockets and found some receipts…they were for ridiculous sums of money. He could never had earnt that much, that quickly…’
Now, as I’ve said before I always thought old Yousufine were a few crackers short of a picnic (or were that his mum-in-law?) but leaving some of the evidence in your trousers is about as dumb as a pissed-up linesman flagging for onside.
She looked at the screen. ‘It’s nearly ready, so you’d better tell us quick. I haven’t got time to mess around…’
I stuck my chest out a little and still felt pretty buff but the fact we were a few thousand miles away made us feel a little less guilty. I walked slowly back towards the bed. ‘I did it for you…’
‘Oh god, save us the Romeo flim-flam…just tell me how much he fleeced from you…or what you gave him.’
I turned away again and looked at the Daimler on the front of Classic Car and Sports magazine. ‘I gave him 20 grand to leave…and he stole a lot more…’
‘How much?’
I coughed and picked up the magazine. ‘About 75 grand…’
She gave us a sharp glance and then looked at the laptop screen again. ‘So…nearly a hundred thousand big ones, hey? You’ve really excelled yourself there.’ She typed on the keyboard. ‘Am I really worth that much?’
‘Well, I only gave him 20…’
‘…And he’s now lording it in Pakistan…’ she laughed, ‘…with your thousands.’ Her laughing got louder and she had to cover her mouth with her hand. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that now. Come here, it’s ready now.’
I walked back towards the bed and sat down. I looked at the screen and a grainy image seemed to be appearing in a small window in the corner. Ruki clicked on the top right and made it bigger so that it was now covering the whole screen. My tummy felt queasy as the picture became clear. Ibrahim’s closely-cropped beard and soft eyes were familiar as he sat on a huge string cot surrounded by a group of about 20 children standing by his side, some with their arms round him. They all had beaming smiles, glittering eyes and ripped clothes and were holding footballs in their hands. They looked to be in some sort of mud hut but the interior were filled by hundreds, if not thousands, of footballs piled high behind them, in front of them and by their side.
‘Hello,’ said Ibrahim, in a muffled sound. ‘I’m sorry it had to be this way, but there was no other solution…’ He looked around at the children and smiled and then looked ahead again. ‘I want to apologise to you first, Rukhsana, my lovely daughter. I have done many bad things, but I have always tried to do the best for you…but, as they say, the horse had bolted by that time and my best was always going to be tarnished…’
Ruki put her hand on her mouth and looked up to the ceiling.
‘…But this message is really for Sadiq, because he has come a long, long way…’
Fuck me, not that ‘long, long way’ shit again. It now means as much to me as taking my Audi R8 into the garage and having to actually walk down there to pick it up.
‘…I started stitching balls as a little boy and I still have glorious memories of this place and this community despite the toil and the hardship. I was surrounded by balls 16 hours a day, so when I came to England at the age of 14, I dreamed of being a professional footballer. As you know, I did get a trial but, as you also know, I wasn’t allowed to follow my dream. I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt me, but the problem was…I allowed it to hurt others. You may or may not know about my relations
hip with Shazia, but that is not the reason I am speaking to you now…’
One of the children fiddled with Ibrahim’s kameez pocket. He was distracted for a moment and then continued.
‘…Throughout the eighties, I worked with your (coughs) father at Lings and then in 1990, some of the workers in Sialkot called me back so I could help out with the extra workload prior to the World Cup in Italy. I think Rukhsana was about a year old at the time and her mother didn’t want me to go, but I felt obliged to help them because of my old ties. After we’d completed a series of orders, the bosses were so happy they told us they had four tickets for a World Cup match in Milan and asked anyone if they would like to go. No-one was interested, apart from me. Most people didn’t have the money or the time. I was desperate to go because I was obsessed with the game. I persuaded a young couple – and their child – to go with me: they were co-workers and just wanted to see the world and gain a new experience. So we got on a bus from Sialkot and I remember it was a steaming hot day. We were heading to Islamabad airport and the bus was crammed. We were looking forward to a great adventure in an ‘exciting new country.’
He paused for a moment and rubbed his cheek.
‘…We travelled for what seemed like miles and miles and most of the passengers were asleep, including me, but I was woken up by a loud hooter and as I looked ahead I could see this rhinoceros-like truck coming towards us. It had overtaken a slower truck in front and was now trying to get back on its own side. Our driver slowed down, but he couldn’t avoid the truck which caught the side of our bus. All I can remember is, that our bus tipped over the side and that most passengers were thrown across to my side of the bus.’
He paused again and seemed to be wiping away a tear.
‘…And you were one of them, Sadiq. You were thrown into my arms.’
‘WHAT?’ I said, looking at Rukhsana.
‘Ssssh,’ she replied, putting her finger on her lips.
He coughed and looked down at the floor. He then felt his right shoulder and finally looked up.
‘Five people were killed, but the rest survived. Two of the people killed were Kateb and Mina Nazir.’ The tears were now flowing down his cheeks. ‘Kateb was your father, Sadiq…and Mina was your mother. You were nearly two-years-old, but you survived…there are pictures of your parents on the gift I gave you, the Nokia 786.’
Season of Sid Page 29