by Javi Reddy
“We’ll beat him,” Jay said defiantly. “Three heads are better than one.”
“I’m not sure what goes on in that madman’s head,” James replied.
“It’s okay,” Jay reassured them both. “We’ve underestimated him, but he won’t have that luxury anymore. He’s a snake who slithers through, but we’ll get him. We have to. The first time I saw his real influence was shortly after we’d qualified for the quarterfinals against Rose Park….”
23 July 2013. City Hall
No one really knew what was going on—especially not Keith and Jay. Murmurs had infiltrated through their ranks that had made them restless. Being summoned to a meeting at the Johannesburg City Hall was nothing minor. If it was just the coaching staff that had to attend, then that would be big enough; but with the players also being included, everyone knew something big was brewing.
City Hall paid tribute to the classical architectural heritage of Johannesburg.
The Joburg city fascinated Jay with its old buildings that still stood there. As they drove by, he could almost taste the history. This country had enough history to create its own set of encyclopaedias. Their school-bus made its way past banks, hotels and flats that carried a 19th-century look. He was so enthralled by the cultural tripping that he lost himself in it even before Keith broke his fascination. “So, what the heck is going on, bru?”
“I really don’t know.”
“This is massive, hey. Each team left in the Staffords Cup is attending. You think they gonna call the tournament off?”
Jay hadn’t thought about that; just his luck. As he’d found himself back where he belonged, they decided to yank it all away from him.
“Or maybe they gonna send the winner overseas? As a reward?”
Jay doubted that. Money was still tight, even amongst privileged schools’ budgets. He didn’t care about a trip to a foreign land; Jay was so desperate for this tournament to continue on home soil. He didn’t like things to be left the way they were between him and the spectators. He had to go out with a bang. Even if they lost to Rose Park, he wanted them to see that Rosebank would fight until the end. As their bus entered the pathway to the hall, tension amongst the players was as if they were on trial and arriving for a court appearance. Then, Jay saw him prance out of the back of a BMW-325i. His suit was as black as his car, accompanied by a black tie and black shirt. He’d gelled his hair right back and was clean shaven except for the neatly trimmed goatee he had left hanging on his arrogant face. Vinny caught Jay staring and strutted over to the boy.
“Mr Chetty.”
“What…what are you doing here?”
“All these people gathered here today; who did you think they came to listen to?”
“These people are sensible. They’ll see through you.”
“I’m here to change South Africa. And you’re going to regret not being a part of it. I would have built everything around you. Now you can watch from the outside.”
“Your idea and my idea of building something are not the same.”
“You’re right. You’d rather play for a rich, upper-class team than contribute to something more meaningful. I know that. You know that. And I’ll make sure everyone here today knows that.” His grin taunted Jay.
“See you inside, number seven.”
Jay had to place his faith in those inside. He could only hope that they’d be able to withstand whatever devious ploy was being conjured up. Today’s meeting would not take place in a courtroom. They were guided into a large room that seemed fit for a university lecture. The venue had seats similar to a cinema and a pedestal where Jay imagined the keynote speakers would take up their position. Rosebank were the first to be led in and take their seats. After that, the rest of the teams that were left in the Staffords Cup made their way in. Vinny took centre stage, just behind the pedestal.
“Ladies and gentlemen. It gives me great pleasure to stand before all of you today and speak on behalf of a voice that has long been overlooked.”
Vinny looked around the room as he spoke, ensuring that his eye contact was evenly spread across the audience.
"Do you know what this country’s biggest prejudice is? Racism? No, my dear friends, that is the easy answer. This country’s biggest problem is that there is a class system forming here. Racism seems to be the only thing we focus on in South Africa. It’s almost as though we can’t live without bringing it up, and it brings us down like an evil gravity. Because all we do, every single time, is try our best to overcompensate. We do our utmost to prove that we are a multicultural nation, and that we love everyone so very, very much.
“We go out of our way to love another race, just so we seem tolerant. We’re scared little mice. And while we play this stupid game, we overlook the real problem. We have a chance to make a greater difference. That is why I am here today.”
He paused to take a sip of water from the glass perched on the pedestal.
“Two-thirds of South Africa’s youth live in poor households. Poor, meaning with an income of less than 650 rand a month.”
He rocked up in a Beemer, yet he executed his line so professionally. At least he was a committed fiend, Jay thought.
“Two-thirds! Are we really making any progress in this country?”
“And how do you propose to address this problem, Mr De Silva?” An oldish man with thickly rimmed glasses and a tweed jacket, sat in the front row, twiddling his thumbs as he posed the question.
“I’m so glad you asked,” his face lit up. “For the past few years, I have been trying to help those who need help. As mentioned earlier, underprivileged kids are a reality that we need to come to grips with. We need to do everything in our power to aid those who are not as blessed as ourselves. I, personally, have already started various projects of setting up homes for them where these kids can learn about life, as well as be decently fed and clothed.”
“Mr De Silva, this is all well and good. The initiative is a most endearing action on your part. But where does the GSSB fit in?”
"My apologies. Let me get to it. I’ve especially been focusing on helping those with natural athletic ability. Our country is filled with raw talent, yet most of it is lost due to the unkind conditions that these kids are brought up in.
"For years, I have trained and built a team that is now ready to compete. My team shall be known as the Inkanyambas. The Inkanyamba is a mythical creature from Zulu folklore that was said to hail from the waterfall lake area in Pietermaritzburg. Some stories depict it as a serpent-like creature, with a horse’s head. Some say that it’s more eel-like. One thing’s for sure is that the creature is said to be a force of nature. That is what my team will stand for.
“They will go out on the field and make their presence felt. My group of boys deserve a chance to compete. They were not rich enough to go to private schools—most didn’t get to go to school at all. Is it fair that someone so talented should be shunned because of a lack of money? That is what happens; thanks to our class system, ladies and gentlemen.”
“We admire your passion and you certainly have a very strong case, Mr De Silva. We will have to think this over and perhaps, if everything is in place, the Inkanyambas may be considered for some sort of competition, next season.”
“No, sir. We would like to compete this season. We no longer wish to feel left out. We want to pave the way for other poorer teams. We want to play side by side with those more fortunate than us. And we want only talent to determine whether we are good enough. Nothing else.”
“But the Staffords Cup is already well and truly underway. All eight teams in this room have earned the right to play in the knockout stage.”
“Have they?”
The members of the board in the front row looked at each other, perplexed.
“I have always admired the GSSB’s emphatic stance on fair play. The mandatory drug tests that the teams take are something that should be applauded. Especially, in a sporting society where there are too many individuals wh
o would do anything to get ahead. Anything.”
He revealed a see-through plastic bag that was nestling on the podium and dangled it in front of everyone. He walked over to the panel, sitting in the front row and handed the bag to the man in the tweed jacket.
“There are four urine samples in there. Four samples, retrieved from a doctor on your testing board.”
“Mr De Silva, this is a confidentiality breach.”
“It would have been if I took them from your labs. These samples were brought to me. Someone from your board wanted a large sum of money to give them to me. Naturally, I did a little research on this chap. If he was capable of a shady deal like this, who knows what else he’s been up to? And true to my suspicion, the man was guilty of years of tax evasion. How could you let a man like that serve on your board?”
“This is preposterous!”
“Is it? If I hadn’t done what I’d done, your wonderful doctor would have continued to act out his responsibilities for the GSSB. Now, that’s a tad immoral, isn’t it?”
“We didn’t know.”
"Like how you didn’t know that those samples tested positive for anabolic steroids. Four failed drug tests, from four of Randburg’s first team players. Imagine the scandal—
‘Staffords Cup quarter-finalists fielding a team full of cheats. GSSB covering up their own mistakes’."
The whole front row began moving uneasily in their seats. The rest of the room soon did the same; whispering to each other. Randburg’s coach stood up in the middle of the room. “That is a lie! It’s bullshit! None of my boys are on anything! I checked the test myself!”
“You’re quite a big man. You’ve never used ‘roids’ before?”
The coach ran forward to attack Vinny, who didn’t budge. He would have been willing to take one to the jaw to make his point. The coach was restrained by guards before he got to the front. Everything was playing out perfectly.
Vinny gave his final address.
“Think it over, ladies and gentlemen. My proposal is that the Inkanyambas replace Randburg in the quarterfinals. We’re just a bunch of street kids, dreaming big. Poverty affects everyone—black people, white people, coloured people, Indians. That’s why, my team will have everyone in it. I’m trying to address both racism and the class system. This is the future of South Africa. Do you want to be a part of it?”
Chapter 22
4 October 2013. 7:05 PM
It wouldn’t exactly be the relaxing, blissful journey that one would expect from a road trip, but Layla, James and Jay had decided to take one nonetheless. Their constant fear of Vinny would slowly dissipate. James never really pictured Layla as a Toyota kind of girl. Light on fuel, easy to maintain—it was a neat little vehicle. But with the almost regal way in which she carried herself, James assumed that Layla would be driving something more German. Or perhaps even being driven around town in a limo.
Once James settled into the front seat of the Toyota, he felt right at home. Jay hopped into the back and zipped up his grey hoodie as he checked himself out in the rear-view mirror. Layla finally moved into the driver’s seat as she rested her hands on the steering wheel. She didn’t start the car, gazing into the rear view where she saw Jay, daydreaming.
“What you thinking about, kiddo?”
“I haven’t…” he cleared his throat, “I haven’t been back there since Amritha went missing.”
“I know, it’s not going to be easy. I don’t really want to go either. But we’re running out of options. We need to get you out of this house and start triggering other memories, so we can get to Amritha.”
Jay ran his finger over the car window, mournfully surveying the world out there.
Layla started the car and it weaved its way down the driveway. Soon, they were well into the night, with nothing but Layla’s little headlights and their waking minds, guiding them through. It was James’ turn to lean towards the rear view to check on Jay. The boy continued to take in everything that passed them by—everything he’d long left behind. It was a forgotten Rosebank. He knew the buildings, the trees and the sidewalks, whizzing past, yet no longer smiled at them.
They glided past the street lights and oncoming headlights as the robots winked between their red, amber and green eyes. Jay traced over the buildings with his forefinger. James caught a glimpse of a few homeless people huddling around a fire. He felt a morbid sense of jealousy engulf himself as he looked towards them on the streets. A poor man is still a free man. How soon before he got caught, even having won Jay over?
They soon reached the abandoned ballroom on Tyrawitt Avenue. The dust from the gravel outside the building filled the air as Layla’s tires whirled across the surface. They got out of the car and stood in a horizontal line, taking in the dilapidated domain. Music once floated within the air of these quarters and Layla firmly believed that if they came here, it would make Jay’s memory sing and tell them a story.
As they entered, a mouldy smell greeted them, prompting James to gibe that this haven was certainly home to millions of different species of parasites. He turned to Jay as he slowly scanned the room.
“It’s really…old.”
Jay frowned and turned to face Layla instead.
“We’d come here all the time. It’s where we preferred to be.”
“I don’t blame you. It has a certain tranquillity to it.”
“I haven’t had my shots in a while. What if I contract something?” James inspected the crumbling wooden ends that bordered the room.
“You’ve had rabies for ages. So, it doesn’t really matter,” Layla dismissed him.
James pantomimed a cat, raising its claws at her and accompanied it with his best meowing sound. She retaliated with a sarcastic air kiss.
“What’s this?”
James had come across a blanket in the middle of the room. There were burnt-out candles on it and a basket. Empty glasses and plates lay next to the basket. Jay came over and knelt on the blanket. He gently rubbed it as if it were the seamless coat of a labrador. Layla joined them and placed her hand on the boy’s curved back.
“Tell us all about it…”
25 July 2013. Chains
Amritha was Jay’s girlfriend. Just saying the words to himself made him grin—a grin he had not worn in a while. Tonight, he wanted to treat her. Not with a fancy night-out, but something a little more private and exclusive. So, he brought her back to the ballroom. He locked his hand into hers and excitedly guided her to the middle of the room. There, laid out proudly, was their own indoor picnic.
“Welcome to date night, madam.”
The red, orange and yellow candles burnt around the silky, crimson blanket which he had spread across the cold floor. A basket sat solemnly in the middle. Amritha beamed a grin that Jay had beamed earlier. Mission accomplished.
“What’s in the basket, Chetts?”
“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll show you?”
She settled down on the blanket with her head leaning against her left palm. Like Santa, he kept pulling out treats from his bag of goodies, one by one.
“Non-alcoholic champagne: Apricot & Magnolia. Made in Stuttgart.”
Jay held the bottle up in front of her as he’d seen waiters do in fancy restaurants. “My, oh, my.”
“We aim to please. And here we have kebabs and chutney and homemade roti.”
He pulled out two large plastic containers.
“And who exactly made the roti?” she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Who do you think?”
“Not you.”
“My aunt made it, along with the kebabs. But that means I really care about you. By choosing not to poison you by making it myself.”
“Lucky me.”
“For dessert we have tiramisu. Compliments of my favourite chef.”
“Your aunt?”
“Woolworths.”
“Oooooooooo, I’m so telling her that you prefer corporate-chain food compared to her home cooking.”
“You wouldn’t dare…”
“Well, if you keep treating me like this, I’ll consider a vow of silence.”
They ate, drank and took in the wonderful feeling of having so much of each other on this little blanket. Jay kissed her after they had finished their dessert and gently brushed her earlobes with his fingers. She exhaled quietly and rubbed the back of his hair. They rolled onto the blanket, the side of their backs pressed against the velvety turf below their fervent bodies. Jay rubbed his hands against the side of her hip, which made her kiss him harder. Her body was lithe and firm, and he explored every aspect of it, using his hands to trail across her rhythmically.
He calmly slid his right hand underneath her top and grazed it down towards her belly button region. She stopped him, almost slapping his hand away.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rush things.”
“No, no, it’s not that. I’m very comfortable with you. I’m just not sure if I want you to see my body.”
“Well, if it helps, I really wouldn’t mind.” She hit him, a little more playfully this time.
“My body is nothing compared to yours.”
“Are you for real? You have a dancer’s body. Trust me, everything feels great. You must really take care of it.”
“I do. But sometimes there are certain things you can’t plan for.” Jay took her hands once more.
“What’s wrong? You can tell me. Whatever it is.”
Her head turned away, but he gently used his thumb and forefinger to guide her chin back to him. “Hey, hey. Listen. I want to be the type of guy you talk to. Don’t feel like you can’t tell me stuff. It was like that with Thishen wasn’t it?”
It was worse. She took her top off. The bruises ran above and below her violet bra. She turned away immediately after.
“Amritha…I…”
All he could see was the back of her head trembling, as she buried it in her arms. “He’s not going to touch you again. I’m here now.”
