by Brett Lee
At the end of practice Mr Pasquali brought us all back into a close group.
He must have heard all of us talking about Martian. ‘As I told you, Ivo is going to be okay but he won’t be with us for quite some time.’
Everyone started asking questions, but Mr Pasquali held up a hand.
‘I know you are all concerned. But Ivo’s mum has told me that everything is going to be fine.’
The mood of the afternoon had changed as we gathered up our gear and packed it away. I noticed Mr Pasquali talking with Ally. A moment later she approached me.
‘Hey, Toby, can we do a bit of work together? Your bowling was a bit hard to read, you know?’
‘It was?’
‘Yeah, sometimes it swung one way, sometimes the other.’
‘Cool. That’s good to hear. Okay, Ally, sure. You want to meet in the gym sometime, then?’
‘Yep. I’ll see if I can book it for sometime next week. I’ll let you know.’
We all hung around for a bit, chatting about Ivo.
‘You reckon we should just go in and see him?’ Jay asked.
‘Better ring up first,’ I suggested.
‘Poor Ivo. He always seems to be the one who gets knocked about. Remember last year he broke his arm and he had those pins inserted in it?’ Georgie shook her head.
‘My dad often talks about fate and luck.’
We all looked at Rahul.
‘That’s a bit deep, Rahul,’ Ally said.
‘Yeah, well I’ll ring him soon,’ I told them.
Wednesday—afternoon
Mum took Rahul and me into the MCC library again after school the following day. She dropped us off outside the front and told us that she would collect us in exactly an hour. We waved goodbye and raced off to the entrance.
I was excited, that was for sure, but I was also working hard to keep a lid on it. So far, only Georgie had an inkling of what was going on. It was a secret, and I wanted to share it. But I wanted to protect the secret from people I didn’t trust. Rahul, I thought, was someone I could trust.
It was spooky to think that maybe the next time I hopped in Mum’s car, I could have been to India and back. And what was even more spooky, travelled through time to get there!
When we arrived at the library there was a man working at a computer on the far side, obviously the librarian, and another man with glasses, sitting at the big oval table reading. It was the same guy we had seen last time. Maybe he worked here too. If he did, it sure wasn’t too tough a job.
There was no sign of Jim, and no one looked up when we walked in.
‘Rahul, come with me. I want to show you something.’
I found the 1987 Wisden on the shelf and walked over to the secret door in the wall. I pushed the door open and we went out into the corridor.
Rahul was a few metres behind me and looking doubtful. ‘Toby, where are you going?’
‘You’ll find out in a minute, okay?’ I turned to the contents pages at the start. For some reason I could read these. But I couldn’t find the right section. ‘When did you say that tied Test was again?’
‘1986.’
‘That’s weird. How come it’s not in the 1987 Wisden?’
‘Probably because it was later in the year, September. You need the next year’s book, I think. Can we go back inside now?’
Maybe this wasn’t meant to happen after all, I thought. But when we got back into the library I got a big shock. There, on the oval table, was a copy of the 1988 Wisden. I looked around, but no one seemed to be paying us the slightest bit of attention. Maybe it had been left by the guy with the glasses. He’d closed his book and his head had slumped forwards onto his chest.
I picked up the 1988 Wisden and headed over to the far side of the library. Rahul followed.
‘Okay, Rahul, hold on.’
Maybe I should have thought a bit more about what I was about to do. Maybe I should have thought about the fact that Jim had expressly forbidden me to take anyone. Carrying, as Jim called it. But in the excitement of trying to impress Rahul, who always seemed so much in control, none of these thoughts entered my mind.
I grabbed Rahul’s arm, and dragged him closer. I was holding the precious book in my other hand and trying to scan down the contents page.
There it was, clear as day: ‘The Australians in India, 1986–87’. I flipped chunks of pages till I got close to the correct page. The numbers in the top corner of each page were becoming clearer.
I knew I had to be quick or Rahul would drag me back.
‘Toby!’ he hissed at me. ‘What are you doing? Why can’t we look at the book at the big table over there, like normal people?’
I got to page 920 then flicked on a few more pages, trying to focus on the headings at the top. I didn’t know exactly what page the Test would be on. ‘Rahul, was the tie in the first Test match?’
‘Yes. Can I see?’
I had a thought. ‘Good idea. You find the correct page, then give it to me.’
Everything was racing. I didn’t have time to think about what I was doing. Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe I needed Jim here, with his magical powers. My heart was thumping. I would just give Rahul a taste. Just prove to him that we could go there. Go anywhere! It would be so exciting to show someone else. Especially Rahul. He would be amazed.
He passed the book back to me. I stared with total concentration at the top of the page. I could just make out the word India in a swirly mix of white and black. Rahul was close by.
‘India,’ I said quietly, staring at the word as it materialised into letters.
There was a gentle knocking, thudding noise going on somewhere in my head. I grabbed Rahul’s wrist. The thudding turned to a roar; to a great, whooshing rush of what sounded like air and water surging through my head. I could hear Rahul talking about how useful the match report would be for his project, when suddenly he seemed to stop in mid-sentence.
I opened my eyes. It was as if we were standing in an oven. The heat was amazing. It wasn’t just heat; it was sticky, dense heat that squeezed at you from all sides. And there was a terrible smell of really gross toilets. For a moment I thought I was going to be sick.
Beside me Rahul gasped and fell to his knees.
‘Rahul,’ I cried. ‘Get up!’
Slowly he struggled to his feet.
‘Wh—what?’ he stammered.
We had arrived a little behind the crowd. We were inside the ground but couldn’t see the oval. It was like last time. I knew, without knowing exactly why, that we had arrived without anyone knowing. Somehow that seemed important.
Taking him by the shoulders, I forced Rahul to look at me. He wasn’t looking too good.
‘Rahul, as soon as you’ve got over being totally freaked out by what’s happened, the sooner we can get a look at the game. Okay?’
I was giving it to him straight up. He stared back at me, his eyes not blinking.
‘We are in India,’ Rahul whispered.
It was more a statement than a question, but I answered anyway.
‘Correct.’
‘In the year—,’ Rahul looked at me.
‘1986.’
‘I’m not even born yet.’
‘Well, that’s debatable. I can see you.’
‘My mother is alive in this city somewhere. My father too,’ Rahul said.
‘Yeah, well, let’s take a quick look at the cricket. Then we’ll head back, okay? Rahul?’
But Rahul looked as if he had other things on his mind.
The noise and the heat closed in around us. Men wearing really long shirts streamed past us, kicking up dust that stung my eyes. There was a dull roar coming from near the oval and an amazing mixture of smells. Half the crowd seemed to be behind the stand here, with us. Everyone was babbling, shouting, pushing and hurrying.
‘It’s time to go, Rahul. C’mon. Let’s move away from here.’
I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him in the opposite direction to the peo
ple rushing at us till we were near a fence. Rahul was resisting. At this rate we weren’t even going to see any cricket.
‘Listen!’ I yelled. ‘I’m not supposed to do this with someone else.’
I was beginning to worry about having Rahul here with me, especially with Jim’s warning about not taking anyone else with me. And Rahul was not looking himself.
‘We have to go back. Now!’
But Rahul was in another world. He was looking at me as though I wasn’t there. Maybe he was thinking of his family. Then I realised that I didn’t have the poem on me. I looked around, in absolute panic. I checked all my pockets, but all I could feel was the little card old Jim had given me for getting into the library.
A large man in what looked like a police uniform was striding towards us.
I closed my eyes and tried to picture the poem. But the only word I could remember was ‘dead’.
The man was getting closer. He had a long stick dangling down the side of one leg.
Something about lives being broken, and respecting the gift.
The man stopped in front of us and spoke to Rahul. I couldn’t understand what he was saying but Rahul replied, presumably in the same language.
Now there was a horrible stench in the air that had overpowered all the other smells. The heat was beginning to get to me. I was sweating like anything and finding it hard to breathe. My jeans were sticking to me. Desperately, I dipped into my front pocket and pulled out the card.
The man was nodding at me and waving an arm at Rahul.
I turned the card over. Relief flooded through me as I saw two neat lines of handwriting across the back that I hadn’t known were there. I had never turned the card over before.
I turned to see the policeman shaking his head, pointing at me and then at the ground.
He made a final comment and walked away. Rahul was starting to sit down.
Again, I grabbed him by the arm, and without even asking him what they’d been talking about, I read aloud the two lines on the card.
Now, hide your home, your age, your soul
To roam this place and seek your goal.
The last word had hardly left my lips when the roaring inside my head started again, though not quite as loudly as before. I was aware of us leaving the heat and the smell behind. I tried to keep my eyes open, but it was impossible—like when you sneeze. It only took a moment, but I knew that we had gone. And that the going and the arriving were split by a second, no more.
The first Test match played over five days took place in Sydney, during February 1892. This was also the first time six balls were bowled in each over. In all the Tests before 1892, overs were just four balls long.
9 The Heat
‘WHAT the heck do you two think you’re playing at?’
I looked up at the librarian. ‘You won’t find anything down there on the floor. Now hop it back to the table. Don’t kids nowadays use tables to do their work on? Eh?’ He was shaking his head as he headed back inside and over to his computer.
Luckily he hadn’t seen the Wisden, which was lying on the floor, half underneath me. I watched him walk off, grabbed the Wisden, and hauled Rahul to his feet. We walked back to the oval table as calmly as we could. The man with the glasses had gone.
Rahul hadn’t said a word. I looked at him. He looked pale and worn out.
‘Rahul? Speak to me.’
He turned to me slowly, a smile beginning to take shape.
‘We have to go back again, you know. When can we go? I’ll get some things together then you can take me back, okay?’
It was as if something or someone had taken over Rahul’s thinking. He wasn’t sounding like his normal, controlled self.
‘Not yet. Not until I talk to Jim,’ I whispered and told him all about Jim and our shared gift.
‘Right. Okay. Sorry. Where is he, then?’
‘I’m not sure. Leave it with me though, okay?’
Rahul looked at me closely.
‘Toby? What on earth just happened?’ A drop of sweat fell from my forehead and landed on the table next to the Wisden book. ‘We’ve just been to India. It was hot, wasn’t it?’
We looked at the tiny splash of sweat on the table.
Wonderingly, Rahul touched it with a finger.
‘Sweat from India,’ he said.
We stayed for another 20 minutes or so. Rahul jotted down notes from the books in front of him, while I sat in a daze. I couldn’t believe he could have suddenly become so calm, sitting there quietly, going from book to notepad as if nothing had happened.
Just before we left, the librarian came over to see how we were getting on.
‘Where’s Jim today?’ I asked him.
‘Jim’s not very well at the moment, I’m afraid.’
‘Could you tell me where he is? I’d like to send him a get well card.’
The librarian seemed a bit surprised. ‘Well, that’s a nice thought. If you send it care of the Simpson Hospital I’m sure he’ll get it.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ I said, getting up.
‘You boys come back any time.’
‘Sure. Thanks.’
I headed across to the secret door.
‘But maybe using the normal door,’ he added, smiling at us. We paused. ‘No, no, go on. It’s our secret, okay?’ He chuckled.
Thursday—afternoon
Scott Craven was his usual self at practice the following day. Rahul was quiet, though I didn’t think he’d go rushing about, telling everyone of his encounter with an Indian policeman nearly 20 years ago!
‘Here, I’m sure Toby would have forgotten your memento of Madras, but I didn’t,’ he told Scott.
Before I could say anything, Rahul had reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of pebbles. I stared at them, then held out a hand to take a close look.
‘You sure you didn’t take them out of your brain?’ Scott reached over, grabbed the small stones and hurled them onto the dirt road by the nets.
‘You’re weird,’ Scott said to us.
He scowled. A moment later he wandered off, cursing and muttering under his breath.
At practice I got Mr Pasquali to toss ball after ball at me as he watched me play down the line. He called it a ‘V’. I really didn’t need a helmet or gloves, because he was throwing them pitched up and making me play forward defensive shots. But he insisted that we should duplicate real batting conditions as often as we could.
Later, a few of us went to the centre-wicket and bowled to Ally. There was no batter, just a set of stumps for us to aim at. After a while, Ally didn’t bother replacing the bails on the stumps.
She moved quickly into position and took each ball neatly. I showed her how I held the ball to get it to swing the way I wanted to.
‘So that’s why you guys work so hard at keeping one side of the ball shiny?’ she asked me.
‘Yep. We also try to keep it off the ground when it’s being thrown back to the bowler.’
Ally looked at me questioningly.
‘The more the ball stays off the ground, the longer you can keep the shine on it.’
‘Okay, so don’t roll it up to, what do you call them, middle-off or something?’
‘Mid-off and mid-on. No. Well, of course it doesn’t matter when Scott’s bowling.’
Ally laughed.
‘I guess you don’t have that problem to worry about in a softball game?’ I asked.
‘Nope—I’m sort of missing its simpleness, though, compared with cricket.’
‘But are you enjoying wicket-keeping? Oh, yeah, until Martian comes back, that is.’ I added quickly.
We worked on a little leg-side trap, where I sent a slightly quicker ball, after a few slower ones, down outside the leg stump. After a few goes, we both had it working well. Ally called it our ‘TLT’—Toby’s leg trap. I told her that if I pointed to the covers, there would be a TLT on, next ball.
‘Okay, so if you see me point to covers, come up and stand behind the st
umps. I’ll bowl two slower ones outside the off-stump, then the third one will be a bit quicker down outside his pads. If the batter is out of his crease, you whip the bails off after you’ve caught the ball. Actually, whip them off anyway, it’s good practice.’
We practised the TLT a few times and it wasn’t long before Ally was taking the ball cleanly and in one easy movement swiping the bails off the stumps.
‘All we need is a batter,’ I called to her.
‘Bring him on!’
I noticed Scott Craven wander off in the last few minutes of practice. Jay had also gone, and he wasn’t looking happy when he returned a few minutes later.
Georgie noticed that Jay wasn’t his usual cheerful self too. Maybe she’d seen them head off together.
‘Did Scott do anything?’ Georgie asked him, as we were packing up the gear.
‘Nah, didn’t even see him.’
‘Oh, it’s just that I saw the two of you heading off together and I wondered.’
Jay didn’t look up from the pads that he was putting into pairs. I wasn’t convinced about his answer. Georgie and I exchanged glances.
‘By the way,’ she said, ‘I asked Mr Pasquali about Ivo. He said that Mrs Marshall hadn’t wanted him to make a fuss, but if anyone asked, he could tell them Ivo was at the Simpson, and we could see him. But we’ve gotta ring first.’
‘The Simpson!’ I wheeled round.
‘Yeah. Why, what’s the matter? You had some bad experience there or something?’
‘Georgie, that’s where Jim Oldfield is. You know, the guy at the library.’
‘Great. Maybe I can fetch him another glass of water.’
The highest partnership in a one-day international was made by Rahul Dravid (153) and Sachin Tendulkar (186) against New Zealand on 8 November 1999. The two added 331 runs for the second wicket. India’s score for the game was 2/376.
10 The Warning
Thursday—evening
I logged into the CROC room, expecting a few others to be there.
