by Ron Elliott
Mr Johnson shook his head.
Proctor bowled to Legal. The ball reared up and Calligan raised his bat. O’Malley, fielding in a fly slip, ran back and caught him over his head. The crowd moaned.
David looked up at the scoreboard. Apart from Mr Johnson’s one hundred and six, only Jack Tanner was making runs. Bardsley, Hall and now Calligan were all out for a duck. Only Richardson had made double figures and he was out for eleven.
Ten Ton said, ‘You think if I stop to retie my shoelace, that rain’ll save us?’
Baker said, ‘There’s a plan.’
Mr Richardson said, ‘Just hang around for a bit, Ten Ton. Let Two Bob take most of the strike. Tell him to farm it and go for the draw.’
‘Right, Cap.’ He nodded.
Other players were nodding. A draw seemed possible. Honourable even.
Mr Calligan was coming back, dejected, but receiving polite applause.
‘Cometh the hour, cometh the man, Ten Ton,’ called Johnson.
Maudy yelled back, ‘I thought it was cometh the hour, cometh the barmaid.’
They laughed loudly, but as soon as Ten Ton turned to go, their faces turned serious again.
‘So David, you got away from those kidnappers, huh?’
David turned to see the reporter Charlie O’Toole, pushing his stomach up against the small fence next to the players’ area, only a few yards away. Sweat bubbled all over his face like a squeezed sponge.
‘Not now, O’Toole,’ said Mr Johnson.
‘Nice hundred there, Mr Johnson. Might be too little too late to save your spot in the team, of course.’
‘Not now please.’
‘David, tell me about the kidnappers. They snatched you at the airport? Did they have help?’
‘Don’t answer, David.’
‘Was it Sydney criminals or was your uncle in on the act?’
‘He wasn’t.’
‘You two didn’t cook it up to make some more betting money?’
‘Scully!’ called Mr Johnson, ‘Can you get this chap out of here?’
‘David, did you read my story about your uncle being there when your dad died?’
‘No.’
‘Could your uncle be involved?’
Mr Richardson came to their seats pointing a finger at O’Toole across the little wooden fence. ‘That’ll be enough of that, Charlie.’
‘Just doing my job here, John. You do yours and I’ll do mine. Public is interested and has a right. They did buy the kid his farm back.’
‘My uncle tried to save my father.’
‘Hey, leave the kid alone.’ It was a man in a grey suit, near O’Toole in the Members Stand.
‘Did your mother commit suicide?’
‘Enough,’ said Richardson.
‘Was she caught between the two men?’
‘No,’ said David.
Another man from the Members was trying to take O’Toole by the shoulder. ‘Have some decency, man.’
Maud McLeod was sliding between the bench seat in front, moving towards the reporter. ‘How’d you like to meet Mr Thumb and his four sons?’
‘David,’ shouted O’Toole, ‘Everyone is dead. You’re an orphan.’
A policeman moved down through the members’ area towards O’Toole.
Maud was climbing over the fence towards him too.
‘Enough, you nasty creature,’ said Mr Johnson, also standing.
O’Toole yelled, ‘If your uncle is dead, then who do you have?’
Maud threw the first punch, and O’Toole the second, but then the two men in the Members were joined by the policeman and others in pushing and prodding O’Toole. Mr Richardson, Mr Johnson and the others were also crowding up to the fence.
‘A lifetime ban, O’Toole. I’ll be pushing for it.’
No one seemed to have noticed the cricket game. Ten Ton was at the gate, dejectedly pushing it open.
David was going the other way, looking at the scoreboard. Mr Tanner had sixteen more runs. Ten Ton had only got one before being caught by Windsor in slips off Tudor. Eighteen more runs seemed a lot as David headed towards the wicket. The sky was getting dark. Perhaps they’d call off the game due to bad light.
David thought about his mother and about how everyone said she had killed herself in the dam. Uncle Mike, O’Toole, everyone was so adamant. He guessed that his mother’s death must have had something to do with his grandad’s quarrel with God.
But how did they know? If someone was there, they would have stopped her. So no one was. Well, what if she slipped? What if there was a lamb or a butterfly even that she was trying to save and she just slipped and it was all an accident. Maybe it wasn’t, thought David, but no one could know that she meant to.
The crowd noise, as far as David could work it out, had not reached any agreement. There was some cheering, but it seemed half-hearted. David could make out groans. He was after all a very bad batsman. His Test average might be zero he thought. Had he scored a run? He’d only faced three balls that he could recall.
Mr Tanner came to meet him, looming up with the dark clouds behind, just like always. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Um, I was kidnapped.’
‘Kidnapped! You mean those stories were true?’
‘Yes. If they said I was kidnapped.’
‘But they let you go, once we’d finished bowling?’
‘Escaped.’
Mr Tanner looked at him seriously, looking over his face. Finally he said, ‘Well, now it’s back to the drudgery of everyday life then. You have to face just one ball from Tudor. All right. Then I’ll try and keep the strike until the rain comes.’ Tanner led David towards the wicket, saying, ‘I must admit I’m surprised you’re out here. Thought Richo would say no.’
‘He did.’
Tanner stopped and turned back to David.
‘He did say I shouldn’t, but there was a fight and I don’t think they noticed me come out.’
Tanner looked back towards the pavilion and then round the ground. ‘I think they’ve noticed now.’
David said, ‘But if I didn’t come out, the Poms will win the game.’
‘Well, they probably will anyway, but yeah. The captain’ll come out and wave us in or something I suppose. Might get hung, drawn and quartered by this crowd if he tries, mind you. Come on. Let’s draw the bloody thing.’
Mr Bosanquet was heading towards square leg and Mr Wisden was moving down to the bowler’s end. Mr Wisden said, ‘Let’s move along gentlemen, before this rain comes.’
Henry Longford, the English captain, waited at silly midon. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Donald.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Longford.’
‘Nice of you to join us.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t bowl to you.’
‘I’m sorry too. I think I’ve worked you out.’
David stopped, mouth open. Then he smiled.
Windsor said, ‘Let’s hurry, Henry, before the rain, and bedtime.’
‘Quite right, Edward.’ Then Longford raised his voice, so both umpires and Tanner could also hear what he said. ‘Now there has been some discussion about whether you have a right to bat, David, given that you have not fielded for any of the last five days.’
Tanner stepped towards him. ‘And you can thank your lucky stars that didn’t happen.’
Longford raised his arm, palm open. ‘And it has been decided that, rather than get the lawyers and match referee out here, we will waive that challenge, in the interests of a result.’
‘Very well then,’ said Tanner.
‘But you should know,’ went on Longford, ‘you have entered a man’s game, David, and we will bowl and field to the utmost of our abilities and the laws of the game of cricket in order to get you out. I personally believe that you should not be out here. That you are endangering yourself by being here.’
Tanner said, ‘Especially if you bowl at the batsman.’ Tanner looked at Longford with a steady dark gaze.
Longford ign
ored him. ‘Last chance, David. Mr Wisden?’
Mr Wisden shook his head sadly. ‘There’s a lot of things going on today, Henry, that I don’t agree with, but I can only deal with the rules of the game.’
Mr Longford looked for a moment as though he agreed, but then his face closed as he turned back to David.
David said quietly, ‘You sound a lot more like Mr Windsor than yourself today, Mr Longford.’
Mr Morgan the wicketkeeper said, ‘Hmm,’ in a way that sounded like he might agree, but Longford simply nodded, and clapped his hands once. ‘Very well. Let’s get one of these fellows out.’
Tudor had been standing at the top of his run-up the whole time throwing the ball into the air and catching it again.
David took his guard.
The umpire dropped his arm to signal that Tudor could bowl.
David considered once again just how bad a batter he was. He would get out. Or worse. He’d get sconed by a beamer and be knocked out of cricket forever. And for what? To draw a game. People like Mr Biggins didn’t even want him to play well. How could you care about a game when in real life people died? O’Toole was right. David was an orphan. He was alone, standing in the middle of a huge, empty piece of grass, with one of the most fearsome bowlers in the world ... Tudor was letting go of the ball.
David saw him at the last instant and flung himself to the ground, as the ball hit halfway up the pitch and climbed well over him and his wickets.
Tanner yelled, ‘Get back in your crease!’
David got up on all fours and turned in time to see Morgan pull back his right gloved hand ready to throw. David scrambled back behind the line just before the ball hit the wickets. He was safe.
Tanner yelled, ‘You concentrate, Donald.’ Then he turned to Mr Wisden. ‘It’s getting pretty dark out here, Jock. I can barely see the hatred in their eyes.’
Mr Bosanquet and Mr Morgan set about righting the stumps, as a grey-coated groundsman came out carrying a bucket. He knelt on the wicket and proceeded to fill the little foot holes created by the bowlers running in with sawdust from the bucket.
Proctor yelled, ‘I didn’t ask for this, Mr Longford.’
David was reminded of something about the groundsman’s walk that made him pay attention. There had been a slight limp. He looked down as the groundsman raised his head. Past the wide hat brim David could see his Uncle Mike trying to wink at him.
‘Gidday comrade.’ His two front teeth were missing. His eyes were red, surrounded by swollen purple-coloured sockets. He must have seen David’s shock because he instantly bent away to continue putting out the sawdust.
‘I just thought I’d let you know that I’d got out too. So you wouldn’t worry. So no one could tell you lies about what might or might not happen to me if you did or didn’t do whatever it was that the whole world does or doesn’t want.’
‘Pardon?’
His uncle stood with difficulty. He was holding his left arm against his side. It appeared to be bandaged. He tried to smile again, but just made dribble come over his fat lips.
‘Uncle Mike.’
‘What the devil?’ Mr Tanner had come up. ‘What are you trying to do now, Donald?’
‘Just wishing the lad luck, Jack.’ He kept looking at David. ‘Few folk are angry with me right now, David. Which makes me very happy, by the way. But I have to stay low.’
‘In front of a crowd of sixty thousand people you mean,’ said Tanner.
Michael’s eyes never left David. ‘Bore it up ’em, okay.’
Mr Bosanquet was there. ‘You’re not the groundsman.’
‘Just filling in, ma lud.’ Uncle Mike started to go.
Mr Longford said, ‘Is this an Australian ploy? To delay the game?’
Michael began to shuffle off, the brim of his hat tilted to hide his face.
Tanner started back to his crease. ‘I’m ready to go, Mr Longford. What about your team?’
‘Uncle Mike.’ David went after his uncle. Caught up in a couple of strides. ‘Uncle Mike.’
His uncle looked at him. David could feel the look. It was like ... it was like ... a full belly.
‘Thanks for coming.’
Mr Longford called loudly, ‘Mr Wisden and Mr Bosanquet, I must protest. I am officially protesting this clear attempt to waste time and delay the game. This is a poor form of gamesmanship bordering on cheating.’
‘See ya later, mate.’ His uncle turned and limped towards a gate on the far side of the ground, attempting a tuneless whistle as he went.
‘Mr Donald, please take your place, or you will be given out.’
David went to the bowler’s end.
Anthony Dorrington called out, ‘Get a single, Tanner, so we can dong this little blighter.’
‘Yes,’ called Windsor, ‘stop being such a snotty little cheat, Donald.’
Two Bob had taken his stance, the fieldsmen on the leg side again, but not all of them. Some had been sent out near the boundary now on the on side. They were offering Tanner the single, in order to get David on strike.
David looked to see if Uncle Michael was still in sight, but he had gone. He took a deep breath and concentrated.
Proctor came in and bowled a short delivery at Jack Tanner, who weaved under it.
Proctor glared at Tanner.
Ernie Morgan, the wicketkeeper, called, ‘He’s afraid to hit it, Thomas.’
Tanner leaned on his bat casually. ‘Sure is getting dark, Mr Wisden.’
Tanner dropped the next at his feet. He hit the next one a short distance out onto the on side, but when David started to run, he called no, and sent David back. He came down the pitch. ‘David, you know how farming the strike works, don’t you?’
‘Um, yes.’
‘Well, it means we only score twos or fours until the last ball of the over. Then you run like hell when I call yes. But be ready on the second last ball too.’
‘Yes.’
And so Tanner blocked or didn’t play the next three balls. On the second last ball Longford called fieldsmen in so that they would no longer give away an easy single. Proctor bowled a fast yorker next ball, and Tanner could only jam down and keep it from bowling him.
‘Ready, David?’
‘Yes,’ said David.
Tanner took guard.
Proctor bowled fast and slightly down the leg side.
Two Bob tried to get some bat on it, but must have missed.
David didn’t see or hear the bat hit the ball because he was already running. He dimly heard Tanner call, ‘No,’ and then he heard Tanner say, ‘Oh shit,’ and then he was sliding his bat in as the English wicketkeeper looked up in shock and threw the ball in his gloves towards the wickets.
‘Other end,’ someone else had yelled, but it was too late.
‘How is that?’ yelled Morgan towards Mr Bosanquet.
David looked over to the square leg umpire who stood immobile. His finger stayed down. David must have made his ground before Morgan threw his wickets down.
Tanner called from the other end, ‘So, no don’t run is not an option?’
‘You said I had to run. And now we only need sixteen to win.’ David sucked in air. He could hear the crowd settling their excitement now. The whole sky was completely filled with the clouds. They seemed to hang low, as though too full of water to remain any higher.
‘Look at those batting gloves. Had to have them specially made for your fingers did you?’ It was Windsor. He was standing close to David’s end, while Tudor went to his bowling mark and the players hurried to their spots. The umpires were talking together and looking at the sky. ‘Your hands are positively deformed, Donald. You’re a monster, a freak. You should never have come back. You stupid little deformed thing.’
David laughed. He looked at Windsor and he laughed. It was like school. In Dungarin one of the Pringle boys used to say things like this. About his hands. And his ears too. David looked at Windsor and he said, ‘What happened to your chin? How come you don’t
have a chin?’
Windsor turned away. And David said, ‘I’m sorry Mr Windsor. I didn’t...’
‘Shut up. You freak.’
Mr Bosanquet and Mr Wisden walked to the centre of the pitch. Mr Wisden said, ‘It really is getting too dark to bat against such spirited bowling.’
‘No,’ yelled Longford.
‘I’d like to offer you the light, Mr Tanner.’
Tanner started to nod. The crowd started to cheer.
David yelled, ‘No!’ He ran down to Jack Tanner.
‘We’ve been offered the light. We’ve got the draw!’
‘Let’s not.’
‘What?’
‘It’s only sixteen runs Jack. You can get sixteen runs easy.’
‘David, we have the draw.’
‘We can win.’
‘Or lose. We can’t last out here.’
‘We can. Let’s win.’
Tanner looked towards the players’ area. He gestured towards the wicket.
David joined the mime show. He ran to his end and showed he was ready to keep playing.
The English players said nothing. They stayed very still. The crowd went silent.
John Richardson did not raise his arm to call them in. He sat down ... and he left it to the batsmen.
Jack Tanner looked around. Then he yelled, ‘Up to the West Aussies, I reckon.’ He went back to his crease and the people around the oval gave out a huge cheer, although it had the sound of bravado rather than triumph.
David yelled, ‘Let’s bore it up ’em.’
‘Come on, briskly,’ called Longford. ‘Before the rain.’
Windsor gave a nasty beat-you smile.
Tudor ran in and bowled a full toss straight at Tanner’s head. Jack raised his bat, horizontal, and the ball seemed to just skim it and then it kept going and rising and going.
David turned to see Mr Wisden raise his arms to signal six runs.
Tanner stepped towards Tudor and said, ‘You do that again and I’ll smash your face in.’
Tudor glared.
David called, ‘We only need ten to win now.’ Tanner took guard again. Tudor sent down a half-pitched delivery that climbed rapidly. Tanner did not raise his bat to meet the ball and protect himself. He dropped his hands and took the bat away from the path of the ball and he let it hit him high on his left shoulder. David heard him gasp. There was a louder gasp, as though an echo from the crowd.
