2012…
Monkey8 was the last in line. She was the only girl, the smallest and the most excited in her Ten. The others had all played the game on real courts before; she had only played on the school court and in the alleyways and covered walkways of her home. They were trotting in now, under the shadow of the great arch of the New Court. She paused, took a breath, tried to steady herself. Then she too ran into the arena. The sound: the cheers of the crowd that broke over her like a wave; the colours: the wet red of the playing surface, the gold around the spectators’ necks; the shadows: the black circle in the heart of the scoring hoop, the deep, concealing shade of the stands – everything was louder, sharper, brighter, than anything she had seen before. It was so beautiful she felt she could barely move. She wanted to stand and look at it for ever.
Then she saw the ball. It was already in play, spinning towards the ring. And then she was moving too. The ball bounced off at a crazy angle and everything about her was connected to it. Her brain was calculating its trajectory; her eye was following its flight; her feet were moving into the space without her having to think about it. Even though her eyes were on the ball, she was also aware that Jaguar3 of her own team was going for it with his left elbow, and somehow she knew that he had spotted her and would pass it to her. She stopped and turned, ready to take the ball with her right hip and pass it forward. She braced herself for the hurt and said a prayer to her guardian, the Nocturnal Monkey.
All this took less time than it took for the hard rubber ball to fall ten feet. Jaguar3 jumped, offering his chest to the rocketing ball. But instead of twisting and sending it to her, he yelped and fell, as though shot. He lay on the ground, clutching his chest in agony while the ball bounced once, twice, three … too many times. They had lost the ball. It belonged to the other Ten now.
Jaguar3’s brother went to help him up while the other players – from both teams – just stood and laughed at him. The spectators laughed too. Monkey8 tried to join in but her eye was fixed on the great bruise that was already blooming on Jaguar3’s chest. Mungo had told her that the ball they used on the New Court was harder than the school one and that the red surface was faster than the wooden floor. She had shouted at him and said he was only trying to scare her. Obviously he was right. She wondered if he was right about the other things too.
Then the ball was in play again and she was no longer thinking thoughts, only moves. They were going for the scoring hoop again; their scorer was beautifully placed. She thought about running over and scratching him but the ball was quicker than she was. He jumped for it, and the next thing she knew, it was curving perfectly through the centre of the scoring hoop. He threw up his arms in delight, but instead of cheers a loud booing filled the stadium. It sounded like some monster coming nearer. The scorer had kicked the ball with his foot. He probably hadn’t meant to; sometimes it just happened. But he knew he’d done it now. He kneeled down and bowed his head and allowed his team captain to strike him on the back with his great wooden club. The crowd loved that.
Lord Tekokiztakitl himself threw the ball back into play – in the Final it would be the king. The ball went high into the air, where the gods could decide who should have it.
The gods decided on Monkey8. Now that it was coming to her, she was not afraid. She leaped high; she broadened her chest. The ball struck like a fist but she controlled it. She knew where Jaguar3 was. She knew the others were not watching him because he was dishonoured, so she flipped it to him. He flung his hip at the ball and it curved back into the air. She knew where it would go and was there waiting when it arrived. She caught it with her knee. She bounced it three times, killing its spin. They were
Monkey8 was the last in line. She was the only girl, the smallest and the most excited in her Ten. The others had all played the game on real courts before; she had only played on the school court and in the alleyways and covered walkways of her home. They were trotting in now, under the shadow of the great arch of the New Court. She paused, took a breath, tried to steady herself. Then she too ran into the arena. The sound: the cheers of the crowd that broke over her like a wave; the colours: the wet red of the playing surface, the gold around the spectators’ necks; the shadows: the black circle in the heart of the scoring hoop, the deep, concealing shade of the stands – everything was louder, sharper, brighter, than anything she had seen before. It was so beautiful she felt she could barely move. She wanted to stand and look at it for ever.
Then she saw the ball. It was already in play, spinning towards the ring. And then she was moving too. The ball bounced off at a crazy angle and everything about her was connected to it. Her brain was calculating its trajectory; her eye was following its flight; her feet were moving into the space without her having to think about it. Even though her eyes were on the ball, she was also aware that Jaguar3 of her own team was going for it with his left elbow, and somehow she knew that he had spotted her and would pass it to her. She stopped and turned, ready to take the ball with her right hip and pass it forward. She braced herself for the hurt and said a prayer to her guardian, the Nocturnal Monkey.
All this took less time than it took for the hard rubber ball to fall ten feet. Jaguar3 jumped, offering his chest to the rocketing ball. But instead of twisting and sending it to her, he yelped and fell, as though shot. He lay on the ground, clutching his chest in agony while the ball bounced once, twice, three … too many times. They had lost the ball. It belonged to the other Ten now.
Jaguar3’s brother went to help him up while the other players – from both teams – just stood and laughed at him. The spectators laughed too. Monkey8 tried to join in but her eye was fixed on the great bruise that was already blooming on Jaguar3’s chest. Mungo had told her that the ball they used on the New Court was harder than the school one and that the red surface was faster than the wooden floor. She had shouted at him and said he was only trying to scare her. Obviously he was right. She wondered if he was right about the other things too.
Then the ball was in play again and she was no longer thinking thoughts, only moves. They were going for the scoring hoop again; their scorer was beautifully placed. She thought about running over and scratching him but the ball was quicker than she was. He jumped for it, and the next thing she knew, it was curving perfectly through the centre of the scoring hoop. He threw up his arms in delight, but instead of cheers a loud booing filled the stadium. It sounded like some monster coming nearer. The scorer had kicked the ball with his foot. He probably hadn’t meant to; sometimes it just happened. But he knew he’d done it now. He kneeled down and bowed his head and allowed his team captain to strike him on the back with his great wooden club. The crowd loved that.
Lord Tekokiztakitl himself threw the ball back into play – in the Final it would be the king. The ball went high into the air, where the gods could decide who should have it.
The gods decided on Monkey8. Now that it was coming to her, she was not afraid. She leaped high; she broadened her chest. The ball struck like a fist but she controlled it. She knew where Jaguar3 was. She knew the others were not watching him because he was dishonoured, so she flipped it to him. He flung his hip at the ball and it curved back into the air. She knew where it would go and was there waiting when it arrived. She caught it with her knee. She bounced it three times, killing its spin. They were
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