coming at her; their captain had his club raised.
It was too late. She pulled back her leg and kneed the ball confidently through the middle of the stone scoring hoop. Then, for honour only, she trapped it on her chest as it dropped through the other side, softly as fruit.
The cheer she won then made the earlier cheers sound like mutters. Lord Tekokiztakitl stood up, so everyone else stood up. He took his gold ornaments from around his neck and she ran to receive them. Because he had done it, others did it, and she walked around the pitch allowing people to drape her with gold.
She was the first girl ever to score on a New Court. Surely they must let her play in the finals.
– It wasn’t a dream, was it?
– You mean you have dreamed of this before?
– No.
– Because that would mean something if you had.
– No.
– It might also mean something if you never had.
The Interpretation were questioning her. It was part of how they decided whether she would go through to the finals. Everyone said the Interpretation were scary but they seemed lovely. They bought her a cactus syrup at a street cafe in the shade of the New Court. She sat and watched the painters finishing the new mural. The New Court had been built specially for the 2012 finals. The mural showed scenes from the whole history of Aztec Europa. There was Montezuma floating into the River Clyde on his imperial raft, over five hundred years ago, his huge nodding feather headdress making him look eight feet tall. No wonder the ghostfolk who lived here – with their pale speckly skin – thought he was a god. Apparently their god walked on water. Montezuma’s raft was so low in the water, it looked like he was doing just that. They thought their god had come back to them.
– Where did you learn ulama? asked the man from the Interpretation.
– My father is a rubber importer. He gave me my first rubber ball to play with when I was five. The ghostfolk who work in our house and gardens have a boy, and he was forever kicking a fitba – those pig’s bladder ghostfolk balls that hardly bounce. They kick it with their feet. When he saw how a real ball bounces, he couldn’t leave it alone. We’ve played all day. Every day. Ever since. Father is busy; my mother is dead. We play in the corridors and in the delivery alley.
– You learned ulama from a ghostboy?
– We learned together. His name is Mungo.
– We don’t need to know the ghostboy’s name. You know that most of the players who are on the list for the finals are from great families? They were taught by other great players. One of them was taught by Neza himself. And Neza has declared him the greatest player he has ever seen.
– Let me play him and we’ll see.
– This will be a game of universal significance. No girl has ever played in such a game. And a girl who learned her ulama skills in an alleyway … you must admit it seems unlikely.
– Unlikely things are mostly from the gods, she said. – Look at Montezuma. He went for a ride on the imperial raft one day, got caught up in the Gulf Stream and ended up here in a village called Glasgow. He founded the second empire and made that village into the greatest city on earth.
– You are comparing yourself to Montezuma?
– My father said we should all strive to be like him. So, yes, I compare myself to him. Every night before I sleep, I ask myself, did I do as Montezuma would have done?
– And how do you answer?
– When he was adrift, he was not scared. He didn’t try to paddle back. He knew the gods were taking him somewhere, so he stood calm and strong like a god; and when he came here, they took him for a god. All I ever wanted to do was play the game. When I got older and I heard that no one born in the month of the Monkey had ever played in the New Court, I still played. When I realized that no girl was ever allowed to play, I still played. When my father tried to stop me, that was like the waves and the winds and the monsters
It was too late. She pulled back her leg and kneed the ball confidently through the middle of the stone scoring hoop. Then, for honour only, she trapped it on her chest as it dropped through the other side, softly as fruit.
The cheer she won then made the earlier cheers sound like mutters. Lord Tekokiztakitl stood up, so everyone else stood up. He took his gold ornaments from around his neck and she ran to receive them. Because he had done it, others did it, and she walked around the pitch allowing people to drape her with gold.
She was the first girl ever to score on a New Court. Surely they must let her play in the finals.
– It wasn’t a dream, was it?
– You mean you have dreamed of this before?
– No.
– Because that would mean something if you had.
– No.
– It might also mean something if you never had.
The Interpretation were questioning her. It was part of how they decided whether she would go through to the finals. Everyone said the Interpretation were scary but they seemed lovely. They bought her a cactus syrup at a street cafe in the shade of the New Court. She sat and watched the painters finishing the new mural. The New Court had been built specially for the 2012 finals. The mural showed scenes from the whole history of Aztec Europa. There was Montezuma floating into the River Clyde on his imperial raft, over five hundred years ago, his huge nodding feather headdress making him look eight feet tall. No wonder the ghostfolk who lived here – with their pale speckly skin – thought he was a god. Apparently their god walked on water. Montezuma’s raft was so low in the water, it looked like he was doing just that. They thought their god had come back to them.
– Where did you learn ulama? asked the man from the Interpretation.
– My father is a rubber importer. He gave me my first rubber ball to play with when I was five. The ghostfolk who work in our house and gardens have a boy, and he was forever kicking a fitba – those pig’s bladder ghostfolk balls that hardly bounce. They kick it with their feet. When he saw how a real ball bounces, he couldn’t leave it alone. We’ve played all day. Every day. Ever since. Father is busy; my mother is dead. We play in the corridors and in the delivery alley.
– You learned ulama from a ghostboy?
– We learned together. His name is Mungo.
– We don’t need to know the ghostboy’s name. You know that most of the players who are on the list for the finals are from great families? They were taught by other great players. One of them was taught by Neza himself. And Neza has declared him the greatest player he has ever seen.
– Let me play him and we’ll see.
– This will be a game of universal significance. No girl has ever played in such a game. And a girl who learned her ulama skills in an alleyway … you must admit it seems unlikely.
– Unlikely things are mostly from the gods, she said. – Look at Montezuma. He went for a ride on the imperial raft one day, got caught up in the Gulf Stream and ended up here in a village called Glasgow. He founded the second empire and made that village into the greatest city on earth.
– You are comparing yourself to Montezuma?
– My father said we should all strive to be like him. So, yes, I compare myself to him. Every night before I sleep, I ask myself, did I do as Montezuma would have done?
– And how do you answer?
– When he was adrift, he was not scared. He didn’t try to paddle back. He knew the gods were taking him somewhere, so he stood calm and strong like a god; and when he came here, they took him for a god. All I ever wanted to do was play the game. When I got older and I heard that no one born in the month of the Monkey had ever played in the New Court, I still played. When I realized that no girl was ever allowed to play, I still played. When my father tried to stop me, that was like the waves and the winds and the monsters
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