(1) It’S Not That Easy

Two short stories by PENEHURO HAUMA

‘SHOOT! Shoot!” he shouted to the Red team’s centre-forward, his voice ringing above the shouting of the match’s near-to-capacity crowd. The ball was finally snatched away from the attackers with catlike speed by the White team’s defence The self-proclaimed soccer star was on the side-line; he had arrived from the city two days before. He was born in this village of Tautau but had lived most of the time in the city, attending school there. However, every holiday he came home to his family; and it was during one of these holidays that this match occurred.

Sau was the name of this youth.

His favourite team was the one in red; he used to go around with boys of that particular team, and he knew the captain and most of the players well.

“Jesus' What a waste of a ball!” he muttered when the shot from a

Red player just missed the Whites’ goal. Somewhere to his left there were some girls whom he fancied, Even though he was well known for boasting about his skills, the pre sence of the girls had made him open up even further.

A player from the Red team, at tempting to tackle a White player, over-stretched his ordinary shorts, busted them, and, to the spectators’ delight, revealed that he was wearing nothing underneath. Despite his attempt to cover his ‘precious organs’ quickly their momentary but clear exposure was enough to make the spectators roar with laughter, It was obvious that the player had to get another pair of shorts if he was to continue. A replacement had to be found quickly while he went looking for another pair. The only one available with shorts on was Sau. The Red captain waved to him to take the field. Everyone (spec tators and players) clapped as Sau jumped about to warm himself up

one of the routines he had seen soccer players in the city going through).

Sau in fact had never played soccer before, not even at school. He was, however, a very keen fan of the game. Every Saturday he went to the park to watch the matches there.

From this, Sau thought that he had learned enough techniques.

He had often thought of himself a Bobby Charlton, one of the English stars of the ’6os.

He had lied to his friends in the ?age that he was a regular secondgrade schools’ representative. The ?ng spectators were eager to see their self-proclaimed soccer star in ?on. The girls in the crowd giggled ?dly to attract his attention.

Come on, Sau, put that red sing let on and choose any position!” the Captain called.

Sau was so excited. “I’ll start off in the centre-forward position”, he ? himself.

THE ref signalled for the kick-off.

Sau positioned himself quickly at centre-forward between the insides, ? the ball with his left foot, turned around and passed it to the centre- The ref’s whistle brought the ball back to the centre, and the ref told Sau to push the ball beyond the ? before passing it back to any of his team mates.

Come on, Sau”, the girls shouted; they thought the ref did not know what he was doing. (Fancy penalising someone who was a regular player in the city!) Anyway the ball was given to the White team. Before the ref blew his whistle again, Sau was in the circle charging the ball, was penalised again.

A spectator said something funny ?ut Sau and the spectators roared with laughter. Sau was breaking one of the simplest rules of the game. Realising what was happening, the Red captain moved Sau to the wing, bringing the winger to the centre.

In a lightning movement, the Red goalie dived for a superb save. He threw the ball to the captain at fullback who dribbled the ball at top speed beating two players before unloading to the centre-half; the centre- ? drew four backs and slipped the ball to the right winger who took it over to the far right; the left fullback chased him, leaving only the right full-back to mark the other four forwards; the winger zoomed around the eft fullback and then lobbed the ball to the centre-forward who ?sted it down neatly and held it long enough to attract the right fullback. Sau found himself in front of the goal mouth. He shouted for the

ball. It came rolling beautifully from the centre-forward.

“Go! Go! Sau, Go!” The air was filled with girls shouting.

The spectators were on their feet now. The cheering suddenly stopped.

Silence! Then followed by Boooooo!

To his disappointment, he saw the ball going far and wide and he was standing only six yards from the goal mouth.

Time and time again he spoiled the beautiful moves of his team. He was moved from one position to another. At half time, he was placed at the left-half. The opposing team found it a good place for initiating their moves. Whenever Sau got the ball, he couldn’t pass it away quickly

enough before his opposite snatched it away from him. If he did manage to pass, it was either too short or to a member of the White team.

Whenever he was charged by a big ger player he backed down.

To save himself from further humiliation, he pretended that he had sprained his ankle. The captain and the team were so relieved when an other substitute came on.

On the side-line, Sau found all the people looking at him. He felt so small. When they stopped looking, he sneaked away to his home.

Thereafter, he never again talked about soccer to anybody, though he still went to see it played.

(2) Letter’S Experience

WAKE up, you lazy fella!” And Letter suddenly found him self staring at the not-too-pleasant face of a brown fella. Looking around, he found himself in a strange place. “It can’t be Fiji!” he told himself. The brown fella had a raincoat on and fresh drops of rain were still on it. Fiji, Letter had been told, had plenty of sunshine and no rain!

Three months earlier, he had been in Australia, in a small town north of Sydney. His white friend there had sent him to convey some news to his friend in Fiji. The friend, Letter was told, was studying for a ticket to success (or something like that) at a university there.

He learnt from his white friend that the South Pacific Islands were full of charming people, plenty of beautiful scenery, and dancing girls (especially the hip-swinging ones).

Those things made him accept going to Fiji. He never dreamt that he would be choked in an envelope for three months, that his head would be banged with rubber stamps, and he would have to put up with a hellish crowd of letters in a smelly tarpaulin sack.

“Hell, how come it took three months for you to arrive?” the brown fella continued. “You lazy bugger!”

Letter got scared. “Do they usually welcome foreigners this way?” he asked himself.

“Anyway, what news have you got for me?” the brown fella asked him, while flashing through Letter’s body.

Letter very much liked to swear at the brown fella. The brown fella

twisted, folded, and even rolled up Letter despite Letter’s groans and moans.

When Letter looked around, he was surprised that he was in a cell like cubicle about 8 ft by 10 ft big.

Beside the door stood a wardrobe next to a small drawer. There was a fixed bed facing them on the oppo site side. On the far side opposite the door, there was a long bench fixed to the wall and, above it, fixed just to the left-hand corner of the small window, were three bookshelves about to collapse under the weight of books.

Letter felt home-sick. He thought of the spacious and well-furnished house of his friend in Australia, where he had a room. He missed the television as well.

The brown fella’s face looked tired and weary. “Poor fella!” sighed Letter, wondering how long that fella had been imprisoned in that cell, “What a university!” he thought to himself. His thoughts were cut short when the brown fella squeezed him up into a paper ball.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself in a rubbish bin.

His other rolled-up friends there told him that he should consider himself lucky to have found a place in a university rubbish bin, and in a wonderful country like Fiji. He couldn’t protest for he knew they were all locals, and it was bad for outsiders like himself to complain about someone else’s country, even if that country seemed like a prison.

Anyway, he knew he didn’t have long to live.