Hold the Line by Kerry Harrison

Author:Kerry Harrison [Harrison, Kerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cloud Ink Press

Beth parks Rob’s car near the grounds in an open field. As she and Sharon approach the stadium, a teenage boy cruises beside them on a pushbike, his trousers clipped at the bottom to avoid getting caught in the chain. There’s no sign in his demeanour that he’s worried this might not be cool. He smiles broadly in greeting. Fine hair brushes his pale-blue rain jacket, then he vanishes.

They merge with the crowds pouring through the gates of Rugby Park. Men, women and children in casual clothing, faces filled with anticipation, and it occurs to Beth that her mission is to stop their enjoyment with the attempted disruption of an entire game, although it’s difficult to see how that could happen. The park is surrounded by wire fences and police are clustered everywhere. In the distance the marchers are singing Amandla Ngawethu, Remember Soweto. Carried headlong by the motion, there’s no chance of falling behind, or of any hesitation.

At the entrance to the park, some spectators begin to jeer at the mass of protesters. ‘Fuckin’ layabouts! Get a job!’ yells a middle-aged man.

‘Get the Commies!’ spits an old man in a brown raincoat and trilby hat. He looks like someone who might work in a bank. His lips hardly move around the word ‘Commies.’

‘Do-gooders. Stick to your own business!’ someone shouts.

A woman, slight, in tight jeans, her face heavily made-up, screams, ‘How would ya like to be raped by one of those blacks?’

The patrons move in one big wave through the gates and head for their seats. A few stragglers casually wait behind. Men with hands in pockets, beer bottles tucked under arms, or sucking cans. Some make obscene gestures; two jabbing fingers – an index finger poking through the round hole of the other.

With the ticket hot in her hands, Beth hangs back with Sharon and the others from the house. She shows her ticket to an eager man about her age. His eyes are glowing. ‘Enjoy the game!’ The man touches her back lightly as she passes through the gates. The rugby crowd pours eagerly onto the seats and just for a moment she thinks about sitting down, to forget about the whole thing and pretending to watch the game. Then she remembers the ‘commie’ comment.

Someone calls, ‘Keep on going, don’t stop! Just run onto that field,’ and suddenly Beth is swept down, her hand firm in Sharon’s, charging, stumbling as they barge down. A human wave through the stunned crowd.

In no time they’re charging the terraces, vaulting the seats. An older woman in a knit skirt trips over, sprawling out like a broken doll. A protester in a white face mask pushes aside a portly farmer, easily identified by his towelling hat and rubicund face. As Beth slows for the steps down to the field, she glances back. The farmer rights himself. He looks straight at her, face perplexed, eyes refocusing. Then she’s running across the pitch, past the startled rugby officials.

One official, small and agile, rain hat flapping, takes a dive, attempting to tackle her.

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