By Petamber Persaud
‘De Tiga’ by Indrawati Flaks
With the continued attention on the cricket career of and recent upsurge of interest in Shivnarine Chanderpaul, breaking records and reaching new milestones, here is a tribute to ‘de tiga’.
This story was written by Indrawati Flaks and first published in The Guyana Annual 2007-2008 issue of the magazine. Flaks is a writer of short fiction and poetry for children.
The Guyana Annual, formerly published as the Chronicle Christmas Annual, was launched in December 1915.
“Is de Tiga! Watch ee coming out!” Boogsie screamed, pointing to the television screen, jumping up and down.
When someone is referred to as ‘Tiger’, I expect that individual to look a certain way. By this, I mean muscular, light on the feet and somewhat hostile in appearance. The person I observed, appeared to be more like a lamb, meek with absolutely no fight in his mien. This unassuming, bow-legged character, small in stature, walked towards the batting crease with the impression of waning energy. A close-up camera shot displayed a somewhat petrified look on the batsman face. Though not well defined in muscle tone, he was in fairly good shape. While on his way towards the crease, Tiger scanned the entire cricket ground very quickly.
Surely, I thought, he could not be the ‘Tiger’. It had to be someone else on whom the camera was not focused.
“Watch ee deh! Da is de man!’ still yelling, Boogsie started to dance, moving his wrist and wiggling his body, imitating an Indian classical dancer.
It was then I realised Boogsie was really referring to the same unassuming individual and I blurted out in a sarcastic manner, “Da ah de Tiga, pleeease, he look like ee need some tonic!” I turned to Boogsie with a disparaging look on my face.
I should have kept my loose mouth shut because Boogsie stopped dancing immediately and glared at me. Eyes blazing with anger, he said in that dreadful, quiet way, “Why yuh doan’t shut yuh mouth and leh me look at de game in peace!”
Calmly, I walked over to an armchair next to Boogsie and sat, trying to stay silent. This was cricket season and I knew Boogsie was on edge. His favourite team had not been doing well for some time and Boogsie hoped the fellows would drag themselves out of the slump, but that hope was dashed. Nevertheless, as a loyal fan, Boogise cheered the team on and when the occasion arose, made the most convincing excuses for the team’s sparse success at matches.
Boogise was an ardent cricket fan. Fortunately, he was a farmer so could arrange his work schedule to accommodate viewing cricket on television. Going to live cricket was not on his agenda anymore. It so happened that on several occasions, security threw him off the cricket ground for disorderly conduct. Boogsie, thus, resigned himself to watching the games on television. One of Boogsie’s friends, Birdman, enlightened me that Boogise managed to incite fights at the cricket ground owing to his excitable nature regarding the game. I gathered Boogsie was banned from the cricket facility indefinitely.
Fretting over my remark about ‘de Tiga’, Boogsie informed me, “If you only know how much presha dis man deh pan. Sometime he alone does gat fuh mek runs. Is like he cyant get good back-up sometime.”
Boogsie’s concern for the Tiger was genuine and I felt sorry for both he and Tiger.
As for me being a cricket fan, well, I was not, until events changed my attitude towards the game. In fact, I used to despise cricket season. During that period, Boogsie paid no attention to me and we somehow managed to indulge in matches of our own, quarrelling and fighting over almost anything. We were actually separated for few weeks because of cricket.
That was last cricket season. I got so fed up with Boogsie; he sat around the house all day, shouting, “Ketch de ball nah!, Four! , Six!, Dive!, Run, run, run!, Yuh gat ants in yuh pants, Move and get de ball!, You really shoulda rest dis season!”
Boogise ate his meals in front of the television. He did not even make the effort to take his dishes to the sink. So fed up I was that I moved in with my parents.
One can imagine the consternation on my parents’ behalf when I moved in with my more than an overnight bag. They were retired, enjoying a peaceful life after being rid of all of their offspring. So alarmed my dad became that he proposed to have a talk with Boogsie, but, I begged him to hold off.
For four years, Boogsie and I lived in marital bliss, except during cricket season. Throughout this time, Boogsie appeared to be under the influence of aliens; I had no way of getting through to him. Whenever I spoke with him, his reply would be inaudible and if the cricket game was not going in his favour. He would grunt, “Shut yuh mouth nah!”
If I thought leaving Boogsie during cricket season would teach him a lesson, I should have considered that brainwave very carefully and concluded that things would not go in my favour. In blissful ignorance, I relished in my thoughts that Boogsie would miss me desperately, telephone me to return home, confess that he could not live without me and was sorry. I waited and waited.
More than a week passed before I tucked my tail between my legs and called Boogsie. “Wha yuh duh Boogsie?” I asked.
“Eh, Eh, gal, me see like yuh gone fuh spen time with ma and pa. Ah when yuh guh come home?” Boogise asked. “Oh jeez!,” Boogsie interrupted with a shriek. “Ee out aready! Me guh call yuh back.” I could hear cricket commentary loud and clear in the background.
For a couple of days I waited on Boogsie to return the call but he never did, so, I took Boogsie’s ‘Ah when yuh guh come home’ as an invitation to return home.
My parents were overjoyed at my decision. When I arrived home, Boogsie was sitting in front of the television, totally absorbed in the cricket game. Somehow he perceived someone entered and raised his head. With a look of surprise, he exclaimed, “Yuh come back aready? How ma and pa?”
Totally disenchanted with Boogise’s greeting, I was realised that it would be a waste of emotion to wallow in misery and be more beneficial for our relationship if I were to become a cricket fan.
Anyway, to get back to the batsman, this was the first opportunity I have had to experience the Tiger’s presence on the field. Impressed I was not. Tiger walked towards the batting crease, turned, looked left, then right. He bent over, as though he was prepared to bat, but then give an indication to the bowler he was not ready. It was then I realised Tiger was a left-hander.
Tiger straightened up, took off his gloves and put them on again. The batsman proceeded to take off his helmet, bent forward to wipe his forehead on his sleeve; he returned the helmet to position. The helmet appeared to be too big for Tiger spent some time fidgeting, trying to position it. His leg pads also seemed to be awry as though the straps were loose around Tiger’s slender legs. Very quickly, Tiger surveyed the field. That was when I noticed the intense look in his eyes. He bent over again to take on the batting stance but straightened up quickly; he proceeded to fix his gloves. The cameraperson zoomed Tiger’s face close up to the screen and I could see Tiger’s dark, round eyes narrowed and focused.
After getting impatient with Tiger’s fidgeting, I jumped up, and yelled, “Wah wrong wid yuh, yuh friken fuh bat!”
Boogsie swivelled towards me and give me such a look that I sat down and closed my mouth.
What good was Tiger’s determined look anyway? He will be hammered by the bowler who was half a foot taller and outweighed him by more than thirty pounds. Like me too, the bowler appeared to be getting impatient. I could almost see forbidden words forming on his lips. Fortunately the umpire was looking the other way, maybe he too was swearing for this batsman was very trying on the nerves.
After fixing his gloves, Tiger again took up the batting position, he hit the bottom of the bat a few times against the crease, digging into the crease. He turned around, walked over to the wicket, took off one of the bales and returned to the crease. The batsman took his bat and hammered the bale into the batting crease a few times. He then returned the bale to its rightful place. The umpire walked over to the wicket to ensure the bale was returned to its place.
(To be continued next week)
