Hand of God Read Online Free PDF Page B

Gary.
    ‘And you’re okay with that?’
    ‘So who gives a fuck if they do think that?’ said Bekim.
    ‘I do,’ said Prometheus. ‘I give a very big fuck about that. In Nigeria there is a new law that says you can go to prison for fourteen years if you are married to a man.’
    ‘My wife’s married to a man,’ said Ayrton Taylor. ‘Last time I looked.’
    ‘I mean one man marrying another man,’ said Prometheus. ‘Batty boys. Sharia law means gay people are whipped on the streets for having gay sex.’
    ‘And you’re okay with that ?’ asked Bekim.
    ‘Sure I am. It’s about the one thing that Muslims and Christians in my country can both agree on. But as it happens there are very few black Africans who are shirtlifters and bum bandits. Really, it only seems to be a problem in white countries.’
    ‘I wish you wouldn’t use these words,’ said Gary. ‘Live and let live, that’s what I say. So why don’t you zip it, sunshine, and get showered.’
    ‘I’m just saying that it’s only in big cities where this problem with batty boys seems to arise. In Africa it’s not really a problem at all.’
    During this exchange nobody was looking at Christoph Bündchen who was trying his best to pretend that the conversation wasn’t happening, but clearly Bekim felt his acute discomfort almost as much as the young German did himself. The Russian glanced anxiously at Christoph before looking back at Prometheus.
    ‘Where do you get your fucking ideas from?’ said Bekim. ‘That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. No gay people in Africa? Of course there are gay people in Africa.’
    ‘Put a sock in it,’ I said. ‘All of you. I don’t want to hear any more talk about gays in this dressing room. D’you hear?’
    ‘I’d have thought the dressing room is where the matter needs to be discussed most of all,’ said Prometheus. ‘I don’t want to share a bath with some homo who might touch me up or give me Aids.’
    ‘Shut your mouth, Prometheus,’ I said. ‘And if you ever showboat in a match like that again I’ll take you off and fine you a week’s wages.’
    Towards the end of the match he’d played keepy-uppy for several seconds, making an obvious chump of the defender before passing it to Bekim who’d scored. It wasn’t such an egregious error in the light of the final outcome but I was desperately trying to change the subject.
    ‘I think you’re fucked up, sonny,’ Bekim told Prometheus. ‘You might have joined an English football team. But clearly you’ve yet to join civilisation.’
    ‘That goes for you, too, Bekim,’ I said. ‘Put a sock in it.’
    ‘And I think maybe you’re standing up for batty boys because you’re one yourself,’ Prometheus told Bekim. ‘Not to mention a racist. Me, uncivilised? Fuck you, Ivan.’
    Bekim stood up. ‘What did you say?’
    ‘That’s enough,’ I said.
    Prometheus stood up and faced him. ‘You heard me, batty man.’
    ‘ Ya toboi sit po gor loi ,’ said Bekim, speaking Russian now. He always started speaking Russian when he got angry; he wasn’t called the red devil for nothing. ‘ Ti menya zayebal. Dazhe ney du mai, chto mozhesh, me-njya khui nye stavit . Don’t even think you can dis me like that, you fucking animal.’
    ‘Will you two bastards behave yourselves?’ shouted Simon.
    By now I was standing in front of Bekim gripping his wrists, and Gary Ferguson was blocking Prometheus, but it wasn’t going to stop these two powerfully built men from taking a pop at each other. Sometimes the dressing room is like that. There’s too much energy, too much testosterone, too much frustration, too much mouth, too much attitude. You can’t explain it except to say that shit happens. One minute they were shouting insults at each other, the next they were trying to punch each other in the face. I did my best to keep hold of Bekim’s wrists but he was too strong for me, and there was a loud smack as the Russian’s forearm