Murphy & Mousetrap (8 page)

It worked almost every time. Only two shots got past Murphy that afternoon. Both goals were scored by a boy they called Big Foot. He had a way of dribbling the ball until he was so close that Murphy couldn't see which way Big Foot was going to shoot. Then he drove the ball at such a sharp angle Murphy's body didn't have a chance to move one way or the other.

Although Albert's shots got more and more forceful, Murphy had no trouble blocking them. It was Levi's strikes that hurt the most. Levi didn't try to get a goal. He just
shot the ball right at Murphy. Each time Levi kicked the ball, it sped faster than the time before. Once it hit Murphy so hard in the chest that it knocked the breath right out of his lungs. Black spots blocked his sight as he bent down and opened his mouth to pull air into his windpipe. Luckily, before he fell over, he finally swallowed a lump of air. It killed his throat, but at least he didn't pass out.

“Way to go!” Jeff said when the game was over. “You're great. I thought you said you never played before.”

“Yeah, man,” Haywire said. “Looks like we got our keeper for the tournament.”

Even Big Foot, who played for the other side, grabbed Murphy and tossed him into the air. “Great goalie,” he said. “For such a little white guy.”

“Don't worry about him, cousin,” Jeff said. “He doesn't mean anything by it.”

Being called little white guy didn't sound so bad, not this time.

“Why doesn't he just go home where he belongs?” Albert sneered.

“This is his home,” Jeff replied. “And you're an awesome forward. So why don't you just let him be our goalie?”

On the way home, the boys talked about the Easter weekend tournament.

“Six weeks are all we got,” one of the big boys said. “Dad said he's registered our team. He'll be here tomorrow.”

“I heard there's gonna be ten teams or more,” Haywire said.

When Murphy heard that the tournament was going to be held in the city, not far from his old apartment, he was excited. Mom would be excited too.

“You gotta be out tomorrow,” Jeff said as Murphy headed down Grandma's driveway. “Uncle Rudy'll want to see you. He'll pick you for sure to be the keeper.”

“See ya tomorrow,” Murphy called out. He was beginning to like living on the reserve.

He reached under the car and pulled Mousetrap up into his arms. Mousetrap was gray, and his feet were sandy and dirty. Murphy looked at his own hands. They were covered in thick mud, and spots of dirt were
splattered up his sleeves and all across his jacket. His legs were soaking wet, and his feet sloshed in his running shoes.

Mom opened the door and stared at the grubby twosome. “Oh, my,” she said, laughing, “it looks like you two have had fun.”

Murphy pulled off his shoes, and water sploshed across the floor. He changed his wet clothes, wiped up the mess and curled on the sofa next to Mom and Mousetrap. He told them about the game and about Albert and Levi's plan to hurt him.

“I had a plan too,” he explained. “GET OUT OF THE WAY OF THE BALL.”

“Why?” Mom asked.

“Because then the boys would figure out I wasn't a goalie, and they would pull me out of the game.”

“That's not a good plan,” Mom said.

“It didn't work anyway,” Murphy said. “When they kicked the ball at me I couldn't move. I was too scared. And once I had loosened up I moved right in front of the shots.”

“Wow,” Mom said. “So it worked out in the end.”

“I guess so,” he said. “I still can't really believe it. They all think I'm a goalie.”

Murphy was so proud that tears spurted down his still-grubby cheeks. “I saved Albert's shot, Mom. And then I saved the next one and the next one.”

Mom listened quietly while Murphy explained. Even Mousetrap was interested in his story.

“I only missed two shots. Big Foot kicked them both. He was up so close I didn't have a chance,” Murphy said. “I'll figure it out. And get them next time.”

13

Uncle Rudy was waiting at the field when Murphy and Jeff arrived the next day.

“I'm going to sit right here and watch,” he said as the boys gathered around the bleachers. “I want you boys to play just like you do every day. Ignore me. Pretend I'm not here.”

“Hey, Uncle,” Albert said as he sauntered toward the bleachers. Did that mean Albert was Murphy's cousin? Couldn't be, Murphy thought. But then, like Mom said, all the kids were cousins.

“You playing shooter or keeper, nephew?” Uncle Rudy asked.

“Shooter,” Albert said. “We got a new keeper.”

“Really?” Uncle Rudy looked surprised. “Who?”

“Murphy,” Albert replied. Murphy stared at him. He almost sounded as if he was happy to be replaced in the net.

“And he's good too. Right, cousin?” Jeff added, slapping Albert on his back.

Had Jeff talked to Albert?

“You mean Lisa's boy?” Uncle Rudy looked right past Murphy. “They moved home. That's right.”

Jeff pointed his nose toward Murphy. “That's him right there,” he said.

“Welcome home, boy,” said Uncle Rudy. He smiled so big he showed a mouthful of white teeth. “I'm glad my little cousin finally moved home. I've missed her. You tell her cousin Rudy can't wait to tease her again.”

He roared with laughter as if he remembered something that no one else knew about.

“Okay, enough of that,” he said, clearing his throat. “I'm on the bench. You boys play your game. Like I said, forget I'm here.”

It wasn't hard for Murphy to forget that Uncle Rudy was there. Balls flew at him from every angle. The boys were trying extra hard to impress the coach. Each time the ball came toward him, Murphy found a way to get in front of it. Even Big Foot couldn't get the ball past Murphy. Only two goals were scored, and this time Albert kicked both of them. When he let the second shot fly, Murphy leaped toward the right side of the net as if he had springs in his feet. For a split second his body was airborne. The ball stung the tips of Murphy's fingers as it flew into the net, and his body dropped like a dead weight onto the muddy field.

Even though the ball got by, Murphy knew that it was the best move he had ever made in the net.

“Great goal,” Uncle Rudy hollered at Albert. Then he shouted, “That's some goalie we have. You gotta be good to get a shot past him.”

Albert seemed to like what he heard. Murphy did too.

In the following weeks, the boys practiced every day after school. When the school bus
dropped Murphy off at the corner, he ran home and checked under the cars until he found Mousetrap.

Then he stretched his arm until he could pull the cat toward him. “Get over here,” he said. “I got a quick treat for you, and then I have to get to the field.”

Each day he scooped canned salmon into a bowl and waited impatiently until Mousetrap gobbled his treat. Then Mousetrap rejoined the other cats under the car, and Murphy rushed over to the field.

On March 23, the Wednesday before the Easter tournament, Uncle Rudy brought a paper to practice.

“We're all signed up,” he said. “Here's the schedule for our first two games. And here's the roster.”

Murphy peered over Uncle Rudy's shoulder and scanned the roster. Beside GOALIE Uncle Rudy had written, MURPHY JONES.

“Who's our spare goalie?” Uncle Rudy asked the boys.

The boys looked from one to the other, most eyes stopping at Albert.

“You?” Uncle Rudy said. “You the only spare goalie we got?”

“I guess,” Albert said. He didn't look very enthusiastic.

“We can't lose you on the offense. We need your goal scoring ability,” Uncle Rudy said. One by one he eyed the boys. “Doesn't anyone else play goalie? What about you, Jeff?”

Jeff laughed. “No way,” he said. “You don't want me in the goal.”

“What about you, Levi?”

“No chance. They don't call me Vacuum Cleaner for nothing.”

Each boy shook his head. “Not me.” “Not me.” “I'm hopeless.” “I'm worse than that.” There were only two goalies on the team, Murphy and Albert.

“That means you better not get sick, Murphy,” Uncle Rudy said, “or hurt.” He placed his hand on Murphy's shoulder. “We're counting on you.”

When the boys walked home, Albert caught up to Murphy. “You gotta be there,” he said. “We're gonna win this tournament.”

“I'll be there,” Murphy said. “Don't worry.”

“You're really good,” Albert said. He spoke quietly. He wasn't used to saying nice stuff to people, thought Murphy, and he didn't want the other boys hearing his words. “I'm glad I gave you my position, cousin.”

“Me too,” Murphy said.

Thursday night, everyone packed their cars with tents, clothes and soccer gear and drove south on the road out of the village. Grandma, Danny, Uncle Charlie and Auntie Jean and lots of others.

Murphy remembered watching soccer at the Easter tournament since forever. First Nations teams of boys, men, women and girls competed for trophies and prizes. People from villages all over the province gathered to cheer on their players.

This year Murphy wasn't just a spectator. He was a player. Mom, Grandma, Chas and Bernie would spread their blankets on the grass and sip from their thermoses as they watched him.

“Put out three bowls of food,” Mom said to Murphy. “One for each day we'll be gone.”

Murphy asked, “What if he eats them all at once?”

“He'll have a stomach ache, and he'll be hungry for a few days,” Mom said. “It won't hurt him.”

“But...”

“He'll be okay,” Mom said. “We'll leave the window open so he can climb in and out if he wants.”

Mousetrap's ears perked up as he watched Murphy fill three bowls. He nosed the food, then wandered behind Murphy and Mom as they packed the last few things into the car.

In just two short months everything had changed. Mousetrap was perfectly contented being left behind. Mom was happy to leave him. And although Murphy didn't want to admit it, deep inside he knew his cat would be fine without him.

“Bernie and Chas are so excited,” Mom said. “They have a bed for you, and I'm going to sleep on the couch. They can't wait to watch you play.”

14

Friday morning, they arrived at the park at nine thirty, sharp. Soccer games were in progress on all three fields.

“We have half an hour,” Mom said and pointed across the park. “There's your team.”

Uncle Rudy and a few boys were huddled on the sidelines. Mom, Murphy, Chas and Bernie found a good spot to watch the game. They spread a blanket on the field and plopped their bags and bodies on top.

“Go on, Murphy,” Mom said.

“Good luck,” Chas called out.

“Give us gold,” Bernie hollered.

Murphy walked through the crowd to his team. The boys were yanking new red team shirts over their heads. When he saw Murphy, Uncle Rudy reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a black shirt splashed with red, green and purple. There was a bright gold star on the front instead of
Buckskin Bulldogs
like the other boys' shirts.