The Testimony of Taliesin Jones (41 page)

'The
teams walk out into the crisp November air. The conditions are ideal for a
runing game and there is a little wind so kicking might prove problematic
.
After weeks
of
anticipation
the two teams have finally come together in what many people believe will be
one of the closest confrontations for years
.
Playing
for Wales today is young Taliesin Jones, fresh from college and at eleven the
youngest ev
e
r
player
to appear for the national team.'

It's Taliesin's turn to be Wales, which should mean a
victory
.
Their
matches ar
e
always
superlative, close, an
d
won in th
e
last minute by a breathtaking, length-of-the-fie
ld
move, involving the
entire Welsh team. Being Wales me
a
ns
starting slowly
while the English swagger into an early lead. And then, some way through the
second half, just as th
e
English begin to rest on their fat laurels, the Welsh
come back with inevitable dummy-shimmying brilliance.

Taliesin
has little skill but being light he can move quickly and being afraid of
physical contact he has developed a ke
en
sense
of preservation which keeps him dodging. Jonathan barely has to break into a
run for m
ost
of these games. Occasionally
he'll put in a spurt of energy, just as Taliesin is beginning to feel
patronized. Jonathan is filling out his once lissom frame, especially around
the neck. Taliesin doesn't envy his brother's size. Jonathan hasn't quite yet
grown into his adult body; certain parts have gone ahead of others. Hi
s
nose, for instance
,
has
outgrown his jaw and his legs are still too long
.
The
voice has cracked into deeper octaves but it has a slightly self-conscious and
pretentious bass in some of his words
.
The
physical gap between them has widened this year and that has changed the nature
of these games
.
If anything Jonathan has to
pretend even more than usual. He can't put his weight into the tackle.

Jonathan
kicks off. Taliesin's gloves fail to grip the shiny surface of the ball and he
drops it in front of him.

'
The referee has allowed play to continue
.
The English p
our in
on th
e
Welsh.
They're driving them back and a maul has formed.' Taliesin feels tiny as his
brother envelops him
,
clamping gangly arm
s
about his body, and half wrestling with the ball. This
close h
e
can
smell Jon s cheap aftershave and that vague bacony smell he has. They are
locked like this for a while. Jonathan continues to commentate as he mauls.

'Penalty
.
The referee has blown for a penalty
.
Wales failing to release the ball.'

Taliesin
takes his place where the posts should b
e
and
pretends to be posts by holding up his arms, crooked at the elbow to form the
two parallels. Jonathan places the ball with exaggerated precision, pulls some
grass out and tosses it into the air to see where it blows. The wind is strong
and lifts and sprays the gra
ss
up and out.
'And the tall figure of Jonathan Smith-Jones steps forward to take the kick.
'
Jonathan simulates the sound of muffled Welsh
boos and English cheering and kicks the ball.

'3-0!
You can't take those sort of risks with a kicker the calibre of Smith-Jones.'
Jonathan does the posh accent of the English commentator. Taliesin laughs and
restarts, booting the ball towards the left touch.

'It's
a throw-in
.'
Jonathan takes the throw and
Taliesin
,
with no one to contest the
line-out but imagined Englishmen, catches it and starts to run straight for the
English try line, half hearing the roar of the Welsh crowd in his head.
Jonathan giv
es
chase, dives and misses. 'A
spectacular attempt
.'
Th
e
try line is looming... 'He's going to score
,
he must score, but what? No ... he's dropped it,
the ball has slipped from his hands. What a terrible mistake. The crowd can't
believe it
.'
Jonathan changes accent and is
immediately another commentator offering analysis
.
'Well,
questions must be asked about the gloves the Welsh player's wearing
.
Even the crowd seem to want the gloves off.'
'Gloves off, gloves off,' the crowd chants
.

Gloves
off, gloves off, gloves off. The crowd are right: the g
loves
are rui
ning
t
he
ga
me, t
hey
h
ave
t
o
com
e
'o
ff,
o
ff,
o
ff.' T
aliesin
p
eels
th
em off. T
he
c
rowd ru
stle.
H
e
put
s
th
e
g
loves
i
n h
is
pocke
ts
a
nd th
en
p
icks
up th
e
b
all o
nly t
o
drop it
ag
ain.
It h
asn't s
lipped
from
h
is g
rasp, he h
as
delib
erately
thr
own
it
as
ide
to
l
ook a
t hi
s
h
and
s.
H
e
l
ooks a
t th
em
un
able
t
o
b
elieve w
hat h
e
d
oesn't
see. T
here
a
re
no
wa
rts. N
ot o
ne
.
Eith
er s
ide. All cl
ean.
T
hey've
a
ll
go
ne
.
All
a
t
a g
o. P
erhaps
th
ey've
rel
ocated
t
o
h
is face
.
He
c
hecks
,
h
e
f
eels,
he bl
inks.
H
e
'
s
n
ever
m
istrusted
h
is se
nses th
is
mu
ch
b
efore
.
H
e
n
eeds se
par
ate
ve
rification
.

'
Look J
on !'
J
onathan
s
q
u
ints
. H
e
w
a
nt
s
t
o ge
t
o
n
wi
th th
e ga
me
.
'We
ll?'

'
Look
.'
Ta
liesin h
olds o
ut h
is
h
ands as
h
e
mi
ght
h
old o
ut
a
b
ox o
f
go
ld
,
franki
ncense
or
m
yrrh
t
o a ki
ng.

J
onathan
s
h
ru
gs
.
'T
hey
wo
uld h
ave go
ne
a
nyway.' H
e
p
icks
up th
e
b
all.
Bu
t Ta
liesin i
s
un
abl
e to
play on
.
H
e s
tands th
ere
wi
th his
h
ands o
ut.

'But th
ey were a
ll th
ere
l
ast
ni
ght.
I
c
hecked th
em o
ne b
y one
.
All
e
lev
en
. L
ook!' he p
leads. Jon
ath
an
s
pirals th
e
b
all
in
t
he p
alm of
h
i
s
h
and,
un
impressed.
H
e
r
everts
t
o co
mment
ary
.

'T
he
c
rowd b
egins
t
o
b
oo
.
"
Get
o
n with th
e ga
me. Stop
was
ting t
ime. "T
hey're
s
low h
and
cl
apping,'
he s
ays
.

T
aliesin
f
eels
b
emused ela
tion
a
nd th
e exas
peration
o
f n
ot
b
eing
b
elieved
.
How
ca
n th
e evi
dence be
s
o ea
sily
d
enied
?
Y
ou
w
ait
f
or a
mir
acle
(a
nd thi
s
is
s
urely a miracl
e -eve
n
if it h
as
t
aken
tw
o
d
ays)
and
w
hen
i
t h
appens
it
's
di
smissed w
ith
a
s
hrug b
y an
u
nbelieving
broth
er.
It mak
es
him
wa
nt
to
kill th
e
p
erson
t
hat d
oubts
h
im;
h
e
w
ants
to
s
trangle hi
s
br
other and murde
r
h
is do
ubt. Wh
y
d
oesn't
J
onathan
see
a
nd
a
cknowledge th
e
tru
th?
T
aliesin
'
s
frustrati
on
turn
s
to
evi
l thou
ghts.
H
e's
b
ack
o
n th
at
i
sland
of th
e
Flie
s
aga
in
a
nd hi
s
f
ace is pai
nted
w
ith blu
e w
oad
.
Jon
athan
i
s
ti
ed
to the p
alm
tr
ee
a
nd T
aliesin is
d
ancing
around him
,
pr
odding
hi
s
br
other i
n
the
r
ibs w
ith
a
b
amboo s
pear,
a
nd h
olding
h
is
h
ealed
h
ands
u
nder
hi
s
no
se.
'N
ow do yo
u b
elieve me?'
J
onathan
li
fts
hi
s
h
ead a
nd
sha
kes It limpl
y
.
D
rums b
egin to so
und .
.
.