Chapter 3: Chapter Three : The Law of the Jungle

Today is Saturday, the day of the Devigne Grand Slam Tennis Tournament at the

Devigne city sports area and Marcel Gray, who is a well-known fan of the sport and a

generous sponsor of one of the most prestigious tennis clubs, which is the home  of the most promising tennis players, Caimen Abuja, a French-African tennis
player who has had a notable winning streak despite many of the participants showing
a conspicuous distaste for the talented foreign tennis player.

Due to his recent success, his world-ranking has risen to a respectable seventh place
and he has a chance to reach the number one spot if he should remain consistent with
his wins. At twenty-five, standing at six feet tall with dark skin and a seemingly
unfriendly demeanour has led to few people willing to interact with him. Marcel Gray
has been heavily criticised by many of his wealthy peers for sponsoring an unfriendly
foreigner, but that has not deterred the wealthy heir from lending his support to the
promising sportsman.

MATCH DAY 1: Saturday

The first match is under way between Caimen Abuja and the Polish tennis player
Kacper Kallpor who is currently ranked twenty-third in the world. The sun is out, the
weather is too scorching for a match of its kind. The two tennis players have been
playing for a mere twenty minutes but are already drenched in sweat, but they seem
to be enjoying their match and their energy levels are relatively high.

At the VIP section at the City Sports Area: Tennis courts
I wonder how horrendous the African mongrel smells in this heat, thank goodness we
are up here. A contemptuous large French man in his fifties who is wearing a monocle
on his left eye says to his wealthy peers as he maintains a mocking grin on his face.

The other upper-class people at the VIP section giggle while covered by the shadows
cast by the banner above their heads. The chirping sounds that the people generate
with their condescending laughters pierce through Marcel's ears who is also seated
next to them: Agitated by their racist and elitist remarks, he desperately tries to
maintain his composure while resisting the urge to say something offensive to the
cackling bourgeoisie. His body vibrates as he attempts to restrain himself from
bringing shame upon the Gray family.

Gray looks on as his player passionately swings his racquet, the match seems
promising and looks as if he is about to win his next match until something distracts
the seemingly unbeatable Abuja. A moment before he swings his winning shot, he
instantaneously made eye-contact with his strict mother who was sitting in one of the
first row seats. The glare she gave her son was enough to distract him long enough
for him to suffer a devastating defeat before he even knew he had lost.

As the player regains his lucidity, he is woken up by sounds of cheering and the
obnoxious cackles of the people at the VIP section. He looks at his opponent and
realizes that he had just lost the match. His shame causes him to run to the fitting
rooms.

Ha-ha seems like that abject failure is a sore loser too, run back to your country you
loser! The same man with the monocle shouts out from the VIP section.
The echoes of the commentator announcing the polish player's win and the cheering
of the many spectators are barely audible to the distraught Caimen, to him it sounds
like the muffled sound that a person hears or struggles to hear after submerging
themselves underwater.

His breathing is erratic and his saliva is difficult to swallow- all these unbearable
sensations are coursing through him during his violent run to the fitting rooms.

The young man opens the first fitting room to his right, located in the seemingly
never-ending dark hallway. He violently turns the golden doorknob, which is
abnormally difficult for him to do because his hands are drenched in sweat and his
anxiety makes it increasingly more difficult for him to do the most basic of tasks. Oh

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God, just open already, can't things just go my way for once. Caimen yells out as he
struggles to turn the doorknob, until an additional hand suddenly appears over his and
presses on to his hands and aids the distraught player to turn the doorknob. Caimen
looks back and sees the friendly and familiar face of his sponsor, Marcel Gray
towering over him and with a warm smile on his face.

It seems that I was able to catch up to you, Mr Abuja, Marcel says whilst maintaining
his smile.
Oh Mr Gray, I don't know what to say..I failed you! Caimen replies with his cracking
voice.
I will listen to that later, Let's go inside first, We can't very well stand here. Marcel
affirms.
Uh yes Sir.

Caimen sits at one of the benches near the lockers in his most vulnerable state. The
disappointment is so severe that he can no longer maintain a proper sitting posture.
Marcel stands across from him and folds his arms as if he is waiting for Caimen to
stop feeling sorry for himself.

Listen up Mr Aubja or rather Caimen, you just lost one game, it happens to even the
best sportsmen, there is no reason for you to take a loss so badly. Marcel states.
Caimen raises his head and makes eye contact with Marcel after hearing his brief
lecture.

Or could it be that you were not supposed to lose the match at all, I mean you were
confident throughout the game until you saw someone in the audience who caused you
to lose your composure almost immediately, Am I wrong? Marcel deduces
Caimen, shocked by Gray's perfect analysis of the situation breaks down in tears and
let's out an audible Yes!
– Ah I see, so I am right.
Yes, you are right, Sir. My mother was in the audience and she never announced her
arrival.
– I see, so why is it such a bad thing that your mother came to watch you play?
We are not on the best of terms, she emotionally abused me for years. She even told
me that I am not good enough to be an international tennis player.
– How heinous. Marcel responds with a tint of anger in his voice.
I never want to see her again, Sir. I need to leave this place.

Marcel closes his eyes and rests on the lockers with his back, creasing the backside
of his expensive two-piece.
– Very well, we can use a tunnel reserved for the sponsors. It will lead us out of
this stadium undetected.
Really Sir, you'd do that for me?
– Of course, you are my star player, but before that, please go take a shower,
you are all sweaty. An unsightly appearance for the 7th best tennis player in the
world. Marcel says in a playful tone, exposing his young age to the twenty-five
year old tennis star.

Of course Sir. Caimen dashes off to the showers within the fitting rooms while
Marcel sits at the bench that Caimen was on.
Ten minutes later

Caimen exits the shower and pats himself dry with a towel and moisturises his skin
and wears one of the complementary tracksuits that are always there for players who
happen to lose their clothing and throws his sweaty tennis outfit in the small trash
bin outside the shower.
-You kept me waiting. Marcel says.
My apologies Sir, I got lost in thought inside the shower.
-It's okay, are you ready to leave?
Of course.

The two gentlemen walk through the tunnel and exit the stadium and are met by
Marcel's butler, Jeffrey who opens the door to the Gray family car and both of
them enter the car and Caimen closes the door before Jeffrey has time to, showing
his humility as a person who wasn't born privileged like his sponsor. Jeffrey sits
behind the wheel and drives the car.

Where are we going, Sir? Caimen asks.
– We are going to have a late lunch at a private restaurant away from prying
eyes.
I am honoured Sir.

    Man v Monster
     The Poem
None are more vulnerable than those who
know not the true enemy
As their defence shall serve no purpose under,
the oblivion that comes from their own absurdity
The monster, like an elephant shall trample on the foolish for its own ambition
all to ensure that the fool's own never come to fruition
Look sharp at all times or be impaled by the monster's tusk,
fail to heed the warning and you shall leave this world as a mere husk
and best believe that you will not be the last
After all, your time will have long since passed.

The car parks in front of the entrance of one of the most exclusive restaurants in
the city, only reserved for the most elite patrons. The restaurant has no name and
could easily be mistaken for a high-class law firm which further proves its exclusivity.
The establishment has two formally dressed male attendants waiting outside the
translucent glass double doors, they look like they were expecting both of them for
quite some time.
The two gentlemen exit the car, Marcel and Jeffrey extend brief eye-contact before
Marcel exits the car, Caimen is completely oblivious to the menacing looks that both
of them share.
- Wow, this place looks amazing, Sir, I have been in my share of exclusive
restaurants, but this one outclasses them all.
Ahh yes, this place is amazing isn't it? Marcel jokingly replies.
Marcel closes the door to the car himself for the first time ever and the car drives
off behind them.
The two attendants approach the two and welcome them inside the elite restaurant.
A great sense of foreboding envelopes Caimen's mind, but he brushes off any
reservations that he might have for the sake of staying on his sponsor's good side.
The attendants lead them down a hallway decorated in expensive artworks with some
artworks being from Picasso's blue period.
At the end of the hallway was a table for two with two empty wine glasses in a dark
room dimly lit by a marine blue crystal chandelier above the table, the delicate aroma
of kobe beef shrouds the entire restaurant and tantalizes the taste buds of the
famished tennis prodigy. The two attendants bow and return to their stations
outside.
-Come on let's sit down at our table and enjoy ourselves. Marcel insists.
You don't have to ask me twice, Sir. Caimen playfully replies.
Marcel elegantly pulls the chair of the leftmost chair of the dinner table and gently
sits on the velvet-coloured cushion that was placed on the chair and casually crosses
his legs, with the right leg over his left leg, making a slight impression on the white
tablecloth that covered all of his lower abdomen, Caimen pulls out his chair too and
takes a seat also hiding his legs under the table cloth.
The table is round and is not wide, the table was particularly for lovers and the only
thing separating the two gentlemen is a dimly-lit velvet lamp and a small space that
will be used for plates. Intimacy is unavoidable, both have no choice but to stare into
each other's eyes. Marcel lustfully glares at Caimen and let's out a stern 'Let us
talk.'

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