Запутанные истории

33 about 300 metres to go when I turned and saw the new kid right behind me. His bike seemed to fly over the rough track without making a sound. He started to overtake me. I pedalled as hard as I could but it was no use. He rolled past me as if I was standing still. He was in the lead now and we were only 100 metres from the finish. Then he did a very strange thing. He slowed down. He touched his brakes just enough to let me slip through and win. All my mates came over to congratulate me after the race. “That was a great race,” they said. “You really showed that new kid. We won‟t see him around here again.” I didn‟t feel like celebrating. I knew I hadn‟t won that race. The kid on the PK Ripper had let me win. It was his race. I knew that and so did he. My mates were wrong when they said the new kid wouldn‟t show up again. He was back next week and once again I was up against him in the big race. The same thing happened. I had the race in my pocket. I was steaming towards the finish leaving all the other riders eating my dust when all of a sudden there he was! He overtook me but slowed down just before the finish. This time I won by just half a metre. The following week the same thing happened again. It was weird. Nobody knew who the new kid was. He never took off his helmet so we never saw his face. I asked everyone at the track if they knew him, but no one did. He came down to the track every Saturday just before the big race and slipped away as soon as the race was over. His identity was a mystery. I wanted to know who I was up against. He could beat me with one hand tied behind his back. I was sure of that. But why did he let me win? I decided to find out who he was and where he lived. The following week at the end of the race, I followed him when he rode out of the track. I trailed him across town for two kilometres and saw ...