Learning to Lose (53 page)

The coach … Ariel tried to say. The coach is aware that we’re having this conversation. He approves it and the president approves it, even though he never intervenes in these things anyway.

They’re firing me, thought Ariel. Like giving away old clothes. It bothered him that they were doing it on a week when he couldn’t defend himself on the field. When he couldn’t even use his rage as a motivating force in the game. Injured, he seemed to have fewer arguments in his defense. And he didn’t want to defend himself. He heard Pujalte talk about the future, about a more ambitious team. Ariel thought, it’s my fault, I didn’t try hard enough, things didn’t go well.

Don’t get worked up about it, I know what a player feels when he hears these words. I was like you not long ago. It would be a mistake to cling to your contract and lose the best
years of your career, things might go better somewhere else and you can come back more mature, more formed as a player.

Are we talking about a transfer to another team?

We’re not talking about anything, you’re twenty years old, we have to see how things go, this is a meaningless stumble.

I don’t know, there’s something I don’t understand, said Ariel. I look at the team and I don’t think my contribution is where the biggest problem is, in fact, I see things going well for us out there; the fans like me. You haven’t got the crowd eating out of your hand, Pujalte said. That counts for something, too. Things in Spain aren’t like they are in Argentina. Here the crowd doesn’t believe in the team colors or in the mushy stuff, you have to convince them at the start of the season that we’re gonna take on the world, otherwise it takes us on. We can’t tell them that this year is a good investment for next year or the year after that, they want it now. I’m going to be honest with you. We have another player lined up for your position, a name that will get people excited, someone new. I’m not saying you don’t do a decent job covering your position, but I don’t think you’re a player to keep as a substitute. That’s why I’m being frank with you, man to man, I don’t want you to hear about our negotiations somewhere else.

Ariel nodded. It seemed he had to show appreciation for the deference. And maybe that was the case.

There’ll be plenty of teams interested, give me a few weeks, let me check out the market and we’ll meet again, okay? Ariel felt stupid getting up with the help of the crutch. Disabled. They definitely chose an ill-timed moment. I’m afraid this isn’t my conversation to have, it would be better if you spoke with my agent. I’m paid to show my worth on the field, not to deal with meetings in offices, said Ariel before leaving.

Perhaps it’s just that, you need more rest, more focus, less distractions, to feel like a soccer player …

The sports director spoke to his back. Ariel was about to burst out crying and he didn’t want to turn around, or question him to find out if he was referring to something in particular. He called his brother from home, told him everything. Charlie calmed him down. They just say those things. Let other people take care of it, me included. But are things that bad? Why didn’t you tell me? That’s what most gets to me, Charlie, I didn’t think things were going so badly.

That evening he relaxed, stretching out on the sofa and letting time pass, not getting into a conversation with Sylvia, just stroking her curls while she looked at her school notes. He envied her busyness. He didn’t want to tell her anything. She asked, do you have Easter week off? I don’t know yet, he said.

He was left with a bittersweet sensation, when he found himself being consoled by her after he had spent the last few days planning to distance himself. After seeing her bedroom, on tiptoe so as not to wake her snoring father, Ariel had realized how crazy it all was. She’s sixteen years old. Posters on the wall, a stuffed animal on the bed. There he was, in the hotel before a game, going over notes from class and joking around, while she confessed that she had her period. Days later Marcelo arrived in Madrid to do a concert for his new record. He called him and said, you can’t miss it.

Ariel went to the concert hall, the Galileo. Marcelo had reserved a table for him. Ariel didn’t want to invite Sylvia. He had decided to take some space, put a stop to the madness. Ariel waited at the bar until Reyes arrived. He had gotten her phone number from Arturo Caspe. Excuse me, I don’t want to
be a bother, but the other night I made a fool of myself and I wanted to apologize. He now knew she was a quite well-known model. Oh please, it’s not necessary. Ariel explained that a friend of his from Buenos Aires was performing in Madrid. I would love it if you came with me. She smiled on the other end of the line. She’s an interesting girl, thought Ariel, with that almost suicidal way she smokes. You still have that beauty mark on your face? she asked. Yeah, I think so. Then I can’t say no, answered Reyes. Was she flirting with him? Ariel felt encouraged, that was what he needed. You can bring your boyfriend, of course.

But she came alone.

The place was filled with people, most of them Argentinian, which Marcelo later expressed frustration about. I don’t come all the way here to sing for people who already know me, where the fuck are the Spaniards? To be successful in Spain, I’d have to come live here, he said to Ariel. And I refuse to do that, because then the Spaniards look down on you because they consider you one of their own. But all this was after the concert. At the beginning, Marcelo appeared exultant, accompanied by a group of four good musicians, dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and a tie with the San Lorenzo colors.

It’s funny to perform in a place called Galileo, he said after the first two songs. I hope I don’t get burned at the stake. And it’s hard not to end up in the burn ward of music history, right? Let me tell you, I’ll be forty-five in September. Now I’m going to sing a respectful cover of the song I’ve woken up to every morning for almost twenty years now. That was how he presented his rendition of “Chimes of Freedom,” one of Dylan’s old classics, which Marcelo sang in Spanish for eight long minutes.

Ariel leaned over Reyes. Do you like it? he asked. She nodded. She was lovely, her breasts gathered in a fine black bra and peeking out through the open buttons of her white shirt, so sculpted that Ariel wondered if they weren’t plastic. Toward the end of the concert, Marcelo dedicated a song to Ariel, after a long introduction in which he spoke about their friendship. Be good to him over here, he appealed.

They had a drink with Marcelo, but after that Reyes said, I have to get up early tomorrow. Ariel made a date to have lunch with Marcelo the next day. Reyes called a cab and Ariel offered to take her home. As they went out, a photographer surprised them. The camera flashes were like shots in the dark. Ariel lifted his crutch to get rid of the guy, but he backed up. They got into the taxi and left. The photographer kept shooting through the cab window. The driver said something Ariel didn’t understand. I see you’re very famous. I’m afraid they’re after you, she said. I don’t know, he said. She lived near the center of the city. Ariel apologized again for the other night. Come on, you didn’t scare me or anything, she joked. It’s even kind of flattering in the end, maybe you’re the one who’s not used to getting rejected. Ariel smiled. Does your boyfriend work in this, too? Yeah, he’s a photographer, but not like the kind we just saw. Yeah. Ariel was nervous, and what do they do with those pictures? They usually show up in a magazine with a made-up interview where we say we’re just good friends and that you want to recover quickly from your injury so you can give the fans more goals. The usual shit. My boyfriend has already been warned, but he gave me permission since he knows soccer players aren’t my type. You might have more problems. Are you dating someone?

Ariel hesitated before answering. No, well, I’m breaking up with a girl. I don’t know, it’s a weird story. Reyes looked at him with interest, Ariel was silent, somewhat uncomfortable. You want to have a last drink? Near my house there’s a mellow bar. She directed the taxi driver, who muttered something again, but this time Ariel did understand him, that’s the way to recover from your injury, these good-for-nothings, what a life. Ariel lifted his eyebrows in Reyes’s direction, and she smiled. You’re more interested in girls than in the ball. Obviously, aren’t you? answered Ariel. I think all women are bitches, especially my wife. Reyes coughed as if something were stuck in her throat. That’s what I call speaking your mind.

They went to an Irish pub on a corner. Sitting at a wooden table, Ariel told her part of his story with Sylvia. He didn’t hide the fact that she was sixteen years old. When I was sixteen, I was still falling in love with my gym teachers, she said, and I was sure George Michael was going to come pick me up after school. I guess you made one of her fantasies real and that could be dangerous. It scares me to death, he said. Even though Sylvia isn’t the kind of teenager who lives in some fairy tale. Be careful, we girls are good at hiding things, warned Reyes. A little while later, she left him there with a half-finished beer, gave him a kiss on each cheek, and promised to get together another day. Ariel waited for a taxi on the street. He would have liked to sleep with her, lose himself in someone else’s arms and someone else’s body, to keep him away from Sylvia.

The next day, he ate lunch with Marcelo at a restaurant on Cava Baja. He invited Husky and there was instant chemistry between them, even though Husky started off strong. Before the first course arrived, he had already said, I can’t stand those
typical Argentinian singer-songwriters, the pretentious long-winded ones who think they’re the heirs to that Catholic bore, Dylan. I like Neil Young. People who aren’t poseurs. Dylan is a hamburger-eating egomaniac who thinks up songs that are too long while he’s riding his motorcycle. Marcelo laughed thunderously. Is this guy nuts? Dylan is God. Marcelo was working on a rock opera. I know it sounds terrible. Yes, they assured him. It’s about a twenty-eight-year-old Swiss tourist who was traveling through Argentina alone and disappeared after taking a walk in Pagancillo, in La Rioja, disappeared without a trace. They hadn’t heard a thing from her in six months. Marcelo wanted to focus the songs on her father, a retired German professor who had come to the country to find her. His perspective could be perfect in summing up Argentina, that’s what we need, the Swiss view. He could talk about the natural beauty, the social crap, the corruption, everything.

Shortly after, Marcelo cursed the piece of meat they had served him. This garbage is what Argentine meat is going to turn into if they keep opening up soy fields and closing pastures. Cows need to live free and not fattened up with injections like here in Europe. And when Husky disagreed again, he said, but, kid, you have a lovely voice, you have to do a duet with me on my next album, what a voice, it’s crazy, it sounds like you got sent through a broken Pro Tools.

During dessert Marcelo mentioned Reyes, congratulations on the girl from last night, the one you brought to the concert, what a hot mama, but Ariel made it clear that they weren’t dating. Husky asked about her. Ariel told them about the photograph. No doubt about it, if Arturo Caspe knew where you were going, he’s the one who called them, declared Husky.
That son of a bitch lives to sell favors. I told you before, they’re vampires, they need virgin blood every night.

Marcelo had found Ariel more serious. He blamed the injury. He didn’t want to tell them about the bad news with the club or about his relationship with Sylvia, which he had decided to end. But Marcelo could be a persistent man. From the restaurant, he called a friend of his who worked as an analyst in Madrid and sent Ariel to see him that same afternoon. Husky laughed heartily. Spaniards don’t go to shrinks, we get drunk in a bar, and all the barmen have psychiatric degrees from Gin and Tonic University.

Ariel sat in front of a doctor named Klimovsky who wanted that first session to just be a relaxed chat, which translated into an avalanche of information about his own life. He was an analyst, but he also wrote film scripts and painted. The paintings decorating his office were the terrible result of that supposedly harmless hobby. He barely let Ariel get out a word with more than one syllable, and even though they agreed to meet the following week, Ariel wasn’t sure if he was going to come back. In one of the paintings a fish emerged from the vagina of a woman with her face painted like a harlequin. The image gave Ariel nightmares for most of the evening.

The next day, he caught the end of practice and kicked around without a crutch. He felt good after the massage and he wanted to find out the coach’s opinion. Yesterday they told me they’re not counting on me for next year. Who told you that? His surprise sounded fake. The club has its demands, if it were up to me I’d have other priorities, Requero tried to convince him. They say that there’s someone signed for my position. This is the first I’ve heard of it. That was one of the things Ariel
liked the least about these situations, the cowardice. He would have preferred more authority or at least an ounce of sincerity, even if it wasn’t in his favor. But the coach was evasive.

I just wanted to know if you were counting on me, because I’m going to fight to stay on the team. The coach looked at him with an insignificant smile and nodded his head, as if he appreciated his spirit. He even made a stupid comment, I like people with character. While you’re still on the team, don’t ever doubt that you’re my player.

Ariel automatically put him on his list of despicable people. It wasn’t a very long list, but it included those who avoided taking responsibility when they should’ve owned up, those who had been fake, self-interested traitors in the moments when he was most helpless.

Amílcar invited him over for lunch. In the car they talked. He sensed something was going on. Don’t get involved in it, Amílcar told him, listen to what they have to say to you and give up the noble attitudes and stuff like that. If they offer you a good team, leave, take the money, and enjoy the game, ’cause life is short. You may come back a star, it wouldn’t be the first time. Ariel looked up at him. You know as well as I do that there are teams you never come back from, that only offer you a step down on the ladder. Maybe I’d rather go back to Buenos Aires than do that. They haven’t even given me time to prove my mettle.