Learning to Lose (32 page)

Then the coach decided to maintain the team’s advantage by switching Ariel for a defender. He didn’t mind. He sat on
the bench. The coach said something to him that Ariel didn’t understand. The substitute goalie, who was working on his fifth bag of sunflower seeds, whispered into his ear, lolailo lolailo, and they both laughed.

In the airport, two passengers complained angrily about the wait. It’s outrageous, they’ve had us here for an hour. One of the center midfielders shot him a look filled with sarcasm, relax, don’t have a heart attack. The man looked at him with fury and disdain, and the delegate started gathering the players so none of them got left behind. During the flight, some of the journalists who shared the plane with them came over to congratulate Ariel. Husky dropped onto the arm of his seat, you must be happy. Ariel nodded vaguely. You want to have a drink when we get there? Ariel looked at his watch. They would land in Madrid around one. It’s Saturday night, you won, the referee bought your dive, Husky said, what more do you want?

Ariel smiled. It wasn’t a dive. The guy touched me.

He thought it’d be good to go out. His teammates joked with the flight attendants, who smiled, somewhat embarrassed but flirtatious. One of them, her hair dyed a reddish tint, was waiting on Ariel. Can I have a tea? She smiled at him. Thanks a million, he said. As she headed back toward the cabin, a player shouted, don’t run, there’s enough cock here for everybody. Soon the attendant brought Ariel the tea. I’m sorry, we don’t have any maté, she said. Ariel smiled with his green eyes. At some point later, from a distance, they locked gazes and she waved. Ariel’s seatmate elbowed him. Are you flirting with the flight attendant?

You know the saying? Flight attendants and nurses, condoms in their purses. Ariel laughed. The player was a substitute
who hardly played, though he’d been in the club for three years. I’m from Murcia. Have you ever been to Murcia? Ariel shook his head. Land of milk and honeys. And the guy started cracking up again. Ariel decided to listen to music. He was about to put on his headphones.

Dude, you have to come some day, I’ve got a mansion there, near La Manga, that you would not believe. What are you doing for Christmas? You going to Buenos Aires? Ariel hesitated, that was his plan, but he hadn’t hammered it out yet. And you think such a long trip is worth it? For the four vacation days the sons of bitches give us? My parents are there. They say it’s crime-ridden. I read about the soccer player whose father got kidnapped. And I used to play with an Argentinian, Lavalle, you know him? When he went to Buenos Aires he took two bodyguards with him. He made it out to be pretty fucked up.

The vice president, a young lawyer with a pale blue tie, got up and said, the prez called and asked me to convey his congratulations. And our bonuses? shouted a player, he should double ’em. People laughed at the remark. You know that at the Christmas dinner I’ll give you each a gift. The team applauded sarcastically, sure they’d get a fountain pen or a watch. Ariel wanted to put on his headphones, but he didn’t want to offend his seatmate, who showed no signs of reading his car magazine. My wife is pregnant, he told him then, the fifth. You know what they say, the fifth one can’t be bad. It’s the middle one that turns out screwy. He doesn’t even want to hear the word
soccer
. Ever since he was real little he’s been playing with his sister’s dolls and my wife, the bitch, goes around saying the kid is gay. You think you can say that? The kid is only nine years old, well, she says you can, that you’re born gay and she’s fine with it. And
I’ve tried to talk to the school psychologist several times, but she won’t have it. Don’t laugh, this is serious, fuck, I really get embarrassed sometimes. One day he says to me, do you always have to wear that jersey, can’t you change the colors? Imagine how screwy this kid’s head is.

A bit later, the conversation devolved into politics. I don’t vote, his teammate told him, but if I did it would be because somebody like Pinochet or Franco was running; for me, if I’m gonna get robbed, I rather it be by someone with authority, someone who’ll get tough on all the scum around here.

Before landing, the stewardess collected the trays and had everyone put their tables in the upright position. On Ariel’s she placed a coaster with her cell phone number written on it. Ariel put it in his pocket before it caught the eye of his seatmate, who was then talking about why the Spanish national soccer team usually lost. It could be because Spaniards aren’t competitive by nature, but, fuck, we’ve got Ballesteros and Fernando Alonso, they’re from here, Spaniards, not Martians. What do they say in Argentina about our team? Ariel shrugged his shoulders, well, everybody there knows it’s because of that guy, the one with the bass drum, that guy is
mufa. Mufa?
asked his teammate with exaggerated interest. Yeah,
mufa
, brings bad luck. A jinx? Yeah, that’s it, the guy with the drum is a jinx. No shit, no shit. But everybody there knows that, insisted Ariel to the astonishment of his teammate. You mean M … No, no, don’t name names. Ariel knocked on his head as if it were wood. We had a president that was
mufa
, and they had to beg him not to go to the national games.

When the airplane’s wheels touched the runway asphalt, there was an immediate commotion. People undoing their seatbelts,
reaching for their suitcases, turning on their cell phones. Ariel watched as his seatmate turned on two different cell phones. Two? he asked. Shit, one for my wife and one for all the others, you wouldn’t want to get a call mixed up. Our goalie two years ago sent a pornographic message to his wife by mistake. You can’t imagine the scene. The guy was slick, especially for a Catalan, and when we asked him how he patched things up, he said he had made her believe it was meant for her, to spice up their relationship a bit, breathe some life into it, the asshole. And you should meet my old lady, she’s a piece of work, she goes through my messages, my address book. When I screw some random chick, I stop at the gas station on my way home and rub gasoline on myself, she can sniff out perfume a mile away.

Ariel searched for the flight attendant among the tangle of heads, as if he wanted to have a last look at her. Now I’m screwing one of the salesgirls at the club store, one of the brunettes, the curviest one, I’ll introduce you to her. I got her the job, and it’s an awesome one. You know what turns the little slut on, when I fuck her with my uniform on. I don’t know, it makes her hot … but with shin guards and everything, what a scene. Once you scratch the surface, you find out women are very slutty.

They got out of the plane and Ariel felt relieved to be rid of the conversation. The flight attendant said good-bye in the breezeway with a nod of her head, biting her lip that she had glossed in bright pink.

They picked up their suitcases from the baggage carousel while the head of equipment organized his assistants so Ariel wouldn’t have to carry a single piece of luggage. Husky was
waiting for him beside the Civil Guard’s control booth. Let’s go to a place near here, I’ll lead, said Husky, speaking quickly. Didn’t you have a flashier car? Ariel told him about the conversation he’d had on the plane. He used to be a decent player, the kind who dedicate themselves and get their jerseys sweaty, but he’s not getting the Nobel Prize in physics this year, he’s old now, Husky said. Look, there it is, the Malevo. It’s a horrible place, but this is where the action is.

At Husky’s insistence, they parked in a pedestrian crossing. Who’s going to give you a ticket now? On the street, Ariel pulled out the airplane coaster from his pocket and showed it to Husky. The flight attendant’s number? And now you tell me? Tell her to bring a friend, but what are you waiting for? Husky dialed the number on Ariel’s phone, but there was no answer. What were you thinking? She must have gone off to fuck the pilot, like always.

They settled in at the back of the bar. The music was deafening. Husky drank beer like it was going out of style. He teased Ariel indignantly for having let the flight attendant get away. A little later the door to the place opened and to their surprise they saw Matuoko come in, accompanied by a woman with reddish hair. It’s her, said Ariel. It’s the flight attendant.

They waved from a distance and watched them sit at the other side of the bar. Well, looks like she passed out her number to the entire team, said Husky. There’s no way I could compete with that guy, said Ariel in his defense, you haven’t seen him naked, he has a perfect body. Showering next to him is depressing, admitted Ariel. Husky made a disgusted face, don’t go on, thinking about a group of naked men makes me want to puke.

They talked about soccer for a while, without taking their eyes off Matuoko’s moves on the flight attendant. Every once in a while, she looked toward Ariel and smiled, almost with a trace of apology. Young men came over every so often, to tell him their stories, shake his hand. They all had their line, now my girlfriend is becoming a fan, I played in the juvenile leagues, you need someone in midfield that can bring some life into the team, I’d sign another goalie. Someone even said, from under his breath, less partying and more sweating that jersey. The whole jersey-sweating thing is one of the most overrated things in soccer, don’t you think? Husky asked him. Ariel remembered that Dragon would tell them, you’ve played very badly, you ran too much, if this sport was about running they’d sign the hundred-yard sprint champion. Then another guy shouted from the end of the bar, fewer nightclubs and more goals, and Husky challenged him. What does that have to do with it? The best players in the world have always been serious party animals. What you need, Ariel, is to be more of a layabout. Sometimes you don’t even seem Argentinian. In the goal area, what shows are the nighttime hours spent around a bar, in every dribble, the delinquent comes out. Two years ago, a group of fans showed up at practice with a big sign that said fewer hookers and more allegiance to the team colors. It’s people’s fantasy, that you guys are out there living it up as if you had three balls and you can’t let them down, it’s like when some Hollywood actor says his life is very sad, boy, do they ream him a new one, people don’t want to hear that, they already have their own fucked-up lives.

The alcohol ended up arousing Ariel. A girl split off from her group of friends to come over and say hi. Husky encouraged him. Come on, give her a kiss on each cheek, don’t be shy.
Ariel focused on the girl, who didn’t stop talking. She put her tanned hand on Ariel’s thigh and whispered in his ear things like that she wasn’t really into soccer. Husky continued his jokes, are you sure you don’t have a friend who likes ugly guys? I can assure you I look a lot better naked. When Ariel leaned over the girl and said, wouldn’t we be better off just me and you somewhere? she smiled proudly. Let me finish my cigarette and we’ll go, okay?

The girl lived in a white brick building in the north, near the Chamartín Station. She shared an apartment with three friends. She studied business management. Her family was from Burgos. No blow jobs, eh, I’m telling you that from the get-go, she told Ariel in the elevator, when he grabbed her roughly by the hair. Ariel had a hard time getting her clothes off, the girl had put music on and was dancing in her panties and bra as if she were showing off her body. I’m crazy, I never do this, I’m crazy, she kept repeating. Ariel took slow sips on a can of beer she had brought him from the refrigerator. Their lovemaking was out of sync. She turned up the music as if she didn’t want to hear herself, just the trilling of Celine Dion. Ariel didn’t understand what he was doing with a woman he didn’t really desire, who wasn’t particularly beautiful and didn’t attract him any more than the alcohol dictated. The girl said, whisper dirty things in my ear, ay, I love your accent, and then she asked him to spank her bottom, not so hard, like that, like that. Ariel felt ridiculous. He hated her kisses and when he had finished and yanked off the condom he could only think about escaping to his car parked on the street. By that point the girl, who had come in the midst of what seemed like an attack of the hiccups, was moaning weepily in bed. I never do this, shit, I have a boyfriend in Burgos,
now what do I tell José Carlos? Huh? What do I tell José Carlos now?

Ariel got lost trying to navigate the outlying highways. He went back to the city center as if he could only find his way from there. In the Plaza de Colón he was stopped at a sobriety checkpoint. The policeman approached the driver’s side window. Ariel lowered it with his best smile. I got lost on my way to Las Rozas.

I bet you’ve knocked back a few, haven’t you? I’ll let you go because we won, eh. He called his partner over, you’ll see, he’s a big fan. Ariel gave them a couple of signed photos that he had in the glove compartment. Then he received some confusing directions to the nearest highway entrance. The cop sent him on his way with an alrighty then, good luck, we’re gonna get back to hunting for drunks.

The sun was already coming up as he got into bed. It took him a while to fall asleep. He was wiped. He woke up at three-thirty. He answered his e-mails. Marcelo wanted to get together with him during Christmas vacation, and told him that he was going to compose a song about an eighteen-year-old girl who killed a twenty-one-year-old kid in a suburban disco. It seems she didn’t want to dance with him, they got into an argument, he insulted her, she took a knife out of her sneaker and killed him. Fifteen years in the slammer. But what Marcelo liked was the girl had written that very night in her diary, “Today I really fucked up. I stabbed a guy and I’m really scared.” Someone has to write the great Argentinian song and it has to come out of things like that. Ariel wrote back, count me in for the Christmas barbecue.

After a little, while he couldn’t find any excuse not to write Sylvia a message.

“Hello. You want to get together tomorrow?”

He picks her up at five. He finds her gorgeous when she approaches the car window. She’s a girl, he tells himself. It’s starting to rain and two Chinese guys are selling umbrellas by the stoplight. Sylvia’s face is freezing. It’s cold, she seems to justify, as she blushes. Her pink lips stand out against the paleness of her face. She’s wearing a thick wool sweater, and when she takes it off it lifts part of the shirt underneath with it, revealing the skin of her belly. Her jeans are black. They go to a downtown coffee shop, kind of swank, she says. There is a piano that no one plays. Let’s sit here, she points, but he prefers to be away from the large window. Oh, sure, says Sylvia.