Learning to Lose (67 page)

I wanted to say good-bye, I hope you don’t mind. Sylvia listens to him. She has gone out to the street and leans her foot on the edge of the sidewalk. Not at all, I love it, call me whenever
you want, I don’t know. I can call you, too, right? Of course. How many classes did you fail? asks Ariel. Just one, I think. Next week I’ll know for sure. So you shined at the last minute. Just like you, she replies. And math? I passed it, by the skin of my teeth.

Sylvia raises her hand to greet two friends from her high school. On the other end of the telephone, in the background, she hears the voice of the airport public-address system. Ariel talks to her. Are you wearing the necklace? asks Ariel. Yes. Are you touching it? Sylvia takes it out from beneath her T-shirt and strokes the small golden ball broken in half that hangs from her neck. Yes, I’m touching it. Me, too … says Ariel. I’m gonna be watching you, eh, Sylvia. I’m gonna be watching you. And I’ll be watching you, she says.

The sound as the connection breaks is the most abrupt sound she’s ever heard. Sylvia stays out on the street for a moment. She is somewhat drunk. She had to eat a sandwich a little while ago and slow down on beers. Her clothes and hair stink of smoke. In one of her ears, an uneasy, percussive ringing sounds. The asphalt is still giving off the heat of the day and Sylvia notices her T-shirt is sweaty.

A little while later, she says good-bye to her friends. She decides to walk home. She does it unhurriedly, in the road, beside the cars, avoiding the people on the sidewalk. She passes in front of Ariel’s apartment. I’m going to rent it out, I don’t want to sell it, he had told her. If you need it, all you have to do is ask. She wants to be alone, to walk alone. She feels some sort of pain in her chest, intense but pleasurable. It’s as if there were a wound, but a slight wound, a mark on her skin that you want to stroke, acknowledge, enjoy for everything it means to you. While it’s still there, because it might, soon, disappear.

In the process of writing this novel, I had the indispensable help of a few people. Most of them are friends, so I won’t name them. This way I’ll avoid pointing fingers. I want to say thank you for the many things that belong to them in this book. Some were essential readers; others brought their inspiration to my perspiration. I am indebted to them for Argentinian and Ecuadorian expressions, reflections on the game of soccer, legal details, medical knowledge, musical notes, corrections to my syntax, squinty looks, erotic experiences, and above all the generosity to share them with me. I also borrowed a logic treatise from Adrián Paenza and his book
Matemática … ¿estás ahí?
and musical and poetic fragments from some teachers who are quoted or hinted at or camouflaged, like for example behind that life lesson I strive to follow:
non piangere, coglione, ridi e vai … 
But perhaps the most important thing is to recognize the patience and support of those who were close to me during the writing process. I hope to have opportunities to share with them any happiness that this book brings us.

————

The translator would like to thank David Trueba, Javier Calvo, Doug Fielding, and Dídac.