by Amos Talshir
“It’ll be a long time before you get a chance to wash that slogan off your ass.”
“Are you sure you’re only sixteen? You’re not supposed to talk to a girl like that.”
“How?” he asked.
“About my ass,” she said. “You know, girls can be sensitive about their ass.”
“You’ve got no reason to be.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got a nice ass.”
“You’re sure you’re sixteen?”
He did not reply.
“Why do you think I won’t have a chance to bathe soon?”
“You will. But only when you realize you’re going to have to do it in the stadium’s dressing rooms. I already washed there this morning. It was okay.”
“You said you were afraid I would already disappear on you with the blanket this morning.”
“That was an excuse to come see you as soon as possible.”
Rose was silent. Making some foreign kid like her had not been part of her plan. She had more important plans to carry out. Besides, David was always too jealous.
“I dreamt about your kiss at night.”
“You slept sitting up and were dreaming?”
“I’m used to sleeping sitting up.”
“How can you sleep sitting up?”
“You get used to it. You should get used to it, too.”
“Old people sleep sitting up.”
“I was a baby who slept sitting up, and I still sleep in a seated position. And I’ll do it here, too. We’re going to be here a long time.”
“Why do you think that?”
“This isn’t a terrorist attack.”
“What is it?”
“Something organized.”
“Why do you think so?”
“No one chased you. It doesn’t make sense.”
Rose was silent, gazing at him. All her friends looked at him as well. David, her boyfriend, was also looking at him. Simon thought they seemed suspicious rather than curious, and unsurprised.
“We think so too, that it’s not a terrorist attack,” she said. “But my friends think you’re an agente secreto.”
“I’m sixteen.”
“In our coalition, kids snitch to the government too. But I believe you.”
“Why do you believe me?”
“Because you said you dreamt about the kiss all night and you told me you missed me. A kid can’t lie about those things.”
“I’m not a kid, Rose.”
“And you’re not an agent, either. What’s your name, Tall Boy Who Sleeps Sitting Up?”
“I’m not indígena, an Indian. My name is Simon and I’m Mediterranean.”
“We called our friends on the outside,” Rose whispered. “They’re not seeing any signs of a terrorist attack. People are saying weird things about what’s going on outside. We’re no one’s problem. No one’s thinking about us or asking himself what’s happening to the hundred thousand people who got locked inside the stadium. People outside don’t understand what’s happening to them, either. The streets are empty. People are barricaded in their houses. The malls are locked down too and people can’t get out of them. They might have locked people inside the shopping malls like they did to us, but people there don’t understand why they’re locked in, either. Someone said the airports were also closed, and people are trapped inside the terminals. We don’t really understand what’s going on. It’s very easy to believe this is a coordinated terror attack, and we know what the Islam Coalition is capable of, but it’s possible that someone wants us to be thinking of the Muslims. We also know ‘the Others,’ and they might be even worse.”
“Who are ‘the Others’?” Simon asked.
“All those that don’t belong to one of the unions. They’re not Muslims or Spaniards and not Northerners and not Asians or Anglo-Saxons. Or they’re all of those, but not just one thing.”
“That’s a group, ‘the Others’?”
“Right, a group, but not a coalition. They don’t hide behind any ideology. They just do what they want, and what they want is for everything to be simple and minimal and different. Our friends are collecting information about them, and soon we’ll know if they’re behind the lockdown.”
“You won’t manage to collect information about them.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re not on UnionNet. I know all the users, and anyone who’s not a user intends not to exist.”
Rose continued talking excitedly, more rapidly than Simon could understand. It wasn’t just the foreign language, the rate of her speech and her excitement that made it difficult for Simon to comprehend her. She was getting tangled up in old-world phrasing preceding the UnionNet Revolution, using old terminology concerning networks and websites and Google communities, that entire nostalgic digital world with which he was unfamiliar. He knew plenty about the world after the UnionNet World War, but not enough about the previous world in order to understand everything she was saying about “the Others,” who were not Muslims or Asians and were not anyone who had ever threatened the previous world, but were simply “the Others,” about whom she only said that they were different.
Rose no longer looked like that girl frozen on the turf. He looked at her lips, releasing an endless stream of words about the state of emergency, and remembered the frozen lips sipping hot chocolate from his stainless-steel cup. Once again, his face filled with light. She paused from her rapid monologue and stroked his face.
“Do you want to meet at night, same place?” he asked.
“If we stay here another night.”
“We’ll be staying for lots of nights.”
“I still think you’re too young.”
“So what?”
“Estaré a tu lado, I’ll be by your side, but don’t expect a kiss like the one you got the night before.”
“Keep my blanket. Maybe you’ll manage to sleep tonight.”
8.
“I’m dying to take a piss,” Charlie told Simon, who had returned to his seat.
“And brush your teeth?”
“Sure, but I don’t have a toothbrush. We were just supposed to come for the game and then go home,” Charlie said.
“You know I have two.”
“Actually, why do you take two?”
“Because there’s always someone who forgot his toothbrush.”
They took the stairs down to the area below the stands. The massive restroom facilities were spread out there to serve the tens of thousands of fans watching the game. The hundreds of toilets and sinks were kept clean despite the long hours and the thousands of users. The food kiosks continued to function as if the lockdown had never happened. Cups of coffee were served, pastries filled the display cases, and the glass containers housing the hot dogs had undergone their nightly cleaning and were awaiting the next round.
“It’s almost noon. They’ll sell at least a hundred thousand hot dogs here,” Simon told his father.
They walked over to the coffee vending machines and Charlie said he knew that this was a coalition that emphasized order and cleanliness, but that this exceeded his expectations.
“Even the fact that they’re willing to be locked up in a stadium all night says something about them, doesn’t it, Simon? They’re kind of submissive.”
Simon handed his father a fistful of coins, change he had obtained during his morning visit to the restroom. He explained to his father that all this order was a result of a regime of generals that oppressed the poor population, while also maintaining clean, well-organized soccer arenas so as to claim an ideology of taking care of its citizens, even as it continued to exploit them.
“Not a bad system,” Charlie said.
“We’ll see later on,” Simon replied.
“What do you mean, later on? A cup
of coffee and we’re outta here. How much time are we supposed to waste on terrorists that didn’t even make it into the stadium?”
Charlie finished his cup of coffee and stated that his mood was about to improve thanks to answering nature’s call. He asked Simon to wait on the other side of the bathroom stall door, in case there was some development about ending the lockdown. Simon waited on the other side of the door. He checked the other stalls, like he’d seen people do in action movies, and found them empty. People preferred to stay in their seats. He asked his father to listen. The father said he was listening, but other than groans and sighs, said nothing.
From the other side of the door, Simon told him about his encounter with Rose and her gang. He told him that they, too, did not believe it was a matter of a terrorist attack. They thought something strange was going on outside the stadium as well. They mentioned friends who had been trapped in shopping malls, and others who had been detained in an airport terminal. People were barricading themselves inside their homes and not going out since the streets were frightening. Simon said he wasn’t sure he had understood, but she had been talking about something related to some “Others.” He wasn’t certain about his translation for the word she had used, “the Others,” but he had understood that they were someone other than those whose names were familiar. Their identity was unknown, but the fact of their existence was known.
Simon grew silent, waiting for a response. The toilet was flushed and Charlie stepped out, walking over to wash his hands at the sink. He was quiet, dipping his face in the cold water. He repeated this action several times, then let the water flow down his face into the sink. Only after a lengthy interval did he dry his hands in the hot-air dryer, leaving his face wet.
“Dad, what are you thinking about?”
“I talked to Mom early in the morning and she sounded hysterical. I thought it might be because they’d aired something about our terror attack on TV, but your mother was talking about some strange things going on outside, too. Similar descriptions to what your friend told you. I wanted to calm her down, but then my battery died and I thought we’d just talk to her later. You know Mom has a tendency to stress out.”
“I know I’m one of the reasons for that,” Simon said.
“Now your mother has completely different reasons to be tense, thank God. Let’s go back to our seats, my boy.”
“Dad, you didn’t brush your teeth.”
“Right,” Charlie said, taking the toothbrush and paste that Simon offered him.
“We should take care to do this stuff. This could take a long time.”
“I don’t intend to get used to this.”
“I think only those who get used to it will manage to get through it,” Simon said.
“You know, Simon, you keep reigniting, in different ways, that memory I was afraid to talk to you about. Now I want so badly to talk to you about it. This time, I trust you, your ability to hear it. You’re making me feel like I should tell you this because of what’s going to happen to us here. You and me, Simon, all we have is each other. That’s the most I could ever ask for myself.”
“Dad, talk to me. What’s on your mind? You can tell me.”
“When you were sick, I had a feeling you knew better than us that you’d get over it. Even when you were a baby, just a few days old, I’d look at the tubes you were connected to and think I was crazy or worse, because in your eyes, I could see you telling me that you were going to get better. As time went by, and it was difficult for me and Mom, you projected to us that you knew what was going on and that you were gathering your strength, preparing yourself for the moment you’d overcome it. Am I crazy, Simon?”
“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t know enough adults whose kid was in danger.”
“But you knew you’d be okay, right, Simon?”
“I don’t know what I thought when I was a baby. But if you’re asking me now what I think I should have thought then, I’d say I was sure I’d be okay. That’s why I was smiling all the time.”
“If it weren’t for your smile, Simon, your mother and I wouldn’t have made it.”
“I’ll try to keep smiling, Dad.”
“That was your way of encouraging your mom and dad. Now it’s imprinted on you. Maybe you were born with it, or maybe you developed it because of your condition. When you were six, one of the times we swam in the sea together, you wanted us to swim to a ship that was docked far away. I told you it was very far, outside our swimming range, but you wouldn’t give up. I was afraid to bring you back home crying and frustrated; Mom would have been very disappointed in me. We swam a lot at night because the doctors said you needed it. It helped your body develop and improved your confidence after years of difficult treatments. You insisted that we swim that far. Do you remember?”
“Dad, you’ve never talked to me this much. You never talked to anyone.”
“Remember, Simon?”
“Sure, I remember, Dad. It’s been clear to me, ever since I was a kid, that swimming is like walking. You can swim any distance that you can walk. I was sure you thought that, too. You’d take me swimming in the sea like other people would go on a walk. It took me a long time to realize that other people see it entirely differently. They think swimming is something you start just to get through it. And I wanted to swim and swim endlessly.”
“I really like your way of explaining things, Simon.”
“Go on with your story, Dad.”
“That night, I couldn’t say no to you. I was stupid. I was afraid you’d realize I didn’t trust your stamina. As far as you were concerned, swimming was your strength. We swam to the ship that night; Mom didn’t know—she would have killed me. And after a few miles, I was actually the one who started to break down. I don’t know why. I’d already swum greater distances alone when I was younger. With you, in the water, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t be responsible for you as well, and I began to fear that I wouldn’t manage to make it to the ship, and maybe wouldn’t be able to make it back to shore, either. I got all tangled up in the thought that I wouldn’t manage to carry you and that it would be my fault that you’d drowned. We continued swimming in the dark. You were strong, long and quick, and you swam fast and joyfully. A moment before I broke down and started to swallow water, you smiled at me from the waves. Suddenly, I saw that you were smiling while you were swimming. I’d never seen anyone smile while they swam.”
Charlie was deeply moved. Simon looked at him and smiled. The moistness in Charlie’s eye became a tear that rolled down his cheek.
“Why are you so emotional, Dad?”
“Because right now, I feel like I did a moment before I ran out of strength over there at night, far from the shore.”
“Now?”
“Right now, just like back then, you gave me the confidence that not only do I not need to worry about you, but that you’ll help me if I run out of strength.”
“Dad, why is this hard for you?”
“Because it’s hard for me to think about you being stronger than me, about you being the one to help me.”
“Because of the illness I had?”
“No. It’s very strange for a father to think that his son will support him, will be stronger than him.”
“It’s hard for you to talk to me about when I was ill.”
“The main thing is that you got better.”
“I know I ruined it for you and Mom.”
“Simon, you’re the best thing in our lives.”
“I really love being with you, Dad. Mostly swimming long-distance with you. Maybe you don’t talk a lot because it’s hard to talk in the water.”
“Usually, I don’t have anything to say, Simon.”
“That’s not true, Dad. I suddenly found out that you’re actually a fish. You’re a ‘human-fish.’ That’s why you’re silent most of the time.”
Si
mon was swept up in laughter and Charlie laughed boisterously too. It had been a while since they’d laughed like that; perhaps they never had. They walked toward their seats and Charlie said he really appreciated the way Simon was conducting himself in the difficult circumstances in which they found themselves. He said he was sure he could count on him no matter what developments might catch them by surprise. Simon asked whether Charlie still thought they were locked in due to the threat of a terrorist attack, and the father said he was no longer sure.
“What made you think of terrorism?” Simon asked.
Charlie paused at the edge of the pitch, observing the people venting their frustration over hours of enforced enclosure in an improvised game of soccer. Some of them looked as if their one wish in life had been to be locked up in a soccer stadium and play. Ultimately, they had come here of their own free will, a hundred thousand soccer fans, willing to pay a lot for their admittance ticket, some of them arriving by plane from a distant coalition. What still bothered him was the immediate way the story of the terrorist attack had been accepted. How convenient, even soothing, to think this was all about terrorism. If that was the case, then everything was fine; you could understand and accept all this shit that was coming down on you. After all, how could you really compare sleeping in your seat to the collapse of the Twin Towers? Just be grateful that two passenger planes hadn’t crashed into the stadium on top of you. He began to think about the next sleepless night but pushed the thought away. The main thing was that Simon had slept well. What a twist of fate it was that the boy was already used to sleeping while sitting up.
Charlie saw himself sitting on the bluff looking out at the sea in their backyard, telling Clara and their little daughter, Emily, how a hundred thousand people had stamped their feet to ward off the chill, shifting their butts around in the seats at night, searching for the side that had not yet gone stiff, while their son joyfully slept sitting up, with his digital equipment in his lap. Perhaps he would also tell them that Simon had made up a new name for him, “human-fish.” Everyone would laugh, and it would be another successful visit to the house he’d left his ex-wife and the kids.
