Learning to Lose

by David Trueba

  Have I changed that much?

  He has gas. He’d had a bad night. He squats to try to release the air. He lies down on the floor and massages his belly. He lifts his legs up. Then he thought, I’m not the man I once was, am I? In that absurd position, with his back on the damp bathmat, he hears the doorbell. The noises in the apartment upstairs have stopped and he is confident for a moment that Daniela had come down to see him, maybe to apologize. I was abrupt with you the other night.

  But when he looks through the peephole, his heart starts racing. Detective Baldasano is accompanied by four policemen. They’re here to arrest me, it’s all over. For a second he’s glad. The anguish is over. Then comes the insecurity. Losing it all. He doesn’t want to take too long to open the door and he ends up opening it brusquely. The detective speaks in a reassuring tone. Good morning, forgive the intrusion. Lorenzo invites them in while he checks to see if any neighbors are peeking from the stairwell. We have a search warrant. It’ll be a few minutes. Are you alone? Lorenzo closes the door behind them.

  Yes, I’m alone.

  12

  It was him. He’s the one who started it. He sent the first message at sundown on Sunday. “Hello. You want to get together tomorrow?” Almost all the soccer games of the day on both continents were over by then. The results would allow his team to move up three spots in the standings. “OK, but not too late.” At night he’d watch the rebroadcast games in the Argentinian league. But he still had some hours to kill. “At five? In the usual spot?” He knew he would eventually send the message to Sylvia, but he tried to put it off as long as he could. I want to see her. “OK.” She conveyed a strange calmness. It was her clean gaze, her almost childish mannerisms, the lack of calculation, a certain innocence. He remembered her trembling caresses, somewhat furtive, her unfamiliar body, her kisses where she lets her head drop, partly terrified and partly aroused, her nervous, tentative smile. It all seemed so close that Ariel couldn’t believe he’d let so many days pass before seeing her again.

  She responded instantly to the messages. They were short, direct. Of course. I set the cold tone, admitted Ariel. “But not too late,” she had written. It was a subtle way of saying, we won’t end up in bed this time. And Ariel understood that. The night has its own rules. Theirs will be an evening love, like teenagers, he thought. With orders to be home before eleven.

  On Saturday he had experienced the tedium that precedes a game. Expectant tedium. A stroll through the street with hundreds of kids asking for autographs, lunch with the team, the tactical discussion, the fifteen-minute prep video of the rival team, the nap, the brutally harsh conversations of men in a group. Lastra had come up with a new nickname for the coach. Lolailo. It’s like in songs, he explained, when they don’t know what to say, there’s always a chorus that goes lolailo. That’s what it seemed like to them, that once he’d used up the three concepts and three details that they had to look out for in their rival, the coach would start talking to himself, repeating the chorus. And in a whisper some of the players murmured lolailo, to make the guys who couldn’t hold it in burst out laughing. A bit childish, but effective. The technical staff appreciated a good atmosphere. When the joke spread, Lastro turned to one of the younger guys. Don’t you say a word of this, we all know you’re a stool pigeon. The boy tried to deny his bad reputation, but the group imposed its own law.

  He had tried to nap, but Osorio, his roommate, called his girlfriend and spent two hours whispering sweet nothings into his cell phone. When he hung up he turned toward Ariel, she’s already got a car out of me, the bitch. Then he became engrossed in playing a video game on his PlayStation. Amílcar came to find Ariel for a coffee. Someone said that Matuoko was fucking a local celebrity in his room, somebody related to a duke of who-knows-where. The Spaniards all seemed to know her from television. She called him up on the phone in his room, just like that, brazen as can be, said Matuoko’s roommate. The chick must be fortysomething, but she’s amazing, said another.

  They loaded the bags into the bus, since they’d go straight from the stadium to the airport. Don’t leave anything in the hotel, warned the delegate. This guy left his blow-up doll, shouted one of the players. And you and your fucking mother, they answered from the back of the bus. When a frantic Matuoko was among the last to board, his teammates received him with a burst of applause that he acknowledged with a show of his enormous teeth and pink gums. The coach lowered his head, somewhat somber. The head of equipment told two or three very celebrated jokes. My wife screams so much when she’s screwing, sometimes I hear her from the bar. Some people put on headphones; others chatted.

  At the entrance to the stadium, a group of local fans insulted them, showing their fists. They threw oranges that burst open against the bus windows. A drunk fat guy lowered his pants and showed them an ugly, hairy ass. Paco, don’t look, you might like it, shouted Lastra between laughs. I prefer your fucking mother, answered Paco from his seat up front.

  The hour and a half before the game seemed to last forever. Warm-up on the field. The murmur of the people who started to fill the stands. Changing in the locker room. The smell of lotions. Ariel kicked around a ball made of two knee socks with one foot. One, two, three, four, he kept it in the air, passing it from one foot to the other. Some players watched him, smiling. Another shouted, on the field, man, on the field. Then they waited in the hall from the locker room. That was the moment when Ariel felt the most nervous. Someone shouted, come on, come on, come on. We have to win. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go guys, we have to win, we have no choice, the goalie coach reminded them. If things get ugly, strike hard, advised the second coach.

  The game was grueling. The play was interrupted by constant fouls. The team playmaker kept the ball close to his foot instead of making long passes. Dragon used to ridicule that kind of player, they’re mailmen, he used to say, they come up beside you, shake your hand, ask you about your kids, and nothing can get them to let go of the ball. You should touch the ball a lot but hold on to it as little as possible. Ariel grew frustrated by the lack of passing. His marker followed the first feint and when Ariel recovered the ball unexpectedly he got knocked down. The referee showed the defender a yellow card halfway through the first half and that kept him off Ariel’s back a bit. Three or four times he went over the sideline and managed to cross the ball. But it seemed like Matuoko’s headers were badly placed, as if he couldn’t locate the goal. His shots were high and off-mark. On one rebound, Ariel took a chance with a bicycle kick, but the goalie managed to knock it the other way from above the crossbar. It would have been a gorgeous goal, the kind they replay on TV for days.

  Finally, because of an awkward clearance, a ball came over to him near the penalty box. He moved into the box and toward the endline, searching for a teammate coming up behind him. He saw the fullback going down to the ground to take the ball off him and he just had to make his foot meet up with the defender’s leg. Ariel fell in the box and the referee whistled the penalty shot. Amílcar scored with a powerful shot at mid-height.

  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. A
riel 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?