The Penalty Area

by Alain Gillot

  I took three steps as a run-up. I made sure that Léonard was ready. Then I placed the ball in the right of the net, with the flat of my foot. It wasn’t a strong kick, and the ball didn’t go very close to the post, but Léonard let it in without reacting.

  “If the ball goes into the net, it’s no big deal. Concentrate on its trajectory!”

  I shot a second ball and it hit the other side of the net. It went in just as easily, but this time Léonard took his head in his hands.

  “Don’t be afraid of looking ridiculous. There’s only you and me here.”

  For the third shot, Léonard bent his knees and opened his arms wide. He really wanted to try something. When I shot, he advanced toward the ball and this time he grazed it. But when he saw it in the net, he moved away from the goal and started walking around in circles.

  “A very good goalkeeper only stops one penalty in five. You just have to keep going. You’ll stop one in the end.”

  These words made him react. He stopped dead and turned to me. “If you lost ten games of chess, I’m sure you’d stop. But you know the solution. Don’t play.”

  I took the remark on board. “Okay. I’m going to start playing chess. Just give me a bit of time to learn.”

  “I’ll beat you hands down.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You’ll play even if you always lose?”

  “Of course. Until I win a game.”

  “It’ll never happen.”

  He stood there for a moment longer, then went back to the goal, and the penalty session resumed. It took fourteen before he stopped one. He lay down on top of the ball and hugged it for a very long time. Then he started losing again, but his body had relaxed. He took chances, daring to move to one side, or taking two steps forward in order to reduce the angle. He blocked another shot, a more difficult one this time.

  “Someone’s watching us,” he said.

  I turned toward the stands. A woman was sitting at the end of one of the benches. I recognized her. It was Catherine Vandrecken.

  We resumed our practice session. Léonard stopped a third penalty, a ball that went under the bar, and then all the others went in. He had been staring at the ball for so long, he was suffering from nervous exhaustion. He was almost swaying. I signaled to him that the session was over, and we collected the balls. Catherine was waiting for us on the touchline.

  “Have you been here for a long time?”

  “A while.”

  “You were lucky to find us, there isn’t usually any training today.”

  “It’s my day off. You could invite me to lunch if you like. Not to a restaurant, your place, it doesn’t have to be grand.”

  This woman had the gift of catching me off guard. I looked for a way of getting out of it.

  “I’m sorry, but my fridge is empty.”

  “I’ll take care of everything. Do you like Vietnamese?”

  20

  We stopped on the way. Accompanied by Léonard, Catherine Vandrecken literally plundered an Asian delicatessen. It was a no-parking zone, and I stayed in the car. I had plenty of time to watch her as she pointed to what she wanted to buy. She was wearing a turtleneck sweater and pants. She was a different person than the doctor at that moment. They both got back in the car, as excited as if they’d left without paying.

  When we got home, I warmed up the containers and Léonard laid the table. He hardly hesitated. Compared with a penalty, it was easy. Catherine sat down at the table, without waiting for us, and started jabbing at one of the dishes.

  “Sorry if I’m rude, but I’m very hungry.”

  Léonard, who was bringing water in a jug, suddenly froze. “You took my seat,” he said in a very serious voice.

  “Léonard, there are no allocated seats.”

  “No, he’s quite right,” Catherine said, and moved.

  Léonard got his usual seat back and Catherine continued eating.

  “When I was a child,” she said, “I had my seat at the corner of the table, to the right of my father, and wouldn’t have changed it for the anything in the world. Whenever friends of my parents were invited over, I’d sit down at the table, sometimes half an hour before the meal, to be sure that nobody would take my seat. Even now, I have my favorite seat in the hospital canteen, right at the back, the last chair next to the window. If it isn’t free, I get upset, and, depending on my mood, I can even go so far as to take my tray to my office, rather than sit somewhere else.”

  Catherine turned to Léonard and pointed to me with the tip of her chopstick.

  “This man says there are no allocated seats, but I’m sure he has his habits and doesn’t like departing from them.”

  By the time I took the spring rolls from the oven, my nephew had started speaking, and it was as if nothing could stop him.

  “He puts his bag down in the hall before leaving for training, always in the same place, under the clock. Then he goes around the house, turns off the water, and picks up his bag again. In the evening when he comes back, he puts on a sweat suit with holes in it, always the same one . . . ”

  “Léonard, this is of no interest to anyone.”

  “I don’t agree. Go on, Léonard.”

  “He has three toothbrushes, but only uses one.”

  “Are you done yet?”

  “When he goes to his car, he always walks in front of the hood, never behind.”

  “I’ve never even noticed . . . ”

  “Always in front of the hood, I checked. And when he laces his shoes, he always starts with the left. Never the right.”

  “Have you been spying on me?”

  “He’s just very observant, that’s a great quality. Aren’t you going to sit down?”

  I joined them. All three of us forgot about the plates, and ate straight from the containers. Catherine asked me to explain to her what offside meant in soccer. The anesthesiologist in her department was a supporter of Paris Saint-Germain, and every Monday morning he’d tell her about the achievements or disappointments of his favorite club, using technical terms she didn’t understand. I used our glasses and the salt and pepper shakers to position the defenders and the striker, and the cork from the bottle as a ball. As I was applying myself to this learned presentation, Léonard fell asleep. His head slowly came to rest on his arm, and he closed his eyes. He was exhausted after that penalty session that had forced him out of his comfort zone.

  “I’ll put him to bed.”

  I took my nephew in my arms and carried him to his room. I was surprised by how light he was. How old was he? Thirteen. If he continued with soccer, he’d have to do develop some muscles. I laid him in his bed and tucked him in.

  Catherine had left the table and opened the little door that led from the kitchen into the backyard. Now she was leaning against the wall and smoking.

  “He’s already changed.”

  “Léonard, you mean?”

  “Yes. It’s obvious. Compared with that evaluation in the hospital. He’s getting more confident. How many kids do you train?”

  “It varies. Around twenty.”

  “They must love you.”

  “Oh, no, they’re scared of me. I don’t particularly like children, you know.”

  “You’ll never make me believe that. You’re a teacher.”

  “I used to be a player, but my knee gave up on me. When you’ve been kicking a ball since you were a teenager and you have to retrain, there aren’t a whole lot of options.”

  “You could have coached adults.”

  “The job here attracted me. It just happened to be with young people.”

  She looked at me as she blew out smoke. There was a tinge of irony in her eyes. “Not easy to catch you out, is it?”

  “I’m just giving you a straight answer.”

  “My friends liked you. They’r
e a couple, by the way.”

  “I thought they were mother and daughter.”

  “The younger woman was one of my patients before she became a friend. Her mother was a manic-depressive. She lived in fear all through her childhood, but it was only when she grew up that she started having nightmares. She’s much better now. She illustrates children’s books. She draws monsters, but acceptable ones.”

  “You must see all kinds in your work.”

  “Pretty much.”

  It was early afternoon, and the neighborhood was totally quiet. The only sound was the birds in the gardens. We stood there for a moment without moving, in that corner of the yard, listening to them. Catherine was very close to my shoulder, and I was aware of it. It wouldn’t have taken much for our skins to touch.

  “Why did you choose a profession that’s so . . . ”

  “So dark? You mustn’t think that. There’s also a lot of light. And besides, I needed to understand. I was, how can I put it . . . terrified, when I was small, by a feeling of absurdity. Understanding is my shield.”

  “And does it work?”

  “It depends on what it’s for. Shields protect you, but they also isolate you. Do you see what I mean?”

  “Not really.”

  “I also have a sweat suit with holes in it.”

  “That must be the one thing we have in common.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I usually say what I think.”

  “You see me as a middle-class intellectual who goes to the theater after work.”

  “Isn’t that true?”

  “So what am I doing in this yard?”

  “Taking an interest in a boy who suffers from Asperger’s syndrome.”

  “I’m interested in people who are alone.”

  “Everyone’s alone.”

  “Some people hide it less well than others. I feel more at ease with those people.”

  “You’re going to burn yourself.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “With your cigarette.”

  21

  When Léonard came out of his room, it was after eight. Catherine Vandrecken had left long before. I made pasta shells. He wanted to see more videos of penalties, but I refused. If he was starting to do sports regularly, he had to live a healthier life, especially when it came to sleep, and give up such an irregular rhythm. I could sense he didn’t really agree, but he finished his food and went back to bed. I did the same soon afterwards. That day, like the previous ones, had worn me out.

  When I woke the following morning, I thought about the leak under the kitchen sink. About my habits. About that discussion we’d had over lunch, Léonard, Catherine, and I. The reason I switched off the water every time I left the house was because of that damned leak. But why hadn’t it occurred to me to repair it? Because I wasn’t in my own home. What would Catherine Vandrecken have thought if I’d given that explanation for my behavior? Knowing her a little better now, I was sure that answer would have resulted in lots of deductions tinged with irony.

  I made myself a coffee. The windowpanes were still covered with frost. Even after two days of sun, the ground was going to be brittle. I only had a few more days to put Léonard in a “real” match, to give him the feeling he’d actually gotten somewhere. An opportunity presented itself in the form of a friendly match before the under-16s championship, in which my team was supposed to meet the one from Valenciennes. But was it sensible to throw him into the lions’ den on that occasion? In a training session, his moments of weakness were manageable. The group was less and less surprised by his reactions, and I still had the possibility of blowing the whistle for a break, to give him time to recover. In an official match, that would obviously be impossible. The problem wasn’t his talent. The difference he could make with his approach to the game was quite real, I couldn’t deny it, and he was even starting to open up to the others, but the fact remained that the sophisticated mechanism of his brain could stop at any moment, at the slightest grain of sand. How could I help him to make more progress? There had to be a method, there had to be exercises. I could talk about it with Catherine, but in such a short time, what did I hope to achieve? It was important to keep things simple and straightforward. That’s what I thought. It was then that my gaze fell on the cabinet where the dishes and the flatware were kept. I remembered how much he now liked to lay the table, as evidence that he was mastering life in the house. An idea occurred to me. I was going to play a trick on him in my way, but in his interest. I changed knives and forks, glasses, bowls, plates, all the dishes, around in order to alter Léonard’s points of reference.

  I whistled as I took my shower. He’d be up soon, and I didn’t want to miss his reaction to this little kitchen revolution. Deep down, I was pleased of getting my own back with this trick, after his listing of my habits in Catherine’s presence. I even took the time to have a shave. In fact, by the time I left the bathroom, Léonard was already in the kitchen, not only that, he was having breakfast. I went to him, making an effort to conceal my surprise. He seemed quite calm, and nothing was missing on the table. Clearly, he’d found everything, and in record time. And the test didn’t seem to have upset him in the slightest. I poured myself another cup of coffee and took a quick glance around. The drawers were in place, the closets tidy, no trace of a feverish search. I went back to the table and sat down opposite Léonard. He was eating his cereal with gusto, focused on his bowl. But after a short while, he deigned to make a comment.

  “I know an exercise like that in chess. You ask the player to turn his back and you change all the positions. He has to find them again from memory and resume the game.”

  “But when Dr. Vandrecken took your seat, you were upset.”

  “That’s not the same thing at all. That wasn’t a game.”

  I didn’t know what to reply. He started scraping the bottom of the bowl, as he usually did. With the end of his spoon, he was tracking down the smallest crumb.

  “It’s a really good test,” he added. “But I think you need to add something extra.”

  “What’s that?”

  “An empty drawer.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the most difficult thing for me, an empty drawer. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it: leave it as it is, fill it, but then with what? Every time my mother moves, that’s what scares me the most. All those empty spaces to fill.”

  22

  For once, all the boys were there. Their parents must have thrown them out, tired of seeing them always lounging on the couch, glued to computer games, or else using up their phone contracts. I gathered them together in the middle of the field, making sure Léonard was some distance away. Coming out of the locker room, he had stayed at the back of the group, as usual, and as the boys moved into the the center circle, he’d continued toward his net, with his slightly strange way of moving, like a planet that didn’t belong to the same solar system.

  “We’re going to have two short halves of twenty minutes each. I want intensity, and I want pace. Don’t look for the knockout blow. Think about the match with Valenciennes. No hard tackles, okay?”

  “Okay, sir!” they all said in unison.

  I formed two groups, taking care to separate Cosmin and Léonard. I had an idea of the back of my mind and just before kick-off, while the boys were still warming up, I took Cosmin aside because he was the one I considered the best of my outfield players, the only one capable of grasping an instruction that was even slightly compex.

  “I’d like you to approach this session in a different state of mind than usual,” I said to him.

  “Whatever you say, sir.”

  “I always ask you to respect the tactics I’ve laid out. You know why?”

  “Of course. If you’re not in the right place and don’t prepare the play, you don’t get anywhere.”

  �
��Except that if you always repeat the same tactics, your opponents remember them and find it easier to block them.”

  “That’s also true, sir.”

  “So what I’m asking you today is to move out of your comfort zone.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  He frowned. He knew perfectly well what I was talking about. But he was cautious by nature. He wanted to be sure he really understood how much free rein I was giving him.

  “I mean I want you capable of going straight for the goal yourself, when everyone is expecting you to look for your center forward, or pass along the wings.”

  “Hogging the ball, sir. I thought you hated that.”

  “Well, today, that’s what I’d like to see.”

  “Okay. You swear you won’t kill me afterwards?”

  “I swear.”

  I went back to the touchline. I heard the two sides calling each other names. They were excited by the dry, cold air, which made them want to get moving. I could happily have played with them. But I needed to keep my distance. Especially today, when I had that decision to make.

  Léonard’s team put pressure on the other team’s goal, which was under siege for a good ten minutes. It never stopped, what with a bad save, a corner kick, the game never came back across the center circle, just kept returning to the other side, without Léonard having the slightest challenge to deal with. And then Marfaing blocked Bensaid, who’d become a bit isolated, and Cosmin took possession of the ball.

  This was the moment I’d been waiting for. I looked to see where Léonard was, in his net. He seemed to have lost interest in the match. He was walking on his line, as if on a tightrope, looking down at his feet. I felt like crying out to alert him, but I pulled myself together. It was much more interesting like this. For Cosmin’s team, this was the ideal counterattack. Having put so much pressure on the goal, the other team had left their defense wide open and it was just a matter of finishing the job. Cosmin only had one last defender in front of him, Costes, who was trying to seem taller than he was by opening his arms wide. I wondered, at that moment, whether Cosmin was going to follow my instructions, or whether, conditioned by the previous training sessions, he was going to play it safe. In mid-run, he slowed down and saw Rouverand raising his arm. Of course it was the right thing to do. His center forward was absolutely alone, unmarked, the way he’s shown on the blackboard in the locker rooms, and it would have been a mistake, a foul even, not to give him the ball.