Skills from Brazil

by Dan Freedman

  These were just two of around forty kids all practising, demonstrating and perfecting different ball skills, a few of which Jamie had seen before on the internet but most of which were completely new to him.

  Jamie shook his head at Rafael in delighted disbelief. This set-up – being part of a Brazilian skills school on the beach – was even more than he had been hoping for! Rafael simply looked up from his notepad, smiled and gave Jamie a big thumbs up in return.

  Looking around him, Jamie quickly came to a conclusion: he could not spend much time amongst such skilful players without becoming at least a little more skilful himself.

  And now Mestre turned his attention to Jamie. The man’s green eyes reflected the deep, mysterious colour of the sea.

  “Shall I go and get one of those balls?” Jamie asked, beaming from ear to ear.

  Mestre shook his head. He was pointing to Jamie’s trainers.

  “Your feet,” said Mestre, speaking English with an incredibly thick Brazilian accent. “This is where it all begins. They must be free. You must touch the ball with your feet. Listen to the word: FOOTball. It starts with the foot.”

  Jamie understood about fifty per cent of what Mestre was saying. He’d grasped enough, though, to work out that he should take off his trainers. However, within seconds of putting his feet down on the sand, the heat was scorching them.

  “Oweeee!” he screamed, hopping from foot to foot. The other kids turned to look at Jamie and laughed. With his strange, jerky jumping movements, he rather looked as though he were doing some kind of funky dance.

  “Use the sea to cool your feet,” advised Mestre. “And then run to the café over there and ask them for my water.”

  The “café over there” was about half a mile away. By the time Jamie got back with Mestre’s bottle of water, his face was the same colour as his hair – bright red – and his legs had been drained of all their energy; running in the sand felt different and more tiring than any other surface on which Jamie had run.

  However, there was another even greater problem.

  “The soles of my feet are completely burnt!” Jamie complained. “I just tried to kick a ball and it was agony! How long will it take to heal?”

  His question seemed to evoke a half smile from Mestre.

  “You will play in a few days,” he said.

  “A few days?!” Jamie shouted in high-pitched anguish.

  He was so confused. Back home, Mike encouraged him to play as often as possible, while this man … this master, seemed to be stopping him from playing.

  “That’s crazy!” Jamie snapped. “I need to play now!”

  But Jamie’s words seemed to have no impact on Mestre. They were like tiny grains of sand hitting a huge rock.

  “You will play when you are ready. Only when you are ready,” Mestre replied before turning away to focus on all his other pupils.

  The Photo

  “You have to trust him, Jamie,” said Bernard. “He knows what he is talking about.”

  They had just finished dinner and Jamie had told Bernard that the only thing his feet had managed to do at the beach today was get burned.

  “You know, Jamie,” continued Bernard, “none of us would actually be here were it not for Mestre. Rafael has heard this story many times but I will tell it to you now. You see, when me and my parents came to Rio from São Paulo, I was twelve and I didn’t know anyone. Not one person. Then, one day, I was walking on the beach and I saw all these other kids doing amazing football skills. They looked like they were having so much fun, so I asked their teacher – the man we know as Mestre – if I could join in. He said I could, and that’s how I made all my friends here. And one special friend in particular…”

  Bernard looked at Rafael for a second and then continued.

  “One of the girls who was learning with Mestre was a brilliant footballer, way better than me. I just thought she was the most amazing person I’d ever met. I knew I would marry her the first moment I saw her.”

  Bernard stopped talking for a second. He seemed to drift off into the distance before focusing again on Jamie.

  “Because of that – the fact that Stephania, Rafael’s mum, and I met while practising our skills – Mestre always says that Rafael is a child of football. It’s a nice phrase, don’t you think?”

  Jamie nodded. And it was a nice phrase, but he couldn’t help noticing the small tear that was rolling down Rafael’s cheek. Jamie knew it was because he was missing his mum.

  Bernard no doubt thought the same thing because he stood up and gave Rafael a really big hug and spoke some soft words to him in Portuguese.

  “I’ll leave you two to it,” said Bernard softly. “And just have a little patience, Jamie. Mestre will know when you’re ready.”

  Normally Jamie liked to stay up as late as possible. It was probably because he absolutely hated it when his mum told him he had to go to bed.

  But tonight, Jamie actually wanted to go to bed. He wanted to read about the Legends of Brazilian Football in Mike’s booklet.

  “I’m going to bed,” Jamie said, allowing himself an inward chuckle as he imagined his mum fainting at hearing him say those words.

  “Yeah, me too,” said Rafael, finally closing his notepad. “We were late today. We should get to Mestre early tomorrow. We have a lot to learn.”

  Jamie nodded and limped up the stairs. As he got to his bedroom door, he turned and looked downstairs to see Rafael pick up a framed photo by the banister and gaze at it.

  Jamie had looked at that same photo during the day. It was a picture of Bernard and Rafael’s mum standing together outside the front door of the house. They were both so happy. Both smiling so broadly.

  Jamie watched as Rafael delicately kissed the photo before placing it carefully back down on the table.

  Jamie’s text had only been seven words long but he still squirmed a little when he sent it. Perhaps it was the kiss at the end. He didn’t like the mushy stuff. His mum knew that he hated it when she kissed him in front of other people. But seeing Rafael kiss the photo of his mum had made Jamie think.

  Yes, they had lots of arguments and yes, sometimes she really got on his nerves, but he couldn’t for one second imagine what his life would be like without her.

  Rhythm of the Game

  Monday 26 May

  “Good!” said Mestre, looking at Jamie’s feet. Overnight the rawness had started to heal and was beginning to be replaced by a thick outer layer of skin. “Soon your feet will be ready.”

  “Soon?” asked Jamie.

  “Today we make your body ready,” announced Mestre, before he shouted something to one of the café owners on the beach. “Can you dance?”

  Jamie looked at Rafael for some assistance. What was going on now? But Rafael, who was noting everything down in his pad, half-smiled, half-chuckled back in Jamie’s direction. He was offering no help.

  Jamie shook his head vigorously. He hated dancing more than anything. He remembered his Aunt Suzy trying to make him dance at one of his mum’s birthday parties. She had thrown him around the room, pulling him and pushing him all the time, with her hot and sweaty arms bumping into him. It felt like some kind of physical attack.

  “Rosária!” called Mestre towards the girl who Jamie had seen balancing the ball on her head yesterday. His deep voice seemed to coast along the sea breeze because, even with the distance, the girl immediately stopped the skill she was practising, looked up and smiled.

  Jamie had not noticed quite how pretty she was yesterday – he had been too overwhelmed by her skill to observe anything else. Yet now, as she skipped towards Mestre, juggling the ball perfectly in the air, Jamie was absolutely struck by her.

  The girl, who looked about fourteen, smiled at Mestre, giving him a hug and a kiss. Jamie heard her use the word “Papa”. Even he knew what that meant.


  A few quick words of Portuguese followed between them and then a nod from the girl to Mestre, after which she began walking towards Jamie.

  Jamie felt his whole body tighten. He was unable to swallow or move.

  “Olá! I’m Rosária,” she said, sparkling brighter than any star Jamie had ever seen, as she shook his hand.

  “J-J-J … Jamie,” Jamie stammered. Welcome to Rafael’s world, he thought.

  And then the music began. All of a sudden, and from all of the cafés, there was loud samba music being blasted along the whole beach.

  As if part of a game of musical chairs, as soon as they heard the sounds, practically everyone on the beach got up and began dancing! Out of nothing, there was now a full-scale party going on.

  “Come,” smiled Rosária, moving towards Jamie. “You dance with me.”

  “Errr!” Jamie winced, his voice going higher than it had been when he was five years old. “No – I’m OK, thanks!”

  He tried to step away and find some place where he could hide, only to bump into the solid presence of Mestre, who was standing directly behind him.

  “You want to learn how we play in Brazil?” he said. “Then you need rhythm.”

  With that, Rosária put her hands on Jamie’s hips and started to guide his body to move in time with the beat. It felt seriously awkward. Especially with her dad watching.

  He looked again at Rafael, who was now filming what was happening on his phone. Jamie shrugged and forced a smile at the camera, to which Rafael responded by giving Jamie a big thumbs up.

  Jamie was so nervous. This was nothing like dancing with his Aunty Suzy. This was a proper girl. He’d never danced with a real girl like this. He bet if he’d ever tried suggesting to Jack that they should dance together she would probably have kicked him in the shins!

  But now, here he was, dancing to Brazilian music on the beach with one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. And she was three years older than him!

  “Sorry!” said Jamie. He’d stepped on Rosária’s toes for the fifth time in three minutes. Everyone else on the beach was doing professional twists and turns, while Jamie was moving like an Egyptian mummy, as though his body were frozen in time.

  “Close your eyes,” Rosária whispered softly in his ear. “Forget everything, OK? Hear only the music.”

  Jamie tried. He really did. But he just couldn’t get it. When Rosária moved left, he moved right. When she took a step towards him, he did the same. Instead of gliding smoothly across the sand, their bodies were clashing and banging into each other like dodgem cars at a fairground.

  “It’s no good,” he said after ten minutes of torture. “I haven’t got rhythm. Let’s just accept it. Some of us, like you, have got it. Some of us, like me, don’t, and nothing you can do will change that. Now can we forget it and start working on some skills?”

  He started to turn away.

  “Everyone has the rhythm!” laughed Rosária, clasping Jamie’s hot sweaty hand in her cool palm. “It’s in there. We just have to find it.”

  Let Your Feet Feel the Beat

  “Here,” said Rosária. “Touch this. Put your hand on it.”

  Jamie knew that was what she said by reading her lips. He certainly couldn’t hear the words themselves.

  They were standing outside one of the beach cafés, directly next to a humongous speaker. Rosária had dragged him here and was now placing his hand on the enormous, vibrating sound system.

  “Can you feel it now?” she shouted.

  “Feel what?” roared Jamie, trying to make himself heard above the din.

  “The beat! You have been listening to the melody. Forget the melody. Your feet need to feel the beat!”

  With that, she placed her hand on top of Jamie’s and pressed them both down hard on the speaker.

  The pulse of the music was making the speakers move, sending waves of strong vibrations through their hands.

  “Can you feel it now?” she asked, pushing Jamie’s hand down even harder on the speaker.

  Jamie nodded.

  “I can feel it!” Jamie shouted. “I can feel the beat insi—”

  Rosária put her finger on Jamie’s lips to stop him speaking.

  Jamie carried on mumbling but Rosária wouldn’t let any more words tumble from his mouth.

  “Don’t talk,” she said. “Just relax. Just dance. Good… Goood!… Ginga!”

  Jamie could have sworn the last word she said was “ginga”. That was what people sometimes called him when they were being mean about his red hair.

  He looked up at her accusingly but she was still smiling kindly back at him. She did not look as though she was teasing him now. In the midst of the loud music, he must have heard the word wrong.

  He smiled back at her and made sure he concentrated on keeping the beat…

  “OH. MY. GOD,” Jamie said to Rafael, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he gulped down a whole bottle of water. The music had just stopped. “How long have we been going?”

  “About f-four hours,” said Rafael.

  “Four hours!” said Jamie, spitting out his drink.

  “Well, how long did you think it had been?”

  “I don’t know – an hour, maybe.”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun, eh?”

  Jamie nodded. It had been fun all right. He could see now why Mike had always dreamed of dancing the samba all night. Brazilians were experts at knowing how to enjoy themselves. At one point, while they were dancing, a whole group of people had even gathered around to watch Jamie and Rosária, clapping all their moves.

  “Look out,” said Rafael. “She’s c-coming over.”

  “Obrigada,” said Rosária, giving Jamie the smallest of kisses on both of his cheeks.

  Jamie smiled and nodded back to her. He didn’t feel like a shy and nervous little boy any more.

  “Obrigada yourself, Rosária,” he said, trying to sound extra smooth as he ran his fingers through his hair. “So…”

  “No, Jamie!” laughed Rosária. “Girls say obrigada, you say obrigado … unless you are a girl. You are not a girl, are you, Jamie?”

  “No! Oh my God no!” said Jamie, his temporary coolness shattered in an instant. “I promise I’m not a girl – I just—”

  But it was too late. Rosária was already making her way back to the skills area, leaving Jamie to ask himself two questions: did that all actually just happen?

  And what on earth did any of it have to do with football?

  Just Like Ronaldo

  “You know,” grinned Rafael. “I reckon you’ve got a thing for girls who play football!”

  They were walking home from the beach and Jamie was still bouncing along to the rhythm inside his head.

  “Shut up, Rafa!” he said, giving his companion a friendly shoulder barge for good measure.

  “It’s true! There’s Jack at home, and now you obviously think Rosária is the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen!”

  “I said: shut up!” laughed Jamie.

  “Don’t worry, I’m just jealous – I didn’t get a kiss, did I? And anyway, you’re not the only one. Ronaldo was the same.”

  “Ronaldo?” said Jamie. “Which one?”

  “The original Ronaldo. The Brazilian one. He once met this girl called Milene. She was phenomenal at football, I mean like record-breaking phenomenal. She once did fifty-five thousand kick-ups.”

  “Shut up!” Jamie repeated. “That is no way true.”

  “Swear on my life,” said Rafael. “Look it up when we get home. Her name is Milene Domingues and she set that world record for kick-ups when she was seventeen! And guess what else?”

  “What?”

  “She was a model.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. And guess what else? She played for t
he Brazil Women’s National Team. And guess what else?”

  “There’s more?”

  “Ronaldo married her!”

  “I’m not surprised!” said Jamie.

  “Yeah,” laughed Rafael. “I mean, they got divorced in the end but when they were married they actually played football together. I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you, Jamie – playing football with your wife!”

  “I’d just like to play football with anyone at the moment,” he said.

  Although he’d had a brilliant day dancing on the beach, a part of Jamie remained disappointed. He still hadn’t actually played football yet and it was killing him.

  “I mean, I’m not being funny or anything,” said Jamie, turning the subject away from football-playing supermodels. “But do we even know that Mestre is that good at football himself? I haven’t seen him kick a ball yet.”

  Rafael gave Jamie a withering look.

  “You are my friend, Jamie,” said Rafael. “But sometimes you ask all the wrong questions.”

  They were now passing through the streets where the poorer kids were playing football again.

  “Hey!” Jamie said to Rafael, his face suddenly brightening. “This is perfect. I can play with these guys!”

  Jamie put down his bag and went to do up his laces nice and tight. The soles of his feet still hurt a bit … but not enough to stop him playing. This would be great – playing with the street kids on their own turf…

  “No,” said Rafael, putting his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “It’s not safe for you to play here.”

  “What are you talking about, not safe?” said Jamie. “They’re just kids like us – that’s what you said yesterday. They won’t do anything to me.”

  “It’s not the players,” explained Rafael. “That is not the reason. Look at their pitch.”

  Jamie looked at the ground that the kids were playing on. Initially, he saw nothing wrong, but then when he looked closer, his eyes started to pick up the detail. The ground was covered in bits of stone, rocks and even animal bones. And yet the kids were still playing barefoot.