Tomorrow Pamplona

by Jan Van Mersbergen

  The Cuban didn’t understand everything Ron said, but he saw the smiling faces of the two brothers and he smiled too. Everyone in Havana is called Sanchez, he said.

  Yeah, yeah, said Ron, and we’re all called De Vries.

  They laughed.

  And my brother’s supposed to be the stupid one, said Richard. How about that?

  He poured out the coffee. As he passed Danny his glass of water, he said: I’m glad you’ve done it.

  Danny looked up. There was a calendar on the wall behind Richard, with a photo of Ron and Richard’s dad beneath it, surrounded by a crowd of boxers. A black-and-white photo from the newspaper. Boxers Conquer Los Angeles.

  Danny said: He didn’t seem very friendly.

  But you’ve made an appointment?

  Yes.

  That’s the main thing, said Richard. Yeah, I’m glad you’ve done it. He ran his hands over the bar.

  He didn’t say anything else?

  He said there’ll be time for all that later.

  Good, good, Richard said.

  Danny looked over at the Cuban and Aaron’s mates. They were drinking tea. He turned back to Richard. Will you come with me?

  Me? He wanted to talk to you, didn’t he?

  But it might be about stuff I don’t understand.

  Richard rubbed his palm across his cheek. Then he clasped both hands over his stomach. So keep your mouth shut and listen. I think he just wants to meet you. To see what you’re like.

  Danny didn’t reply.

  If it’s about money, tell him to talk to me.

  Danny spun round on his stool. The sun was shining on the fronts of the houses over the road. What kind of man is he, this Varon? he asked.

  He’s a good bloke, said Richard. When he gets an idea in his head, he makes it work. He’s that kind of guy. Not a time-waster.

  What’s wrong with him?

  His legs? I don’t know. All I know is he’s in a wheelchair.

  Danny sat in silence for a while.

  You’ve just got to go for it, said Richard. He put his right hand on the bar and wiped the wood. What could go wrong?

  *

  Danny sits down across from Robert, who still has his ear to the telephone.

  Let me speak to the little guy, he says. He waits for a moment, someone says something to him, and then Robert says: Hi, big boy.

  A pause.

  Or are you a little boy?

  Another pause.

  Okay then, little boy. Have you read your book?

  And another pause.

  The book about the cow. That’s the one you wanted to read, isn’t it? Robert laughs. Daddy’s going to see the moo-cows too.

  Danny looks over his shoulder at the other tables and at the bar, where two lorry drivers are sitting. There’s a group of men drinking coffee and smoking at the long table in the centre of the room.

  Robert holds the phone to his chest. Shall we order? he asks, waving in the direction of the bar. A girl standing by the coffee machine sees his signal. She’s wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt and her hair is pinned up. Her arms are dark, like Ragna’s. She produces a cigarette from beneath the bar, takes a quick drag, turns her face away from the coffee machine and puffs out a powerful plume of smoke.

  The same way Ragna smokes, in bed.

  Danny doesn’t want a cigarette though. He just wants the smoke that hangs around the bed.

  He listens to Robert, who’s quietly explaining that he’s giving someone a lift. A boxer.

  Danny turns away. There’s a map of the area on the wall, with castles and wells and churches marked on it. And photos of woods and fields and a campsite by the water.

  Qu’est-ce que vous prenez?

  The waitress is at their table.

  What did she say?

  She looks at Danny. Vous désirez un café?

  What do we want to drink? says Robert. He covers the receiver with his hand and says: Deux cafés, s’il vous plaît. Vous pourriez nous montrer le menu?

  The girl goes over to the bar and comes back with two menus. She gives him one and puts the other one on the table for Robert.

  There’s lots of meat on the menu, a few things with fish.

  Lasagna. Spaghetti with tomato sauce. T-bone steak.

  Robert stands up, inserts a few coins into the slot and carries on talking. Danny stares at the tabletop, at the artificial wood grain. Robert ends his call and says: What do you want to eat?

  I don’t have any money.

  I didn’t ask if you had money. I asked what you want to eat.

  Whatever. Anything.

  Spaghetti?

  Danny nods.

  I’ll go and see if that little sweetheart will sort us out then, says Robert. He walks over to the bar, orders and comes back. No problem, he says. They wait. A while later, the girl brings over two plates of spaghetti and puts a bowl of grated cheese on the table with a spoon in it. Robert unrolls his cutlery from the serviette, looks up at the girl and says: Well, don’t you look fine today?

  Pardon?

  I said: Merci beaucoup.

  As the girl walks away, Robert leans out from the table and watches her swaying hips. Bon appétit, he says. He twirls strands of spaghetti around his fork. A man comes into the restaurant with a briefcase in his hand. He stops just inside the door, holding it open for two women. A long-haired woman of around thirty and a woman in a skirt, with dark curly hair. Black tights. Painted nails. While the women are choosing a table, the man turns to Robert and Danny and says: Bon appétit.

  Merci, Robert replies.

  The man walks between the tables, nods at the women, says hello to the men at the long table and stops at a seat by the window. Danny watches him.

  That’s a different class of woman altogether, says Robert. Real ladies. But you know what? I still prefer a tasty young bit of stuff.

  The man takes some papers from his briefcase and puts them on the table.

  Either that or Kim Wilde, says Robert. She must be about fifty now, but that doesn’t matter when you’re Kim Wilde.

  Danny doesn’t say anything.

  Why are you staring at that guy?

  He reminds me of someone.

  *

  He walked from the tram stop down a road with wide pavements. Past tall buildings. The street ended at a canal. He could see his breath in the cold air. Some men were standing on the opposite pavement outside a building with a tiled facade. They all had beards. Down the road, two girls were sitting together in a doorway, huddled into their coats, sharing a cigarette. He was getting closer to the right house number. When he reached it, he saw a gold plate on the wall with the promoter’s name on it. He rang the bell. A few moments later, someone pulled the cord, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened. Varon’s voice called down from upstairs. Come on up.

  A big hallway and a wide staircase with a chairlift. Danny climbed the stairs to the first floor. He looked at the hat stand. Her coat wasn’t there. He went through the open door, walked into the office and found Varon sitting at a long table set at right angles to the wall. He went over and shook his hand.

  Hello, Mr Varon.

  Please call me Gerard.

  Gerard.

  Sit down. You’re lucky I’m still here. Haven’t legged it to Germany yet. He smiled. Get it? Legged it. He slapped his leg and laughed again.

  Danny took off his coat, hung it over the back of the chair and sat down opposite Varon. On the other end of the table, there was a telephone with piles of paper beside it. Framed photos hung on the wall. Boxers with their arms in the air. A black guy holding up a huge championship belt. A colour photograph of a giant of a man punching another boxer on the cheekbone. There was no other desk in the office and nothing to indicate that she worked there.

  What would you like to drink?

  Whatever you’ve got.

  Tea, he said.

  Fine.

  Gerard rolled his wheelchair to the kitchen. Danny heard the tap runnin
g. There was a sound of rattling cups and he called through to Danny: So you want to go for it?

  Danny looked over his shoulder at the glistening canal outside. The sun was shining through the balcony doors. It was so hot in the room. A bunch of keys and a shoulder bag lay on a low table. They must be hers.

  Gerard came back with a tray on his lap. I’ve already spoken to one of the Rosenbergers, he said.

  Ron?

  No, the other one.

  Richard. He’s not a trainer.

  Doesn’t matter, Gerard replied. He said you were good. But I already knew that.

  Gerard poured the tea. It was steaming hot. He slid one cup across the table, picked up the other and said: I’ll keep it brief. I want you on board.

  Yes, Mr Varon.

  Gerard.

  Okay.

  In Germany, he continued. I’m working on a new series of fights, at a bigger location, in Leipzig. I need good people. People with commitment. People like you.

  He sipped his tea and looked Danny in the eyes. Then he gave him a tight smile that Danny would often remember later. He thought Varon would go on to say something about boxing, but he didn’t. He just pointed at the teacups. You want something to go with the tea?

  No, thank you.

  He drank some tea. It was hot. It burned his mouth, but he didn’t let it show.

  I think you’ve got it. Commitment. You’re willing to go for it.

  I like training.

  Yeah, Rosenberger said you did.

  When’s the fight?

  It’s a series.

  When’s the first one?

  In the summer. It runs through the autumn, until the end of November. Crowd of twelve thousand. If it’s a full house.

  Right.

  Interested?

  And the opponents?

  Strong. Are you still in the same weight class?

  Yes.

  You’re not a light heavyweight?

  No, I’m well beneath that.

  Good. Will you keep up the training until then? I mean, maintain your condition, don’t get too heavy.

  Yes.

  There’s still about five months to go. We’ve got time.

  Can I still train with the brothers?

  I don’t interfere with training. I assume you know what you need to do. You got good people at the Rosenbergers?

  Yes.

  Then we’re done, I think.

  Danny nodded. Gerard turned his chair a little, leafed through the papers, took out two sheets, glanced at them and passed them to Danny. It’s all in there. Take your time to look through everything. If you leave the papers at the boxing school, I’ll send Ragna round to pick them up.

  Fine, he said quietly.

  I’m going to have a cognac, said Gerard. Think it’s allowed, with this bloody cold weather. And there I was, thinking it was almost spring.

  He took a bottle and a glass from the sideboard. He poured himself one and looked at Danny.

  Just water for me.

  He handed Danny a bottle of sparkling water. They clinked. Gerard swirled the cognac around his glass before taking a swig and rolling it around his mouth. Then he looked at the papers and the telephone and said he had to get back to work. Danny stood up, drank some of the water, put on his coat, folded the papers in half, slipped them into his inside pocket and shook Varon’s hand.

  I’ll find my own way out.

  If you need anything or you want to talk again, just call.

  Thanks.

  Danny closed the door behind him and stood on the stairs for a moment. The hat stand was just the same as before. There wasn’t a sound to be heard in the house. He went down the stairs, stepped outside and started to walk over to the water, but then stopped on the pavement. There was a lamppost in front of the house and a big green American car in the parking space. A Dodge. He walked past the tall windows and saw himself reflected in the glass. He’d been planning to walk back to the tram stop but changed his mind. He followed the canal until he reached a bridge, which he crossed and then headed back along the other side of the water. He sat down on a yellow kerbstone opposite the Dodge and stared at the house for a long time.

  *

  Robert slurps up strands of spaghetti. When the plate’s empty, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, pushes the plate away and leans back. I thought boxers ate loads, he said, nodding at Danny’s plate.

  Not hungry.

  Want me to get a doggy bag?

  Robert waves at the bar and the girl comes over to their table. The smell of cigarettes follows in her wake, stronger than before. Robert asks her to pack up the food for them. He calls her ma chérie. She nods and asks if they want anything else. Robert says: Café pour moi. What about you?

  Yeah, same for me.

  Deux cafés, s’il vous plaît.

  The girl leaves, taking the plates with her.

  Robert says: We’ll just have our coffee and then we’ll be off. Or do you want to use the phone too?

  Robert takes some money from his pocket and puts it on the table.

  No need.

  Robert taps the cord of the payphone. It curls up and twitches.

  It’ll be a long time before I make another stop.

  I told you I don’t need to use the phone.

  The girl comes over with the coffee pot. As she pours, she looks at Danny. The black coffee swirls around the pot. She leaves. Robert drinks with quick, little sips. Danny presses the hot cup to his cheek.

  Are you coming? Robert asks when they’ve finished their coffee.

  Yes.

  I’ll just get the doggy bag. Robert takes the cups over to the bar and comes back holding a bag. They walk out to the car park. The sun is beating down and a smell of diesel hangs in the air. They get into the car and drive over to the petrol station next to the restaurant. Robert fills the tank, goes inside to pay. When he gets back to the car, he checks the petrol cap, climbs in, starts the engine, turns on the radio and heads back onto the motorway. Danny allows himself to be carried away, deeper into France, to the Spanish border, to Pamplona.

  They glide along beneath roads that hang above the motorway, high and narrow. A man is standing on one of the bridges. He leans over the parapet and Danny expects him to spit down on them, but nothing happens as they pass beneath. The clock on the dashboard changes, from minute to minute. He watches and waits for the hour to change.

  Robert scratches his arm. He nods at the photo on the dashboard. We’ll have been married ten years next year.

  The wing mirror glints. Danny looks at the photo, which is also gleaming. Ten years, he echoes.

  Yeah, it’s a long time. A man can get up to all sorts in ten years, but what you have at home, that’s always the foundation. Your rock. That’s what you work for. Hey, I’m not making you feel uncomfortable, am I?

  It could all change in a moment.

  Yeah? Well, let’s just assume it won’t.

  What if one of those bulls charges at you?

  That’s not going to happen.

  You could slip and fall, says Danny.

  Maybe, Robert whispers.

  A sports car overtakes them with a roar. The pitch changes, high to low, and the car rapidly disappears from sight.

  What about you? Robert blinks.

  What?

  Do you want to go back?

  Danny shrugs.

  Is it all still too fresh?

  Yes.

  Too fresh to talk about?

  Danny doesn’t react.

  How did you meet?

  Danny moves his left hand to the handbrake, wraps his fingers around it, puts his thumb on the button.

  If you ask me one more question, I’m going to stop the car.

  Robert keeps his hands on the steering wheel. Danny holds his breath. He squeezes the button on the handbrake and Robert holds his breath too and everything is silent. They drive like that for a few hundred metres. There’s a buzzing in Danny’s head. He thinks about the nig
ht he first saw her, after he beat Hristov. He thinks about the glistening canal. He thinks about the time she came to see him at the boxing school. He waits for Robert to knock his hand away, but Robert’s hands stay on the steering wheel.

  Without looking over at him, Robert says: You’re not going to do that.

  They breathe again. Danny lets go of the handbrake and stares at the clock. The two dots are blinking. He waits for the numbers to change and says: She had someone else.

  Another man?

  He nods.

  Danny clenches his jaw. There’s an enormous shed beside the motorway with loading bays for lorries, a number above every door. Danny counts. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

  *

  He walked into the gym, stopped for a moment outside the double doors and listened to the familiar sounds. Then he opened one of the doors and looked inside. He saw three boxers doing exercises in the far corner. The tallest one, a slim Moroccan, was jabbing at a punch bag, fast and strong. Another Moroccan and a stocky guy with narrow sideburns were watching. Aaron was sitting on a bench around the corner by the door. He was supposed to be giving fitness training to the juniors, but no one was there.

  Where are they all?

  Exams.

  How long’s that for?

  Just this week, I think, said Aaron. But you know who was just here?

  Who?

  Sando. He’s been in Curaçao. With one of those women of his.

  Curaçao? Wow.

  Been there since New Year. She paid for the whole thing.

  He’s doing well for himself.

  You reckon? He said he more or less had to run away from the old hag. She wanted to keep him there.

  And he had to give her a good seeing-to every single bloody day. He looked wrecked.

  Danny went to the changing room, put on his shorts and his boots, wrapped bandages around his hands and took the gloves out of his bag. He started with skipping. When the other seniors got there, the whole group played a kind of rugby game with the medicine ball. After that, they put on head protectors and gloves and trained in pairs. Every time the bell went between the training sessions, he looked out at the tiled corridor. As he skipped, he kept looking to see if she was coming. After half an hour of training, he heard a voice call his name.

  Someone here for you.

  He stopped, held the punch bag still. She was standing by the notice board. Aaron walked over and looked out into the corridor. Ah, I see, he said.