Tomorrow Pamplona

by Jan Van Mersbergen

  She was wearing jeans and a white blouse underneath a padded jacket. Her hair was up.

  Back in a minute.

  Me too, Aaron said and he spat out his mouth guard.

  You’re staying here, said Danny.

  Aaron picked up the mouth guard from the floor and said: Just need to rinse this off.

  You can do that later. I know you and your old boxing tricks.

  He headed up the steps and walked over to her. He wriggled his right hand out of his glove, ran his fingers through his hair, wiped his hand on his T-shirt and shook hers.

  You here to see me?

  I’ve come to pick up your contract.

  It’s around here somewhere.

  He pointed at the canteen, walked past her and, as he did so, inhaled her scent. The scent of peaches. He took off his other glove and walked over to the open door. Ragna followed him. Even though there was no one in the canteen, the television in the corner was on.

  I just thought I’d pop in, see if it was ready, she said.

  That’s fine, said Danny. It’s pretty quiet.

  He walked around the bar, looked in one of the boxes above the coffee machine, took out a pile of papers, flicked through them and found his contract. It was in a yellow envelope, which had already been sealed and had the boxing promoter’s name and address written on it in blue ink.

  See, it was all ready, he said, handing her the envelope.

  Was everything okay?

  Yes.

  We don’t just work with professionals, she said. We’re professionals ourselves.

  Danny nodded. Would you like something to drink?

  If you have time.

  Sure. Coffee or tea?

  Tea, please.

  Ragna sat down at a table. Danny made her a cup of tea and poured a large glass of water for himself.

  Then he went to join her.

  I’ve seen you fight, she said.

  I know.

  Have you always trained here?

  Yeah, for years.

  That’s what he said. Mr Varon, I mean. He’s told me a lot about you. How’s your eye now?

  Good.

  It bled a lot, didn’t it?

  Looked worse than it was.

  She picked up the envelope, turned it over, put it down again and looked at him. He was a head taller, so she had to lift her chin. She said: I don’t like watching, you know. Watching people fight. Or shouldn’t I be saying that to you?

  You can say whatever you like.

  She took her cup, stood up and looked at the photos on the wall.

  Who’s that? she asked.

  That’s Sando.

  She nodded. Are you in the pictures too?

  He pointed out a colour photo of himself, standing with ten or so black guys in front of the boxing school. It was a good picture of him. Ragna looked at the photos and sipped her tea.

  The outside door rattled and Richard Rosenberger walked into his boxing school.

  Danny said: Rich, this is Ragna.

  They shook hands.

  Our German connection, Richard said with a smile. That’s where the money is. But you know all about that. He turned to Danny. Who else is in today?

  The Moroccans. And Aaron. And that kickboxer.

  Okay, said Richard. He said goodbye to Ragna and headed out into the corridor.

  She picked up the envelope, put her cup on the table and turned to Danny. When do you want to step up the training?

  Couple of months. Going to build it up slowly.

  Do you want to do it here?

  Yeah, I’d like to.

  During the day?

  Yes, that’s fine.

  With people from here?

  He shook his head. They’re not here during the day.

  Do you want to work with one of our guys?

  Sounds good.

  I’ll send someone round. I hope Pavel’s free. He’s good. And you’ll carry on training as usual in the evenings?

  Yeah. I’ll ask Ron if he can come in a bit earlier.

  Perfect.

  They looked at each other for a moment. He tried to force himself not to look away, but his gaze moved to her lips, then down to the table.

  I should get going.

  I’ll come out with you, he said, and they headed outside. Ragna unlocked her bike, put the envelope in her inside pocket, smiled and shook hands with Danny. Then she waited for a man who was pushing his bike along the pavement to go past. There was a small child sitting in a seat attached to the handlebars and a slightly older boy balanced on the back. A ball was jammed under the saddle and the older boy was holding onto it with both hands. The man slowly pushed the bike past the gym and Ragna got on her bike and raised her hand. Danny watched her cycle off down the pavement and around the corner.

  *

  They are approaching a petrol station. Danny leans forward to read the sign that says how far the next petrol station is. A thought flashes through his mind: grab the wheel, take the exit, call her. So she can tell him everything’s okay and he can keep repeating that it was all a mistake, a misunderstanding. That he’s sorry. But the thought of her paralyses him. A road lined with trees runs parallel to the motorway. The trees slice the sunlight into fragments that dance over the fields. Danny closes his eyes. Her dark eyes appear in the blackness. They study him calmly, as though she too is apologizing.

  He turns away, opens his eyes. Outside there’s nothing but fields. The sunlight tingles on his cheek. He rests his forehead on the window, which is surprisingly cool.

  Can I ask you something? says Robert. When can you tell that you’re going to win?

  Really early on.

  Right at the beginning of a fight?

  Yes.

  And when you’re going to lose? Can you tell that just as quickly?

  No, that’s not something you can feel, says Danny.

  Robert’s silent for a moment, then says: I guess that’s something you can only feel when you’re standing out in the rain like a drowned rat.

  The words hit him hard. His flight through the city streets flashes through his head. Just for a moment, he feels that power again, the power he’d had during the fight. His silent fury. His jabs hitting home. Hard and accurate.

  Is that why you stopped for me?

  That’s not what I mean.

  Because you felt sorry for me?

  I thought maybe I could help.

  Danny doesn’t take the bait. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. A flock of starlings swirls over the cornfields, a dark patch against the sky, constantly changing shape, growing larger, then shrinking. The occasional starling splits off from the group. Danny tries to follow the bird with his eyes, even after the group swallows it up and it disappears, just like the stray thoughts that break away and whirl through the air before merging again with the darkness in his mind.

  Tomorrow Pamplona, he hears Robert say. And, after a short silence, he adds: Don’t forget Pamplona.

  Robert blinks. Danny looks down at his hands on his lap, large and flat, his thumbs between his thighs. He breathes in deeply and the T-shirt tightens around his chest. The white of the shirt hurts his eyes. I won’t forget Pamplona, he says.

  In the west, the horizon turns red, stripes of colour fill the sky and small clouds dissolve in the last of the light. The cars in front have turned on their headlights. On the other side of the crash barrier, white and yellow lights are coming towards them.

  3

  Under an ink-black sky, Danny and Robert sit at a picnic table beside a river. The car is parked a short distance away, its back end facing the table.

  They drove all through the evening. Robert phoned his wife to say good night from a petrol station just outside Bordeaux. They left the motorway at Bayonne around midnight and Robert drove inland down a narrow road. When Danny wound down his window, he could smell the sea. It took them at least another fifteen minutes to reach the spot by the river, which Robert said was called the Adour. H
e told Danny he’d often stopped there on his way to Pamplona. To have a rest and a drink, to light a fire and look at the stars.

  A strip of grass lies between them and the water. Beyond the grass, pebbles. The river’s not wide and it flows along gently. Robert has gathered wood and made a fire in the dip beside the picnic table. The flames dance gently in the breeze. On the table is a jar with a candle in it, which Robert produced from one of his bags. Danny looks at the dark sky above the opposite bank. Stars shine above the rippling water, their reflections rocking on the waves.

  Want a drink?

  Danny shakes his head.

  Of course you want a drink. Something to eat? How about the pasta the waitress packed up for us?

  Robert walks over to the car and comes back with a bag. He takes out two bottles and puts them on the table. Whisky and cognac. Then he produces a big bottle of soda water and says: A good drink and Pamplona go together. Like a fire and a beautiful starry sky.

  Small blue flames climb up a piece of wood, rising into the dark night sky. Robert twists the cap of the whisky bottle, pours two measures and adds soda water. The gurgle of the whisky echoes above the babbling of the river. Danny catches the scent of alcohol. Robert presses a cup into his hand. Danny waits for him to say cheers, but he doesn’t. They drink. The soda water fizzes in his mouth; bubbles and alcohol rise up into his head.

  Robert says: What’s he like?

  Danny puts his cup down on the table. Who?

  The other man.

  Danny makes circles on the table with his cup. Then he downs his whisky and says: What do you think? He’s a filthy son-of-a-bitch.

  Robert blinks as he takes a swig and swills it around his mouth. The wind’s getting up. I’m a bit chilly, he says. How about you?

  I’m okay.

  Robert stands up. Did you bring anything with you? A coat? A jumper?

  No, nothing.

  Robert fetches a coat and a thick woollen jumper from the car and passes the jumper to Danny. Danny puts it down on the bench. One sleeve dangles into the grass. Robert walks over to the fire, adds a couple of pieces of wood and pokes the fire with a long branch. The flames flicker. The smoke drifts to the riverbank, then travels inland, against the current.

  I could do with a cigarette though, Danny says.

  Can’t help you with that.

  She smokes in bed, he says. He can picture her lying on the bed in a rectangle of white moonlight, holding her cigarette up at shoulder height. He’s sitting at the foot of the bed, leaning against the slope of the wall. One hand on her ankle. She’s smoking very deliberately, as if in slow motion. If he’d been sitting to one side, he could have seen her thoughts as they crossed her face in the mirror. Then things would never have gone so far. But he couldn’t see her face. And all he could feel was the soft skin above her ankle as he stroked it.

  Think that’s what she’s doing now?

  No, says Danny. That’s not what she’s doing now.

  And what about you? What do you do when she’s smoking?

  I watch her.

  *

  Two small lights glide over the water in the distance, beyond the bridge. A yellow light and a white one. Torches. He watches until they disappear and the water is dark again.

  Take a look up there, says Robert.

  Danny looks. Hundreds of stars are shining in the sky. There’s no moon.

  See that? Robert says. Beautiful. That kind of sight leaves me speechless.

  Danny nods.

  I reckon just about everything leaves you speechless, says Robert.

  Robert pours another one, passes Danny his cup and they drink. I’m going to take a leak, Robert says. He walks over to the long grass. Danny opens the bag, takes out the plastic cutlery, opens the cardboard box. As he twirls the fork in the cold strands of spaghetti and slowly starts eating, he watches Robert hitch up his trousers and walk a short way down the road. He puts his hands on his hips and looks up at the sky. Danny sits there, elbows resting on the table. Then Robert comes back and sits down. He runs his tongue around his mouth, sticks out his bottom lip and says: This spot reminds me of the canal behind our house where we go fishing.

  Fishing, Danny repeats quietly.

  Yeah. I go fishing with my kids every Saturday. You should see them when they get a bite. When the float starts to twitch and when it goes under, and afterwards, when they’re reeling in the fish. They’re scared to death of touching the fish. Just a tiny little roach. Absolutely petrifies them. But still, the next Saturday comes around and they want to do it all over again.

  A duck quacks in the distance. The sound echoes over the water and dies away. Danny takes a swig.

  I can only really remember one time, Robert says, when I felt that kind of fear. That was when they were born.

  Robert plays with the jar with the candle inside. He taps the glass and the flame quivers.

  That’s another thing you can’t imagine, he says. It’s something you have to experience for yourself. Do you know what the problem is with childbirth? You can’t do a bloody thing. As a man, you can be there with her, but there’s sod all you can actually do.

  He’s silent for a moment.

  Or don’t you believe me?

  I believe you.

  Doesn’t matter. It’s impossible if you’ve never been there yourself. You don’t know what’s hit you. A hundred bulls don’t even compare.

  He picks up the bottle, holds it in his hand.

  So you just stand there looking. Well, that’s what I did. I didn’t have a clue what to do. With the first one, I held her hand, because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do, and I patted her shoulder a bit. I kept on saying: You can do it, you can do it. Until finally she screamed at me to shut up. With the second one, I just sat by the bed and kept my mouth shut. I thought it’d go more quickly the second time, but there was a problem and it took over twenty-six hours. All that time, you’re just sitting there. And you know what? You’d rather be facing the bulls. At least then you know what you’re dealing with. When you’re sitting there by the bed like that, you might as well be invisible.

  Danny leans forward. His forehead comes to rest against his cup. It feels hard and cold and comforting.

  Robert holds up the bottle. Danny shakes his head and says: I’m going for a walk.

  *

  The river lay hidden in the mist. He ran along the water at his normal speed, up to the bridge, and used the steps beside the bridge for some fartlek training. The lampposts on the bridge poked their heads up into the clouds. When he reached the other side, he followed the cycle path between houseboats and a busy street. His breath steamed. A woman came towards him on a bike. As she rode up onto the pavement, she smiled at him. He ran for over three quarters of an hour, at around eighty per cent. When he got back, he went inside, swapped his running shoes for his boxing boots, took his rope from the cupboard, put on his Walkman and started skipping. Even though he was alone, he kept to his usual corner. He listened to the music as the rope swished past his face. The cassette lasted thirty minutes. The Walkman clicked and he stopped, went to the changing room and drank water from the tap.

  A man in a checked shirt was standing in the corridor.

  Danny?

  Yeah, that’s me. You Pavel?

  Yes.

  They shook hands.

  Do you speak Dutch?

  I’m learning. You ready to start?

  Just having a bit of a rest.

  Half hour?

  Fine, Danny replied.

  Pavel was a thick-set man in his forties. He had deep wrinkles in his face, like seams. Pavel got changed into his training gear and Danny put his gloves on. At three o’clock, they started training in the gym. Pavel stayed in the centre and Danny moved around him. They did some interval work, with series of three jabs, as quick as Danny could. Pavel counted. He didn’t blink once. He made attacking moves with the pads, something Ron never did. And every time he hit Danny, just a gentle tap,
he said: Take it and move on. But first, you’ve got to take it.

  Half an hour went by. Then they repeated the exercise, this time with series of four jabs, culminating in an attack on the punch bag, the bag hovering at an angle under Danny’s rapid blows. When they were done, they walked to the changing room.

  So where did you train, Pavel?

  I don’t have any fixed place.

  Danny nodded. Do you do much work for Varon?

  Now and then. What about you? Who do you normally train with?

  Ron Rosenberger.

  The big guy?

  Yeah.

  Any good?

  Very.

  What does he think of this? Me training you here?

  It’s not his call.

  Good.

  Do you like working for him? Danny said.

  Yes. He’s good at what he does.

  How many people work there?

  What do you mean?

  Other than the two of them.

  No one else, said Pavel.

  Danny looked at his face, at his eyes, but he couldn’t find any clues there.

  Danny put on a fresh pair of trousers and a clean shirt. Pavel pulled a checked shirt over the sweater he’d been training in. There was a motorcycle helmet on the bench with his things.

  July, wasn’t it?

  That’s when it starts.

  Then we’ve got enough time.

  They left the changing room.

  Do you know who you’re up against?

  No.

  I’ve heard there’s an Argentinean guy coming over, said Pavel. Ramos. He’s in your weight class.

  Ramos. You ever seen him fight?

  Yes.

  And?

  Good boxer. Strong. Saw him once back home in Bratislava. He was boxing against a friend of mine.

  And Ramos won?

  How did you know that?

  I can see it in your face.

  They went outside. Pavel had parked his motorbike on the pavement beside the boxing school. As Danny looked down the street towards the crossing, he heard the engine revving. A thunderous roar filled the air – the whole neighbourhood must have heard it. The motorbike moved off down the pavement, slowly at first, but then speeding up and rounding the corner with an incredible din.