Tomorrow Pamplona

by Jan Van Mersbergen

  Yes. The bull was brown. That’s all I remember.

  Robert’s thinking. He keeps fiddling with his leg. After a while, he says: What about you?

  What?

  What are you going to do when you get back?

  First I’m going to take you home.

  They get stuck behind a car towing a caravan. A line of other cars overtakes them. Danny waits silently for a gap. They look at the windows of the caravan, which are hung with nets. Danny follows it for a long time, long enough to study the stickers displayed above the bumper. A mountain landscape. A birdhouse that looks like a cuckoo clock. A beach with a Spanish name. When they’ve finally overtaken the caravan, Danny asks: Would you do it again?

  Robert hesitates, then says: In a heartbeat.

  The end of the toll road comes into view, followed by a two-lane stretch with a turn-off. A few kilometres later, a new toll road begins. Danny steers the car through one of the tollgates. Robert hands him some money. He pays, takes the ticket and heads for the filter that turns the road back into three lanes. There are cows on the other side of the crash barrier, red cows with their heads to the grass. It looks as if they’re zooming past the car. He’s thirsty but he doesn’t want to disturb Robert, who has the bottle by his feet.

  What about you? Would you do it again?

  His foot is on the accelerator. He realizes that with every passing second, every metre he leaves behind, he’s getting closer to her. And to him. He tries not to think about them.

  Yes, he says.

  Robert shakes his head. You wouldn’t.

  Danny thinks about his attic room. That’s getting closer by the second too. And his bed. And the skylight. He looks over at Robert’s leg and the plaster, at his pained expression, and he feels the car vibrate, feels the wheels turn, feels the engine drone. His head seems to be vibrating too. His arms hold the steering wheel tight, his whole body buzzing with vibrations. A powerful feeling tingles from his heart through his veins, a feeling that is right for him now, just as the sound of the engine is right for the car. It spreads through his body, through his limbs, to his head, where images loom, images of Ragna and the other man and of what Danny did to them. Amplified by those images, the feeling descends into his body, his heart, and spreads until it’s not clear where it begins and where it ends, because it’s completing circuits through his bloodstream. He clenches his jaw. New images appear in his head, so horrifying and at the same time more realistic than the previous images, like a nightmare.

  A large red Renault overtakes them. He sees a girl of about four in the back. She’s standing on the seat, her face pressed to the glass, which is steaming up. Colourful farmyard characters are stuck to the window. A horse, a cow, a farmer with something in his hands. A barn and a lot of red and yellow and green chickens. She waves at him. Danny manages to raise his hand. The girl waves even more enthusiastically and then disappears into the distance.

  *

  High above them, an aeroplane draws a white line in the sky. Danny moves closer to the windscreen. The aeroplane sets course for the west. He slowly leans back into his seat. The plane glides above them in a wide arc, over the windscreen, over the roof, until it vanishes behind his left shoulder. Danny slows down a little. The car edges towards the hard shoulder, almost as though it’s steering itself.

  The motorway’s quiet. A lone car passes them, blows its horn.

  Robert looks over at him. Hey, he says.

  Danny grips the wheel, sits up straight, accelerates and sends the car shooting up the motorway again. He rejoins the traffic without looking in the rear-view mirror. The toy car in the glove compartment rolls back and forth. It bumps into the side and rolls back again. Then it’s still.

  *

  He looked up at the endless line of monitors in the departure hall. The names of the cities and the numbers of the flights changed. He couldn’t see Bangkok. Ragna had phoned him the day before with the departure time and said it’d be better if they took separate trains. She’d go via WTC and he could go straight from Centraal Station. He looked at the monitors again. There were only flights to Geneva and Boston at the time Ragna had given him. A family came over and stood beside Danny, a man and a woman with three daughters. The youngest was still in a pushchair. Their suitcases were stacked on a trolley.

  What flight are you looking for?

  Bangkok.

  Bangkok?

  Yes.

  What time?

  Half eleven.

  Isn’t it up yet?

  Those are the twelve o’clock flights.

  The man looked at the monitors. I can’t see it either.

  Thanks, said Danny. He walked to the departure hall and looked at the signs, trying to find an information desk. A woman in a uniform was standing in the middle of the hall.

  She was talking to an Asian-looking man. When he’d gone, Danny went over and spoke to her.

  Excuse me. What time does the Bangkok flight leave?

  Which airline?

  I don’t know.

  Aren’t you a passenger?

  I’ve come to see someone off.

  The woman took out her PDA and pressed a few buttons. Bangkok, she said quietly. Then: There’s only one flight to Bangkok today and it’s leaving in forty minutes.

  That soon?

  Yes, at ten past ten.

  Are you sure?

  That’s the only flight to Bangkok.

  Damn it. Which check-in desk?

  Fifteen. That way. You might just catch them.

  Danny headed in the direction the woman had indicated. He was almost running. He read the numbers on the yellow signs, counted down. The signs above the desks showed the flight numbers and departure times. There it was: ten past ten.

  He went over to the stewardess at the Bangkok check-in desk.

  The flight to Bangkok, have all the passengers checked in already?

  Are you here to check in, sir?

  No, I’m here to see someone off.

  Check-in started just after seven.

  And?

  I’ll have a look.

  The woman moved her mouse and checked the screen. There’s just one passenger who hasn’t gone through yet. An Englishman. Is that who you’re looking for?

  No.

  Then I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.

  Thanks anyway.

  You can see the aeroplanes from the observation deck, the woman said, pointing at the escalators.

  He went back to the departure hall, headed up the escalator and followed the signs to the observation deck. Outside, he leant over the railing and looked at the planes. There were several out there, but he didn’t know the flight number or the airline. He stood there for a while, watching the planes as they trundled to the runway. Then he went back inside.

  He walked past a refreshment area and saw Gerard Varon sitting in his wheelchair at a low table outside a snack bar. He was wearing a suit with a pink tie and was talking to a man of his own age, who was also in a suit. There were three younger men and a woman with them. One of them was a black guy Danny knew by sight.

  He walked past the table. Gerard spotted him. He looked at Danny for a moment before raising his hand. Danny, he said.

  Danny stopped.

  You missed her.

  Danny didn’t respond.

  Shame, said Gerard.

  He stared at the man in the wheelchair, tried to work out from his body language and his expression what was really going on, but it didn’t help. He walked over to the table. Gerard took his hand, gave it a firm shake and, smiling broadly, introduced Danny to the others. One of my better boxers, he added.

  He turned to Danny. Did you get stuck in the traffic?

  I had the wrong time.

  It changed. Didn’t she call you?

  No.

  She said she was going to call. Because you wanted to be here. They changed the time of the flight and she only found out yesterday. She phoned to ask if we could give her a lift. I ha
d to come out here anyway.

  Danny stood beside the wheelchair, towering above Gerard. No one pulled a chair over for him and he didn’t want to take one himself.

  Shame, Gerard said again. He looked over at the man on the other side of the table. See that guy? He’s a middleweight champion from Los Angeles. He’s got a plane to catch too.

  The American boxer nodded at Danny.

  In my line of work, you spend half your time sitting in the office, Gerard said, and the other half at the airport.

  Danny looked out at the planes behind the large windows. In the distance, he saw one taking off.

  Gerard looked up at him and asked: How’s the training going?

  Good.

  You on schedule?

  Yes, he said. He knelt down, put his hand on the arm of the wheelchair and said: When’s that Argentinean coming to Europe?

  Ramos?

  Yes.

  In plenty of time for the fight, said Gerard.

  *

  The sun shines in the wing mirror and streams in through the rear window, its warm light pushing them northwards. The car follows its own shadow as it glides over the tarmac. Road signs flash past, showing the distance to Paris. He speeds up. The numbers on the signs are counting down. They fly past the places whose names he saw on the way to Pamplona.

  Have I thanked you yet? Robert asks.

  What for?

  For driving me home.

  Danny rubs at the steering wheel. Robert manoeuvres himself into a different position, puts a hand on Danny’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.

  Thank you.

  His foot twitches on the accelerator, as though he can shake off the hand by pushing down on the pedal. The hand slides away. He feels its weight on his shoulder for a long time afterwards. He sees the images of Ragna and Varon and he squeezes his eyes shut and takes it. For the first time, he takes it, and for the first time, a thought comes to him that feels right for the direction they’re travelling in.

  He says: I’d do everything differently.

  What would you do differently?

  Everything, if I had the chance.

  I don’t follow you.

  You asked if I’d do the same again and I said yes. But that’s not true. I’d do everything differently.

  Robert looks over at him, shifts his leg. Then he looks back at the tarmac.

  Yeah, all of it. Danny sniffs. He slides his hands around to the bottom of the wheel and back up to the top.

  *

  Just concentrate on getting ready for the fight, Varon had said to him at the airport. She’ll be back before you know it.

  So he did. As well as the usual evenings, he trained three afternoons a week and one morning. He dedicated himself to his training, improved his condition, worked on his explosive power, did lots of running and exercises to keep his body supple.

  He often thought about her, but she didn’t get in touch.

  In mid-May, summer suddenly arrived. Danny kept on training in the boxing school’s stuffy gym. Through the open windows, he could hear sounds from the tables outside the bar across the road, chairs scraping, people talking. The clink of glasses on a tray. Two dogs barking at each other.

  He reached his maximum training levels three weeks before the fight. At the end of one of the training days, he realized he couldn’t take it any longer and phoned Gerard Varon’s office. Varon asked if everything was okay.

  Yeah, fine, he said.

  Is there something you need?

  He said no.

  Gerard asked him a few more things about his training and about the fight in Germany. The line went quiet for a moment. Then Danny asked: Have you heard from Ragna?

  She phoned once, Gerard replied. To say she’d got there okay. And another time to say everything was fine.

  Danny was silent.

  If she phones again, shall I get her to call you?

  Yes.

  Okay? I can’t do much more than that for you, son.

  It’s fine.

  I’ll tell her then, said Gerard. Bye, Danny. He rang off.

  But she didn’t call. He thought it might be difficult to call from Thailand. He asked Richard if he’d ever been to Asia. Or if he knew what the connections were like there. The phone connections. But Rich had never been and neither had Ron. Rich said: My dad sometimes used to go to Japan and Taiwan. He always told us not to expect him to call. I tried once and I just got an operator on the line, going on and on. If I hadn’t hung up, I’d still be sitting there now, listening to the silly cow.

  *

  The music fades. After a few commercials, there’s a beep and a woman’s voice reads the news in French. Danny looks at the radio, at the lights and the buttons. His hand’s on the gearstick, ready to give the radio a thump. His eyes scan the dashboard and then slide back to the road. The Renault in front of them must be twenty years old. Danny changes gear, steers into the left-hand lane and lets the engine drown out the newsreader’s voice.

  *

  Rich showed him a cardboard tube. He took off the lid and slid out a roll of posters. Take a look at these, mate.

  Danny watched as he unrolled one of the posters. He was on the left, Ramos on the right. Above their heads were some words in English. He looked at the Argentinean. He had a square jaw, a scar on his cheek, dark eyes and blond hair. They both had naked torsos and were looking straight into the camera.

  They just got here, said Rich. What do you think?

  That hair has got to be dyed, said Danny.

  Not necessarily.

  Danny took another look. He snorted.

  There are lots of Germans in Argentina, you know. They’ve got plenty of blond people over there.

  Yeah, but that’s dyed, said Danny.

  Richard rolled up the poster and slid it back into the tube with the others.

  I’m going to put a few of them up, he said.

  The day of the fight was approaching. Danny could sense the tension growing, felt it in his stomach as he came into the boxing school. He’d shifted the emphasis of the training sessions to sparring and was planning a morning of intensive work. He warmed up with some skipping. The red rope was swishing in front of his eyes when Pavel came in. He shouted something from the corridor and disappeared into the changing room. A few minutes later, he came into the gym in his training gear. He turned on the interval bell and they started their programme. First a series of jabs, which Danny did at seventy-five per cent. Relax, relax, Pavel kept on saying. Keep your calm. He held the pads tightly and blocked Danny’s jabs. After the bell, he said: I give that Ramos five rounds.

  The bell rang again, for a new interval. He repeated a series of left, left, right hook, with the last jab an uppercut that Pavel blocked with his glove at chin level.

  Pavel said: No time between the jabs.

  Danny jabbed.

  The bell went.

  Good, said Pavel. Good work. Danny’s black T-shirt was dripping with sweat. They took a break. He fetched his water bottle and passed it to Pavel.

  Could you take the top off?

  Pavel opened the bottle, handed it back, and Danny squirted water into his mouth. It dripped down his chin and onto the floor.

  He’s going to be a happy man.

  Who?

  Varon. This is seventy-five per cent. If you give it a hundred in Germany, maybe even a little more, he’ll be delighted.

  He knows what I can do.

  That’s true. I was talking to him about you just now, in one of those cafés round the corner.

  Varon? You spoke to Varon?

  Yes. He has a high opinion of you.

  What did you say?

  That you’re doing well.

  The bell rang loudly.

  Now another series, said Pavel. Left, left, bend your knees, and a right hook straight on the body.

  Holding the pads firmly, he stood opposite Danny, his left leg in front of his right. They worked through the series. No time between jabs, Pav
el repeated again and again. Danny flashed his gloves in and out, pulling them cleanly back to his face.

  After the bell, Danny asked: What else did he say?

  What about?

  About the fight.

  He said that more than half of the tickets have already been sold.

  Danny pressed a glove to his ear. Other than Pavel’s breathing, there was no sound. No noise from outside, no people in the corridor or in the canteen. Danny thought about Ragna and about Gerard Varon. For a moment, he felt genuine pity for the man, who was grey and getting old.

  He said: That’s nice for him. His voice was softer.

  Yeah, Pavel agreed.

  They waited for the clock and, just before the bell rang, Pavel said: Yeah, life’s treating the boss well.

  What do you mean?

  Told me he’s going to be a daddy.

  Danny looked at him.

  Pavel said: He was eating cake with that girlfriend of his and he showed me the ultrasound. One of those printout things on shiny paper, you know. They’d just had it done.

  Which girlfriend?

  That Asian girl.

  Danny stood there, stunned.

  Pavel carried on talking, said it was quite an achievement for a man in his condition, if you thought about it. He said he was pleased for him and asked Danny if he’d already heard the news, because he wasn’t saying anything. Then Pavel said something else, but the sound seemed to be absorbed by the walls.

  Come on, said Pavel.

  Danny just stood there.

  Another round or do you want to do some stuff on the wall pads?

  Pavel walked over to the black pad on the wall. When he turned around, Danny was taking off his second glove and throwing it into the box by the wall. He unwrapped the bandages, pulled the loops over his thumbs and dropped them on the floor.

  Which café are they at? he asked.

  *

  It’s night. The motorway up ahead is dark. Red rear lights hover at regular intervals in front of their car. They approach a petrol station with a shop.

  Need a rest? asks Robert. Or do you want something to eat?

  Danny nods, takes the exit and parks in one of the bays. The car park’s deserted. Danny picks up the water bottle and drinks. He hands it to Robert. They leave the doors open. Danny puts his left foot on the ground, moves his other foot around to loosen up his leg muscles.