I trusted her. For the first time, I felt like she was my friend.
While my mom got dressed to go out, Roxana called the house to tell me the scrimmage was cancelled because of the rain, but the meeting was still on.
“It’s better this way,” she said. “You’ll have time to rest your leg, and we can find a replacement for Sofía.”
“Sofía left? Ay, our defense is destroyed.”
“We’ll find someone.”
“We need more than someone. We’ll need subs.”
“Let’s talk more at the meeting,” she said. “Don’t be late. Write down the address . . .”
My mom made a sign for me to hurry. I hadn’t imagined she’d be ready so soon. I lowered my voice so she wouldn’t hear me. “Send me a text. I got a new phone. Here’s the number.”
Roxana’s surprise traveled through the line. “What? How?”
“Pablo.” Roxana didn’t press me for more information, and I left it at that.
“The taxi is waiting,” my mom called. I hung up and joined her outside. The rain had stopped, but the fog was thick. I was basically inhaling water.
“A taxi? How far are we going, Mami?”
She pressed her lips together and winked at me. “You’ll see.”
In the taxi, she turned to the window with wonder, as if she had forgotten how powerful a Santa Rosa storm could be and how the city looked with its face washed. How long was it since she’d been out beyond Circunvalación?
We arrived at a nondescript house in Arroyito just as Central’s game was starting. The streets were deserted, but I felt the energy and anticipation radiating from every house on the block as fans gathered around TVs, radios, computers, and phones.
An older lady opened the door. She smelled like cigarettes and roses. Seeing my mom, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Hola, Miriam,” my mom said, a smile in her voice.
“Isabelita, nena! It’s been too long! Since . . .”
My mom and the woman shared a charged look. Words seemed insufficient to describe the last time they’d seen each other. Then the woman turned her attention to me. Her eyes roved over me.
I averted my gaze as she scrutinized me, but her features were already imprinted in my mind. The deep wrinkles crisscrossing her face and the bright red lipstick contrasting with her white skin were not the marks of a witch, but there was something about her that screamed the word. Hair too golden to be natural framed her face in stiff curls.
“Nice to see the woman you’ve become, Camila.” She had a deep smoker’s voice. She moved out of the way so we could follow her into her house. “Last time your mom brought you here, you were seven months old and had pata de cabra.” Her fingers gently touched my shoulder, urging me inside. Electricity zipped along my spine, stopping at the base of my back. I didn’t remember this woman, but something inside me did. The door clicked closed behind us.
I tried to catch my mom’s eye, but she didn’t notice.
A set of rattan chairs and a sofa were the only furniture in the living room. A white cat peeked at me from the kitchen, but when I smiled at it, it hid behind a vase of lush devil’s ivy.
“Carmelita likes you, but she’s shy,” the woman said. “She likes bright, pretty things.”
My mom cleared her throat. “Thanks for seeing us so soon. This is urgent.”
Miriam scanned me up and down. Her yellowish teeth flashed briefly in a sad smile. “You got it bad, don’t you?”
I felt myself burning up. The image of Diego kissing me on the beach flashed in my mind, and Miriam laughed, clapping her hands.
“No, it’s not that.” My mom spoke too loudly to sound natural. “She has a sprained ankle. The doctor won’t be in until Monday, and by then, you might cure her already?”
After a nod, Miriam motioned for us to take a seat. “You know better than that, Isabelita. I don’t cure. It all depends on your faith and the will of the Lord. I’m just an instrument in the saints’ hands.”
“Which saints?” I asked, looking around to see if there was an altar, but she didn’t even have a cross on the wall.
Miriam shook her head. “The saints that guard you. I can see their protection all around you, bonita. The prayers of so many are layered upon your head.” She hovered her hand over my hair. I felt a current of energy, of warmth, flow from her palm to my head. I shivered.
“It’s the left leg?” she asked, her eyes looking beyond me. “A strained muscle, swollen tendons in your ankle.”
I nodded, and she grabbed a handful of rice from a porcelain bowl that sat on the table. I looked at my mom for an explanation, and she smiled nervously.
Miriam dropped the rice into a cup of water. Immediately, most of it sank to the bottom, but five grains rose to the surface, making a circle that spun and spun.
The hairs on my arms prickled. Once again, I looked at my mom for an explanation. In reply, she placed a calming hand over mine. Miriam muttered under her breath, and a scent like a summer breeze enveloped us, bringing the smell of the Pampas’s wildflowers and hierbabuena.
For a second, my whole body tingled. When the rice stopped spinning, Miriam took my hand firmly and closed her eyes. She muttered a prayer. Her nails dug into my flesh. I couldn’t catch the words, but I felt they were good. Light came in through the window, falling on the three of us like a blessing.
When she was finished, Miriam smiled. She looked tired, the wrinkles under her murky green eyes more pronounced. “I’ll pray again tomorrow and Monday,” she said. “You don’t have to be here for it, but try to rest the leg as much as you can.”
“Will this work?”
Just like the boy who had sold me the estampita, Miriam shrugged. “It depends on your faith.”
My mom opened her purse and took out a roll of bills, which she placed on the table.
Miriam’s eyes dropped. “You don’t have to, Isabel.”
“I want to,” my mom said. “You have cured my babies of empachos, pata de cabra, evil eye, and more. And me? You saved me last time. You helped me with my marriage, and I’ve never given you enough. Now that I can, this is the least I can do.”
The corners of Miriam’s mouth turned down. “Isabelita, that atadura . . . I regret doing it for you. It tied your husband down, but it tied you down more. I see it in your face.”
My mom’s eyes flickered in my direction, as if I were a child to be shielded from the truth. But I’d been a witness to her struggles with my father all my life.
My mom led me to the door, holding my hand tightly, and before I walked out, Miriam whispered in my ear, “Lies have short legs, guapa. Don’t forget, or you won’t run.”
23
The street that led to the heart of Barrio Rucci was so crowded, the taxi driver had to let us out a block away from the community center. This wasn’t an ideal meeting place, but it was free.
When we got out of the car, my mom looked across the street to the Natividad del Señor parish and crossed herself. Then she followed me. I tried to walk slowly, hyperaware of my injured leg, but I was too excited to hold myself back. The two most important women in my life, my mother and Coach Alicia, were about to meet for the first time. To my surprise, my leg didn’t even hurt that much. Maybe it was my imagination, or maybe Miriam’s prayers and rice were already working.
My mom and I followed the smell of fried bolitas de fraile and hot chocolate and the sounds of girlish chatter to the main room of the community center.
Surrounded by players and parents, Coach Alicia looked like she hadn’t slept in days. When she saw me, relief flashed across her face. Her shoulders relaxed. She put her phone down on a table and came up to me, her arms outstretched. “Furia,” she exclaimed. “You’re here! You’re here!” She hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek.
The self-assurance my mother had shown t
hat morning was gone. She eyed Coach Alicia timidly.
“This is my mom,” I said, standing between them. “Mami, this is Coach Alicia.”
The two shook hands, and then Mamá smiled a little more confidently and leaned in to kiss Coach on the cheek.
Coach beamed at her and then said, “Thank you for letting Camila play. Five of my players have dropped from the team.”
“Five?” I asked, dismayed. “Who?”
Roxana walked to my side and draped her arm over my shoulder. “You know about Sofía and Marisa. The others are Abril, Gisela, and Evelin.”
“What are we going to do?”
Coach pursed her lips and pointed to the other side of the room with her chin. “Rufina, the girl from the Royals, brought a few of her teammates along. Carolina, Julia, Silvana . . . I forgot the other names.”
Roxana added, “Milagros and Agustina.”
My mom craned her neck to take a better look at Milagros and Agustina, who were holding hands, and when she turned back to Coach, she asked, “Are those girls . . . a couple?”
Coach Alicia put a hand up and said, “Señora, my players’ personal lives are private and not subject to scrutiny. I think more than one person here is happy to have a full roster, right, Hassan?”
I flinched. “I didn’t complain at all, Coach.”
“I was just asking,” my mom said, shrugging one shoulder.
I elbowed Roxana, who quickly changed the subject. “Carolina is a goalie, though. Another goalie? Aren’t you happy with me?”
“I’m delighted with you.” Coach laughed and ruffled Roxana’s hair. “We need a plan B just in case, Chinita. But don’t worry, you and Furia are irreplaceable.”
My mom cleared her voice. “Furia?” Her eyes shone when she looked at me.
Roxana said, “Look at this, Señora Hassan.” She placed her phone in front of my mom, showing her a video. The reporter, Luisana, spoke in the foreground, and images of my last goal of the championship game played behind her.
“They showed it on TV?” Mamá asked.
“They put it up online,” Coach Alicia said. “It didn’t go viral, but it’s created some buzz for the team. Rufina recruited some Royals who know our style of play, but some players came from as far as Pergamino.”
Yael joined our group. She watched the video play on a loop on Roxana’s phone and said, “With la Furia and Coach Alicia, we have a good chance.”
My mom looked at me as if I’d turned into a butterfly.
Suddenly, whispers rippled through all the Central fans in the room. The newcomers all seemed to be Lepers. No one screamed in victory, but the look of glee on their faces was obvious.
My mom checked her phone. “Ay, no,” she whispered. “Colón just scored. Central’s down by two now.”
I locked eyes with Rufina. She smirked, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Coach Alicia saw everything and in her megaphonic voice said, “No, no, no. Señoritas, we’re not doing this. When we’re together, we’re all Eva María. There won’t be any Newell’s or Central here.”
“What about Boca and River? Or Independiente and Vélez?” said a dark girl who towered over everyone else in the room, including Coach.
“The goalie, Carolina,” Roxana whispered in my ear.
Coach sent Carolina a look that made the girl shrivel. That’d teach her not to be cheeky with Alicia Aimar.
“Like I said, when we’re together, we’re all Eva María, and if anyone has a problem with that, she can walk out the door right now. We need players, but I assure you, if I send out a public call, I’ll have enough candidates to make three teams. Don’t try me.” Her gaze swept across the room, and no one moved, not even the parents or Rufina’s boyfriend or Luciano Durant.
There was another chime, and my mom looked down at her phone. She closed her eyes briefly but didn’t say anything. Her reaction could only mean that Colón had scored again. Three to zero. Poor Pablo.
Coach Alicia continued, “Like I said, today is the last day to turn in the forms and the first payment. We’ll play hard, play to win, and have fun. Claro?”
“Like water,” the original Eva María players intoned. The newcomers joined in a beat too late, but now they knew for next time.
Parents, including my mom, swarmed around Coach with questions. Someone started playing cumbia through a speaker, and before long, the gathering resembled a party. Two of the newcomers—I assumed Milagros and Agustina—danced in perfect synchronicity.
The memory of Diego and me dancing by the river made me blush.
Roxana and Yael stood next to me, the three of us surveying the bubbling excitement rippling through the players, old and new.
“This team is stacked,” I said, rubbing my hands.
“If everyone is one hundred percent by December, I think we have a chance,” Yael said. “How’s your leg, Furia?”
“My mom took me to a curandera. I should be better by Monday.” I laughed, but she lifted her eyebrows in plain disapproval.
Luciano walked up to us and added, “You still need to go to Doctor Gaudio. He can make sure you’re totally okay.” If anyone knew about being cautious with an injury like mine, it was Luciano. “In any case,” he continued. “I told your mom I’m here to help you or anyone with anything you might need.”
“Why, Mago?” I asked, unable to stop myself. “What’s in it for you?”
He shrugged. “I want to coach. Why not coach women’s fútbol? Once you explode, everyone will want a piece of the phenomenon.”
Roxana stared at him.
My mom stepped into the group and, holding my arm and Luciano’s, said, “Camila, since Yael lives in our barrio, Luciano agreed to be your ride to and from practices to make sure you’re safe.”
“On your motorcycle?” I asked, imagining the three of us squeezed on his Yamaha.
“I can give her a ride,” Roxana said, an edge to her voice that my mom didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve been doing it for a year.”
“I can just take the bus,” I offered.
But my mom wouldn’t listen. “Thank you, Roxana, but I don’t want you to drive all the way into el barrio and then out again. It’s settled. One hand washes the other, and both wash the face. I told Luciano I’d pay for the gas for his new car.”
“New car?”
Luciano shrugged, his freckled face mottled with embarrassment. “Just a Fiat 147. It’s not a BMW.” Like there had been an invocation, Diego’s presence suddenly loomed gigantic among us. I avoided everyone’s eyes. Luciano continued, “But it does the job. I’ll be driving Yael anyway, so really, Furia, it won’t be a problem.”
“In that case, I guess I’m in.” My mom smiled at this small victory.
Roxana glared at me. “I’ll go tell my mom not to worry, then. She was already making plans for nothing.”
My mom, seeing Mrs. Fong for the first time, exclaimed, “María!” and ran after them.
Luciano stared at Roxana’s back.
He liked her.
Poor boy. He didn’t have a chance.
I hadn’t felt this close to my mom since elementary school. In the taxi back to the barrio and then at home, she didn’t stop talking.
“I have to say, I’m impressed with Coach Alicia. She has a good system. And the respect you girls have for her is palpable! Of course, the respect is mutual, because she stood by those two girls holding hands in front of everyone. Times are changing.” She sounded like she’d been asleep for decades and was just waking up to a new world.
For a moment, I considered sitting down next to her, putting my head in her lap, and telling her about Diego and me, and then, if I was brave enough, asking her what Miriam had meant about an atadura, a binding. But after we ate, she turned the TV on. The commentators were shredding Central.
“What’s wrong with the S
tallion?” Luisana asked.
“What does she know about fútbol, anyway?” my mom hissed from her worktable. But Luisana had been the one to compliment my skills.
Another commentator added, “Pablo had a great opener, but this game was laughable. Lately, Hassan hasn’t been the player we saw last season in Rosario. He looks tired; he can’t run. Look at that!” The TV showed a clip of Pablo missing a high pass. “He lost every ball he touched.”
My mom closed her eyes in agony, and then she switched the TV off. She left the dress unfinished in the kitchen. Quietly, she locked herself in her room, and when I got the message that she wouldn’t return, I went to my own.
Nico followed me. I wanted to comfort my mother, tell her that those commentators had never stepped on a pitch and didn’t know what it took to perform at the top every game. But no matter what I said, it wouldn’t be enough.
In my room, I looked at my phone for the first time all day. Roxana would believe that Pablo had bought it for me, but my mom would know who it was really from.
I turned it on. The screen glowed in the semidarkness of my room as notification after notification popped up and made the phone vibrate. Nico’s ears perked in alarm.
“Shhh,” I warned him, a finger to my lips. “Don’t give me away. It’s that silly boy sending me stupid love notes.” I covered my mouth with a fist to stop the giggles from escaping.
Part of me felt guilty that I was euphoric even though my brother had played an awful game, but how could I help it? My mom knew about my team and supported me, and Diego loved me, even if he was far away.
Miriam’s warning echoed in my mind, but I pushed it down, down, down to fester along with my worry for my brother and dread over what my father would say if he ever found out my mom was my agent and manager.
I unlocked the phone and scrolled to Diego’s first message. It was a picture of him, his hair rumpled, his eyes tired but still shining. The ocean inside me rippled with pleasure.
Just arrived. The mister wants me to report to practice tomorrow. I can’t wait but I think I have a cold. Wish me good luck. When’s your next game? Score a goal for me and I’ll score for you! Te quiero.
Furia Page 17