Pisgah Road

by Mahyar A Amouzegar

  “Y’don’ ‘ave to like football, John…”

  “It’s a good game, John, and I need to play it tonight,” Gabrielle added with what I had learned was her customary comforting and empathetic tone.

  John nodded and didn’t object anymore, but the emphasis was lost on Cybil who said: “I’ll sit this out, if you don’t mind.” Daniel was about to say something but Fionna leaned over and whispered something in Cybil’s ear and she replied, “Oh, I didn’t know. Of course.”

  “Are we done with all the melodrama?” asked Daniel and when no one said anything, he continued, “We need ten players for each team. We have,” he looked around and counted, “where the fuck is Joyce?”

  “I’ll get her,” Davies offered.

  “Tell people downstairs if they want to play they can be Luton Town and no fuckin’ argument.”

  Davies nodded and ran downstairs.

  “We’ll have ten with Joyce. The game is simple: each person will represent one of the real players in the Arsenal team tonight with the exception of the goalie. Pick your player.”

  “I’ll be Stewart Robson,” I shouted out immediately, so desperate to redeem myself and to show off my knowledge after a disastrous night.

  “Y’know Stewy Robson?”

  “Of course. He’s a midfielder who joined the team in 1981.”

  “Alright then. Marty is Robson.”

  It felt good to be ahead for a change and I thought I saw Gabrielle give an approving nod too. I was even more elated when she chose to be Brian McDermott who was forward playing on the same side as Robson. We went through the selection and by and by each person had an assigned player except John.

  “I’ll be Pat Jennings,” said John.

  “Can’t be Jennings, you wanker.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s the goalie. You’ll be Woodcock.”

  “But…”

  “Take it, John,” Fionna offered. “He’ll probably make a goal tonight.”

  “Okay, I’ll be Woodcock.”

  “Y’re a fuckin’ woodcock,” Daniel whispered.

  Everyone made a paper nameplate and one way or another stuck it on their clothes. The other team showed up about the same time. The game was about to start so Daniel went through the rules rather quickly.

  “For you newbies: The game has lots of rules so you’ll just have to learn them as we go along, but the basics are that every time the ball is passed from one player to another player of the same team, you either slap the person or kiss them. The person who sends the ball makes the decision. If it’s a turnover, then the person who gave away the ball gets a slap. If you make a goal you can ask for kisses from your whole team or slap the opposite team. You take a shot for every kiss.”

  There were several other rules about free throws, free kicks, penalties, and so many other situations that I was lost. We cleared the room and turned on the TV. And everyone took his or her place, as though we were playing the real game. Gabrielle smiled to assure me that I would be okay. She was wrong. The game started and the ball came to me from Davies and before I knew it I was slapped hard across the face.

  “Fuck,” I said, but no one was paying any attention as Mithra kissed Daniel and then Daniel slapped John for good measure. John didn’t know what to do because Woodcock had kicked the ball at the goal but the goalie had caught it. He was expecting a reaction but nothing happened, and there was a moment of respite and drinking while the other team had the ball.

  It went on like this for ten minutes and I was slapped by Davies and then followed by Tony Morrison who wasn’t even on our team, but under some obscure rule, Daniel allowed it. The ball went from my player to Gabrielle’s and I was too late to kiss her because McDermott had passed the ball to Woodcock so she kissed John on the cheek. I was happy that it was just a quick peck on the cheek and not the kind that Joyce and Mithra freely offered.

  Woodcock made the first goal of the evening as Fionna had predicted and John was elated that he had the option of kissing everybody or slapping the opposite team. He wisely chose the kissing and each and every girl from our team gave him a kiss. He was walking on air, even after a couple of heavy slaps from Dan Carpenter who was annoyed by John kissing Mithra.

  It was going well and my head was buzzing from drinking two more bottles of cider, and occasional soft kisses. After a couple of heavy hits in the beginning, their way of initiating the three of us to the game, the rest of the punishment was more ritualistic than real, and each one was more or less followed by a kiss or two from Joyce and Fionna, but sadly not from Gabrielle. I was getting to like the game until disaster hit.

  Luton Town was attacking our goal and my player in his haste to protect the goal kicked the ball straight into his own goal. It wasn’t clear at first but the replay showed my player had in fact tied the game. Everyone was stunned, even the kids who were playing on the other team. They may have been representing the players from Luton, but their real loyalty was to the Arsenal team. They all looked at me as if I was the one who made the mistake. The punishment wasn’t kind and my face throbbed for the rest of the night despite the alcohol-induced numbness. After the goal, we all collapsed on the floor exhausted from the game that was being played miles away.

  “Let’s stop,” Gabrielle said. “I don’t need it anymore.”

  I was expecting Daniel to protest, but he nodded and no one else disagreed. After all, Daniel had designed the game for Gabrielle. It was Gabrielle’s choice to stop it.

  I couldn’t understand the significance of such a horrid, painful game then, but years later I learned how physical pain is needed to reduce emotional grief. Your heart aches so much that it turns to a strange numbness and you don’t feel human anymore. You feel dead inside and nothing you do changes that. Gabrielle must have felt the same and Daniel in his wisdom as a seventeen year old created a game that offered pain and joy that somehow gave strength to Gabrielle. We never played the game again, even though a few years later I needed it more than ever. So in its absence, I simply ran away from everything that mattered and I stayed away until now. I came back to London again to face my own pain.

  Final score that night: Arsenal 2, Luton Town 1.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I

  Gabrielle and I stand in the lobby of Cerulean Hotel and stare at each other, trying to capture the past and present in a single moment. I’m happy to see her, far more than I had expected. She leans over and kisses me on the cheek and then gives me a hug. “You look good, Marty.”

  It’s been ages since I’ve been called that name and I relish the sound of it. It’s part of my connection with Gabrielle and all that goes with it. The receptionist hands her another paper. She puts on her glasses to sign the registry and I catch a glimpse of her eyes. They are still as shiny as before, dancing as she signs the paper and collects her credit card. She hasn’t changed. She is the same wispy girl with thin rosy lips and long narrow nose. She is simple. She is one of us.

  She turns around and stares at me. She says in her warm voice, “It’s been a long time.”

  She has the same gentle and comforting voice, the type that you want to close your eyes to and simply listen. It still has the soft melodic tone that brings a sense of clarity and calm. Is it possible to fall in love with someone’s voice? Her eyes twinkle again and I’m happy she is here in London with me. She gives me another hug. It has been almost a month since another human being has touched me. It’s amazing how our body and mind starve without another human touch. I had had it with the people after my mother’s and then my father’s funeral. I had to be brave for my father first and then I had to keep my sanity by staying strong for myself. I need her touch now.

  But, I pull back. I don’t want any confusion. She allows it. I’m sure she wants the same thing. We’re here for London. I’m here to blow ten grand — almost eight gone, so only two and something to go.

  “I’ve missed you, Marty,” she tells me. I tell her I missed her too.

&nb
sp; We don’t know what else to say so we both grab at her small suitcase. I reach it first and she allows me. She is on the fifth floor so we enter a small elevator. We ride in silence.

  The elevator is small, but has enough room for us to have some separation. So we stand apart even though it requires us to stand very close to the sidewalls. The plaque on the paneling indicates a maximum occupancy of four but that assumes that these are very fit people. It’s a modern looking elevator with cobalt lights on the ceiling and mirrors on the sides and on the door. The light provides a calming effect, and as the door closes we see each other in the mirror bathed in blue lights, each awkwardly staring ahead. We smile shyly and then Gabrielle slowly shuffles over with an exaggerated movement. It makes us laugh, but the tension is still there.

  I press the elevator button and it moves gently and silently upward. She walks ahead as soon as the doors open and unlocks the door to her room. The numbers on the doors are glowing in dimmed azure color giving the hallway the same feel as the elevator. She enters the room and I follow. It’s a small room, but nicely decorated. The walls are painted white with cerulean molding. There’s a large photo of central London above the headboard. It depicts one of those rare sunny days with a blue sky and shiny buildings. The bed takes most of the room but they have managed to put a short dresser and a TV in front of the bed. And on the side of the bed there was a nightstand with a fancy CD player.

  I put the suitcase on the bed. I’m getting hungry and she says she is too. We both know that we can’t simply sit in her room and reminisce about the past, at least not yet. The room, like the elevator, doesn’t give enough space between us. We need action. We need movement. We need to be out there with the big city between us.

  “Do you need to change?” I know the answer, but thought I should ask. I can’t allow myself to assume anything.

  “Just a quick change. Just ten minutes.”

  I tell her I’d wait for her in the lobby and she doesn’t object. I know it will be at least thirty minutes. I take the elevator down and sit in the lobby for a moment. I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m waiting for someone. I can’t just sit. I need to read or drink. I feel self-conscious when I sit somewhere with nothing to do. Daniel could sit on a park bench for hours. He could sit on a park bench for hours, but had no patience for traffic lights. He’d fidget and then stare at the red light willing it to change. He would inch his car forward as if to gain advantage over the other drivers. He would practically push the car in front of him if the driver would delay even for a moment. But he had no problem sitting in a store while his girlfriend shopped for hours. He loved watching people. He gained a certain indescribable energy from their movements and their interactions.

  I don’t want to order anything from the hotel. I don’t want to eat a single morsel from a hotel. I’m fidgety and the receptionist notices me. He’s tall and very thin, almost anorexic. He has a buzz cut and is wearing a black t-shirt with black pants. If he were heavier and less feminine, he would look like a stylish soldier.

  “Do you require any assistance?” He asks. He looks shy and uncomfortable, but he’s friendly.

  “Thanks, I’m just waiting,” I reply and then I think better of it and ask, “Do you recall the woman who just checked in?”

  “Of course.”

  “If she comes down before I get back, could you tell her that I have gone to Queens Arms?”

  “Of course. And should she meet you there?”

  I consider the options for a moment. “No. In fact tell her I’ve gone to a pub, but don’t tell her which one. Please ask her to wait for me here.”

  He smiles. “Most certainly, sir.”

  I nod and he nods back while holding my eyes as if assuring me that he would keep my secret. I walk out without another word.

  Queens Arms is a great pub. It’s on the same street as the Gore, both tucked away from the tourists. It was Daniel’s favorite pub. He and I used to hang there, every Friday. I leave the hotel wondering if they would still remember me. I doubt it.

  Queens Arms is a large pub and it has both inside and outside seating. The outside area is where one would normally put a parking lot but this is London. There is no such thing. Instead, there are several long wooden tables and benches. During the day, they would serve lunch outside and they have waitresses that would take your order. Nights are too busy for such service and almost no one wants to eat anyway, or if there’s any eating, it’s just basic pub food.

  There are dozens of people hanging outside the pub, each holding a pint. They hold their glass tenderly as if it’s the most precious object. They take large sips and laugh loudly. They are in little circles, huddling around each other, not wanting to be disturbed by the noise of the street.

  I look into their eyes, but they are not the same crowd as my time. There are mostly men and women in business suits looking professional. They are more like who I am now than who I was then. I could hear their conversation and it’s mostly about work, not football. A man leans his head backward to drink the last drop of liquid from his glass and part of his hair falls backward exposing the huge bald spot that he had meticulously covered before going out. The piece of hair, like a black flag, waves in the breeze alerting every one of the man’s vanity. He continues talking loudly oblivious to the waving flag. He hasn’t fooled anyone in the first place, but he now looks ridiculous though all his friends pretended not to notice. He wouldn’t have survived in our group.

  I walk inside. All the tables are taken here too and there are more people standing around with their drinks. The bar sits on the side of the room with its counter forming an L-shape. Tonight they have five bartenders and despite their numbers they are very busy. There are more people sitting and standing around the counter. I look across the room and note that our old table is occupied. The room is thick with conversation and smoke that hovers lazily above our heads. It’s invisible to everyone else, but I could see the white cloud coming in and out of our lungs as if we’re in a refrigerated room. I had stopped going to bars in the US after developing an aversion to public smoking, but the dank smell of beer and smoke is welcoming now. I push my way through the masses of people towards the bar. I don’t know any of the bartenders. I’m just like anybody else now, no longer a regular. I shout my order several times before the bartender could hear me over the noise of the room. I order a pint of Strongbow. The cider is named after a Norman knight, Richard de Clare, nicknamed “Strongbow.” The bartender hands me my drink and I put three large gold coins in his hands. It feels like medieval time handing off gold coins, but I bet a pint of cider was not five-quid then. I have my drink but nowhere to sit. I walk outside and sit on the side of the building. I take a large swig and it brings back memories.

  II

  I am with Daniel, chatting about football and commenting on the girls who walk by and don’t pay any attention to us. It’s Friday, September 12, 1986 and Arsenal was going to play the next day, so Queens Arms was packed and everybody was talking about the game. The date is indelibly marked in my memory, since it was the first time Daniel bared and exposed me to myself.

  We were sitting outside to get some cool autumn breeze and to get away from the ruddy businessmen inside. Daniel was sure Arsenal would win, but I had no faith in them so we had agreed to stop talking about the game as not to jinx it.

  “She’s too ‘oogly anyway,” Daniel said after a girl responded to him with the middle finger.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I wish everyone was as ugly as her.”

  “Fionna, now she’s a babe.”

  “Who?”

  “Y’know who. Just ‘cause she ‘ates you, doesn’t mean she ain’t a babe, right?”

  It was always exaggerated. Fionna didn’t really hate me. The whole thing had been blown out of proportion and it sort of stuck on us. It created a role for the two of us and for some strange reason we decided to stay in character when we were around others. It gave them something to talk about and it
gave Fionna and me a way of having a good public banter.

  “I suppose, but she’s such a bitch. I don’t know what Gabrielle sees in her.”

  I didn’t mean it but Daniel expected nothing less of me.

  “She ain’t that bad and she’s a great kisser, ain’t she?”

  He winked and I was jealous. I always envied the ease with which Daniel made friends. He stayed true and people were attracted to him, despite his serious demeanor and his impatience. He’s comfortable in his own skin and that puts others at ease as well. Fionna was pretty and in the great scheme of things just a regular person. There was no reason for us not to be friends and at that moment I wished we could stop this role-play. But it had been too long and everything was already defined. In the beginning she blamed me for Gabrielle spending more time with us than with her, but then she came along too and the reason was gone. I nodded as if I knew. I didn’t know, but I could imagine Fionna to be a good kisser. Daniel laughed loudly but didn’t say anything. After a few moments of silence, he went back in to get another round.

  He handed one to me when he returned and said, as if no time had passed, “Gabrielle is a good looking babe too, no?” He always ended his statement with a question mark. He looked at me expectantly.

  It was a test. I could tell it was a test. He was baiting me. I didn’t answer so he asked, “No, really, Marty. What do you think about her?”

  He was pronouncing each word and he had called me Marty, so I knew he was being earnest. It’s been a month since Adriano had gone back to Italy without a trace. Gabrielle was naturally upset, but we all believed that Adriano had ironically made himself more attractive by his callousness. Gabrielle wanted what she couldn’t have. It was true that they spent a lot of time with each other but it wasn’t serious. She never showed any real emotional bond until he left and her letters came back unopened. It was then when she claimed love. But in the end, that didn’t last long either. She was over him after a few weeks. Daniel was pressing me to take a step. He wasn’t saying it directly, but I knew what he wanted.