Do you know any poor person who doesn't pay their debts? They know we're doing them a good deed, helping others, Wilson convinced him.

Lorenzo could never have imagined when he picked Wilson up at the airport, silent, nostalgic, out of place, that he would become a daily presence in Lorenzo's life. But he admired Wilson's ability to remake himself, to find yet another formula for multiplying a euro. You are my lucky charm, Wilson would say to him. To thrive here, you need a local partner.

Daniela was the only one who didn't seem seduced by Wilson. He drinks too much. Even though after his violent outburst he'd promised to quit alcohol, she still avoided him. Lorenzo didn't talk to her about his stable partnership with Wilson; he knew that she didn't trust him. Drink emboldens, Daniela would say. I suffered through that with my papa. A man who drinks is a weak man.

Wilson justified himself to Lorenzo. That Indian girl is very uptight. What's the harm in a few drinks after work? Lorenzo tried to get more information out of him about Daniela, but Wilson was evasive. Over there I didn't know her very well, either. Or he got more mysterious, saying, I think that Indian girl is a saint. You may be right, conceded Lorenzo. Looking into Daniela's eyes is quite an experience. It's as if they wash you clean. Wilson burst out laughing.

Lorenzo feels like someone hovering over a well-protected treasure, without daring to touch it for fear it might vanish. He remains cautiously close to Daniela's fortress, searching for the way to make his decisive siege. He doesn't know if someone is observing his shy advances or if Daniela herself mocks his attentions. They could be seen as just the innocent maneuverings of a man in love, or at least that's how he sees it when he views himself from a distance.

4.

The game you dream of is always better than the actual game. The stands of old Highbury Stadium embrace the fans' constant chanting. It is some sort of pagan praying maintained in a murmur and only broken during the difficult plays. Then it rises to a roar. When they get to the grounds, he's surprised at how close the surrounding houses are, as if the stadium were an intrinsic part of the neighborhood. Dragon always told them, if you want to quiet the rival supporters, hold on to the ball. The first ten minutes, don't even worry about scoring, but keep pa.s.sing the ball, one- or two-touch, right and left, in fifteen minutes the crowd will be deflated and already whistling at their own players. Trust me, hold on to the ball, the crowd is like a petty, demanding wife who's only loyal when you're playing well.

They lose because of two goals on free kicks at the very start of the game. Even though Ariel's team put on the pressure, no s.p.a.ce opened up. The other team sent quick pa.s.ses to a striker who received them in the goal area, brought the ball down to the ground, and guarded it while he waited for a foul or the arrival of a player from the midfield.

Dragon said that soccer was a game of memory where all the situations had been seen before, but there were infinite ways to resolve them. As kids he would tell them, if you're bored on the bus, imagine what you would do in the face of a particular play, maybe one day it will save the game.

Ariel had become more integrated with the team. He dared to whistle to ask for the ball, and he noticed that during difficult plays his teammates started looking for him. His left leg was the only guarantee of escaping the defenders, a can opener against the fullbacks. That was soccer, ten against ten until someone breaks the dead heat. You lack concentration, the coach told them at halftime. We lack a system, he thought. There was no practiced model to use against the rival team. Their attack was structured like a chaotic lottery.

Coach Requero immersed himself in his notebooks. He had the Amisco system, which studied a particular player with eight cameras, then broke down the movements, a.n.a.lyzed the highs and lows of his success, and with that information the coach seemed satisfied, as if the discoverer of the theory of relativity were, in comparison with him, uninformed.

The routine: travel, concentration, game, press conference, obsessive opinions based on the most recent results, the invocation of abstract concepts like streaks, luck, crisis. In Spain they talked so much about soccer that it was impossible to emerge unscathed from the rain of words. Seventy thousand pairs of eyes fell on him when he received the ball. And there was frustration in every pair when the imagined play failed to match up to the real one.

He came back from Buenos Aires convinced he was going to break up with Sylvia. But her appearance at the airport changed everything. That long walk to the parking lot, keeping their distance, made all his desires to hold her come rushing back. Sylvia's proximity transformed everything. There was no loneliness or pressure, no anguish or anxiety, only the shadow of a full life. He was living a fake existence, in a city where he had no roots, and Sylvia had shown up and given it meaning. The waiting, the distance, the return trip, the training schedule, the hasty shower in the mornings, even his nap now had importance. Because he had someone to talk to, someone to laugh with, someone to feel close to.

Sylvia took possession of the house, of that empty, soulless house that Ariel wanted to leave as soon as possible. I have a five-year contract, they might be the best years of my life, and I don't want to spend them in this unfriendly house, pushing open these ugly doors in ugly doorframes with ugly handles, with these narrow stairs that lead to an ugly bedroom where I've never felt at home.

Now the corners of the anonymous house hide Sylvia's smile, a gesture of her hands. Even the throw pillows piled up on one end of the sofa held her presence long after she'd gone.

Ariel decided to buy an apartment in the real world, the world he had no right to be in. At least he could look at it from his terrace, like he had envied that rooftop in Belgrano Walter now enjoyed. Just like he loved the time spent with Sylvia, people-watching from a bar or from his car. It was a break from that obsessive gaze others fixed on him.

If you could see the people in the stadium, Sylvia told him one day, when you get the ball they lift their b.u.t.ts up a little off their seats, like they're levitating. It's like they're moving with you on the field, whether it's an old man with a hacking cough or a guy who smokes cigars or a teenager eating sunflower seeds. And they all fall back into their seats when you lose the ball, as if it were rehea.r.s.ed, you ruined their fantasy. It makes sense when they curse you up and down, of course...

Sylvia was watching it all for the first time. She asked questions, she wanted to know stuff, she noticed the over-the-top details that everyone else saw as normal. She repeated his answer in a television interview, noticed his constant gesture of running his hand over his sock as if it were falling down, the way he pressed his upper lip when he didn't like a play, or gazed toward the sky to avoid the stands. There were times when Ariel didn't really indulge her curiosity, responding only in monosyllables; then she felt instantly belittled. The demands on Ariel never let up. This will consume me and when there's nothing left of me that surprises her, she'll leave me behind forever, thought Ariel one day.

She recognized his moods instantly. Sometimes Ariel felt overwhelmed. He appreciated Sylvia's youthful intensity, but he needed breaks. She defined his absence as f.u.c.king soccer. Sometimes she said to him, if they took soccer away from you, you'd be empty.

Sylvia maintained the modesty of their first days together, which was attractive to Ariel. Nothing was easy and what happened the day before wasn't something that could be taken for granted the next time they got together. One afternoon, because theirs was an afternoon love, she might let Ariel caress the entire length of her body with his tongue, but the next day she might ask him to turn off the light before taking off her bra and bombachas bombachas, as she liked to say, having picked up the Argentinian word for panties. One day her hands were barriers and on another they were curious and demanding. Then, she would say things to Ariel that made him laugh unexpectedly: a d.i.c.k is a pretty absurd thing; it looks like a turkey's wattle, don't you think? Did you notice that our feet make love at their own pace, not coordinating with the rest of our bodies?

Sylvia was capable of stopping him mid-caress and saying suddenly, I know you want me to suck you off now, but I don't feel like it, okay? Or if he threw himself onto her, she'd stop him, you already ran me over once, all right. Other times she'd interrupt their long kiss before going up to his room, I think we don't know how to love each other any other way, I'm not in the mood to f.u.c.k today.

Perhaps they were adolescent games, but Ariel preferred to take part in them. He didn't want to be in charge. He was afraid, sometimes, of turning Sylvia into too s.e.xual a woman, of raising the bar of his desire too high. He remembered a teammate from his Buenos Aires team who had broken up with his lifelong girlfriend and had confessed to Ariel, somewhere between irritated and ironic, I don't know what I'm complaining about, I was the one who turned her into a wh.o.r.e, when I met her she was just a little girl, and I molded her into someone who needed to have a ready c.o.c.k nearby all the time, and she went looking for it elsewhere when I wasn't around. "Dragonfly" Arias's girlfriend cheated on him, the others said, but Ariel never forgot his complaint.

Every afternoon they went through the security check into the housing complex and Sylvia asked him for those tacky sungla.s.ses he always wore, to protect herself from the guard's gaze. They're horrible, but they pay me thirty thousand euros a year to wear them once in a while, Ariel said as he put them back in the glove compartment. Sylvia laughed. And when are they going to tattoo some brand name on your forehead, while they're at it...

Emilia, of course, had let a few hints drop to make him aware that she knew he wasn't alone at night. Today I left meat for two in the fridge. A few days ago, Sylvia had spent the night at his house. They were awoken by the sunrise. She was terrified at how her father would react. They dressed quickly. Ariel tried to calm her down. He avoided running into Emilia, who had already started to bustle about the kitchen. Ariel kept her occupied while Sylvia went to the garage unseen. On the way home, Sylvia cursed. I don't know what I'm going to say to my father. The traffic jam on the highway made everything worse. It turned them into something they didn't want to be. Her into a fraught teenager talking to her father on the phone, telling him that she had fallen asleep at a girlfriend's house. And him into an inconvenienced, shifty lover.

A little while later, he dropped her on a corner near her high school and Ariel felt ridiculous again. He read the newspaper in a cafe, surrounded by construction workers. He confirmed the greasiness of porras porras, the fried dough he had seen people eating for breakfast so many times in Madrid. One of the articles mentioned him: "Ariel Burano has seized up and he's nothing like the unstoppable young man who played in San Lorenzo. There is no trace of that player with frenetic jinks who knew how to mark the pace of the game. The Argentinian is now a sloppy player fl.u.s.tered when he has the ball at his feet." The worst thing was he was convinced everyone had read the article and agreed with it.

This Wednesday you guys are gonna win, right? said the man with sunken eyes and yellow teeth working behind the bar. Throw us a bone, come on. Ariel smiled and nodded, to rea.s.sure him. In Madrid older men had that punishing air to them, they never gave a compliment without a threat hidden behind it. This year we'll do a double or you'll all be sent to dig ditches. There was no bar that didn't have a photo of the team and a pile of sports newspapers getting stale along with the day's tapas. Soccer spread like hope or a curse. People gave it such an exaggerated importance that Ariel suspected they didn't truly care.

They lose the game. The referee marks the end with a cruel triple whistle. Ariel thinks of the guy in the cafe. They haven't been eliminated, but the next matchup makes it complicated, an Italian team or a Spanish rival that knows how to play you where it hurts. They hadn't had time to do more than look at London through the bus window, the roundabouts, the huge airport. All cities look the same to him. In Heathrow Ariel watches a family sleeping on an airport bench, their flight delayed. They look like Pakistanis. An obese woman eats chocolate bonbons. As they board, the pilot greets them with, you lost, huh? From the looks on your faces. I don't really follow football, honestly. The flight attendants seem tired. They return to Madrid after midnight, doomed to train the next day like unruly schoolboys. Amid whispers, the vice president invites a few players to have one last drink at a topless bar near Colon. Ariel isn't in the mood for anything, but the laughter of some teammate or other and the naked dancers arouse him enough to buy time in a private room with a Brazilian with a tattoo of an eagle on her back. After a short dance she gives him quick f.e.l.l.a.t.i.o. Ariel lets himself do it; anything that can separate him from Sylvia is welcome. He needs to focus on his work, get everything else out of his head. I don't want to see her anymore, I shouldn't see her anymore.

5.

Sylvia opens the door to her apartment. Her key ring is an A A encircled in metal. A gift from Mai, she explains to Dani. I don't know if my father's here. It's three in the afternoon and from the kitchen echoes the TV news theme song. Sylvia peeks into the kitchen and finds her father sitting down. h.e.l.lo, Papa, this is Dani. Come in, come in. Lorenzo stands up and extends his hand. Dani shakes it, somewhat uncomfortable. Then he sits down. There's plenty of food, says Lorenzo. Sylvia takes the plates and gla.s.ses out of the dishwasher. It is a tacit agreement she and her father have, to use the dishwasher as a cabinet, and when it's completely empty, they put the dirty dishes from the sink in there and turn it on again. encircled in metal. A gift from Mai, she explains to Dani. I don't know if my father's here. It's three in the afternoon and from the kitchen echoes the TV news theme song. Sylvia peeks into the kitchen and finds her father sitting down. h.e.l.lo, Papa, this is Dani. Come in, come in. Lorenzo stands up and extends his hand. Dani shakes it, somewhat uncomfortable. Then he sits down. There's plenty of food, says Lorenzo. Sylvia takes the plates and gla.s.ses out of the dishwasher. It is a tacit agreement she and her father have, to use the dishwasher as a cabinet, and when it's completely empty, they put the dirty dishes from the sink in there and turn it on again.

Water? asks Sylvia as she fills the pitcher from the tap. Okay, he says. The television shows the charred corpses of the pa.s.sengers on a Russian plane brought down by Chechen terrorists. f.u.c.k, how horrible. Lorenzo watches Dani, who has started eating. You guys in the same cla.s.s? No, I'm in the grade above. He's in Mai's cla.s.s, explains Sylvia.

Dani accepts Lorenzo's curious looks. But he's not completely sure how to interpret them. Two days earlier, Lorenzo was coming out of the shower when Sylvia called him on the phone. She hadn't slept at home. I fell asleep at Mai's, she lied, and then I didn't want to call you so late. When she came back from school at lunchtime, Lorenzo meet her. He found her with messy hair, a forced smile, and sleepy body language. Lorenzo didn't exert his authority, avoided getting irritated. Come on, let's eat.

You were with a boy and you spent the night with him, obviously, said Lorenzo before she decided to speak. At his house? He lives alone? His parents weren't there, lied Sylvia. Can I meet him? I have a right...Papa...I'm not going to interrogate him or anything like that, just see his face, I just want to meet him face-to-face.

She thought he would forget all about it in the following days. Ariel was playing a game in London and Sylvia took that time to spend the afternoons at home, go to bed early, study. But her father insisted. When are you going to bring him over? Sylvia wanted to get out of it, but Lorenzo was serious. Look, Sylvia, I am not going to let you be out all night with someone I don't know. I imagine you are taking precautions and not doing anything stupid, but I'll feel better about it if I've met him. Sylvia imagined, with amus.e.m.e.nt, her father's surprise if she introduced him to Ariel. Would he ask him for an autograph? Would he tell him he needs to help the defense more? Or would he be furious at him?

I'm not going to start laying some embarra.s.sing father s.h.i.t on him, Sylvia, I just want to meet him. Is that so weird? Would you rather I just tell you to be home at a certain time and that's it? Come on, I just want to have a look at him, I'm sure he's a great kid, knowing your good taste.

Sylvia smiled. Worried about my daughter? No, no, what I'm worried about is that you're not going to make it to Champions' League final. She was still imagining the scene with her father. My father wants to meet you, she would tell Ariel, you're lucky, he roots for your team.

Which is why, when at lunchtime recess that morning she was walking with Mai toward their usual corner at the back of the schoolyard, against the cement wall, and Dani joined them to chat, Sylvia forced the situation. Do you guys wanna come over for lunch today?

Mai shook her head, I can't. In exchange for Vienna I promised my mother I'd go to the dentist, and the appointment is this afternoon. After six years, it's about time, right? If he threatens to put braces on me, I swear I'll strangle him. In her cla.s.s there were three boys who wore braces and Mai jokingly called them the metalworkers. Dani tells them that his dentist is a woman and when she leans over to fill his cavities he looks down her shirt. One day she got me right in the eye with the silver crucifix she wears around her neck, almost took my eye out. Divine punishment, said Mai.

And you? You coming? Sylvia looked into Dani's eyes. He let a few seconds pa.s.s. Okay, he said. Mai opened her eyes super-wide, to comic effect. The look was just for Sylvia, who stifled her laughter.

On the way to her house, Sylvia felt she was being cruel to Dani. He was walking with a spring in his step while talking a blue streak about music and Web sites. He had a half-empty backpack hanging over one shoulder and both hands in his pockets. If my father starts to ask you ridiculous questions, said Sylvia with a smile, just play along, you know how they can be. Deep down she was enjoying this game.

Sylvia interrupts her father's attempts to strike up a conversation. When he mentions something about international terrorism, she says, what an entertaining topic for the lunch table. When he asks about school, she responds, after spending the morning in that h.e.l.lhole you don't expect us to want to chat about it, do you? When he questions Dani about his future schooling, Papa, let him eat in peace. Lorenzo is in a rush and finally has to leave. A pleasure to meet you, he says, and extends his hand to Dani with surprising virility. He kisses Sylvia on each cheek.

I think he thought I was your boyfriend, says Dani when they are left alone. Did you see the way he shook my hand? Like he was thinking, I trust you with my daughter, the girl I love most in this world.

The weatherman talks about a drop in temperature. The weather depresses me, says Sylvia, laughing. Don't you find it depressing? The way the world is, we don't really need to worry about whether it'll be sunny or windy tomorrow, but if we'll be alive, right? Sylvia flips through channels. The African baby recently adopted by a famous Hollywood couple is going to have a wax figure in the London museum. Can you think of anything more depressing than a wax museum? asks Dani. It's like a morgue of people who are alive. She turns off the TV.

In Sylvia's room, Dani has a hard time getting comfortable. He looks over CD covers while Sylvia puts one on. I have to burn some discs for you, a friend of mine went to Valencia this summer, to the Campus Party technology fair, and he spent the week downloading movies and music. This year I might go with him, even though I'm not really into all those computer nerds. You and Mai could come, now that your father's met me. They both laugh.

Actually it's my fault, confesses Sylvia, I promised my father that one day I'd introduce him to the guy I'm seeing and he thought that you were him. Sylvia brings her desk chair over so he can sit down.

I hope he liked me. I think so. Imagine if now he makes a big scene, like I forbid you to see that punk again...I don't think so, says Sylvia. He probably wouldn't have liked the other guy as much...Is he that bad? It's not that. He's older. Older than your father? No, come on. So? But he's twenty...Motherf.u.c.ker, f.u.c.king cradle robber...I'm just kidding. Dani smiled.

Soon they change the topic. And how's school going? she asks Dani. I don't know, I'm so out of it. I hope I don't f.u.c.k up too bad. I have to pa.s.s somehow. Dani swivels the chair. The stupidest f.u.c.kup ever is getting left back...spending another year there.

Sylvia's cell rings. It's Ariel. I'll call you in a little while, okay? she says. I'm in the middle of something. She hangs up and for a little while they don't say anything.

I guess that's every girl's dream, says Dani, going out with someone your father wouldn't like.

Sylvia laughs. For a second, she's about to tell Dani everything, tell him the truth about Ariel. But then it seems like unnecessary torture. Sylvia looks at Dani and feels the strangeness in his expression; she knows he has fallen in love with her. And that makes Sylvia feel good and bad at the same time. Powerful and fragile.

I must have bad luck, confesses Dani, fathers like me. Except my own, of course. Last year for my birthday he gave me tickets for the Formula 1, all excited, a fantastic plan according to him, a weekend in Barcelona. Bah, I got p.i.s.sed off, and I told him he could shove them up his a.s.s, that I wasn't going to waste a weekend on that stupid s.h.i.t. Boy, did he lose it then...One day you have to come to my house, I have good music. I don't know if your father will like me, replies Sylvia. Sure, he'll start hitting on you. Soon as he sees some t.i.ts...

And he doesn't finish his sentence. Sylvia shrank into her T-shirt. She's still smiling. Suddenly, Dani takes a step toward her and puts a hand on her shoulder. His hand is shaking. Her skin glows at the height of her collarbone.

Sylvia offers Dani a beer. She goes to the kitchen to get it. She calls Ariel. She explains that she's with her father and can't talk. From her room, Dani listens to the distant murmur of Sylvia talking on the phone. She makes a date with Ariel for an hour later, on the corner of her street.

When she comes back from the kitchen, Sylvia is light-years away from the conversation with Dani. She steals a sip of his beer and he drinks quickly. As if he wants to vanish after his failed advance. I could fall in love with him, Sylvia thinks, maybe in another life.

Ariel brought Sylvia a gift. A T-shirt that says LONDON LONDON inside a bull's eye. I think you have an idealized image of me, she jokes. No way is this going to fit, I'm fat. You're not fat, don't be silly. Try it on. inside a bull's eye. I think you have an idealized image of me, she jokes. No way is this going to fit, I'm fat. You're not fat, don't be silly. Try it on.

He drives. She takes off her sweatshirt, is wearing only her bra for a moment, and then puts on the T-shirt Ariel bought in the airport store. It fits Sylvia's body like a glove. It's perfect, he says. If someone can manage to talk to me for five minutes with this T-shirt on and not look at my b.o.o.bs, they deserve to win a free trip for two to the Caribbean.

You're such an idiot...

Behind the Gran Via there is a little cafe where they fix him a mate. She tries it again and burns her tongue for the millionth time. Esta recaliente Esta recaliente, she says, it's super-hot, in her fake Argentinian slang. Honestly, the shirt is a bit much. I told you, she says. It's too tight around your lolas lolas. Sylvia likes that word for t.i.ts.

While they're there, Sylvia doesn't know where to put her arms. She crosses them, puts them around her neck, hugs herself with her hands on her shoulders, unable to find a position she feels comfortable in. He smiles. Sylvia tells him that her father was insisting she introduce him to her boyfriend. Today I brought a friend home for lunch and he thought he was my boyfriend, you can't imagine how ridiculous it was. And what friend is that? Are you jealous? she asks, amused. I don't know, should I be?

Sylvia smiles. He does seem jealous. What am I going to do? she says, my father wants to meet the boy that is keeping me out so late at night. I thought about sitting him in front of the TV for the next game and saying that's him, number ten.

And what do you think your father would say? asks Ariel.

He'd start jumping up and down, he'd put on the team scarf and do the wave. I don't know, I guess he'd take you to the nearest police station. Ariel goes silent. Then he brings his face up to Sylvia's and kisses her by the ear, delicately brushing aside her hair. Don't be afraid, he whispers. I can't help it, she says, backing away a little. Every time we're apart for a couple of days I think I'm never going to see you again, that you're never going to call. Yeah, says Ariel, but he doesn't say anything more.

You don't have to feel tied to me, you know, when you get tired, just tell me and no hard feelings, says Sylvia, stringing her sentences together. I'll go back to the real world and that's it. And I'll stop charbroiling my tongue every f.u.c.king time you make me try that s.h.i.t, she says, moving away from the metal mate straw with a comic expression.

So this isn't the real world to you? he asks.

Being with you, well, honestly, I don't know. It's definitely not the normal world. But I like it, you know. It's more like a dream.

Did I tell you that tomorrow I'm signing for the apartment? They'll give me the keys.

Really? That fast? You already got all the money together?

You're gonna laugh. Last week the president paid me the bonuses he owed me. He opened a drawer and told me, here, and he handed me an envelope filled with five-hundred-euro bills. My bonuses are outside of my contract, all under the table. And then he starts chatting with me. He asked me, how are things in Argentina? I have a partner who wants us to start buying up land in Patagonia, down there in penguin land where everything is really cheap.

Sylvia shakes her head. They'll fill it up with housing developments, like here.

That night she wants to go home early. At ten they are parked in front of her door. They kiss. Sylvia's cell phone rings. It's her mother. Sylvia answers. Ariel is silent. Then he looks out the window. When she hangs up, Sylvia says that was my mother, my father called to tell her that he met my boyfriend and he's a very nice boy.

This kid is starting to get under my skin, jokes Ariel. I might have to go wait for him at the school door and beat his head in.

Sylvia thinks about her father, who for once thinks he has more privileged information than Pilar. My G.o.d, she says to Ariel, my parents are crazy, now they're happy I have a boyfriend.

A great kid, by the way, he says sarcastically. Good-looking, polite, nice eyes. He wears gla.s.ses, corrects Sylvia. Ah, he's an intellectual to boot. Probably wears flannel shirts b.u.t.toned all the way up to the top...

They kiss quickly. Suddenly it seems that Ariel is in a rush, it makes him uncomfortable to be in the car idling for so long. A minute before a gang of kids looked at the model and made loud comments. She realizes he's uncomfortable and says, I'm leaving, I'm leaving. See you tomorrow? To celebrate your new place? Ariel nods vaguely.

Sylvia takes the elevator up to her apartment. She opens the door. She's expecting to find her father there, but he's not back yet. The place is dark and Sylvia doesn't turn on the light on the way to her room. She takes off her sweatshirt and looks at herself in the mirror with the London T-shirt on. A bit much, she remembers. She sighs and lets all her hair fall in front of her face. It seems absurd to get into bed and set the alarm for school. Her teenage bed seems ridiculous, and the schoolgirl's desk with her computer. Dani's beer can is still there. Suddenly she is filled with a fear of the empty house, as if it might collapse around her.

She opens a book and reads in bed. She answers a message from Mai that she got hours ago. It said: "wot happened w/ Dani? He is way into U, he'd eat ur boogers, no complaints." Sylvia had received it when Ariel was with her. She didn't say anything to him, just a friend of mine, she's crazy.

To Sylvia, Dani and Ariel are two people she can't even imagine comparing. There is no compet.i.tion between them, although she noticed a slight pinch of jealousy in both of them at the vague presence of the other. Maybe when Ariel dumps me I'll hook up with Dani, thinks Sylvia suddenly, not understanding how she comes up with these calculating reflections. Her idea surprises her. It would be out of spite, obviously.

You are cold, girl, you need to loosen up, Mai tells her sometimes. But in her relationship with Ariel, she'd rather not let herself get completely caught up. She'd rather swim near the edge of the pool, like a child who's just learned the stroke.

Something Dani told her that afternoon comes into her mind, when he was parodying his father. He is a totally predictable guy, the only intelligent thing I ever heard him say in my life is every year the winters are shorter. How stupid. And yet that phrase now comes into Sylvia's head. Every year the winters are shorter.

Her father comes home, noisily. When he sees the light beneath Sylvia's door, he knocks. He finds her lying in bed, with the book in her hands. Sylvia leans back. She had gotten into bed with the London T-shirt on. He's a very nice kid, he says. Come on, Papa, I'm tired. They talk a bit more. Lorenzo notices the T-shirt when the sheets slide toward Sylvia's lap. Isn't that a little tight? I'm just wearing it around the house, she answers.

Her father leaves. Sylvia places her hand on her stomach, stroking around her belly b.u.t.ton. When Ariel takes off her clothes, she likes to feel the strength of his embrace. It's one of the few moments when she feels beautiful.

6.

The taxi arrives on time. The intercom buzzer rings and Leandro rushes to answer. He is finishing the knot on his burgundy tie. It's here, he shouts. From Aurora's bedroom comes the wheelchair. She is wearing a dress and some flats. On top she wears a shawl gathered in her lap. Lorenzo pushes his mother, who had combed her ash-gray hair in front of the mirror. Aurora's smile as she advances along the hallway moves Leandro. Only the forced climb down the two flights of stairs carrying the wheelchair taints the delicacy of the moment. I'll take the front wheels, you grab hold tight to the back, manages Lorenzo. s.h.i.t, G.o.dd.a.m.n it, hold on.

The taxi, outfitted for wheelchairs, has its platform ready at sidewalk height. Leandro places his wife's wheelchair on it and the mechanism lifts her up and places her safely in the back of the minivan. I feel like a crate of fruit, comments Aurora while she's being lifted up. Lorenzo says good-bye to his parents through the window, as the driver closes the sliding door and runs back to the steering wheel. Have a good time. Are you sure you don't mind waiting for us? his father asks him. No, no, I'm going to watch TV. Lorenzo points upward. I'll wait for you to come back so I can help you with the chair. That morning his father had called, what a ha.s.sle, I don't know how to do it, your mother wants to go out. Lorenzo had calmed him down, no problem, it'll be good for her to do something.

You look lovely, Mama, Lorenzo had told her when he got to the house. His mother had just smiled. Leandro is tense. The chair makes everything harder and, as always, he feels gripped by his uselessness, his inability to deal with difficulties. Aurora's expression turns pleasant when she sees the activity on the street. To the Auditorio? Are you going to a concert? asks the friendly taxi driver. A fine rain leaves streaks on the windows. To top it all off, it's raining, thinks Leandro.

When is Joaquin's concert? Aurora had asked him that morning in the middle of his reading her an article about the private security guard strike. Eh? We had tickets, right? Yes, yes, but it doesn't matter. Did it already happen? For a moment, the expression on her face clouds over. Aurora makes a real effort not to lose track of dates in spite of the fact that for her every day is the same.

It's today, this evening, he said.

She was decided. Of course, let's go. And that was the beginning of Leandro's anxiety about organizing it. Calling his son, finding a handicapped-accessible taxi, planning the movements and the schedule. He knew Aurora wasn't going to let him miss it, but he was surprised by her decision to go. I feel like getting out.

She chose her dress, his clothes, even the tie. After her nap, it seemed that the usually quiet house was filled with furious activity. Lorenzo would arrive at six-thirty to help them with everything. Did you call the taxi? Yes, yes, it'll be here at seven.

In front of the Auditorio, people were already gathering half an hour before the concert. Leandro holds the tickets. When they open the doors, he pushes the chair until he finds an usher. I'm sorry, but when I bought the tickets my wife wasn't yet handicapped. Don't worry, we'll try to work it out. The employee checks with a coworker and returns to seat them on one side. Will you be okay here? Leandro looks up at the stage. Would it be possible to be on the other side? Of course. Because of the pianist's hands, you know? The usher nods and crosses in front of the first row to the opposite end. When Leandro sits down, he turns his head toward Aurora and asks, okay? She rea.s.sures him with a nod.

In recent years, since Leandro retired, they'd gone to more concerts and they had seen the seats filled with a wider range of people than in years past. There are so many young people studying music these days, she said happily. Leandro reserved his opinion. Music had become an almost ubiquitous student hobby. But there was a huge leap from hobby to studying music in a disciplined way toward a future. Sometimes he joked in conversations with friends, music is like the gym or judo, that's all, but when a kid shows real apt.i.tude they discourage him, they don't want to ruin his future as an engineer or a businessman.

He greets a few familiar faces, then he prepares his concentration for the recital. Aurora turns around to look behind her every once in a while, happy to find herself out in public after so many weeks of immobility. Leandro was worried. Would she feel okay? In the last week, she had occasionally asked him for some painkillers, but she wasn't able to explain where the pains were. He had been afraid to leave her alone for the first time. At night he slept more lightly, in case she called him from the room. The doctor had visited, put on a patient expression, and recommended they keep up the ma.s.sages, they're always enjoyable, right?