They race down to the border and cross it without stopping. Robert takes the exit for Pamplona. The sun climbs high above the trees to the left of the road and the land is bathed in a soft yellow glow. The landscape changes, hills become mountains, stones become rocks. The sun climbs slowly, illuminating the sheer walls of rock that they drive past. Small houses and farms cling to the slopes. All he can think about is the bulls. He looks into the cars that they overtake. He sees men dressed in white in some of the cars, with red handkerchiefs around their necks. They wave and gesticulate at Danny. A man blows his horn, pulls up his white T-shirt with one hand and kisses the logo of the football club adorning its front.
It feels like the day of a fight, seeing the other boxers, shaking their hands, having a quick chat – not about boxing, but about the weather, about mutual acquaintances, about nothing in particular.
All going to Pamplona, Robert says with pride. He puts his foot down and the car surges forward. The road heads into the mountains. Black-and-white signs on the bends indicate the direction of the curves. They pass through a village. The houses are sand-coloured, the roofs red. It’s like a scene from a postcard. Mountaintops stand out against the sky in the distance, blunt and green, a cloud hugging one of the summits. The road winds again and they climb higher. More rocks and craggy walls. They follow the white line along the tarmac until they get stuck behind dozens of cars. Robert swears and hits the steering wheel. Four men are sitting in the car in front, squeezed in amongst a pile of bags. They’re wearing white shirts too.
Once they’re over the mountains, they cross a plateau. Robert takes the opportunity to overtake as many cars as he can. The grass on the verge lies golden yellow in the morning light. The sun was shining through the window on the driver’s side before, but it’s higher now. It’s moved round to the windscreen and is shining in his eyes. Danny takes off the jumper and throws it in the back. Robert pulls down the sunshade and they hurtle towards the ball of fire.
Almost half six, says Robert.
The road rises one last time. When they’re over the final hump, he sees a river in the valley below. A cliff rises up on the left bank, and reservoirs lie in the dip on the other side of the road, like big round swimming pools, full of vibrant blue water that gleams against the rocks and the river’s twisting course. In the distance, two cathedral towers jut up into the sky.
Cars make their way towards the town centre, pouring into the funnel. When Robert and Danny reach their destination, they find hundreds of vehicles lining the roadside. Robert leans over the steering wheel. It’s around here somewhere, he says. Smaller streets climb up along both sides of the road, lined by low buildings, tin sheds, workshops. A garage. A timber yard with huge stacks of wood behind a fence. They drive over two roundabouts. The road’s so busy that they have to go at walking pace. The centre’s closed to traffic, so Robert parks in a side street. I parked somewhere around here last time too, he says. The road ends in a low fence with the river beneath. He finds a spot beside a tree at the end of the street and parks at an angle to the concrete pavement.
Perfect, Robert says as the engine falls silent. It’s not far from here.
The car is practically up against the tree. Danny can’t open his door. He has to climb over the gearstick and get out on Robert’s side. The sun’s down behind the houses, but the air’s already warm, even this early in the day. The shutters of the houses are closed.
I’ll just grab a few things, says Robert. Then find somewhere to take a leak and we’ll be off.
Danny walks over to the water. There’s a residential area on the other side of the river. The river curves away on his left. He can see the cathedral beyond the water, stretching high above the rooftops. He wanders back to the car and looks down the street. Men in white shirts are walking down the main road towards the town centre. Robert finishes pissing against the tree. Then he puts a bottle of water in his rucksack, fishes out a red handkerchief from somewhere and drops it into the rucksack. The two men dissolve into the white procession, all heading towards a common goal.
*
The bridge over the river runs at an angle to the banks and seems endless. The river curves beneath them and they find themselves walking almost parallel to its course.
Down there, says Robert, nodding in the direction of the old town centre, where the houses huddle together along narrow streets. The crowd shuffles along the pavement as the procession works its way into the town. Once they’re over the bridge, they follow a wide road to the left and soon reach the town centre. Robert says: That way. He steers Danny onto the pavement and into a side street where there are fewer people. They walk around a block of houses and down alleyways lined by high buildings with small balconies and metal railings, before coming to a square where the white crowd has gathered. They hear shouting, singing, music. A drum beats incessantly somewhere nearby, while a deeper-sounding drum thuds slowly in the distance. Robert takes Danny by the arm and pulls him past groups of Spaniards and straight through a gang of laughing Americans with glassy, drunken eyes. He can smell the alcohol on their breath. On the other side of the square, Danny sees a sign on the wall: Plaza del Castillo. Robert drags him down a narrow alleyway. They reach halfway before finding they can’t move backwards or forwards. Bloody gawpers, Robert mutters, pushing people aside. Danny follows him until they bump up against a heavy wooden fence. Through the slats, he can see the long straight street that the bulls are going to run down.
That’s the Estafeta, says Robert.
Which direction do the bulls come from?
Robert points. He climbs onto the fence. As Danny puts his hands on the slats, Robert lifts his legs over the top, one at a time, and drops down on the other side.
You can wait here if you like.
Danny climbs over. There are a few men dressed in white on the other side of the street. Otherwise, it’s quiet here, compared with the square, but still the air is buzzing with excitement. They sit down on the pavement, their feet in the gutter. White lines are painted on the street in a grid. There’s a chemist’s shop in the building opposite, with neon letters over the door and people standing on the balconies above.
Robert takes the bottle of water from his bag, unscrews the top and drinks. Wiping his mouth, he hands it to Danny. While he’s drinking, Robert takes the red handkerchief out of the bag and ties it around his neck.
If you change your mind, you can always climb back over the fence.
I’m not going to change my mind.
I’ve only got one handkerchief.
Do you have to wear one?
You don’t have to do anything.
The Spaniards are singing their lungs out. The sound echoes around the walls. The monotonous drumming starts up again in the square.
Danny reads the Spanish words on the metal manhole cover beside him and runs his hand over the large, smooth cobbles. He hasn’t had a minute to think since they got here. Now that he’s sitting on the kerb and the sun’s coming up, Ragna’s back again. He sees her sitting on the edge of his bed, running a comb through her hair. Sunlight falls through the skylight, making her black hair gleam.
Robert taps Danny on the arm. I’m going that way. You coming?
He’s pointing north. They get up. Danny looks left and right. Robert checks his watch. An hour to go, he says. We’re still okay to move around.
They head down the street. Men and boys in white shirts are sitting and leaning against the walls. Some nod at them. A man in a T-shirt with a picture on the front yells something at them. Danny doesn’t understand what he says. The man comes over and stands in front of him.
I see it in your eyes, he says in heavily accented, drunken English. The picture on his T-shirt is a bull’s head. The man says something else about his eyes. Robert comes over and stands between them. Come on, let’s go.
Where are you going? asks the man.
That way, Robert says quickly, pulling Danny with him. The man stumbles after them.
Thank you, he says, placing his hand on his heart. Then he disappears.
The long street leads to a wider one, Calle Mercaderes. It’s busier there. They can’t hear the music from the square now, but there’s a group of men kneeling on the cobbles, singing a cappella. They carry on walking and come to another square with a large, ornate building. People are sitting on every step of the building and other spectators are leaning out of the windows of the houses in the next street. A brass band is playing, men in blue uniforms with gold trim on the sleeves. The bull runners fill the streets, holding their red handkerchiefs aloft, the material stretched between their fists. Robert and Danny make their way to the start of the route, down a street called Santo Domingo, which has high walls on both sides.
See those doors?
The street descends to two sturdy metal doors.
That’s where the bulls are. Behind the doors.
Most of the people on the street look young, maybe even in their teens. They’re singing and shouting and killing time by taking it in turns to run into the street, towards the doors, challenging the bulls. They run back and slap one another on the shoulders, on the back. A little Spanish boy rests his forehead on a man’s chest. The man places his hands on both sides of the child’s head, kisses it, like a blessing.
Quarter past seven, says Robert.
She’s still asleep, thinks Danny. He leans against the wall. He’s determined not to think about her. At the same time, he knows that he will think of her, only her, for the next three quarters of an hour, and a few seconds after that.
Robert pushes the bottle of water into his hands. He drinks without thinking. The sun shines on the top of the wall and the line separating light and shade slowly sinks.
Cuarenta minutos, someone calls.
The people on top of the opposite wall are black shadows, moving slowly within a nimbus of soft light. Danny puts his hands to his forehead, warm and damp with sweat, and thinks: It’s all a mistake. This entire journey. This town, all this shouting, it’s all a mistake. If you knew I was here, what would you say? Would you come and fetch me? Take hold of me, shake me, force me to climb over that wall? Over that fence? And then we can be together again and you’ll put my head on your lap and run your hand through my hair. I’ll lie there and hold you tight until you promise to stay with me.
Robert’s over by the wall, talking to someone. Danny gets up. He’s about to reach out his hand to help her to her feet, as though they’re strolling through the town together and he doesn’t need to say anything to her, nothing at all.
*
It was March and the nights were freezing, but Danny and Ragna didn’t give the sheets time to get cold. He didn’t sleep much, didn’t really need much sleep. Training was going well. One Saturday morning she asked if he wanted to come into town with her. To the shops.
Fine, he said.
They walked to the luxury shopping street, watched the big, expensive cars driving past, one after the other. Looked in the shop windows, at the clothes, hats, gold jewellery.
I’ll buy you a necklace like that one day.
Like that? You’re crazy.
As they walked past a café, he heard someone call his name. He recognized Chester, an Irishman who’d trained at the boxing school for a few months, back when Ron and Richard’s dad was still around. He was with two other men who Danny didn’t know. They were sitting at a table outside, having a beer. Chester stood up and shook his hand.
Long time no see. How’s it going?
Yeah, hi. Pretty good, thanks.
Keeping busy?
Yeah.
Chester was watching Ragna out of the corner of his eye. Danny wanted to introduce her, but she’d walked straight past the table, glanced down the road and said: I’m just going to take a look at that place over there. She walked over to the shop next to the café and looked in the window. Danny saw her go into the shop. Chester gestured to him to join them, so he sat down on the empty chair.
Chester introduced him to the other two men, who were visiting from England. He told them Danny was the best boxer in the area and for miles around.
The men looked at him. The smaller one raised his glass and grinned, revealing crooked yellow teeth. He nodded at Danny and took a swig.
Want a drink?
I’m not stopping.
Oh, have a quick one. He pointed at the beers. Or are you on the juice?
I’ve just had a beer, thanks.
You still training with the Rosenbergers?
Yes. What are you up to?
Oh, you know, this and that, said Chester. He glanced over at the Englishmen. The smaller one had a faded tattoo on his arm.
I know that woman from somewhere.
Probably from those fights in Germany. Gerard Varon.
That’s her, is it?
Yes.
Thought so. And you’re with her?
Yes.
To keep an eye on her?
What do you mean?
Chester shifted his gaze to the shopping street. Nothing, he mumbled. A big car with dark windows drove past.
Danny asked: You ever worked for Varon?
The occasional thing. An old mate of mine sometimes used to box in Germany and Austria, but that’s a while ago now. What about you? You boxing for him?
Yes.
I thought you wanted to give it up.
Decided to carry on for a year or two.
Chester drank some beer and put down his glass. The Englishmen drank too.
You sure you don’t want a drink?
I’d better be off.
He waited for her to come out of the shop. She stopped to look in the window again. Then she headed underneath the awning and into the next shop. Danny stood up. He said a cool goodbye to Chester and nodded at the two Englishmen, before pushing his chair back in and walking over to the shop. Ragna was standing by a tall display cabinet of jeans at the back. There was only one pair of jeans on each shelf. She took a pair, unfolded them and held them up for him to see.
Not bad.
He looked at the door and the big windows. There was no one in sight.
Shall I try them on?
If you like.
No, I don’t think so, she said. They left the shop. Outside the café, Chester was talking to one of the Englishmen. The other one had disappeared.
They came to a shoe shop. Ragna looked at the shoes, which were displayed on large white blocks in the window. She pointed at one pair and then they carried on walking. A woman came towards them, with three bags on one arm and a telephone held up to her ear. Danny spotted a coffee house on the next corner in the busy cross street that the trams ran along.
Want to stop for a drink?
She looked at her watch. Just a quick one, she said. They went inside. She ordered an orange juice, he had a water. They sat at a low table next to the window and watched the traffic. Some workmen were digging up the street and the cars had been diverted over the tram tracks. Cyclists wound their way between the cars.
Where do you know him from?
You know, from fights, from before.
She had crossed her legs and was sitting at an angle on her stool. She took a gulp of juice, pulled a cigarette from the packet she’d put on the table and lit it. She spun the wheel of her lighter. It squeaked.
Shopping’s more tiring than training.
So why don’t you just think of it as part of your training?
She dragged on her cigarette, inhaling deeply, and blew out the smoke. For a long time, they sat in silence. The door opened and a large group of women came in. Four of them sat down by the window. Danny slid into the corner and Ragna moved her stool aside. They were close together now. She stubbed out her cigarette, patted his leg and told him she was popping to the loo. He watched as she inched her way past the women. He downed his water and looked at a tram by the crossing. The driver had got out. He was levering a metal rod between the points of the tram tracks. Danny played with the cigarette packet.
Smoking’s bad for you, he heard her say. She sat back down on the stool, her feet tucked behind one of its legs, her knee touching his back. He placed a hand on her back and rubbed his leg against hers beneath the table. Her face was close to his shoulder and for a moment he thought she was going to lean her cheek on it, but she didn’t. He looked at her dark eyes. Her long black hair framed her face. Some of her hairs bristled with static and clung to his sleeve.
The women beside them finished their coffee and got up. The sun had moved past the houses now and was shining along the tramline. The rails gleamed.
I have to go, she said.
When am I going to see you?
Tonight.
*
The noise between the walls is swelling by the minute. Danny goes over and joins Robert, who introduces him to the man he’s been talking to. They shake hands. He’s an Englishman who’s been to Pamplona several times before.
How many times have you run with the bulls? he asks Danny.
Never.
A horn drowns out Danny’s voice.
Then this is going to be a real experience for you, says the man. Danny leans against the wall, which feels cool. He rests his head against the bricks. Some other Englishmen come and stand with them. Men with tattoos on their arms. A heart with a knife through it. Faded Gothic letters. A man with a big belly and a thick neck who’s wearing an England football shirt. He has the logo of a beer company tattooed on his forearm, just above the name of the team he supports. He smiles at Danny and says: Shitting yourself?
No, are you? Danny asks, sitting down.
The man grins.
Ten minutes, comes the call.
As the men continue to dart out and challenge the terrifyingly empty street, Danny sees the man with the bull’s-head T-shirt again. He’s standing in the middle of the road and he seems to be looking for something. He spots Danny, walks over and sits down beside him. They watch the Englishmen running into the street, in pairs, screaming as they dash back to the group. One man runs so far he can almost touch the door that the bulls are behind. Robert runs out into the emptiness too, together with his English friend. Their armpits are dark with sweat and there’s a line of wetness running down Robert’s back.
Did you come here with him? asks the man. He tugs at the hem of his T-shirt and the crudely sketched bull’s head moves.
I hitched a lift with him.
You didn’t know each other?
Not until yesterday, no.
Then he picked the right man.
Danny looks at the man, then down at the ground. The man says: When I saw you, I knew. I thought: he’s the one.
You could be right, Danny says quietly.
The man stands up and looks down at Danny. It’s something in your eyes, he says. Have you ever looked a bull in the eyes?
No.
You have the same look in your eyes. That’s what I wanted to tell you.
He turns around and disappears into the surging white multitude.
The men around him fall silent. Shouts give way to whispers. Then, suddenly, an explosion shatters the tension in the air. A rocket. Like a flash of lightning. Everyone holds their breath for a moment. There’s a second bang in the distance, followed by a huge roar, which rings out between the walls. The doors are open, someone shouts. The ground trembles. Danny stands up and positions himself between the high walls. The sound washes towards him like water breaking through a dam. The Spaniards and the Englishmen and the Americans are all shouting. That sound grows louder, almost drowning out the noise of the bulls.
He hears nothing else, as he retreats inside his head, to the hissing and pounding inside his skull, between his temples. In his last thought, he sees Ragna before him. A clear image. Light filtering through the leaves of a plant. Her skin is so pale. She looks into his eyes and he sees something glowing in her dark irises, just for an instant, less than a second. Then her expression changes. Everything changes.
Suddenly he hears a referee counting. Danny sees his white shirt, the cuffs, a glove in the air. A big white thumb that shoots up as the count begins.
One.
His voice barely rises above the noise of the crowd, but Danny can still understand him.
The index finger. Two.
Danny slides his hands into his trouser pockets, puts his feet on the cobbles, closes his eyes and holds his breath. Then he breathes out. He can feel the bulls coming. Six bulls, twelve horns and the sound of twenty-four hoofs stamping on the cobbles. It feels as though his head’s inside an oil drum that someone’s beating with a stick. Through the pandemonium of Pamplona, the referee carries on counting.
The middle finger. Three.
The hollow sounds change in tone, as though the space has suddenly expanded. A man shouts something.
Ahí vienen los toros. Here come the bulls.
In his head, he is running through Amsterdam again, flying once more through the streets with no idea where to go, just the certainty of leaving everything behind. But right now, in Pamplona, it feels as though his boxing boots are stuck to the cobbles. He thinks about the fight and about her. He knows running isn’t an option because the referee’s four fingers are held high and his voice is counting, strong and clear. Danny stands his ground. A boxer does not run away, a boxer listens to the count, whether he’s the boxer who’s been hit and is trying to get to his feet or the boxer who dealt the last blow and is looking down at the opponent lying before him. Both boxers listen to the count.
The glove shakes, all of the fingers are outspread.
Five.
People run past him. They touch his arms. An elbow brushes against his hip. The excited shrieks don’t reach his ears. Only Ragna’s soft breathing gets through.
The other hand.
Six.
A young Spaniard runs towards him at full tilt. Danny stands there like a rock. The Spanish man tumbles to the ground. Someone helps him to his feet. Danny doesn’t budge, just presses his hands to his thighs. Through slitted eyes, he sees the bulls appear, a line of black backs parting the crowd. The boys and men in white are running, fleeing from the bulls. Robert is nowhere to be seen. Danny breathes in, closes his eyes for the last time.
Seven.
The referee’s voice is deeper now.
He puffs the dry air out through his nose, as the muscles in his chest tense and he waits for the blow.
Eight.
Something presses into his hip. It’s surprisingly gentle. His eyes shoot open and he sees a huge brown bull heading for him. It’s not there yet. For a moment, this still life remains intact. The sounds of Pamplona fade away and the bull stands before him, as if frozen. One of its horns juts up into the air, the other is pointing in his direction. The bull’s eyes are small black bullets on either side of its head, as dark as its nostrils, which seem so much larger in comparison. In the middle of its forehead is a crest of brown curls. The head is followed by a huge mass of muscles, propelling the bull forward. Again that pressure against his body, as though a hand is touching him, moving down to his stomach, tender yet firm. That hand belongs to her and it strokes gently over his midriff and down his side, just like the first time. He hears the bull snort. Ragna is there in front of him, breathing, planning to launch her attack, but delaying the moment and keeping her distance, first exploring his skin with her fingertips. Darting closer, kissing him. Stepping back, gently blowing on his chest and moving upwards, like the breath he can feel on his neck right now.
The other sounds return. Everything around him starts moving again. As the bull reaches him, two arms grab him around the waist and pull him to the cobbles. The man who tackled him is tossed aside and the noise of the hoofs slips away too, changes pitch, like the sound of a passing car, leaving silence in its wake.
Danny’s head is on a smooth cobblestone in the shade. It feels cool on his skin. He watches the bulls thunder past. He sees Robert lying down the street, against the wall. There’s no one else in sight. The street seems to have been swept clean. The red handkerchief hangs over Robert’s shoulder, the rucksack is by his arm. His lower leg is at a strange angle to his knee. His trousers are torn and there’s a patch of blood on them.
Danny breathes calmly. He slowly turns onto his back and looks up at the blue sky. People come running. He feels one hand on his shoulder and another under his armpit. He is surrounded by shouts in Spanish and English as people help him to his feet.
You okay? an English voice asks.
Yes, yes, he says.
He makes it clear that he doesn’t need any help and stands up, but he feels dizzy, so he squats back down and rests one hand against the wall. The circle of people around Robert is growing larger. He walks over, asks them first to let him past, but then has to push his way through. He stops a couple of feet away from Robert. Their eyes meet. Robert just says: Why?
Danny can barely hear him in the tumult of people. The question hovers in the air like a slight vibration, but Danny understands and hangs his head.
Two men in orange jackets appear. One of them is carrying a case with a red cross on it. He puts it down on the pavement beside Robert. People stand aside to make room for them. The men look at Robert’s leg. The shorter of the two, a man with a beard, places one hand on Robert’s thigh and moves his foot slowly backwards and forwards with his other hand. Robert screams with pain.
Las manos quietas! he barks. There’s a brief discussion between the two men. Robert groans and swears. Someone shouts into a walkie-talkie. Robert uses that dead time to look at Danny and repeat: Why?
Danny doesn’t answer.
The blood trickles out of his trouser leg, forming a dark red puddle on the cobbles and seeping into the gaps between the stones. Danny looks away.
*
She stepped out of her clothes, left her trousers lying on the floor, dropped her shirt on top of them. She had two birthmarks on her hip. It felt as though he was seeing them for the first time, as though they had been applied to her skin since he last saw her. She held out her hand, came closer, kissed him gently on the mouth and led him to the bed. He pushed the sheet aside, knelt on the edge of the bed and waited for her to lie down, slim and naked and beautiful.
Come here, she said.
He stayed where he was, looking at her.
Come here.
He slid over to her and pulled up the sheet. He heard the siren of an ambulance going down the road. The sound ebbed away. She lifted her head, he put his arm under it, and she turned her face to kiss his shoulder, his chest. It was very quiet in the room. His body was rigid.
Danny, she said softly.
Her eyes were wide. He felt her leg rubbing against his. She turned onto her side, kissed him with closed eyes, nuzzled her forehead into his neck, climbed on top of him. She raised her bottom in the air. His cock felt big. It throbbed in her hand, then inside her. He could feel her heart thumping against his skin. His own heart thudded to the same rhythm, but at the same time it seemed to have stopped: his blood stood still in his veins and his thoughts were frozen. In that ice, a phrase was carved: To keep an eye on her.
*
The men from the Red Cross try to get Robert onto a stretcher. They tug at his arms. One of them takes hold of his shirt with two hands and pulls him up by his waist. All that time, Robert is looking at Danny. When he’s finally lying on the stretcher, the man with the bull’s head on his T-shirt appears for the third time. He says: I knew you were the one this year.
The man thumps his chest with his fist, holds it over his heart. Then he goes over to the stretcher, kneels beside Robert, bends over him and whispers something in his ear. One of the men from the Red Cross places a hand on the man’s shoulder. He slowly stands up and walks away. Danny follows the man, stops him.
What did you say to him?
The man strokes his mouth with his thumb and says: That I underestimated him.
What else?
That was all.
The man taps two fingers on the side of his head in farewell. Another explosion fills the air.
The bulls are in the arena, says the man.
A rocket bursts, faint against the blue sky.
It’s over, he says.
Danny sees his face change, but the same dark power still emanates from the head of the bull on his T-shirt.
He points at Danny’s chest, says goodbye and walks away.
The men have taken Robert to the ambulance. They’re closing the doors. Danny starts to head down the street without knowing where he’s going. The little man from the Red Cross steps out in front of him. Handing him Robert’s rucksack, he asks in English: Did you come here together?
Danny nods.
Are you coming to the hospital with him?
Me?
Who else?
It sounds like the logical thing to do. The expression on the man’s face and the reflection of the sunlight on his orange jacket rob Danny of any reply. He follows the man to the ambulance. Robert is lying on a narrow bed, fastened in with thick straps. He’s staring at the ceiling. Danny waits outside for a moment. The little man places a hand on his back and signals at him to get in. He ducks as he climbs inside. Then he puts the rucksack on the floor and sits on a fold-down seat beside Robert. They drive off. The ambulance swings around a few bends and stabilizes before accelerating.
Robert rests his hands on his stomach and laces his fingers together. You didn’t have to come, he says. His voice seems a long way off. His head rocks from side to side and his gaze is distant.
He looks down at his limp leg. Danny follows his gaze. His jeans have been cut open and the denim is dark red, almost purple in places.
After a while, the ambulance slows down and goes over a bump. They come to a stop, the doors open and someone appears with a wheeled stretcher. The ambulance men aren’t exactly gentle when they slide Robert onto the trolley. He screams and swears as they move him. A black man in a white coat pushes him inside. Robert tells him to take it slowly, but the man pays no attention.
Danny follows them. As he passes through the sliding doors and into the lobby, he feels the cool air on his neck. He hears someone crying. It’s an old Spanish woman in a black headscarf sitting on a bench in the corridor. She’s wailing and her sobs seep into the lobby, constant, unremitting, like a dripping tap.
The man pushes Robert into a room in the emergency ward. It’s a small room, square and white, with a curtain around it. The man parks the trolley by the wall and leaves. Danny sits down on a chair and waits. Neither of them says anything. After a while, a doctor appears from behind the curtain. Buenos días, he says. He takes a quick look at Robert’s leg and turns to Danny.
What happened? the doctor asks in English.
You’d better ask him that.
The man turns to Robert, repeats his question.
I speak Spanish, says Robert.
The doctor turns back to Danny. Did he fall? In the bull running?
Danny nods. He leans back against the cold washbasin. The doctor examines Robert’s leg and the wound on his thigh. He asks if he can move his leg, if he can move his foot. Then the doctor uses hand gestures and broken English to explain that they’re going to do some X-rays to see if they can set the bone or if they’ll have to operate. The doctor turns back to Danny.
Can you fill in the paperwork for him?
Yes.
The doctor goes away. A little later, a man with a clipboard pushes the curtain aside. He hands the clipboard to Danny, who looks at the form that’s attached to it. He doesn’t know Robert’s address or even his surname, but he says: I’ll fill it in.
Just put it down, Robert says as soon as the man’s disappeared through the curtain. I’ll do it later.
Two nurses come and push Robert away somewhere. Danny stays behind. There’s a mirror above the washbasin, a small rectangular one. Now and then, he glances up at the polished glass and the reflection of the curtain. It’s a long time before they bring Robert back to the room. His leg is straight now. The men push the bed to the wall, put the brake on and leave.
What are they going to do?
Plaster.
Is it broken?
Yes, when I fell. A clean break, they said.
What about the wound?
They’re going to bandage it up.
Danny thinks of the car and the photo on the dashboard. The curtain flutters occasionally, but no one comes into the room. Robert wants to sit up, but his leg’s too painful. He swears. Danny helps him up.
Could you get me a glass of water?
He nods at the washbasin, which has a glass on it.
Danny fills the glass from the tap, without looking in the mirror. Robert takes a couple of sips. After a long silence, he says: Why did you just stand there?
Why did you come back?
Danny turns his face to the curtain. Halogen lights are glowing in the corridor behind it, casting patches of light on the material and making it glow bright green.
He walks through the curtains and sits down on the bench in the corridor. The old woman’s no longer there. Two large men are pushing a trolley with an unshaven man on it, who’s bleeding from a head wound. A boy, just a child, is walking beside the trolley. He’s talking to the man in Spanish. As they pass the bench, Danny smells the sharp odour of wine. The boy has a brown stain on the seat of his trousers.
*
He gritted his teeth and pounded the punch bag, which swung on its chains. Left, left, right hook. His gloves thudded against the blue leather.
You don’t have to go all out, said Ron.
Danny jabbed again. Left, left, right hook, in rapid succession. His gloves flashed. He was sweating. He jabbed again and kept on jabbing until the bell went and he sat down a short distance away from the punch bag, his eyes still focused on the leather.
I’ll just keep my mouth shut then, said Ron.
He’d arranged to meet her after the training session at a café close to the boxing school. Danny’s hair was still damp from the shower. He had an orange juice and Ragna drank red wine. She smoked a cigarette and asked him how it had gone that evening.
Well, he said.
Did you leave the other guy in one piece?
Yeah.
He nodded.
How long is it now? About six weeks, right?
Seven.
He had nothing else to say to her. He emptied his glass. After a while, he said: I’m tired.
They stood up and walked out together.
If it’s okay with you, he said, I’m going home. To sleep.
Have a rest, she replied. You need it.
She kissed him and they walked together to her bike. She undid the lock, clicked it back together, hung it over her handlebars and turned the bike around. Then she swore. What’s wrong? he asked.
Puncture.
She looked at the back wheel. He pressed the tyre to the rim with his thumb.
Want me to go in and see if they’ve got a pump?
Yeah, please.
He took a look at the wheel. No point, he said. The valve’s gone.
I’ll just have to walk.
Want me to go with you? I can come back for my bike later, Danny said.
Thought you were tired.
I’ll manage.
Just go home and sleep, she said, and kissed him again. She turned the bike and pushed it down the pavement past the café. Danny headed in the other direction. When he reached the corner, he stopped and turned around. He could see her in the distance, walking past the park, going round the corner. He retraced his steps. At the corner, he stopped to watch her again. She was walking down the side of the park, past the houses. Danny followed her at a distance, walking down the narrow pavement beneath the trees. She went down the street until she reached the water, where she cut through behind the parked cars, crossed the canal, tugged her bike up onto the opposite pavement, and then headed down the other side of the water towards the petrol station. From there, she followed the wide road with the tramline. Danny went after her, but kept his distance. He had an idea where she might be heading. His heart was thumping, but it wasn’t from walking.
She took a side street that led to another canal and stopped at the fourth lamppost. She leant her bike against the lamppost, locked it up and disappeared into the porch.
He stopped opposite the house, by the water, hidden behind a van. He stood beneath a huge ash tree. He saw the light on the first floor go on. Then it went out and the light on the second floor came on and someone closed the curtains.
Working? he muttered. Like hell.
He walked back along the dark canal. He took the valve out of his trouser pocket and threw it into the water.
*
The air in the hospital corridor seems perfectly still. The doctor who took the X-rays comes over to the bench where Danny’s sitting and asks, in perfect English: Would you please be so kind as to inform his family?
Danny shrugs.
He can’t do it himself. He has to go to the plaster room.
But I don’t know his family.
The doctor glances down the empty corridor. Then he looks back at Danny and shrugs. Okay, I’ll do it, Danny says.
The doctor hands him the clipboard. You can phone from there, he says, pointing at a counter along the corridor before hurrying away. Robert has already filled in his name, address and telephone number. With the code for the Netherlands in front. Danny goes over to the counter. The receptionist looks up at him and he sees that she has thick, dark eyebrows. He asks if he can use the phone. She points at it and goes back to shuffling her papers. Danny dials the number. The phone rings a few times.
Hello. The hesitant voice of a young boy.
Could I speak to your mum?
Who is it?
My name’s Danny. I’d like to speak to your mum.
Who is it? The little boy’s voice grows faint. A clicking sound echoes down the line and then he hears another voice: Hello, this is Manuela. Sorry about that.
Yeah, hello, says Danny. I’m calling about your husband.
The girl at the counter looks up. Danny turns away.
And you are?
Danny. I hitched a lift with him.
Oh yes, he mentioned you, she says. Her tone is cool, but her breathing has become more rapid. Then she pulls herself together.
What’s happened?
He’s broken his leg.
She gasps. Broken?
He can hear both fear and relief in her voice. Danny lets the relief sink in, ignores the fear, and says: They’re putting it in plaster.
So what happens now?
He can hear the children playing in the background, the high-pitched voice of a little girl: Daddy, Daddy. Just a moment, says Manuela. She tells the children to be quiet. So what happens now? she asks again. Will he have to stay there?
I don’t know.
When will you find out?
Probably later today, says Danny.
She hesitates, then says: Could you call again when you know? Tell me what’s happening?
Danny doesn’t reply.
Will you do that?
Yes, he replies quietly. They say goodbye. He hangs up and thanks the receptionist with the dark eyebrows. She smiles. He walks back down the corridor. Robert’s lying on the bed, waiting.
Did you call her?
Yes. She asked what had happened.
What did you say?
That you’ve broken your leg.
Anything else?
She asked when you’ll be back.
Didn’t you tell her anything else?
No.
They are silent. A man appears and signals that he has to take Robert with him. He takes the brake off and pushes the bed out of the room.
*
Danny goes through the sliding doors, out into the bright sunlight, and shades his eyes with his hand. The hospital is in a residential district. No sign of the cathedral. He walks around the building. There’s a car park to the west of the hospital, with an industrial estate beyond. Danny walks down the path, between large potted plants whose leaves hang dry and limp on clay pellets. He goes around two corners and sees the town centre. When he finds a nice spot in the shade, he stops and gazes out over the red roofs and cathedral towers.
The sun moves on and the light falls on his face, warming his cheeks. He squeezes his eyes shut and sits for a long time, leaning against the wall. Over an hour later, he heads back inside, but the curtained room is empty and there’s no one around who might be able to tell him something. He goes back outside, sits in the same spot and waits. All that time, he thinks about his conversation with Robert’s wife. The concern in her voice. The children screaming in the background. He thinks about Robert and about the car. He knows what he has to do.
A man comes shuffling down the path.
Estás bien?
Sorry? Danny says, standing up.
Everything okay? the man asks in English. His voice sounds hoarse.
Fine.
And your friend?
He’s going to be okay.
Has he gone to the – what do you call it? – for the plaster.
Yes.
The man’s wearing an open dressing gown. His body is pale and thin. An old, hairless chest. Danny only notices now that he’s holding onto a rickety-looking drip stand. The man says: I saw you come in. I saw his leg. Is it broken?
Yes.
The man moves closer. The wheels of the drip stand squeak along the pavement. He stops beside Danny in the narrow strip of shade and says: The doctor told me I only had another four weeks to live.
Danny breathes out through his nose. He says: Four weeks?
Sí, says the man. That was six years ago.
He’s holding onto the stand as though he needs the support. Maybe he wants to show Danny how shaky it is or how shaky he is himself. Then the man says: Your friend’s leg is going to be fine.
The man looks up at the sky. Danny does the same.
Six years, the man repeats. I wanted to go to La Palma. With my children and grandchildren. For Christmas. Well, I’ve been there the past five years and I’m going again in December. I’ve already booked the house.
Danny looks down. He places his hand on his chest and feels his heart beating. He looks at the thin old man. The man coughs.
The doctor didn’t know I wanted to go to La Palma.
You went with your children?
And my seven grandchildren.
Danny hesitates. What if your situation had been different?
What do you mean?
What if you hadn’t had any children?
But I do have children.
But what if you didn’t? Can you imagine what that would be like?
The man purses his lips. It’s hard for me to imagine, he says. I suppose the doctor might just have been right then.
They both look down at the town. The air above the buildings ripples in the sun.
I’m going back inside.
Tell your friend he’s going to be fine.
I will.
Danny steps away from the wall. The man turns to follow. One of the wheels gets caught in the paving slabs and the stand judders and then comes free. They say goodbye. Danny heads inside. Robert is waiting in a wheelchair in the curtained room. His leg is in plaster up to the knee, and his ruined jeans are fastened around it with safety pins. Six weeks, he says.
Six weeks.
I’ve got to wait for the doctor, says Robert.
Danny sits down and they wait in silence for the doctor. When he comes, he tells them they’re free to go. They shake his hand and say goodbye and the doctor disappears again through the curtains.
Could you push me outside?
*
The doorbell echoed down the corridor, three times in quick succession. Then a short silence, followed by another ring, a long one this time. He stayed where he was, sitting on the edge of his bed. He swallowed. Another ring, louder and longer than before. He picked up his jogging bottoms from the floor and was about to put them on, but changed his mind. He waited. The phone rang. He stared at it as it rang four times before switching to the answering machine. He listened to his own voice and to the beep.
It’s me, I’m at the door.
Silence, rustling, a car driving past.
Are you in? Please pick up. Danny. She sighed. Danny, came the voice again through the speaker.
He walked over to the phone, picked up the receiver and turned off the answering machine. He didn’t say anything.
Are you there?
Yes.
Could you open the door?
He was silent.
Danny, open the door.
Are you on your own?
Yes, she said firmly.
He pulled on his jogging bottoms, gave his T-shirt a sniff, tucked it in, fastened the drawstring of his jogging bottoms and slid his feet into his trainers. Without doing up the laces, he headed down the four flights of stairs. She was standing in the porch, her hands on the frosted glass, her face between them, peering in. He turned the key and opened the door. Ragna stepped back.
Can I come in?
He looked around, rubbed his temples: So you didn’t bring him with you?
Who?
You know very well.
Just let me come in for a moment.
He looked at her.
What were you doing over at his place?
I work for him.
That late? With the lights off? Right.
He started to close the door.
Wait.
Her hand was on the doorframe. Danny held onto the door.
I can explain.
He opened the door a little wider, looked into her eyes and saw what he wanted to see. He held the door open for her. Ragna followed him upstairs in silence. When they reached his flat, she stopped just inside the door.
I heard you’re not training.
He said: What difference does it make? His voice was harsh.
She looked at the table, at the chairs. Sat down. Putting both hands on the table, she slowly said: I can explain about Mr Varon.
A brief silence.
He brought me here.
Danny stopped in the middle of the room and listened.
She said: He’s like a father to me.
He brought you here?
Yes.
Where did you meet him?
In Thailand, at a boxing gala.
She told him that she had been born in northern Thailand, but ended up in Bangkok when she was still very young. She’d met Gerard Varon at the fights in Pattaya. The next time he was there he asked her to come back to the Netherlands with him.
And you went with him? Just like that?
After some … negotiation.
Negotiation? With your family, you mean?
She thought for a moment. With the people who looked after me.
Your foster family?
You could call them that, she said. I left for the Netherlands. Wheeled him onto the plane and off again. I learned the language. I learned about the people.
She paused for a moment.
Life’s good here, she said. In spite of the cold.
Why did he take you with him?
He didn’t want to abandon me.
And it was that simple?
She nodded.
I thought there was something going on between the two of you.
Ragna spread out her hands on the tabletop and then brought them back together. She shook her head as she looked at him. You know he’s paralyzed from the waist down? she said.
So?
She held her hand level with her navel and said: Nothing works beneath this point.
Danny put his hands in his pockets. He went and stood beside her. Everything was clear.
You’d better start training again.
Is that what you came to tell me?
That’s my job.
Ragna got up and went over to him. She raised one hand to his neck and stroked his stubble.
Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.
Her eyes told him she meant it.
Doesn’t matter.
She reached for her cigarettes. She took one from the packet and lit it. He fetched an ashtray from the kitchen and put it on the table. Watched as she took a drag.
Sorry, she repeated. Her voice was quiet.
Later that evening, he ordered two pizzas and they ate together at the table. He asked her about Thailand and her foster family. She said: I’d like to go back, but not for good.
He nodded.
She asked him where he came from.
I’ve travelled around a lot.
Far?
No. We were with the fair. We never went very far, just Holland and Belgium, but we were in a different place every week.
Not often. My parents live quite close, but I don’t visit them much.
When they’d finished eating, Ragna asked if she could stay.
He said she could.
They made love. She fell asleep in his arms. He looked up at the beams, ran his hand over his legs, his stomach, his cock. He felt big and strong, but at the same time a feeling of lightness rose up within him, a feeling like the shiver during a fight when he’d landed that final jab and his muscles were about to relax and he’d look at his opponent and hold on to the tension in his body until it was all over. But now, in his attic room, that feeling lasted much longer.
*
Danny hoists Robert’s rucksack onto his back and pushes the wheelchair into the corridor and out of the building, across the car park in front of the hospital. He holds on tight to the handles. The wheelchair rolls easily, as though it’s empty, but the rubber handles feel heavy in his hands. He grips so hard that his forearms hurt.
They go over a hump and he holds back the wheelchair as they roll down the other side.
That way, says Robert.
Danny doesn’t respond.
It’s that way.
Just going down the kerb.
He pushes the wheelchair between two parked cars and onto the road, crosses over, and bumps it back up onto the pavement. The sun is behind him, burning his shoulders. He closes his eyes for a moment.
The road goes uphill and around a corner. When they reach the top of the hill, Danny stops and looks at the downhill slope, with its parked cars, lampposts along both sides, a few rubbish bins, a letterbox. A wall painted yellow. He lets go of the handles. The wheelchair stays where it is.
*
Following Robert’s directions, he goes down a large road to a roundabout, takes one of the exits and comes to the bridge. Danny sees the town lying to their right in the blazing sun. Once they’re on the other side of the bridge, he recognizes the wide street and little side roads. He pushes the wheelchair around a corner and sees the car standing there, beside the tree. Robert takes the keys out of his pocket and asks Danny to open the door and help him into the car.
You can’t drive with that leg.
Just help me.
It’s not going to work.
I want to try.
With that leg?
It’s in plaster. It’ll be fine.
Wouldn’t you rather stay in a hotel?
No.
Danny supports Robert as he hops to the car on his left leg and sits on the edge of the driver’s seat. Swearing, he forces his knee under the steering wheel. He puts the key in the ignition and turns it. The engine roars to life. Robert rests his plaster cast on the pedal and tries to put his foot down. He moves his hand to the gearstick and looks down at his leg. Leaning forward, he uses both hands to shift his foot, staring in concentration at the windscreen. He tries again to push the pedal down, but his heel’s too bulky and he can’t apply any pressure.
Did you really think it was going to work?
Yes.
All the way home?
So what the hell am I supposed to do? He taps his thumb on the wheel.
A cat slinks behind the car, a ginger one with white patches. It moves silently past the wheels, crosses the pavement and walks along the wall. Then it sits on a step in front of a door with a roll-down shutter and licks its paws before continuing on its way. Danny watches as it disappears behind the building by the water.
I can drive, he says.
They look at each other, Robert’s eyes small, pensive, blinking; Danny squinting in the sun. Robert leans back, tilts his head.
You don’t have to do that.
But I can.
Robert shakes his head. I’d rather go back on the train, he says. He rests his hands on the top of the wheel.
I’ll drive, says Danny.
Are you sure?
Do I have to ask a hundred times?
He waits. Robert stares through the windscreen.
Tell you what, says Danny. I’ll go over there for a quick piss and when I get back, you can tell me what you want to do.
He walks over to the edge of the water and unzips his jeans. The water ripples gently beneath him. He looks around for the cat, but it’s vanished. When he gets back to the car, Robert’s still sitting in the driver’s seat. Danny leans against the door.
Why did you just stand there? Robert asks quietly.
Danny doesn’t answer.
You just going to keep quiet? Like you always do? He runs his hand through his hair. Did you think I’d let you just stand there with those bulls coming?
Yes.
You were wrong.
Danny puts his foot up on the front wheel. I never asked you for anything.
You think I asked for this? Robert places both hands on his thighs, rubs them on his jeans. You’re not going to tell me, are you?
Danny pushes the tyre with his foot and the car rocks. No, I’d rather not.
Then you’d better go.
What about you?
I’ll think of something.
Danny rests his forearms on his knee. The sole of his shoe squeaks on the tyre. What about the car?
I’ll get someone to pick it up.
I’m going to drive you home.
This time he says it in a tone that Robert can’t argue with. He just says: Fine. He tries to get out of the car, but he can’t manage by himself. Danny helps him into the wheelchair, pushes him around the car and parks him next to the tree. I’ll get the car out onto the road first, he says. He walks back around the car, climbs in, starts the engine and manoeuvres the car onto the road. Then he gets out and helps Robert into the passenger seat. Danny folds up the wheelchair, lifts it into the boot, puts the rucksack on the back seat and gets into the driver’s seat.
Robert says: Could you get a clean shirt out for me?
Danny takes a T-shirt from one of the plastic bags. He passes it to Robert.
Not that one.
Something wrong with it?
Not a white one. There’s another one in there.
Danny finds a green T-shirt at the bottom of the bag. Robert takes off his dirty shirt, tosses it into the back of the car and puts on the clean one. They sit there for a moment, looking at the river, the cathedral and the red roofs. Danny says a silent farewell to Pamplona.
He reaches for the lever under the seat and pushes it back. Then he starts the car and returns to the main road. He takes the turn for the bridge and heads to the hospital, drives into the car park and stops at the main entrance. While Robert waits, he takes the wheelchair from the boot, unfolds it and pushes it through the sliding doors and into the lobby. I’ll just leave it here, he says to the receptionist.
Don’t you need it? she asks. You’re welcome to borrow it.
No, thanks. It’s okay.
He drives west along the river. The sun is up high above the hills. The route they followed down to the river that morning winds up the slope on the opposite bank in the blazing sunshine.
*
She was on her elbows, her head on the pillow, her buttocks in the air. With every thrust, she moaned, rhythmically, powerfully. He put his hands on her hips, held her in place, and gave it to her. She pressed her face into the pillow. He watched her dark hair swishing from side to side. He heard her muffled moans rising up from the pillow, slowly becoming a pleading repetition of his name. Danny, Danny, Danny. He tensed the muscles in his abdomen and felt himself drain empty.
Later she said: Know what? You’re a real boxer, you are.
How do you recognize a real boxer?
She put her hand on his crotch, squeezed his balls.
He laughed.
She got up, walked over to the chair and took her cigarettes from her trousers. Standing there naked and small in his attic room, she lit a cigarette and looked over at the window. It was getting light in the east. She took a drag on her cigarette and said: Believe me, I know how to recognize a real boxer.
So do you fuck all of your boxers?
She walked around the bed, took another drag on her cigarette. No, not all of them.
Silly cow, he said. He picked up the pillow and threw it at her. She held the cigarette close to her body.
Hey, watch out, she said.
He picked up another pillow, waved it in the air and grinned at her. He said: I’m going to knock that fag clean out of your paws.
Cut it out.
I will if you will.
Ragna smiled. I only fuck real boxers, she said.
Yeah? Well, I’m the only real boxer around here.
Right, Ragna said slowly. I’ve seen the photos for Leipzig. For the poster. Now those guys look like real boxers.
Who?
The ones from Leipzig.
Was Ramos on the poster?
Yes.
So you think he’s a real boxer?
She sat down on the edge of the bed, facing him, and said: Yeah. A very real one.
What do you mean?
You know, just saying.
He grabbed hold of her shoulders and pulled her towards him. Then he pushed her down onto the mattress and nuzzled into her neck, giving it a nip. She yelped. He slipped his hands under her armpits and picked her up. I’ll show you a real boxer, he said.