Three days later we buried Gabrielle Barteau, née Lemoine, in the cemetery in Saint-Quentin, where she’d bought a plot on my father’s death. Only my sister and I were there to see the coffin lowered into the hole next to André Abel Barteau. After the slab was closed, Madeleine went to buy a geranium to decorate it a little, and we ate sandwiches, sitting on the grave. I remembered the advice my mother had given her to become a private secretary and marry her boss. I couldn’t believe she could have said that.
“Basically, she was stupid,” my sister said.
She raised her hand to her mouth as soon as she’d uttered these sacrilegious words, as if a thunderbolt from heaven would come down and strike us. But there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, it was so sunny you felt like taking your jacket off, and the punishment never came.
Then I left for Rheims to collect Madeleine’s things from the hotel on Rue des Carterets. We agreed that I’d go alone, in case Patrice was around and turned violent. But when I passed the bar, just to take a look, I saw that the place was sealed up.
The match with Châteauroux was fast approaching. Léonard found his way to the locker room and I could see from the way his teammates looked at him how relieved they were that he was back. Their dear Martian. During the training session that followed, I was also able to verify the thing that people say about talent, that it spreads. By being absent, Léonard had made the boys think about that extra bit of spirit that was missing from their game, and his return drove them to give more of themselves. Cosmin had always been brilliant, but up until now, he’d never gone out of his comfort zone. He’d make space for himself, monopolize the ball, but when it came down to it he seldom played a key role. I’d abandoned hope, but now, suddenly, I had the feeling his game might develop in a more collective direction. Even Rouverand, who only ever judged a match by the number of opportunities it gave him to score, turned at moments into a center forward worthy of the name. He didn’t just wait for a ball to come into the penalty area, but showed that he was capable of participating in a genuine offensive, one put together by the whole team. All the same, Châteauroux, whom we were due to meet for that inaugural match, was rather a high mountain to climb. Their premier team was in Division 2, with a good chance of promotion to Division 1, and their training center was considered a breeding ground for some of the best talents in the whole of France.
The great day arrived. The club had given us the Auguste Deylaud stadium, where the field was as smooth as a billiard table. We arrived by minibus and invaded the locker room, which struck us as strangely large in relation to our much reduced group. I’d decided that Cosmin would be captain. It was a gamble, I knew. He could either grow even more given that responsibility, or give in to his demons, precisely because he’d been singled out from his teammates. He and I did a rapid reconnaissance of the ground to see how supple it was and to choose the type of cleat appropriate to it. I looked up at the sky. Heavy clouds were coming in from the east.
There were lots of spectators in the stands and at the edge of the field. The management of the club had come to see what the future might look like, and most of the parents were there. In less than two hours, all these people would either be carrying me in triumph or demanding my head on a platter.
Catherine Vandrecken arrived with my sister. She was wearing a raincoat and a cap that gave her a mischievous air. I kept my distance and saw Meunier introduce himself. He didn’t waste any time, I thought. As she spoke to him, Catherine met my eyes and gave me a little sign. I responded with a nod and went into the corridor leading to the locker room. I opted for a very short pep talk. The boys were sufficiently afraid of their opponents to be focused. I insisted on one point, not to play too deep, not to be too defensive, as we had against Valenciennes, but to keep pressing forward, and I also spoke about the weather, which might play a crucial role. I was convinced that the rain would start falling very soon, and I encouraged my players to go all out for the first fifteen minutes, on dry ground, in order to be able to play for time later if the playing conditions became difficult.
The boys came out of the locker room making a noise with their cleats. Léonard was the last out. I held him back by his shirt. It was his first official match. I insisted on the need to keep his self-control, whatever happened, but I made it clear that my warning wasn’t connected with his Asperger’s, it was just that anyone playing in a tournament for the first time might not necessarily realize the consequences of a rude gesture or one word too many to the referee.
The players walked onto the pitch. The Châteauroux players were on average four inches taller than mine, with muscles to match. The captains exchanged pennants and the two teams got into position. I passed Madeleine on my way to the touchline. She’d had her hair cut and looked her natural color again.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Who are you talking about?”
“You know perfectly well. Catherine. Are you still friends?”
“More than ever.”
The match started dramatically. Immediately on kick-off, Bensaid passed to Cosmin, who looked for Rouverand and sent the ball flying through the air over the opposing team’s wall of defenders. There was a one-in-ten chance of it working, but the ball ended up just in front of Kevin, who didn’t think twice and sent it zooming straight down the middle, while the Châteauroux goalkeeper was scratching himself, and the poor boy saw the ball brush past his shoulder without reacting. 1–0 to us. A perfect shot. Any other team apart from our opponents would probably have been knocked senseless after a start like that, but in this case it was as if a deadly machine had been set in motion. The power and organization of Châteauroux came into their own, with an onslaught on Léonard’s goal. I thought at that point, and so did everyone on the edge of the field, that our advantage would collapse in an instant. The disparity between our opponents and us, in terms of athletic potential, as well as organization on the field, was too obvious. Except that wasn’t exactly what happened. Châteauroux kept taking chances, but nothing worked. Sometimes the ball grazed the bar, or went just over the head of an unmarked striker but didn’t go into the net. And when finally the goal seemed open, and an equalizer looked inevitable, it was Léonard who intervened, thanks to one of his brilliant anticipatory moves, which were becoming his trademark.
It had started raining, and you could feel the tension on the field. The delayed goal not only hadn’t thrown Châteauroux, it had given them extra strength. At the same time, the fact that they hadn’t equalized quickly, or even after persistent effort, increased their frustration. A first deadly tackle on Mutu set the tone for a match that had tipped over into excessive aggression. Châteauroux couldn’t lose, but their patience was exhausted, their pride hurt. As they kept pushing forward, the atmosphere became heavier. They were awarded a corner kick. As the ball came down, Léonard was ideally placed, and was getting ready to grab it when a foot hit his face with unprecedented violence. It came from Châteauroux’s center forward, a blond guy who looked like a pitbull, and who’d launched himself into a high-risk attempt to get the ball back, with the evident desire to hurt the player who’d been resisting them for far too long. Léonard collapsed, although without letting go of the ball. I rushed forward. I didn’t think for a second. Had the referee blown the whistle? I didn’t give a damn. I ran as if in slow motion toward my nephew, and entered the penalty area. A fight had started between the center forward and Marfaing. Other players joined in, it was complete chaos. I pushed my way through to reach Léonard. He was trying to get up, but nobody was paying any attention to him, everybody was focused on the fight. There he was, on his knees, swaying a little, but his face was still totally calm, even though it was covered in blood. I tried to get to him, but at that moment I was grabbed firmly by the arm. I broke free angrily to confront whoever was trying to stop me coming to my nephew’s aid and screamed my anger in his face, my fear, too, because of the assault he’d just been subjected to. All the insults I knew came out of my mouth.
The referee faced me. It was he who’d grabbed my arm, he who was now weighing up how dangerous I was, expressive vocabulary. He didn’t hesitate for long. He stepped back, took a red card from his pocket, and pointed to the locker rooms, while his assistants tried to hold me back. I turned to Léonard. He was still in the same place, as if frozen. He’d clearly taken to heart my advice before the match to never lose control. I was thrown off the field and led back to the locker rooms. Sitting on a bench, I could hear the noise of the stadium, the protests, the whistles, which lasted several more minutes before the match apparently resumed. I kicked the door and hurt myself. I cried out, alone in those cold locker rooms. I walked up and down like a caged animal, then finally sat down again on the bench. Catherine came in. That was all I needed.
“Well?” I asked.
“The match has started again.”
“And Léonard?”
“He’s in his place. It was just the arch of the eyebrow. It looks worse than it is.”
“Did you see that assault! It’s unacceptable. And that stupid referee sending me off. What about the other guy, the center forward, did he send him off, too?”
“No.”
“It’s a scandal!”
“Vincent, there’s no point losing your temper.”
“How can I not lose my temper over something so unfair! He was almost decapitated by that killer!”
“You love that kid.”
“What?”
“You love him.”
“It’s not about that! You don’t understand anything! He was in the penalty area!”
“And?”
“You can’t do that in the penalty area! It’s taboo!”
“Taboo, eh? Interesting.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“I’d never dare.”
“Oh, yes, I see what you’re up to, Madam Psychiatrist, but I’m not playing with words, I’m talking about the rules of soccer, the ethics of the referee’s profession! Everything falls to pieces if you flout those principles! And they were being flouted, don’t you see?”
“You have a scratch.”
“What?
At that moment Catherine came up to me. I recoiled slightly.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Show me that.”
“It’s nothing, it was when they dragged me off the field, I struggled and—”
“They scored a second goal, you know. The one called Cosmin.”
“What? A second goal? Couldn’t you have told me that earlier?”
“Yes, if you’d given me time. We’ll have to disinfect it anyway. Are you up to date with your vaccinations? I’m sure you aren’t.”
“It’s nothing, I tell you!
She was very close to me. Her cap was pushed back a little. She took me by surprise and kissed me.
“What did you just do?”
“I kissed you.”
“You don’t have any right to do that.”
“Are there rules for that too?”
“Of course! There are rules for everything.”