Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [87]
‘Arturo da Silva, that’s right. You were lucky enough to train with the best. Do you know what I liked about him? The way he took up all the space. You have to feel well in the place you move in. The ring was his country and the other had to conquer it. That’s it. I know he used to visit the ring beforehand.’
‘Yep, he always liked to be the first to arrive,’ said Curtis.
He could see him now. When there was no one about, he’d walk around the ring. Still in his clothes. His hands in his pockets. He’d stand there for a while, deep in thought, and complete a circuit.
‘He always had that idea about the globe.’
‘The globe?’
‘The terrestrial globe is on the move. You have to try to know all the time where its point of support is.’
That’s right, he thought, the globe’s support.
Manlle blew a cloud of smoke through the left side of his mouth as if making space for what he listened to carefully. He was a sponge. And proud of it.
‘Everyone,’ he said sententiously, ‘has at least one brilliant idea in their life. Maybe no more. But they have one.’
The phone rang. Three times. He didn’t answer. It rang again, twice. He waited. The third time, he picked up the receiver. Said, ‘You’re not feeling well? No problem.’ He hung up and then dialled a number. ‘Falcón? Tell Mother we won’t be coming to dinner tonight.’
He looked at his watch and then at Curtis. ‘My ideas never reached my fists. I could hit hard. But it’s one thing to hit hard and another to hit with ideas. You had ideas, Curtis. You belonged to Arturo’s school. Your left was a cobra. That one-two, a killer. You see, Curtis, I never forgot that fight. You didn’t give me time to breathe. I hit hard, but my idea didn’t make it to my fist. You didn’t give me time.’
‘I was in a hurry,’ said Curtis. ‘It was a special day.’
‘Unbelievable, eh, Curtis? We made our debut the day a war started. You would have been champion. You know, I’m glad you knocked me out. I soon learnt my place in boxing wasn’t inside the ring. My brilliant idea was something else. So I lost a tooth and discovered a mine. What I had was good eyesight, but I didn’t know it yet.’
He opened his mouth and pointed to a gold canine. ‘They could at least have given us a gumshield! Here it is. Pure gold. But I kept the other. I’m glad you gave it back to me. It was a fine trophy. Stuck in your glove like that. Man, you could hit hard. I’m sorry they didn’t let you compete again.’
He scratched his throat as if he’d found a bitter-tasting vein. Stamped his cigarette out in the ashtray. Curtis knew what had happened. The guy was a wheeler-dealer. There was no one else.
‘I’m in a hurry right now, champ. Some urgent business to attend to. I’ll do what I can. What is it you want, Curtis?’
‘A passport and passage to Argentina.’
‘You’re finally leaving, are you, Curtis? You do well. I always said walking about with a photographer’s horse was no job for a champ.’
‘It’s for someone else. A friend.’
‘A mighty good friend.’
‘That’s right, a good friend.’
‘Makes no difference. If you don’t escape, you leave. It’s what our country does. Export people. I said to a local boss, “At this rate, we won’t have any clients left. You, the priests and me.” He said, “If they’re not happy, better that they leave. One less to deal with.” Unbelievable! They don’t care if they’re put in charge of a cemetery. Exporting’s easy. It’s importing that’s difficult. You don’t smoke, right?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Curtis.
‘Here you go. Genuine Sport A. Passage and passport with visa? Done. You know what you have to do, right?’
‘I brought everything with me,’ said Curtis, handing over Luís Terranova’s photograph and documents.
‘Sure. You know what you have