Renaldo (5 page)

But Renaldo was not as presumptuous as Estes Santos. He felt certain

that The Fat Man’s gratitude would not extend a minute beyond the end of

this entertaining train ride. They would be two forgotten heroes once they

disembarked in Buenos Aires. That assumption was discarded forever when

Astor Gordero waddled over to the couch were Renaldo continued to sit in the

early morning hours.

“So, my newfound friend, are you enjoying yourself?” the chairman

inquired. The boy nodded politely.

“Very much so, Señor Gordero. Especially the food and the floor show.”

“I am glad that you decided to remain a spectator to all of this. I would

have thought less of you, quite frankly, if you had joined in. A fine young

man like you should always hold yourself above such public displays. It is all

very amusing, of course, but I find it somewhat degrading in the end, very

animalistic and messy. I guess that I will have to replace the carpet after all,”

he chuckled surveying the predawn dénouement.

“Our meeting is not by chance, Renaldo,” The Fat Man continued. “As a

matter of fact, I was the one who arranged for you and Santos to be here today. I

had hoped to meet you personally and congratulate you on your fine season, but

I hadn’t anticipated the rather trying circumstances under which we became

intimately acquainted.”

Gordero spoke in a soft fatherly tone, a look of real concern planted on his

moon-shaped face. He didn’t wait for the boy to respond. Pointing his right index

finger at his audience, he smiled warmly. “I know your family background. An

illustrious history that helped shape modern-day Argentina. The general and

your grandfather, what men of vision they were! I knew your father personally.

He was a great surgeon.” The tone of voice was suddenly remorseful, with just

the right amount of profound respect thrown in. There was a pregnant moment

of silence. “I have met your mother on several occasions. She is a cultured,

beautiful lady! As for you, my sources tell me that you want to enter university

next semester, that you stood at the top of your graduating class academically

at Sir Isaac Newton. Well done!” Gordero clapped his hands in approval.

The two men sat silently for a brief moment as the chairman adjusted his

position to lean closer to the young scholar.

“Of greater interest to me, however, is the fact that while you could still

be playing schoolboy soccer, your level of proficiency in the sport has earned

you the captain’s band of our semiprofessional, under twenty-one team. Both

your coaches and your fellow players have nothing but good things to say about

you . . . unusual, for someone so young and wet behind the ears to achieve such

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positive accolades. On the whole, you’ve achieved quite a well-rounded list of

accomplishments to date. Your mother must be very proud of you.” The patron

paused to let the compliments sink in.

“I am told that you have achieved all of this while still retaining your

humility and your levelheadedness. That is a great asset! Men respect that, they

will follow a man like you. I have seen today with my own eyes that you have a

special ability to handle men in difficult situations. Keep your head about you

and you should expect great things, my boy.”

The chubby index finger jabbed the air in front of Renaldo’s chest.

He felt uncomfortable listening to The Fat Man’s praises and tried to tell

his host several times that his actions did not deserve such attention. Astor

Gordero would have none of it.

“I have watched you play the sport, Renaldo. That game against Racing

Club in which you scored two goals and set up a third? A stunning performance!

It was a shame so few people got to see it. But I did, and I haven’t forgotten it

either.”

The rotund barrister turned his attention momentarily to the empty

champagne glass in his left hand. The ever-present steward needed only a

raised eyebrow as instruction to top the vessel up. When Gordero started to

speak once again, his face was masked in a tight, serious expression.

“You are, no doubt, aware that the greatest sporting event the world has

ever seen will take place in Argentina in six months’ time. The generals and

politicians that run this magnificent land want the World Cup to be Argentina’s

when it is over. Frankly, they will stop at nothing to appease their egos. In this

case, that means a world soccer championship. To achieve that result, no stone

will be left unturned to find the right players for our National Team. But in

spite of the positive lip service the men at the top espouse, at the moment,

things could hardly be in worse shape. Scandal, dissension, corruption . . . the

men that are running the program are nothing but braggarts and blowhards!

They have achieved nothing positive at all. They mouth optimism, but look

at the record. Far too many losses on the field in warm-up games. The press is

all over the team and its managers. Many of our best players don’t even want

to play for fear of getting caught up in this mess.” A look of disgust shrouded

Gordero’s meaty face. He shook his head silently for several moments before his

eyes once again brightened and he proceeded.

“There is, however, a movement afoot to straighten out the problems by

bringing in Octavio Suarez as supreme manager in charge. It would be his job

to clean house and start anew. I believe that you know Suarez, is that not so?”

Gordero had certainly caught Renaldo’s attention once the topic had

changed to the World Cup and Argentina’s National Team. The whole nation

was obsessed with the daily soap opera that was unfolding in the newspapers

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JAMES McCREATH

and on television. Even more urgent than the team itself was the infrastructure

debacle. Would FIFA, the governing body of world soccer, even allow Argentina

to stage the event? Construction of the major stadiums to be used was months

behind schedule. The same could be said for the modern telecommunications

facilities that would beam the games around the world. Adding salt to these

internal wounds was the fact that Brazil had offered to stage the tournament

should Argentina fail to meet its commitments by the appointed time. This

was considered a slap in the face from a South American neighbor, and hostility

toward the country to the north saw many effigies clad in the yellow jerseys of

the Brazilian National Team burned in the streets. FIFA representatives were

to arrive in Buenos Aires the following week to hand down their decision after

a final inspection tour. The resulting chaos would be too horrible to imagine if

the games were taken away from Argentina.

“Yes, I have taken clinics and trained under Señor Suarez. He has an

excellent tactical knowledge of the game. I found him very inspiring,” Renaldo

recalled.

“He would not take the position of National Team manager when it was

initially offered to him because of the interference he anticipated from the

bureaucrats,” Gordero continued. “I always thought that he was the only man

who could do the job. Señor Suarez remembers you as well, Renaldo. He told

me once that you play the game as if your head and your feet are connected as

one.”

The Fat Man held up his left index finger at the same time he said the

word ‘one.’ Renaldo noticed the size of his entire hand for the first time. It

was massive! The speaker then gently rested his palm flat on the boy’s right

thigh, placed his index finger on top of his middle finger, and then crossed his

forth finger over top of the other two. He removed his hand from the boy’s

leg holding up three perfectly entwined fingers, his thumb holding down his

crooked little finger.

“Head and feet perfectly connected as if one entity, perfectly connected!”

The ham hock appendage continued to be displayed for the prolonged viewing

of Gordo’s captive audience.

“Renaldo, I want you to come and see me at my office. We can talk in

private there about how I may be able to help you. These are dangerous times for

timid men, my young friend. But danger brings opportunity to the courageous,

the risk takers. I have seen how courageously you behaved today, and if you

have the strength and the desire to be even more courageous, I can make great

things happen for you! Do you have that strength and desire, Renaldo?”

An emotional wave swept over the boy, bringing tears to his eyes. It

had been a long time since he had let his inner feelings come to the surface,

but Gordero’s fatherly demeanor had instilled in him such a sense of trust

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RENALDO

and security that Renaldo blurted out his deepest secret with gut-wrenching

introspection.

“I have a mission, Señor Gordero, a mission that has never been revealed

to anyone. It concerns my late father and something that I would like to achieve

on his behalf, something that would bring pride to our family name. It is the

reason I continue to play the game of football instead of concentrating one

hundred percent on my studies. My mother has difficulty understanding my

desire to play. I simply tell her that it’s to stay in top physical condition, that

it stimulates my mind as well, and she leaves me alone for a while. But it

goes much deeper than that. It is for my father’s memory, for his unfulfilled

dreams.”

Renaldo was trying desperately to regain his composure as the tears rolled

slowly down his cheeks. He choked out his final few words as the older man

held out a napkin to stem the saline flow.

“It is my dream to play for the National Team of Argentina in the World

Cup one day, and yes, Señor Gordero, I can find the strength and desire to be

courageous. If you can help me, I will not let you down!”

Astor Gordero held Renaldo’s brimming eyes intently with his own. He

was touched by the show of emotion. The lawyer felt as if he could have gone

on talking to this fine young man for hours, but alas, Estes Santos staggered

over to the couch and announced their imminent arrival in Buenos Aires. The

patron was at first put off by this intrusion, but he was quick to remember that

it was as much the actions of Estes Santos as those of young De Seta that were

responsible for his still being among the living.

“Estes, I want you to bring Renaldo to see me this week, and we can

discuss the future . . . a future that I hope will unfold to our mutual benefit.

Here is my business card. I will inform my executive assistant to make sure

that you get the first available appointment.”

Gordero also gave the handsome athlete a card, just in case the obviously

hungover Santos were to lose his, or fail to remember this conversation

altogether. The Fat Man had no doubt that Renaldo De Seta would remember

their conversation, and that the talented, sensitive youngster would pay him a

visit . . . with or without Estes Santos.

The men said their good-byes on the station platform and took leave

of each other just as the first rays of sunlight set the eastern horizon aglow.

Renaldo then helped his coach to the taxi that would take them both home.

Estes Santos had celebrated with too much abandon, and now he was paying the

piper. His gait was an off-balance stagger as he made his way to the curbside

taxi stand. The two men initially sat without saying a word as the black and

yellow Fiat sped through the Sunday morning dawn. It was Santos who first

broke the silence.

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JAMES McCREATH

“Do you think he is serious about our meeting? I mean, really, why would

such a powerful man want to talk to us about ‘a future that will unfold to

our mutual benefit’? There is nothing that we can do for him now. He is just

leading us on. The clear light of dawn shines reality on my great expectations.

Oh, well, such is life!” Santos sighed, resting his head against the leather

upholstery of the cab’s interior.

“I would not be so certain about that meeting never happening,” the

younger man responded. “I have a strange feeling about Señor Gordero. There

was something about the way he talked to me. He sounded so sincere and

frank. I am confident that we will, at least, be granted an audience with him.”

“Oh, for youthful optimism!” snorted Santos. “The only audience I

want now is with my bed. Those putas and that champagne were a lethal

combination. I feel like shit!”

Estes looks as terrible as he must have feel,
thought Renaldo. He wondered

how a man could go home to his wife and family in such a state, for the residue

of Estes’ carousing was all over his face and clothes. But Estes Santos was a

careful man. He instructed the cabby to let him off at the Newton Academy

sports dormitory, where he could shower and change into the fresh clothes that

he kept there for exactly such an occasion as this. The coach gave his captain an