Goalkeeper's Loneliness, Chapter II.
Previous chapter here: http://ladystardust18.livejournal.com/31044.html
Disclaimer: Yes, it's alive! I hadn't had that much time, though. But here's more. The only warnings here is that I tamper around with Atlético de Madrid BECAUSE I CAN. Hints of something? Depends on your perverted minds. Feel free to stem fanfics from here if you wish XD
Chapter II
The rocking waves below the ship still didn’t lull David into a peaceful slumber. He had a high-class ticket, of course, but his mood was like that of the people he saw on deck: people with their eyes lost in the distance, people who didn’t know whether they were going back or not. In fact, he caught some of them eyeing him with some sort of resentment, as if thinking those holiday-goers did not understand the sacrifices they had to go through in order to find a new home, a new job. David was one of those “holiday-goers”. So, he almost always holed up in his cabin and wondered just how cold England was. Of course, he knew the story of the Titanic.
However, it was sometimes better to think about death by glacier crash rather than Spain. He still remembered that day at the dock with his family. He didn’t pack much, and his luggage was comprised of, mostly, winter clothes, for he’d heard, even then, about England’s cold.
Maybe England wasn’t so cold if he compared it to his father’s eyes, he thought. Señor José de Gea had stood at the dock watching his son leave, but his eyes and countenance showed no emotion at all. He might have as well been looking at nothing instead of David, who then averted his eyes. He was met by the contrasting spectacle of his mother, who could not control her sobs and was leaning on her husband’s shoulder, weeping and hiccupping. That made David sad and embarrassed at the same time, for he did not dare to hug her. That would have meant walking over to his father and being too close to him. So, he had only turned around and left.
David saw his father again in his mind, and he closed his eyes as if the image had been real. He wondered what had made his father so angry all the time. Maybe if he hadn’t had the friends he had… if he’d made other friends… but, how could he have gotten along with anyone else? Those were the guys he’d grown up with.
Fernando. He was older than the rest, but still they called him El Niño, the Kid. That was because he’d been the first child in the house. He was the son of his nurse, born out of wedlock. Perhaps, if it had been for his father, the girl and her baby would have been thrown out, but his mother refused, because the girl was in perfect health and she wanted a nurse for her future child. So, in a way, Fernando was the older brother he’d never had. They’d grown used to call him El Niño because when he started walking and running around the house, everyone would shout at him “¡Niño! Niño!” perhaps to warn him or to get him to stop. The Kid was now a tall, handsome, freckled man who made the girls’ heads turn whenever he walked down the street to run some errands: the leader of the pack, of sorts.
The second boy was the one that called David’s attention the most. His father was French and his mother was from some country far away in America. His name was Antoine. Señor de Gea would go and see Antoine’s father, señor Griezmann, if he ever needed to read a document or a book in French and Antoine’s father would translate it for him. They were the owners of a small press. Even if Señor de Gea would require their services, it was known that the Griezmann press would sometimes allow people from the Communist party to print pamphlets and signs. It was a sort of a neutral place, not wholly belonging to the rebels, but not wholly bending their heads at Franco.
The same ambiguousness applied to Antoine, who was a year younger than David. He was not part of the upper class, but there was a sort of royal quality about the boy. His parents were learned. People gossiped that they were heirs to a fortune, but that they preferred to run away when they found out Antoine’s mother was pregnant. They wouldn’t get a cent because they had placed dishonor on their families by having a child out of wedlock. So, they ran away to Spain and set up a small press. Señor Griezmann was one of the few people who knew French in Madrid. He had minimized the need to go and get interpreters at the Basque country.
El Niño, then, would sometimes play with young David; perhaps a bit reluctantly, like an older brother asked to baby-sit. He preferred to be out in the streets, playing football with the sons of the merchants, just around the estate. When he was old enough to venture not far from home, David tried to follow Fernando, but found himself too scared to participate in the football matches.
Until, one day, a small kid found his way into the middle of a football match. Older boys tried hard not to kick him by accident, but the kid wasn’t afraid.
“Es el francesito.”
The Little Frenchman. That was how they called Antoine. And it was Antoine himself who walked over to David, who was sitting in the shade, shyly watching the boys play, and invited him to join in.
David played, and had his fun, and got home together with Fernando. He was smiling and out of breath, and his clothes were dirty and torn. That night, Fernando had received a whipping for not taking care of the young master, and the nurse had to plea and say it wouldn’t happen again. So, when David went back to play, El Niño would always push him back and say:
“Tú, David, de guardameta, para que no ensucies las ropas. No quiero que me vuelva a tocar una zurra como la de la otra noche.” (1)
David didn’t like being a goalkeeper at all. It was a lonely position, mostly because Antoine and Fernando always played on his side and they were so good, it took forever to take the ball from them. So, it took forever as well for anyone to get to his side of the improvised football pitch at the back of the estate. However, playing as a goalkeeper was better that not playing at all, David thought.
Since Antoine was so good, once an older boy had tried to hit him. Fernando had stood up for his friend. So, the older boy had gone for David. El Niño had beaten him to it. The older boy had walked away with a sore jaw. No one would ever mess with el francesito or with el hijo del señor de Gea ever again. They were officially under Fernando’s wing, and from then, El Niño decided that maybe the kids were not that boring, and the three of them would be seen hanging out around the city, talking, eating, fooling around before David was called back home and met his father’s stern face.
“No debería estar con esos vagabundos,” (2) José de Gea used to say.
“Es el hijo de su nodriza,” (3) Marivi defended his son’s choice of companions.
“El que esa mujer haya amamantado a nuestro hijo no le quita su condición de criada.” Señor de Gea used to affirm this in such a way Marivi knew the conversation was over. “Para este momento ya debería de ser un miembro del Frente de Juventudes.” (4)
David closed his eyes again. Perhaps that was what his father wanted. To drive him away from his friends. To make him an honorable member of el Frente. Huh.
His father had never asked him if he wanted to be a member of el Frente. But of course, his father never asked anything. For example, that time he didn’t ask if he wanted…
The young Spaniard didn’t know how he fell asleep, but he was awakened by the grey light coming from a grey sky. It looked as uniform as a wall. A strange contrast, compared to the blue skies he remembered.
He went to the dock, holding a blanket against his body. The air had changed. The wind hit him with its coldness. People were staring at the horizon. David narrowed his eyes and remembered that he had one more stop before getting to Manchester.
He would take a train from the Port of Liverpool towards his new abode.
(1) "You be a goalkeeper David, so you won't get your clothes dirty. I don't want a beating like the other night."
(2) "He shouldn't be around those vagrants."
(3) "It's his nurse's son."
(4) "The fact that that woman breastfed our child doesn't mean she's not a servant." "By now, he should be a member of the Frente de Juventudes."
Disclaimer: Yes, it's alive! I hadn't had that much time, though. But here's more. The only warnings here is that I tamper around with Atlético de Madrid BECAUSE I CAN. Hints of something? Depends on your perverted minds. Feel free to stem fanfics from here if you wish XD
Chapter II
The rocking waves below the ship still didn’t lull David into a peaceful slumber. He had a high-class ticket, of course, but his mood was like that of the people he saw on deck: people with their eyes lost in the distance, people who didn’t know whether they were going back or not. In fact, he caught some of them eyeing him with some sort of resentment, as if thinking those holiday-goers did not understand the sacrifices they had to go through in order to find a new home, a new job. David was one of those “holiday-goers”. So, he almost always holed up in his cabin and wondered just how cold England was. Of course, he knew the story of the Titanic.
However, it was sometimes better to think about death by glacier crash rather than Spain. He still remembered that day at the dock with his family. He didn’t pack much, and his luggage was comprised of, mostly, winter clothes, for he’d heard, even then, about England’s cold.
Maybe England wasn’t so cold if he compared it to his father’s eyes, he thought. Señor José de Gea had stood at the dock watching his son leave, but his eyes and countenance showed no emotion at all. He might have as well been looking at nothing instead of David, who then averted his eyes. He was met by the contrasting spectacle of his mother, who could not control her sobs and was leaning on her husband’s shoulder, weeping and hiccupping. That made David sad and embarrassed at the same time, for he did not dare to hug her. That would have meant walking over to his father and being too close to him. So, he had only turned around and left.
David saw his father again in his mind, and he closed his eyes as if the image had been real. He wondered what had made his father so angry all the time. Maybe if he hadn’t had the friends he had… if he’d made other friends… but, how could he have gotten along with anyone else? Those were the guys he’d grown up with.
Fernando. He was older than the rest, but still they called him El Niño, the Kid. That was because he’d been the first child in the house. He was the son of his nurse, born out of wedlock. Perhaps, if it had been for his father, the girl and her baby would have been thrown out, but his mother refused, because the girl was in perfect health and she wanted a nurse for her future child. So, in a way, Fernando was the older brother he’d never had. They’d grown used to call him El Niño because when he started walking and running around the house, everyone would shout at him “¡Niño! Niño!” perhaps to warn him or to get him to stop. The Kid was now a tall, handsome, freckled man who made the girls’ heads turn whenever he walked down the street to run some errands: the leader of the pack, of sorts.
The second boy was the one that called David’s attention the most. His father was French and his mother was from some country far away in America. His name was Antoine. Señor de Gea would go and see Antoine’s father, señor Griezmann, if he ever needed to read a document or a book in French and Antoine’s father would translate it for him. They were the owners of a small press. Even if Señor de Gea would require their services, it was known that the Griezmann press would sometimes allow people from the Communist party to print pamphlets and signs. It was a sort of a neutral place, not wholly belonging to the rebels, but not wholly bending their heads at Franco.
The same ambiguousness applied to Antoine, who was a year younger than David. He was not part of the upper class, but there was a sort of royal quality about the boy. His parents were learned. People gossiped that they were heirs to a fortune, but that they preferred to run away when they found out Antoine’s mother was pregnant. They wouldn’t get a cent because they had placed dishonor on their families by having a child out of wedlock. So, they ran away to Spain and set up a small press. Señor Griezmann was one of the few people who knew French in Madrid. He had minimized the need to go and get interpreters at the Basque country.
El Niño, then, would sometimes play with young David; perhaps a bit reluctantly, like an older brother asked to baby-sit. He preferred to be out in the streets, playing football with the sons of the merchants, just around the estate. When he was old enough to venture not far from home, David tried to follow Fernando, but found himself too scared to participate in the football matches.
Until, one day, a small kid found his way into the middle of a football match. Older boys tried hard not to kick him by accident, but the kid wasn’t afraid.
“Es el francesito.”
The Little Frenchman. That was how they called Antoine. And it was Antoine himself who walked over to David, who was sitting in the shade, shyly watching the boys play, and invited him to join in.
David played, and had his fun, and got home together with Fernando. He was smiling and out of breath, and his clothes were dirty and torn. That night, Fernando had received a whipping for not taking care of the young master, and the nurse had to plea and say it wouldn’t happen again. So, when David went back to play, El Niño would always push him back and say:
“Tú, David, de guardameta, para que no ensucies las ropas. No quiero que me vuelva a tocar una zurra como la de la otra noche.” (1)
David didn’t like being a goalkeeper at all. It was a lonely position, mostly because Antoine and Fernando always played on his side and they were so good, it took forever to take the ball from them. So, it took forever as well for anyone to get to his side of the improvised football pitch at the back of the estate. However, playing as a goalkeeper was better that not playing at all, David thought.
Since Antoine was so good, once an older boy had tried to hit him. Fernando had stood up for his friend. So, the older boy had gone for David. El Niño had beaten him to it. The older boy had walked away with a sore jaw. No one would ever mess with el francesito or with el hijo del señor de Gea ever again. They were officially under Fernando’s wing, and from then, El Niño decided that maybe the kids were not that boring, and the three of them would be seen hanging out around the city, talking, eating, fooling around before David was called back home and met his father’s stern face.
“No debería estar con esos vagabundos,” (2) José de Gea used to say.
“Es el hijo de su nodriza,” (3) Marivi defended his son’s choice of companions.
“El que esa mujer haya amamantado a nuestro hijo no le quita su condición de criada.” Señor de Gea used to affirm this in such a way Marivi knew the conversation was over. “Para este momento ya debería de ser un miembro del Frente de Juventudes.” (4)
David closed his eyes again. Perhaps that was what his father wanted. To drive him away from his friends. To make him an honorable member of el Frente. Huh.
His father had never asked him if he wanted to be a member of el Frente. But of course, his father never asked anything. For example, that time he didn’t ask if he wanted…
The young Spaniard didn’t know how he fell asleep, but he was awakened by the grey light coming from a grey sky. It looked as uniform as a wall. A strange contrast, compared to the blue skies he remembered.
He went to the dock, holding a blanket against his body. The air had changed. The wind hit him with its coldness. People were staring at the horizon. David narrowed his eyes and remembered that he had one more stop before getting to Manchester.
He would take a train from the Port of Liverpool towards his new abode.
(1) "You be a goalkeeper David, so you won't get your clothes dirty. I don't want a beating like the other night."
(2) "He shouldn't be around those vagrants."
(3) "It's his nurse's son."
(4) "The fact that that woman breastfed our child doesn't mean she's not a servant." "By now, he should be a member of the Frente de Juventudes."