Beartown

  David thanks him. It’s still dark when he goes around the corner; the boys can’t see him but he can see them. Benji and the other one. They’re kissing each other.

  David is shaking all over. He feels ashamed and disgusted.

  * * *

  “An outbuilding? What for?” Adri wonders.

  “I want to set up a marital arts club,” Jeanette says.

  Adri sniggers.

  “This is a hockey town.”

  Jeanette sighs.

  “I know. God knows, everybody knows that. But in light of what’s happened . . . I don’t think this town needs fewer sports right now. I think it needs more. And I know about martial arts. I can give the kids that.”

  “Martial arts? Kicking and fighting—is that anything worth having?” Adri wonders.

  “It’s not about kicking and fighting, it’s JUST AS MUCH A REAL SPORT AS . . .”

  Jeanette begins to explain angrily until she realizes Adri is kidding.

  “Do you miss it that much, martial arts?” Adri asks.

  “Only every day,” Jeanette smiles.

  Adri shakes her head. Coughs hard.

  “This is a hockey town.” Adri repeats.

  “Can I borrow your outbuilding or not?”

  “BORROW? A minute ago you were going to rent it!”

  The women glare at each other. Grin. You have friends when you’re fifteen years old. Sometimes you get them back.

  * * *

  When Benji and Kevin were young, they snuck into the coach’s room and went through David’s bag. They were only children; they didn’t even know what they were looking for, they just wanted to know more about the coach they idolized. When David found them they were sitting there bemused, playing with his watch, until Kevin managed to drop it on the concrete floor and broke the glass. David rushed in and lost his temper in a flash; he hardly ever did that, but this time he shouted at them until the walls of the rink shook:

  “That was my DAD’S watch, you little brats!”

  The words caught in his throat when he saw the look in the boys’ eyes. His guilt about that has never really left him. They never talked about it afterward, but David instigated a ritual, just between him and the boys. Every so often, sometimes only once during an entire season, when one of them had had an exceptional game, something way beyond the usual, when they showed loyalty and courage, he would give the boy his watch, and the boy could wear it until the next game. No one knew about this little contest except Benji and Kevin, but for that single week in any one year when one of them succeeded, he was immortal in the eyes of the other boy. Everything seemed bigger in those seven days, even time itself.

  David doesn’t remember when it stopped. The boys grew out of it, he forgot about it. He still wears the watch every day, but he doubts either of the boys even remembers it now.

  They grew up so fast. Everything changed so quickly. All the best players in the junior team have called David now, and they all want to play for him in Hed. He’s going to build a good A-team over there, the A-team he’s always wanted to build. They’re going to have Kevin, Filip, and Lyt, with a collective of loyal players around them. Strong sponsors, and the backing of the council—they’ll be able to build something big. There’s only one piece missing. And that boy is standing out there on the ice now, with his lips pressed against another boy’s. David feels like he’s been kicked in the gut.

  His dad’s watch glints in the light of a solitary streetlight when he turns his back on them and disappears without being seen. He can’t look Benji in the eye. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to do that again.

  All those hours in the locker room that a player and a coach spend together, all the nights travelling to and from tournaments and away games, what are they worth? All the laughter and all the jokes, filthier and filthier the longer the trips were, David has always felt that the team was strengthened by them. Sometimes the jokes were about blondes, sometimes they were about people from Hed, sometimes they were about gays. They all laughed. They looked at each other and they laughed out loud. They were a team, they trusted each other, they had no secrets. Yet even so, one of them did. The last one anyone could have guessed. It’s a betrayal.

  * * *

  Jeanette hangs a sandbag from the ceiling and spreads a soft mat on the floor of the outbuilding as evening falls. Adri helps her, grunting and reluctant. When they’re done, Adri walks through the forest, down into town, to the row houses. It’s late, so when Sune opens the door and sees her, he can’t help exclaiming:

  “Has something happened to Benji?”

  Adri shakes her head impatiently, and asks instead:

  “What do you have to do to set up a hockey team?”

  Confused, Sune scratches his stomach. Clears his throat.

  “Well . . . it’s not that hard, you just set it up. There’s always young lads who want to play hockey.”

  “What about girls?”

  Sune frowns several times. His breath wheezes out of his heavy frame.

  “There’s a girls’ team in Hed.”

  “We’re not from Hed,” Adri replies.

  He can’t help smiling at that, but mutters:

  “It’s probably not the right time for a girls’ team in Beartown. We’ve got enough problems as it is right now.”

  Adri folds her arms.

  “I’ve got a friend, Jeanette; she’s a teacher at the school. She wants to set up a martial arts club in one of my outbuildings.”

  Sune’s lips seem to approach the strange words tentatively.

  “Martial. Arts?”

  “Yes, martial arts. She’s good. Used to compete professionally. The kids are going to love her.”

  Sune is scratching his stomach with both hands now. Trying to get his head around what appears to be happening.

  “But . . . martial arts? This is hardly a martial arts town. This is a . . .”

  Adri has already started to walk away. The puppy follows her. Sune follows the pair of them, swearing and muttering.

  * * *

  When David was little, his dad was an invincible superhero. Dads usually are. He wonders if he himself is going to be one to his child. His dad taught him to skate, patiently and gently. He never got into fights. David knew that other dads sometimes did, but never his. His dad read stories and sang lullabies, didn’t shout when his son wet himself in the supermarket, didn’t shout when he broke a window with a ball. His dad was a big man in daily life, and a giant on the ice, ruthless and invulnerable. “A real man!” the coaches always used to say, admiringly. David would stand by the boards and soak up every compliment, as if they were aimed at him. His dad did everything for a reason, never hesitated, whether in hockey or in his opinions. “You can be whatever you like, as long as you’re not gay,” he used to laugh. But sometimes, at the kitchen table, he used to get more serious: “Homosexuality is a weapon of mass destruction, David, remember that. It’s not natural. If everyone turns gay, mankind will be wiped out in a generation.” The years passed, and as an old man he used to watch the news and shout: “It’s not a sexual orientation, it’s a trend! And they’re supposed to be an oppressed minority? They’ve got their own PARADE! How oppressed does that make them?” When he’d been drinking he used to form a circle with the fingers and thumb of one hand, then insert the index finger of the other hand into them. “This works, David!” Then he would put the tips of his two index fingers together: “But this doesn’t!”

  Whenever anything, anything at all, was really bad, it was “gay.” When something didn’t work, it was “gay.” It was more than just a concept, it was an adverb, an adjective, a grammatical weapon.

  David drives back to Beartown. Sits in the car crying with anger. He’s ashamed. He’s disgusted. At himself. He’s spent his whole life in hockey training a boy, has loved him like a son, been loved in return like a father. There’s no more loyal player than Benji. No one whose heart is bigger than his. How many times has David hugged number
sixteen after a game and told him, “You’re the bravest bastard I know, Benji. The bravest bastard I know.”

  And after all those hours in the locker room, all those nights on the team bus, all the conversations and all the jokes and the blood, sweat, and tears, the boy didn’t dare tell his coach his biggest secret.

  That’s betrayal. David knows it’s a huge betrayal. There’s no other way to explain how much a grown man must have failed as a person if such a warrior of a boy could believe that his coach would be less proud of him if he were gay.

  David hates himself for not being better than his dad. That’s the job of sons.

  * * *

  Adri and Sune go from house to house, and every time someone opens the door and casts a pointed glance up at the sky, as if to point out that it’s a bit late to be knocking on decent folks’ doors, Sune asks, “Have you got any little girls in the house?” Adri will tell the story as a legend, and say it was like when Pharaoh searched Egypt looking for Moses. Adri’s knowledge of the Bible is pretty shaky, it has to be said, but she’s good at other things.

  She gets told, “But there’s a girls’ team in Hed, isn’t there?” at every door, and she replies the same thing each time. Until she rings one doorbell and the handle is pulled down on the other side by someone who can hardly reach it.

  The girl is four years old, and is standing in a hall without lights, in a house full of bruises. Her hands are timid, she stands on tiptoe as if she’s always ready to run, and her ears listen out constantly for steps on the stairs. But her eyes are wide open, and stare at Adri without blinking.

  Adri’s heart has time to break many times as she crouches down to get a better look at the child. Adri has seen war, she’s seen suffering, but you never get used to it. You never know what to say to a four-year-old who hurts and thinks that’s normal, because life has never shown her anything else.

  “Do you know what hockey is?” Adri asks.

  The girl nods.

  “Can you play?” Adri asks.

  The girl shakes her head. Adri’s heart gives up and her voice breaks.

  “It’s the best game in the world. The best in the world. Would you like to learn?”

  The girl nods.

  * * *

  Down to his very marrow, David wishes he could drive back to Hed, take the boy in his arms, and tell him that he knows now. But he can’t bring himself to unmask someone who clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. Big secrets make small men of us, especially when we’re the men others have to keep secrets from.

  So David drives home, puts his hand on his girlfriend’s stomach, and pretends he’s crying about the baby. His life will be successful, he will achieve everything he’s ever dreamed of—career and success and titles—he’ll coach unbeatable teams at legendary clubs in several different countries, but he will never let any player in any of them wear number “16.” He will always keep hoping that Benji is going to turn up one day and demand his jersey.

  * * *

  There’s a hockey puck on a gravestone in Beartown. The writing is small, so that all the words can fit. Still the bravest bastard I know. Beside the puck lies a watch.

  48

  Maya and Ana are each sitting on a rock. Far enough into the forest for it to take days to find them.

  “Did you see the therapist?” Ana asks.

  “She says I shouldn’t bottle it all up inside me,” Maya says.

  “Is she good?”

  “She’s okay. But she talks more than my parents. Someone should tell her that she could do with bottling a bit more up inside,” Maya replies.

  “Has she asked you that ‘Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?’ question yet? The psychologist I saw after Mom left used to love that one.”

  Maya shakes her head. “No.”

  “What would you have said? Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?” Ana asks.

  Maya doesn’t answer. Ana says nothing more either. They go back to Ana’s together, lie down in the same bed, and breathe in time with each other for hours until Ana finally falls asleep. Then Maya creeps out, goes down into the cellar, finds a key, and opens a cupboard. She takes the shotgun and heads straight out into the darkness with an even greater darkness inside her.

  * * *

  Hockey is both complicated and not complicated at all. It can be hard to understand the rules, challenging to live with the culture, as good as impossible to get all the people who love it not to pull so hard in different directions that it breaks. But, when it comes down to it, at its most basic essence, it’s simple:

  “I just want to play, Mom,” Filip says with tears in his eyes.

  She knows. They’re going to have to decide how he’s going to do that now. If he’s going to stay with Beartown Ice Hockey or move to Hed with Kevin, Lyt, and the others. Filip’s mom knows the difference between right and wrong, between good and evil, but she’s also a mom. And what’s a mom’s job?

  * * *

  Tails is sitting at a lunch table, surrounded by his best friends. One of them points at his tie pin with a chuckle.

  “Time to take that off, eh, Tails?”

  Tails looks down at the pin. It says “Beartown Ice Hockey” on it. He looks around at the other men; they’ve all been very quick to take theirs off and replace them with pins saying “Hed Ice Hockey.” It was that easy for them. As if it were only a club.

  * * *

  His mom helps Filip pack his bag, not because he isn’t old enough to do it himself, but because she likes doing it. She holds her hand against his chest and his heart beats like a child’s beneath her palm, even though the sixteen-year-old is now so tall that he has to bend down a long way to kiss his mom on the cheek.

  She remembers every inch. Every battle. She thinks of the summer training sessions the year when Filip ran until he threw up so much that he had to be taken to the hospital with acute dehydration. The next day he showed up at training.

  “You don’t have to be here,” David said.

  “Please?” Filip begged.

  David held him by the shoulders and said honestly:

  “I need to pick the best team this autumn. You might not even get to play any games.”

  “Just let me train. I only want to play. Please, I only want to play,” Filip pleaded.

  He got thrashed in every one-on-one situation, lost every drill, but he kept coming back. At the end of the summer David drove over to see Filip’s mom, sat in her kitchen, and told her about a study that showed how many elite players were never among the five best in their youth team, and how it’s often the sixth- to twelfth-best juniors who break through at senior level. They’ve had to fight harder. They don’t buckle when the setbacks come.

  “If Filip ever doubts his chances, you don’t have to promise him that he’ll be the best in the team one day. You just have to convince him that he can battle his way to twelfth place,” David said.

  There’s no way he can know how much that meant for the family, because they have no words to express it. It only changed everything.

  Now the mom rests her forehead against the sixteen-year-old’s chest. He’s going to be one of the best players this town has ever seen. And he just wants to play. Her too.

  * * *

  Tails is standing in the parking lot. The men shake hands with each other, and most of them drive off toward Hed. Two of them stay behind with Tails, smoking, and one of them says:

  “Any journalists?”

  The other shrugs his shoulders.

  “A couple have called, but obviously we’re not responding. Anyway, what the hell are they going to do? There’s no story. Kevin was cleared. Surely not even journalists can set themselves above the law?”

  “Haven’t you got a bit of influence with the local paper?”

  “The editor-in-chief and I play golf in the summer. I suppose I ought to let him win next time.”

  They laugh. Stub out their cigarettes, and Tails asks:

  “What’s goi
ng to happen to Beartown Ice Hockey, do you suppose?”

  The men look at him quizzically. Not because it’s a strange question. But because none of them but Tails cares about the answer.

  * * *

  Maggan Lyt is sitting in her car, waiting. William is sitting in the passenger seat, wearing a tracksuit top with the words “Hed Ice Hockey” on it. Filip steps out into the street with his bag in his hand, and hesitates for what feels like ages. Then he looks at his mom, lets go of her hand, and opens the trunk of the Lyt family’s car. Filip gets in the backseat; his mom opens the front door and looks William in the eye.

  “You’re sitting in my place.”

  William protests but Maggan pushes him out at once. The boys sit in the back and look at each other. The women in the front do the same. Maggan swallows hard.

  “I know I push too hard sometimes, but everything I do . . . it’s all for our kids.”

  Filip’s mom nods. She’s spent all night trying to persuade both herself and Filip that he ought to stay at Beartown Ice Hockey. But her son just wants to play, just wants the chance to be as good as he can, and what’s a mother’s job? To give her child the best possible chances. She keeps repeating that to herself, because she knows what it took for her to be really good at skiing. Sometimes she had to train with assholes, and remember that life outside had nothing to do with sports. Filip and William have played together since they were at preschool, and she and Maggan have known each other all their lives. So they drive toward Hed. Because friendship is both complicated and not complicated at all.

  * * *

  Tails gets home. He hears his son’s voice; he’s twelve years old now and loves hockey, but Tails can remember how the boy hated practicing when he was six. He used to beg and plead not to have to go. Tails took him anyway, explaining time and time again that this is a hockey town. Even when his wife, Elisabeth, mumbled, “But if he doesn’t want to play, darling, are we really going to force him?” over dinner, Tails kept taking him to training, because he dearly wanted the boy to understand his love for it. Hockey may not have saved Tails’s life, but it certainly gave him one. It gave him self-confidence and a sense of belonging. Without it he would just have been a fat kid diagnosed with a “hyperactive personality,” but it taught him to focus his energy. It speaks a language he understands in a world he finds comprehensible.