Free The Skating Rink by Roberto Bolaño Page A

one
hand and the knife in the other. Luckily the match soon went out and the
return of darkness reassured me. She had probably hidden in one of the rooms
until then and come to check that the skater and the fat guy were gone. She
was a trespasser in that warren of a house, like me. When she lit the second
match I realized she was on the lookout, and I felt bad about staying in my
hiding place, but I was worried that my sudden appearance might frighten her
and make things worse. My decision not to reveal myself was also influenced
the color of the knife-blade, which matched the color of the ice. After
faltering repeatedly, the second match went out, but this time there was no
interval of darkness; she lit another straight away and, as if succumbing to
an attack of vertigo, stepped back suddenly, away from the edge of the rink.
The third match soon went out, and its death was accompanied by a sigh. Only
once had I ever heard anyone sigh like that: a hard, harsh sigh, alive in
every hair, and the mere memory of it made me feel ill. I squatted between
the cases until all I could hear was the generator and my own uneven
breathing. I chose not to move for a long time. When I noticed that one of
my legs was becoming seriously numb, I began the retreat; it was all I could
do not to panic and go running down the mansion’s twisting corridors.
Surprisingly I found my way without the slightest difficulty. The front door
was locked. I jumped out a window. Once in the garden, I didn’t even try to
open the iron gate; without a second thought I scaled the wall as if my life
depended on it . . .

Enric Rosquelles:
    We started training at the beginning of summer
    We started training at the beginning of summer. Sorry, Nuria started
training at the beginning of summer, and we both thought that if she worked hard
in July, August and September, she would triumph at the national trials, to be
held some time in October in Madrid. No matter how corrupt the trainers, judges
and administrators, Nuria’s virtuosity or finesse or whatever you like to call
it, consolidated or perfected during those months of training, was bound to
leave them speechless, and they’d have no choice but to let her back on the
Olympic team, which was going to Budapest in November, if I’m not mistaken, for
the annual European Figure Skating Competition. To be frank, the prospect of not
seeing Nuria for at least two months (October would be spent training
intensively in Madrid, then November in Budapest) was heartbreaking. Of course I
was careful not to let it show. There was also the possibility that in October
she would be dropped from the team for good, but I preferred not to think about
that, because I knew what a blow it would be to her, and I had no idea how she
would react. I didn’t want them to drop her, I swear! All I wanted was for her
to be happy! That was the reason the rink had been built, so she would be able
to train properly and get back on the team. With hindsight, I realize I should
have hired a trainer, at least, but even if I had thought of it at the time, how
could I have justified employing someone with qualifications like that? And
where would I have found such a person? In summer, there’s a surplus of English
teachers, but not of figure-skating trainers. On one occasion, if I remember
rightly, Nuria mentioned an exiled Pole, a young guy, whose contract with the
Catalan Federation had been cancelled after six months because of a breach of
professional ethics. What had he done? Nuria didn’t know, nor did she care. I
confess that I imagined him having sex with, or perhaps raping, a skater, female
or male, in a dressing room. Assuming the worst, as usual. In any case, the Pole
was hanging around in Barcelona, and we could have sought him out, but neither
of us had time, or felt like it, so we soon gave up on the idea. I don’t know
why, but lying awake recently, I’ve started thinking about that Pole. Although
we never met, and never will, I