“Thank you.”
Mr. Esmeralda stares at him, a serious look on his face. Emiliano stares back, trying not to feel uncomfortable or speak just to fill the silence. Finally, Mr. Esmeralda says, “I got a call an hour or so ago from Enrique Cortázar. One of my clients. You know his son, Armando, I believe.”
A current of fear travels through Emiliano. Is he going to get accused of stealing the car?
“Enrique tells me that you made a good impression on a business associate and close friend of his, Alfredo Reyes.”
“You know Alfredo Reyes?” Emiliano doesn’t mean to sound as shocked as he is.
“Of course I know him. This city is a like a spiderweb. Every thread is connected directly or indirectly to every other thread. Enrique Cortázar, Alfredo Reyes, myself, we are businessmen. The success of any organization depends on the quality of the people who work there. These people, they see potential in you. That is very special. The kind of trust that was shown to you today is not given easily. Not many people are invited to Alfredo Reyes’s house or are offered an opportunity to work with him.”
Emiliano rubs the back of his scalp. “They want me to …”
“Stop,” Mr. Esmeralda commands. “I don’t need to know the details. All I want to do is tell you that … growing up means, unfortunately, expanding our views of what we consider good and bad. Within that larger view, we do what we can for our families, we create jobs, we help the less fortunate.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “You asked me what I meant by ‘getting dirty.’ Getting dirty means doing what we have to do for our families and for those around us, given the realities of where we live, in this mess of a life that is good and bad.”
“Good and bad,” Emiliano says to himself.
“Do you know how Colegio México is able to give soccer scholarships to young men like you? Because of businessmen like Mr. Cortázar and myself. When Brother Patricio asked for help, I called Mr. Cortázar and others, and we gave. You are already part of the web, if you think about it.”
Emiliano remembers the calls for donations Brother Patricio makes every year.
Mr. Esmeralda continues, his voice soft and warm, the way Emiliano’s father sometimes spoke to him. “I know a little bit about you from what my daughter and my wife have told me, and I know that your first instinct is to reject Mr. Reyes and his offer. Part of you is probably disgusted by what he proposed.”
Emiliano is silent.
“I know because that was my first reaction to a similar offer when I was only a little older than you, and like I said, you remind me of me. But look.” Mr. Esmeralda opens his arms. “I’m also a good person. I want the best for my wife and daughter. I’m not greedy. I make enough to live comfortably. I could be making more, but I don’t. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“So. Think about what I said to you today. Think about the offer that Mr. Reyes made to you. Consider all the implications, said and unsaid, and get back to Mr. Reyes one way or another. Don’t make him wait too long. Get back to him no later than Monday. All right?”
Emiliano nods. “All right.”
Mr. Esmeralda stands and Emiliano does as well. “Come on. I’ll take you back to Perla Rubi and her scintillating cousins.”
They walk through the house in silence, Mr. Esmeralda half a step ahead of Emiliano. As they go down the stairs, he notices a series of photographs of Perla Rubi. They are posed portraits, the kind done in a studio or by a professional photographer who comes to your home. Mr. Esmeralda sees Emiliano looking at a photograph of Perla Rubi when she was four or five. She’s wearing a charro outfit and holding a lasso in her hand.
“You know,” Mr. Esmeralda says, putting his arm around Emiliano’s shoulders, “children don’t grow up as well as Perla Rubi has without rules. One of the rules we have been very strict about is that dating and boys are not going to be a part of her life until she graduates from high school. Her focus during these years needs to be on school, and whatever extra energy she has, she can use in volleyball.”
Now it makes sense to Emiliano why Perla Rubi did not want to say openly that they were girlfriend and boyfriend. He shouldn’t have resented her for that. He should have understood.
“On the other hand,” Mr. Esmeralda continues, “I’m no fool and neither is Judith. If the rope is too tight, the horse will break it. That’s why we didn’t mind when Perla Rubi told us you had become a good friend to her. Someday she’ll find the right person and fall in love and get married. But I will tell you this: When that day comes, I am going to make sure that the man she marries is a hardworking man who has the courage to do whatever it takes to care for her. To make whatever sacrifice is needed on her behalf. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Emiliano?”
Emiliano gazes into Mr. Esmeralda’s eyes for as long as he can. Finally, he has to look away. He stares at the picture of the child Perla Rubi in front of him. She’s confident and secure, even a little cocky. She’s felt no hardship in her life and sees no hardship in her future. Emiliano wants to take care of her, to do whatever it takes to give her everything she wants and needs. He knows Mr. Esmeralda wants that too.
“I understand what you’re saying,” Emiliano says.
“Good.”
They walk through the rest of the house, Mr. Esmeralda speaking quickly as he waves and nods to guests. “I saw you play in Chihuahua, you know.”
“Perla Rubi told me you were there.”
“Your technical skills are superior and your stamina is impressive. I don’t think you were even breathing hard at any point in the game. But you know what I liked the most about how you play?”
Emiliano shakes his head. They pass through the kitchen. He sees his mother’s cake platter on a counter next to a huge stainless steel refrigerator.
“I liked how you played with a kind of controlled anger. You know what I mean?”
Emiliano has never thought of his concentration on the field as anger, controlled or otherwise. What he had when he played was not anger but an ability to see the whole field, almost as if he were calmly hovering above it. They stand in front of the closed glass doors that lead to the terrace and the party. Mr. Esmeralda puts his hand on the handle of the door.
“That kind of intensity is a precious gift, Emiliano. Don’t waste it.”
He looks at Emiliano one last time, making sure all the implications of his message are received. Then he opens the door and waves at Perla Rubi and his wife at the other end of the terrace.
“What were you guys talking about for so long?” Perla Rubi asks when they approach.
“A little business, a little getting to know each other,” Mr. Esmeralda says. “Right, Emiliano?”
“Right,” Emiliano answers. The expectant looks on Perla Rubi’s and Mrs. Esmeralda’s faces indicate that more explanation is needed. “I … we …” he stammers.
“One of my best clients called me this afternoon to tell me that a very influential business associate had been very impressed with Emiliano. He wants Emiliano to do business with him.”
“Really?” Perla Rubi asks, excited.
“My folk art business,” Emiliano says. Hopefully, they can leave it at that.