Sudden Death

Third Set, Sixth Game

Your only chance, then, is to get the serve to bounce on the roof’s edge, said the duke; they’ve been toying with us, but he might still slip up, and on the return you kill him. The poet bit his lower lip without saying anything, then shook his head: Thoughts, Otero? The escort shrugged his shoulders: Block the dedans with your body. That’s obstruction, noted the poet. It’s street rules: if the ball is heading straight for the dedans, you can stop it however you like and the game is yours. The poet raised his eyebrows. Mine? Only madmen play the dedans. If I obstruct that ball it’ll break my arm. Block it with your back. The dedans is too high for that. Exasperated, the duke said: Just win, no matter how you do it.

Tenez! He got the serve right: strong and at the corner. Impossibly, the artist reached it and hit another drive that was clearly going into the dedans. Hopeless and out of options, the poet blocked it. Or rather, his forehead did.

As he lost consciousness, he heard a murmur of appreciation rising even from the Italian side of the stands. He also heard the relentless mathematician’s voice: Tre a tre.

The duke turned his head to Barral, still unsure about the call. He’s right, the soldier confirmed: street rules. So now it’s sudden death, said the nobleman, in genuine admiration of his protégé’s courage. If your poet isn’t dead already, added the mercenary.