Carlos pulled the ball out of the jar and walked over to the window to see where it might have come from. Across the street from his building, he could see a group of five young boys, standing near the entrance to an alleyway. Judging from their dirty shorts, tattered T-shirts and rubber sandals, they appeared to be homeless street urchins. The tallest of them, a dark-skinned boy no older than ten, was looking up and and pointing his way. When Carlos held up the ball, the boy nodded with a sheepish grin. He then shrugged his shoulders and motioned for Carlos to throw the ball back across the street. That's when Carlos noticed the boy was wearing a handball paddle. He hadn't seen one in years.Carlos gestured that he could not throw the ball from the window across the traffic and through the maze of electrical and telephone lines. It was too dangerous. Instead, he would come downstairs and return the ball in person. By the time Carlos pulled on a shirt and made his way to the ground floor, the boy had already crossed the street to meet him.
"Thank you," said the boy, as Carlos handed him the ball. "I'm sorry it flew in your window. I hope it didn't break anything."
"You gave me quite a start," said Carlos, "but no harm was done. Do you mind if I take a look at your paddle?"
The handball paddle was a worn circle of plywood, nine inches in diameter, with a brown vinyl strap on the back through which Carlos inserted the palm of his right hand.
"Do you know how to use this?" Carlos asked the boy, smacking the smooth front surface of the paddle with his left hand.
"I'm just starting," said the boy. "I got the paddle and ball from Father Anthony at St. Lazare's. He said he would teach us how to play if we agreed come to his church."
"I've met Father Anthony," said Carlos. "My wife always attended his mass. I didnĠt know he played handball, but I used to be pretty good at it myself once upon a time. I wanted nothing more than to be a jai-alai player when I was your age. I thought handball would be good training."
"What's jai-alai?" asked the boy.
"It's a wonderful sport," said Carlos, swinging the paddle as if hitting an imaginary ball. "Six men play with basket-like rackets. They take turns scooping a pelota ball out of the air and flinging off three walls. When one misses, the hurler scores a point. Then the next player challenges him. He keeps playing until someone beats him. Then another takes his place, and so on in order, until one of them is able to score six points. It requires great skill, strength and strategy to win."
"I'm strong, see?" said the boy, flexing his arms muscles and flashing a smile. "The others will tell you, I'm the strongest boy in the barrio. And I'm fast too. Could I make much money playing this sport?"
Carlos shook his head. "In the old days, before they tore down the stadium, jai-alai was our favorite sport. We would go there to wager. Lots of betting money changed hands. When we won, we would buy whiskey and have a good drunk. When we lost, weĠd simply shout 'malas,' bad luck, and bet again. The players themselves were quite rich, of course, and the best of them were treated like kings. But no one plays any more. Not jai-alai, and not handball. Father Anthony may have given you the last paddle in Manila. It looks quite old, doesn't it?"
"There is another one," said the boy. "Across the street, my younger brother Ramon has it. I hit this ball to him really hard, but he missed it and it flew in your window by mistake. Would you like to play with us? You seem to know much. You could teach us the rules. Why, I bet I can beat all four of the others without missing a point if you give me a few lessons. I learn very quickly."
Living on the street had given the boy a bravado that appealed to Carlos, who recalled that he too had had this kind of confidence when he was young. He had all but forgotten what it felt like.
"What's your name?" Carlos asked.
"I'm Lucas," the boy answered, "but my friends call me Lucky."
"Then Lucky you are," chuckled Carlos, returning the paddle to the boy. "And you are lucky I'm no longer your age, or I would teach you how braggers often eat their own words. But I will show you and your brother how to play. I will teach you the rules for one-wall handball. That way you can play together and keep the ball out of my window. It's not like tennis or ping-pong, you know."
