The Paris Review

When I first saw the sign about the soccer team, posted just above the coffee machine in the cafeteria, I wrote down the contact information. I returned to my office and immediately sent a note saying I would like to play. I didn’t think much about it until two days later, when a skinny man in a black suit and white shirt showed up outside my office and spoke to my assistant. She stood up, straightened her bulky sweater—our offices were air conditioned to almost arctic temperatures—and came into my office.

“This is Silver,” she said. “He wants to talk to you about playing soccer. Did you ask about playing soccer?”

I nodded. “Hey, great, send him in.”

If I sometimes disguised my shyness as stolidity to intimidate my colleagues, then Silver’s method was the opposite. He stuttered and acted nervous, though I had the sense he was actually sizing me up. He was local-born Chinese, about five-eight, gaunt-featured, narrow-eyed, and flat-nosed, with a protuberant chin—his profile was like a J. His black hair had a natural racing stripe of gray running front to back, like a skunk.

He said he had received my message about playing on the soccer team and he wanted to come by in person to talk to me about it. Then he stood there for an uncomfortably long time—opening his mouth and closing it, pursing his lips, looking up and to the left as if searching for words. I’ve already mentioned my own taciturn approach to first meetings. We were at an impasse.

I cleared my throat. “Well, yes, I would like to play. How does it work?”

Silver nodded and shifted his weight. I came around my desk and we took seats by the window. Some days, the city was so hazy with industrial smog from up the delta in China that I couldn’t even see the neighboring buildings. But when it was clear, as it was today, I had a stunning view from my thirty-seventh-floor office. Victoria Harbour spread out beneath us, and across the water was the old Kai Tak airport that would eventually be converted to housing estates. Beyond that were the ramshackle housing developments where many of the local Chinese lived. Tiny flats, I’d been told, no bigger than airplane restrooms.

We gazed out the window.

“Of course,” Silver said, “you are welcome to join.”

I nodded.

He took a deep breath, leaned forward, then back again. “Um.”

I kept quiet.

“Yes.” Then he hit his own forehead, as if trying manually to jog his memory. “So, yes, you are the most senior staff member to play ever.”

I shrugged. Was he trying to tell me that I wasn’t welcome?

He seemed to be waiting for a response. From me? Good luck.

“So. We will be honored if you will join our football club.”

We stood up and shook hands.

On his way out, Silver had a lengthy exchange in Chinese with my assistant after which she came in and explained that I would be the most senior employee ever to join the football club.