Cuento del Ring: Jahn
By Nagual
Back in 2010, when I was traveling through Europe on a tour of underground wrestling encounters, I chose Berlin as a home base. This was the city of Berlin before it was gentrified and changed by the tech industry a few years later. It was a Berlin that offered mystery, pleasure, and occultation.
During these years I liked to roam at night through the streets of Kreuzberg. As the autumn leaves started to fall, I could listen to the moon in the evenings as she went through her phases, and I could practice my nagual rituals in peace in the tiny hotel room I had rented and paid for in cash.
I stayed clear of the streets during the day. A man wearing a mask in Berlin during the daytime is no big deal. After all, Berliners understand leather and fetish. But I was not a leather person looking to become an exhibitionist. I was a luchador who worked with the forces of light and shadow. I did not want the gaze of people on me.
It was the night that called out my name.
I would leave the apartment around twelve midnight, and visit all kinds of cafes, bars and even discos, seeking the possibilities the world had to offer. Those who wanted to wrestle me as I passed through Berlin could request a match (if they knew how to find me).
Jahn was one of those men. But the funny part is, he didn’t find me through the internet.
I was enjoying a soft drink at an outdoor cafe one night when a tall, muscular beast of a man loomed over me.
“Excuse me sir. Do you mind if I sit with you for a moment? I have a question.”
I nodded and pulled out the chair for him.
“Are you the luchador they call…Nagual?”
I took a fraction of a second to decide whether I should disappear without a trace, but I decided against it. You see, I could see in this man’s eyes and body language that he moved through the world with an open heart, free of malice.
“Yes, that’s me. You’re sharp.”
“I have heard your voice a few times. Other wrestlers always talk about your voice. There are legends about your ability to manifest influence over wrestlers and opponents with it.”
“Some legends are based on fact. That’s how legends work.”
He spoke in a soft voice full of intelligence. Jahn’s mother was from Namibia, and his father had been born in Berlin. He worked as a creative director in advertising, but in his free time, Jahn liked to wrestle, and he told me it was impossible to find luchadores in Europe. Many people in fact didn’t even know what a luchador was. But he had been captivated by lucha libre since he was very young. He yearned to visit Mexico someday.
Jahn ordered a beer and we chatted for the next hour or so, reflecting on the rise and downfall of the works of modern literature, stopping for a few moments to wonder at the mysticism inside Blood Meridian, and to critique the grand guinol ornamentation of The Master and Margarita. Once we had our fill of literature as a topic, we moved on to lucha libre and wrestling. It was then that I could see Jahn had stirred in his chair. I could see he was holding an uncomfortable stiffness in his jeans.
He never commented on my mask. This was an indicator of what kind of spirit he held inside his consciousness.
As we discussed some of the best memories of men like Nikita Koloff and Greg Gagne, Jahn interrupted me. His speech was precise, but full of spirit.
“Nagual, I would like to wrestle you tonight, if you think I am fit to do so.”
I consulted the moon above us for more information, took a lungful of the sweet night air, and put my arm around Jahn’s shoulders.
“And what would be the stakes?”
“It would be a pro erotic match. Lots of submission holds, but something else.”
“There’s always something else.”
“Yes. If I win, I take the leather wristbands you’re wearing, Nagual.”
“And if I win?”
"You can take my most prized piece of leather, this leather vest I am wearing. My leather sir gave it to me many years ago, and when he passed away, the vest became even more valuable to me.”
“Jahn, do you know what you’re asking for?”
“No.”
“But you’re williing to take the risk?”
He nodded.
One hour later, we found ourselves in my hotel room. It was compact, but very clean and neatly ordered. We both took turns taking a shower for the match. Jahn had stopped by his flat to get his wrestling gear.
As I finished toweling myself off after the shower, I had a premonition. Tonight, during this match, I would need to transform into an animal. It would be an essential part of this match.
And as I emerged in my gear to face Jahn, my opponent, I knew that tonight, I was going to change Jahn’s life forever.
To learn what happened next, you can watch Nagual’s brand-new video inside the Cave. The video features Nagual’s spoken word re-telling of the match against Jahn.
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