The Pugilist's Son

by Saurav Dutt

  Chapter IV:Fight

  The chant of the crowd reverberated along the cement walls surrounding him as Billy made his way down the long narrow hall to the entrance of light. The collective repeat of his name fuelled him with excitement and determination.

  His heart was beating hard and steady by the time he reached the entrance to the arena. His skin shone with the sheer desire to be there. To be able to conquer what was before him, the desire to be victorious. Closing his eyes, he knew it was now time. With the lowering of his head, his body poised before the entrance, he could feel the excitement of the crowd.

  With a final prayer and a gentle push from Paul, he entered the arena to the ripples of applause and anticipation from the crowd. Over the loudspeaker he heard the roll of his name and he smiled, raising his arms in the air to show that he, and not Taylor Samuels opposite him in the ring would be the one whose arm the ref would hold skyward in victory.

  Paul pressed his thumbs against Billy’s cheeks and forehead leaving behind a thick sticky layer of Vaseline. One last time, Billy’s gloved fists sounded like machine gun bursts against the mitts. Paul’s hands hit Billy’s, and then clamped down on his shoulders. "This is what we've worked for; you're a machine. You can do anything."

  Samuels paced back and forth, resembling a caged tiger as water trickled from his shaven head down past the pectoral muscles of his broad, well muscled chest. As he stared upwards at Billy he noticed that he was smiling back at him. His abdominal muscles were chiselled like the mesh of hot gauze and the taut structure of his legs supplemented his perfect balance. As he brought his fists up, he winked across at Billy and clenched his jaw, ready for the war to come.

  Billy turned to his side, ignoring what Paul was saying to him, and looked out into the crowd. Across the rows of spectators, their faces and expressions glued together like the sprawling of colours in an oil painting, he searched for Terry. He saw nothing.

  Then as he turned to his left hand side, ignoring the yelps, whistles and cat calls he noticed one brazen expression amongst the ravenous crowd. With the ferocity of concentrating pinching every crevice of his face, Terry stared back-shouting into the crowd, a fusillade of combative ire drowned out by cheers of support. His eyes glowed with a fierce pride, but the drawn and battered appearance of his face made clear his indignation.

  Billy turned away, moving towards the centre of the ring as the chief second hopped out, the referee calling him and Samuels together. The referee’s words flowed seamlessly from one ear out of the next; as the bell sounded Billy glanced at Paul, then at his father and he knew what had to be done.

  Billy jolted across the ring as the first bell sounded, his arms and body moved without thought, carrying out memorised movements. His fists connected against Samuel’s midriff, solidly, rapidly. Billy’s head slipped naturally from side to side, a fierce hook flying past his head as a right sunk into his opponent’s stomach, doubling him over; a left hook followed, sending him to the canvas. It had been barely thirty seconds.

  As the referee counted, “one, two, three, four” Billy began to pace the corner, dancing from foot to foot. He glared over at Terry and saw that his expression had not changed. As Samuels rose to his feet, Billy raced to meet him, his gloves flying faster, harder, greedily preying on his weakness.

  As the bell buzzed, the referee pulled them apart. As Billy returned to the corner, he saw Paul wearing his ear to ear smile. As the ice filled towel pressed against the back of his neck, Billy looked up at his trainer. “Dad’s here…” he panted “did ya tell him to come?”

  “No I didn’t” Paul replied, pressing down harder “you got a fight on here son, forget about that shit”

  “You think he came here to watch me win..” Billy smiled “or to lose?”

  “He’s your father..” Paul shot back “he came here to watch you win of course”

  “Nah, I’m not so sure..” Billy shrugged as he leapt off the stool, seeing that Samuels looked groggy from his vantage point.

  “You’re doing great” Paul interrupted “Just hold your head together, keep your cool, concentrate and do what we went over”

  As Billy jogged out for the second round, he glanced to his side and saw that Terry was slowly making his way through the crowd. As he turned away, he jerked back as Samuels threw out a stiff jab which whizzed past his nose. Billy shuffled to his right, feigned a jab and slammed a thunderous hook into his opponent’s midriff. He heard a groan before he doubled up with a left just above the waistline. As he hid so his ears picked up the familiar yell he had heard so many times before in the gym.

  “Come on slugger! Snap! Snap! Hit his fucking ribs! Stop fucking around!”

  Billy moved back, surprised by how tired he already felt. As his feet shuffled across to the right he could see Terry had now moved closer, sandwiched between two rows, barking out orders. Just as he attempted to paw off another crossing hook, he was surprised by a looping punch which crashed against his chin. He blinked as what felt like a thunderbolt jolted through his cheekbones. Darting around the fists coming at him, he retreated to his corner in time for the bell to sound.

  “What you doing?” Paul growled, slapping an ice cold towel across Billy’s shoulders “you’ve just frozen up, he ain’t got shit on you mate”

  “I can’t fight with him here…” Billy panted “..I can’t fucking concentrate, tell him to shut up, tell him to get out”

  “Ignore him, I told ya” Paul shot back “all you’ve got is a few rounds, you know what you can do, this is the fucking Olympic trials, get your finger out and go out there and box”

  “He won’t listen to me” Billy shook his head “I have to make him listen…you understand?”

  “What the fuck are you going on about” Paul snarled, noticing that across the ring Samuels had already leapt off his stool “save your breath and go out and fight”

  There were only two rounds to go. Billy stayed close to the ropes, moving around slowly as Samuels came towards him. There wasn’t a bead of sweat on his body but he felt exhausted, parrying a jab, he danced around a flailing punch to plunge a thumping left hook into Samuels’ midriff. As he let out a grunt, Billy snapped back a combination of two jabs, a swinging uppercut and carefully timed elbow to the rib area.

  Stepping back he knew he could have landed any shot of his choosing yet he chose not to. He glanced across towards Paul and spotted Terry hunched forward, his head in his hands as he roared for Billy to land a final telling shot.

  “Finish him!” Paul yelled, slamming his fists down on the turnbuckle as he turned towards Terry as if expecting to chime in with his own war cry. But there was nothing, Terry rose to his feet staring on as he placed his hands on his hips. As Billy looked towards him, he pawed Samuels away and began peppering him with useless jabs, knowing he was taking it easy on him, giving him time to recoup his energy.

  As Billy sat down on his stool, awaiting the bell for the fourth and final round, Paul smacked him across the head. “If you have some other agenda out there besides winning” Paul growled “then tell me now, don’t insult me if you ain’t got the heart”

  “Tell me something..” Billy leaned back as he stared out at the crowd, his breaths shorter by the second as he wheezed “did you train me ‘cause I’m Terry Hope’s son, or is it ‘cause you believed I could make it on my own, without him?”

  “He loves you whatever happens” Paul shook his head “don’t you understand?”

  “He loves boxing” Billy replied with a sigh of resignation “he loves to say his son followed in his footsteps, was just like him…but I’m nothing like him”

  The bell rang and Samuel’s blows were a flurry against Billy’s head and body, the punches were slow and he easily evaded them, throwing a right hook to Samuels’ body, left hook to his head and a straight right to his chin. Just as Samuels staggered back, he soared forward, a looping right crashing against Billy’s jaw, right on the button.

  His movements were uncoord
inated and he fell back against the ropes, his arms thrashing around in front of him, attempting to clinch but a flurry of jabs and a right hook landed against his eye. He felt the cut open up, blood gurgling out as he tasted some of it trickling down his bottom lip. He glanced towards Paul, screaming at him to hold on, and while he tried to tangle his arms around Samuels like an octopus he felt another crushing hook to his abdomen.

  The left knee hit the canvas first, and Billy felt his heart shudder, the adrenaline rose up from the pit of his stomach and though he tried to rise up he felt his head bow. He saw the blood spurting out in front of him, raining down on the surface of the canvas and he knew by the numbing pain in his mouth that his jaw had been broken. He glanced up and saw the referee forking a finger in his direction, his mouth wide as he began the count.

  Billy stared through the ropes, knowing Terry was watching and saw his still face once more. The face was not reddened with emotion, nor the veins in his neck taut with rage as he bellowed out orders to rise to his feet. Instead he looked on, his black eyes dulled as his lips parted as if to mouth something. He rose to his feet, folding his arms as he stared long and hard towards the ring. At that moment Billy leant back, sprawled out on his rear as he stared up at the hot lights above him. The throbbing pain in his jaw seemed to multiply by the second, the blood from the cut above his eye thickening as he felt his heart racing. With one look at Terry he knew what his decision was. He wasn’t going to get up. He didn’t want to.

  As he saw Terry shake his head and begin to make his way back through the crowd, Billy leant back and smiled, smiled harder than he ever had in his life. The referee looked on in bemusement and Paul shook his head from side to side. Spitting out blood, Billy mouthed a prayer through the intense pain in his mouth and rolled over to his side. He heard the bell ring and savoured the moment, letting his head roll against the canvas, staring up at the roof of the auditorium.

  “I hope you’re fucking happy” Paul groaned in his ear as he slouched over him, gently picking his head up off of the canvas.

  “All I hear is a clicking sound” Billy winced “I think my jaw’s broken”

  “If that’s what you hear mate” Paul replied “then that’s what it is”

  That’s what it is, Billy thought to himself, that’s all it was ever going to be.

 

  THE END