The Dog Fighter

by Marc Bojanowski

  You dance very well. She said.

  I have never done this before in my life. I answered.

  Well you do it very well.

  I blame you. I said.

  She smiled at these words and this for me meant everything.

  The song was too short. But it was enough for me to realize how much more she was to me now. Entirely her own and nothing of my imagination. I had been a fool to make her something to me from so far all this time. With her it was as it had been with the mosaic in the cathedral. I did not know her even when I danced with her. I would not know her until I came to know all of her pieces. The words her voices would make me.

  Cantanas voice broke our stare. Do you mind if I borrow our friend here for a moment? He asked her.

  Of course. She said. As long as you promise to return him to me when you are finished.

  Look at the size of this man. Cantana laughed. Who am I to stop what he does?

  The American joined Cantana and me as we walked through the smoky doors of the room. Candles flames flickering in silver holders curved up from the wine colored walls dimly illuminating the narrow hallway. The intricately woven rug softening the steps of our heavy soles on the hardwood floor. I noticed Elías at the bottom of the staircase. He smiled up at me and began to climb the stairs. Over my shoulder I heard him head in the opposite direction of us toward the sunken room. When we came to the door at the end of the long hallway Cantana brought from the pocket of his pants a set of keys. I stared at the back of his and the Americans head. This was the moment. I would break their necks. There would be no blood. In the courtyard a dog barked.

  When I stepped into the room one of the two men that I had seen on the roof hit me in the face with the butt of the rifle stock. I fell to the floor. My jaw broken. When I looked up the other man kicked me in the ribs. They broke easily.

  Enough! Cantana ordered. That is enough.

  With my hand on my jaw I let my forehead rest against the cool of the floor. The pain was very strong all down my neck and my ears rang. I could not swallow my own saliva. When I raised my head from the floor I saw that Guillermo and the poet were on their knees to the side of the businessmans desk. Their faces beaten and their hands tied behind their backs. The poet kept his head cocked to the side to prevent blood from dripping down from his broken nose.

  Stand up. Cantana said to me then. His voice severe. He was not drunk at all. Get off the floor and stand up.

  The American sat in an expensive wood chair turned from where it faced the front of the businessmans desk. The room was without windows. A lamp with a colorful stained glass shade was the only light in the room. This sat on a small table at the end of a dark patent leather couch. Cantana poured himself and the American a drink from a crystal decanter set on a cabinet behind his desk. The pain throbbing throughout the muscles of my face. My eyes watered. Cantana came around to sit on the front edge of the desk facing me. I could feel the two men aiming their rifles at my chest. Elías had gone into the room to get her I thought. The businessman set his hand on a piece of paper on the desk. It was the note that I had given the small pickpocket in the market. I worried about the small thief but I knew Cantana would not kill or have killed a young boy. The businessman picked up the paper and looked it over shaking his head.

  You have betrayed me dog fighter. Cantanas teeth stained red from the wine. The stain on his shirt blood. I made you an offer honestly and then you come into my house and accept it but only after sending this note to your friends.

  Cantana handed the note to the American. He read it over and then laid the paper flat on the desk.

  I am very disappointed in you. Cantana continued. I offered you a tremendous opportunity here. But you have deceived me. Gone behind my back and warned these two men. Cantana reached to his side and held up the sheet of paper. You wrote this? That you were coming here to kill me?

  I said nothing.

  Cantana nodded to one of the men with the rifles. He kicked me in the stomach. I was prepared though so it did not hurt too much. Still the broken ribs made it difficult to breathe.

  I know you wrote it. Cantana continued. I have my ways of knowing but what I do not understand is why? Why after I said she is yours?

  I do not believe you.

  What reason have I given you to doubt me? These men. Your friends here. They force you to join them and still you return to them when it is I who has what you desire most? You must tell me why? I have been thinking this over very much but I cannot decide why you would be such a. Cantana searched for the word when the poet spoke for him.

  Fool.

  Yes. Fool! Cantana laughed. Thank you. He said to the poet.

  Guillermo laughed and this immediately distracted Cantana.

  What is so funny old man?

  I was only thinking. The veteran said.

  Thinking about what?

  How ashamed your father would be of you.

  Ashamed?

  Disappointed.

  My father would have you killed for what you have done to me. Sending this fool to murder me. Cantana spit the word at the old man.

  Because like yourself he could not do it himself. Guillermo spoke again. Yes he could hold a boys hand over fire but more than that he had no stomach for the violence.

  Cantana laughed.

  Maybe so. He said. But you will not be so fortunate as I was. Cantana made a fist of his gloved hand in front of the old mans face. I love the violence. Just like the dog fighter here. He turned to me then. She can never be yours now. You realize this?

  I felt the poets eyes on me. I said nothing. Without moving my eyes I had been searching the room for something I could use as a weapon. But there was nothing and the two men with the rifles were too far away. If I made it to one the other would have the chance to shoot me. I wondered if I could still fight after being shot. If the pain would stop me.

  I am going to give you a last chance though. Cantana said then. Let us say to be with her in the future. Guillermo here is dead. I do not know this other man but if he is a friend of Guillermo and a friend of yours then I do not want to know him. I think for me he is probably better dead than alive. But this also is not for me to decide. He has not betrayed me personally. So I will give you a chance to save him. And her. You can save her as well. But if you do not take my offer I will do two things. First I will kill both of these old men and then I will burn down the house that she lives in. I will tie her to the bed and let her die in this fire and then I will blame this fire on the old men and their army of young men.

  Cowards. The American said as he shifted in his chair. Slouched some and raised his foot to rest on his knee. His socks of expensive silk.

  Yes. Cantana agreed. Cowards fighting from shadows. But for her? Your love. I will say these cowards wanted me to die in that fire but that I was not there and my beautiful niece died as a result of these selfish men. Everyone in Canción will know of this and the hotel will have more support than ever. But you can save them dog fighter. Cantana urged. I will give you this last chance and although you have betrayed me twice before I will give you my word on this. I will keep my word if you agree to it. What do you think?

  Do not listen to him! The poet yelled at me.

  Hombre. Cantana turned to the poet. This young man has the opportunity to save your life. You should listen carefully.

  Your word is nothing.

  What is your name?

  I am the poet.

  The poet?

  Yes.

  Of what?

  Canción.

  I thought I was the poet of Canción.

  You are a pimp.

  Well. If your young friend here chooses to save your life then maybe we will see who is the poet and who is the pimp. Cantana turned to me. Do you accept?

  What is the offer? I asked.

  Very good. The businessman said. It is very wise of you to find out what you are getting into before agreeing to it. Cantana lit a cigarillo. One last dog fight.
He said with smoke spilling over his lips. If you kill the dog you live and I let you go. But your friend the poet here and my niece? They die. But. If you die fighting the dog. A most noble death for a dog fighter. They live and then you still my friend have the opportunity to see her in heaven.

  What makes you so sure I will not kill the dog and then kill you?

  You could. But for the cost of her death? Has your love for her meant nothing all this time? Is her death to you something that can be avenged with my own? I do not think so. You have to look at this from where I am sitting. You have betrayed me twice now. You are dead either way. But I am giving you the opportunity to die in a noble way. A way that will prove your love. I am willing to make a great sacrifice. Are you?

  If you die by the dog you will be committing suicide. The poet said. There is no way to heaven with this death.

  Do you believe in God dog fighter? Cantana asked me. Because now is the time to pray that there is a God. And that He is a forgiving God. One that will allow you to be with your love someday. Because I. Here on earth. I will not allow this.

  Do not believe him. The veteran interrupted. He was wheezing now. Coughing. I noticed small coins of blood on the floor in front of him. The American sat back in his seat. Crossed his foot to the other side. He had followed the conversation carefully with his eyes. I could no longer sense the two men with the rifles behind me.

  No no. Cantana said. Do not believe me. Believe Guillermo there. You see the opportunity I am offering you works for me also. It helps solve my problems.

  When I kill the dog I will become your problem. I said.

  No. Cantana waved his gloved hand before me. The smoke heavy between us. I will have you killed before you ever get near to me. And besides dog fighter. I believe my niece has affected you very much. That your love for her has taken this will from you. I believe your love for my niece is true. That it is something I will never have for myself. I envy that. But I am not above destroying it. I give you my word.

  At this the businessman removed the glove and held his right hand before me. The hand was scarred from some terrible burn. The tissue red and smooth. Cantana was correct. There was no decision to be made.

  Where is this dog? I asked accepting his hand.

  Good. Cantana stood and then he said to me. You have a good heart dog fighter.

  What do you know about the heart? I asked him but he only lowered his eyes to the floor and shook his head slightly smiling.

  When we returned to the sunken room she was gone. Elías must have taken her. At the center of the dance floor where I had held her close to me Ernesto the son of Mendoza stood throwing matches to the old dog sitting on his haunches snapping down on the flame to the applause of the businessmen and their mistresses sitting in chairs at the far end of the room. The musicians had gone and Mendoza sat watching his son proudly.

  When we came into the room Mendoza stood and walked to the dog with a rope leash in his hand. The boy went to his fathers seat where one of the businessmen tousled his hair. The boy accepted a kiss on the cheek from one of the mistresses. Cantana and the American took their seats as a single ragman carrying the glove and heavy rug shuffled over to where I stood across from the old dog.

  No. I said to ragman. Not for this fight.

  I looked across the ring at Cantana while the ragman turned his back to me to tease the old dog. The businessman sat without a mistress. Strange looking without his sunglasses. I did not take my eyes from his when the ragman stepped aside from the snarling dog. I did not take my eyes from his when Mendoza yelled.

  Bastante!

  And I did not take my eyes from his until the dog leaped and brought me to the ground under his weight. This old dog now surprisingly strong and quick his claws tearing through my shirt and into my chest. I leaned back my head to better expose my neck and I felt the pressure when the dog bit on but there was very little pain. So close to the dog I heard his jaw lock. My breathing difficult but not stopped. No blood came from where the teeth had pierced my neck because there were no teeth. The old dog tore at my neck with nothing but his gums. Cantana had Mendoza remove the teeth before the fight. I lay there waiting for the dog to kill me. I pressed down and up on its jaws to choke me but this was not enough. I brought up its claws to cut into the soft of my neck but the dog only wanted to tear at my throat with the teeth he no longer had.

  The anger in me then was very great. The frustration even more. The decision to die had taken no time to make. It was the first thing in my life that I was certain of.

  I threw the dog off of me and when he charged again I put up my arm as if the heavy rug were there to bite onto. When his jaws locked around my arm I felt his jawbone through the soft gums. I hit him in the head with my fist I was so angry. Hit him again like an angry child frustrated with his parents. Again and again until the dog released my arm and I stood over it kicking and beating it whimpering. I was alone in that room. Hitting and kicking the dog until I straddled it and began to pound its head into the wood floor. And when this did nothing I dragged it by the ears to where the low steps were and beat the dogs head against this edge until blood came from its ears and its tongue flopped loosely over its toothless gums. Smacking flat against the top of my hand each time I lifted the now lifeless head before slamming it back down.

  When I felt the dogs bowels warm and wet along my leg I fell forward onto my arms. My forearms hot and sweaty against the cool of the wood floor. I buried my forehead in the nook of my elbow and there I smelled her. The cocoa butter smell from her there on my arm. I began to cry. Hard and quick cries that came deep from within my stomach. I lay like this for some time. My own voice thick in my head. The sound of shuffling feet leaving the room. The dog pulled out from beneath me and then I felt a hand grip my hair and lift my head. When I opened my eyes I saw Cantana in that blur.

  The best part? The businessman smiled. I am the only one here who had money on you to kill the dog.

  When I swung around to hit him he leaped back and then before my vision went black I saw Elías out of the corner of my eye. The revolver in his hand. His eyes pinched at the corners and his teeth biting down hard on his lower lip in fierce concentration.

  I woke several times that night barely able to see my eyes were so swollen. Elías and another man had beaten me unconscious. My ribs cracked and my left arm somehow broken. I felt the cool of the night air pass over my body as we drove. I smelled the cigarette smoke of one of the men driving. At some point they threw water on me to wake and when I did they punched me in the face until I played dead. Lying there listening to their laughter until again I slept without dreaming.

  I was very fortunate though. Cantana must have instructed them to leave me by the spring. He knew I would not return for him. That without her there was no reason to return to Canción. I lay on the ground following the shade of a small bush throughout the day for several days sipping water from my cupped hand and chewing on the petals and stems of wildflowers nearby. For three days I was there before a truck came with men who had been working on the roads. When they came I was disappointed to see them. I was disappointed in myself for allowing myself the flowers and water. She was dead. And so was the poet.

  If Cantana was anything he was a man of his word.

  This was many years ago when I fought dogs in Canción. I am an old man now living in a city I do not care for. I have lived a good life harming no one and helping others I think more than myself. No one here knows who I am and this is fine with me. This is better. No one knows what I have done. What decisions I have made and how they have affected the lives of others. I take some comfort in this. I feel that the world is forgiving me each day. Each day another bead on the rosary I do not say. Each day penance for my sins.

  The poet once on one of our walks in the hills handed me a poem he had written in English.

  This is for you he said to me. When you learn what it means write one to me. And write it then in English and it will be our secret. But I
did not write this for the poet. I have forgiven him and he has I am sure forgiven me. God has nothing to do with this.

  When my father was courting my mother he read to her from books of poetry. The poetry she enjoyed most was written in English. The words at first were foreign to her. My father inviting her into some mystery by sharing them. My mother died wanting me to become a man like my father but stronger. Is this not what all women want in the sons of men they love? She wanted this for me and not what the hissing whispers of my grandfather tried for. This is for my mother. But it is also a poem for my father. Something I think he will find in me much pride.

  Each day I am in this city alone. Walking at night after a long day of labor but I am not tired. The windows are dark and the streetlamps bright in the limbs of the trees. Each of these days and nights I am only closer to her. Always I think of my death. How I would like to invite it to come soon but then fear that inviting this will only keep me from her. Only God keeps me alive for being ungrateful for this gift. I am like the poet sitting outside the cathedral in the shade of the knoll. He waits for me and I wait for Him. I like to think of myself in this way.

  But always I am thinking of her. We are in rooms together with the windows open. She is with the water on in the shower washing the smell of cocoa butter all over her body and singing but not careful with her voice while I am in the other room with a small cool wind on my naked body smiling at the ceiling. My arms behind my head lying on a bed that soon we will make love together on. For that I am still here. This daydream. For her lovely voice singing that I can hear but never heard. I imagine us in my small room together with her singing with the water running and me on the bed yelling to the ceiling how much I love her. But she pretends not to hear me through her singing with the water and it only makes me smile and yell I love her more. And then she sings and I smile more because we have each other and this is a small game we play as lovers.

  Acknowledgments

  The author wishes to acknowledge the excerpts from “El Legarto Viejo” (The Old Lizard) by Federico Garcia Lorca (page 232) and the following poems by Emily Dickinson: “That Love is all there is” (page 91), “God is indeed a jealous God” (page 98), “Not to discover weakness” (page 164), “Crumbling is not an instant’s Act” (page 192).