Say Goodbye and Goodnight

by David Ruggerio

  Hey do it now yeah hey

  Yeah, there was a funky singer

  Playin' in a rock and roll band

  I started skipping rope faster and faster to a rhythm that was only possible with the aid of my beloved music,

  Play that funky music white boy

  Tiger was in the middle of the gym getting down dirty; a few hookers who were hiding from the cops and were sitting in the grandstands jumped down and began grinding it out with him. Soon the entire gym had forgotten about the heat and was partying. Fighters on the heavy bags were punching and swaggering to a happy beat. Guys sparring were dancing together while jabbing and hooking. It was an outrageous scene: who knew that training could be so much fun?

  Disco was more than great music, its euphoric melodies, fierce beats and soaring vocals straight out of the church drove everybody to the dance floor. Disco was warmly embracing and downright irresistible. Music was one of the factors that defined my life. I lived my life to it; training, fighting, and loving to its sounds. It wasn’t only me; it was all of Brooklyn!

  Suddenly Izzy rained on our parade, “What da fuck is going on here?” Tiger hurried over to the player and lowered the music. Izzy was more annoyed by the acrid weather than Wild Cherry’s funky music, “You fucks better smarten up. You all have big fights coming up” His eyes slowly scanned the room for a rebuttal; he took a much-used hanky from his back pocket and wiped his drenched forehead. He turned, loudly exhaled, “ugh,” and went back to his steaming office. Tiger waited a few moments and turned it back up, the party resumed. Izzy poked his face out momentarily, barely visible, and just shook his head in wonderment, “Oy vey! Screwballs…they’re all fucking nuts!”

  *****

  I was always the first at my mother’s table. With my grueling training, I was forever famished! Whether aimlessly slugging away at a heavy bag or chasing Tiger around the ring, the image of my mother’s meatballs invaded my concentration. The brutish rumbling of my stomach often blended with the ethereal harmony of the gym.

  Italian mothers love to embrace the young girls who their son's court and bring home. Their kitchens were like the minor leagues, a place where they vetted them and trained them to cook in the way their sons had become accustomed to before they got called up to the big leagues (marriage, of course!). My mother spoke Italian when she was cooking, often firing off orders in her Sicilian dialect. While Gia understood the mother tongue, she did not feel comfortable speaking it. My mother adored her, so she happily spoke English to her and only to her, even when stirring the sauce!

  My mother endured most of her life in that kitchen. She enjoyed watching television while she cooked on her little JC Penney color television that we all chipped in to buy her last Christmas. She had the schedule of all her shows carefully written down on the back of a recipe card and placed on the refrigerator. Her favorite show was on Tuesdays. It was comical to watch her when Laverne and Shirley came on. My mother would skip across the kitchen while trying to sing along half in English and half in Italian; 7, 8 Schlemiel! Schlimazel! Hasenpfeffer Incorporated!

  The rest of the family joined me at the table. As Gia and my mother carried over the laden platters of food, my mouth watered. My father asked Sal to put the music on; that meant Sinatra, always Sinatra! He loved that man to death; in fact, the only thing left for him to do was to keep an empty chair at the kitchen table for Ol’ Blue Eyes.

  Pop began to regain some of his strength, along with his appetite. My mother spooned a mountainous plate of macaroni for me, he looked on with wonderment, “You fight soon, don’t you have to make weight?”

  “It’s ok Pop, I’m good.” He was right, but fighting at 154 pounds, I had little trouble staying under that weight. When I weighed in that morning, I was 149. Izzy hollered at me, “What da hell is the matter; isn’t your mother feeding you, or what?”

  Gia sat as close to me as possible; the backs of our chairs embraced each other’s woody limbs. I turned to her and gave her a warm, gentle kiss. Usually, my father wouldn’t allow such blatant displays of emotion at the table, but he recognized true love, and the thought of us marrying someday warmed his heart and drove him to places before were unimaginable.

  Saverio dabbed a piece of bread in his plate, “Gia, how is your father?” Before Gia could respond, he dragged my mother into the conversation, “Rosa, we have to have them over soon!” My mother dutifully nodded her head. Gia’s smile warmed the room, “He’s good Mr. Marino. He asks about you all the time.”

  My father continued, “Send him my love. How is the daughter of his friend?”

  “Oh, you mean Carla; Vincent Verona’s daughter?”

  “Yes! Vincent Verona!”

  “I hear she’s doing better.”

  I glanced over to see if there was any remaining hint of angst or resentment emanating from my girlfriend. Instead, Gia looked back at me and winked. There was a dazzling gleam to her eyes; I felt energized by her modest gesture of love.

  As he pushed his plate aside, my father’s expression turned somber. Speaking in Italian, he asked me an odd question, “Anthony, tell me why a man such as Calò Vizzini would come by asking for you?”

  “I have no idea, Pop?”

  “Do you understand who he is?’

  “I heard things around the neighborhood, but to be honest, whenever I see him, he’s always very cordial with me.” My father’s face grimaced, and he slammed his fist down, causing everyone at the table to freeze, “He’s no good! An evil person! Nothing good comes from a man like that! Ou capisciu?” Oh yes, I understood, but his message was not explicit.

  My father moved into the comfort of his chair in the front parlor. Gia, in a hushed voice, asked, “Why did your father say that? Are you in some danger?” She, too, heard about Vizzini and was concerned. As she impatiently awaited a response, I glanced over at my father. I had no idea what had caused such an outburst? Yet soon, I would find out.

  *****

  After dinner, Sal and I went to the garden while my mother, Angie, and Gia washed the dishes. I could see my mother’s face through the kitchen window, with two young girls flanking her, she was happy as a clam.

  Sal's mood turned somber, “I have something I need to tell you.” Immediately my mind went to Baldassari, “What? Is this about that piece of shit Louie? Or maybe you have a warning for me about Vizzini?”

  “Those guys? No! I have a secret to tell you.”

  “Oh no, not another one of your secrets. Thank you, no!”

  “You’re my brother, if I can’t tell you, who can I tell?”

  “This sounds like it concerns Pop, so go to him and give him the privilege firsthand of your secrets.”

  Sal grabbed my arm and blurted out, “It’s about Angie; she’s pregnant!” He was blunt, but to be honest, knowing the way my brother plodded through life, I can’t say I was surprised. “Already? Jesus, you don’t waste any time.” My thoughts bounced around my skull like a ping pong ball. That image of a stern and disappointed Sicilian mug was all I could imagine, “Wow, this one is a biggie!”

  “I don’t know how to tell Pop.” I knew full well what my father would say, “Sal, you better tell him today; because he will want you to get married yesterday.” I thought further, “Don’t tell anyone else, did you ask Angie to marry you yet.”

  “No.”

  “Are you expecting me to ask her for you as well?”

  “Ant, stop your shit.”

  “Boy, you better go inside and tell him now.” Sal looked at me with wounded eyes, “Ant, will you come with me?”

  “With you? I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to join you when you gave Angie the schaff”

  “Oh,
Ant! Watch your language; she’s going to be my wife.”

  “Exactly! Now go and tell Pop.”

  *****

  I knew my father, and the shame of his first grandchild being born out of wedlock would be a travesty, a disgrace. I could already imagine his wailing; “Madonna, the entire neighborhood will know!” Some twenty-odd minutes later, my father wandered out into the garden, stunned and confused. By the distorted look on his face, I could tell Sal told him. He looked dazed; he then noticed me lying in the hammock and made a beeline over, “Antonino, did you know?”

  “Only about a half-an-hour ago.”

  “Whata you think?”

  “Think? Pop, what are you asking?” Seconds later, Angie came bursting out of the kitchen door and hurried over to us. By her face, with tears streaming down, I couldn’t decipher whether Sal broke up with her or asked her to… “Mr. Marino, Sal and I are going to be married!”

  For a moment, it seemed as though all the air was sucked out of the yard! What would be the old man’s reaction? As though a thundercloud struck down and changed my father forever, he lovingly grasped her and kissed her heartily on the cheek again and again, “My daughter! Oh, my daughter, I’m so happy for both of you.” I jumped out of the hammock, she embraced me and hugged me tight, “Thank you--Ant, it’s all because of you.” She turned to run back to her betrothed, while my father gave me an odd look, “It’s all because of you? What the hell does that mean?”

  “Pop, don’t go there. We have a wedding to plan.” His smile crawled across his face like a caterpillar; he put his arm around me and dragged me back to the kitchen, rarely had I witnessed him so excited.

  *****

  The fight was two days away, and a victory here could potentially skyrocket me to a chance for the title. I understood that deep down, Gia would never embrace my profession, but I needed her to keep her fears at bay. Knowing the sway Columbo had over his daughter; I decided to confront Gia in front of her father. “Sweetheart, I need you to be there for me, but you can’t, not even once, tell me you’re afraid for me.” Her father leaned forward in his chair and frowned. He raised his authoritative voice, “Gia, you can’t do that to him ever! He’s fighting for his life.” With the usage of those few tense words, Gia’s anxiety chilled the air in the room; “His life? And I’m not supposed to be frightened?”

  “Sweetheart, I need your support now more than ever. I need to put my mind into a dark place that you can’t understand.” The place I spoke of was in the deep recesses of my consciousness, where an impregnable box was hidden. In this place, my convictions, confidence, and courage were firmly secured. Fear and doubt could not pry their way in.

  I looked over to Albert; he no longer looked upon me merely as his daughters’ beau. Deep down, I sensed he looked forward to calling me, son. He raised his meaty hand and pointed at her, “Gia, you must listen to him!”

  In his way, Albert understood what I was saying. He knew that my mind needed to be focused; apprehension, hesitation, or mercy could no longer be part of my vocabulary; I needed to be savage once more.

  *****

  The ability to maintain a laser focus during unforgettable events in one’s life takes a discipline that few possess; distractions are a constant that only the great have sway over. The evening before the fight, Columbo, along with Verona, was abruptly taken into custody.

  The neighborhood was abuzz. Gia and her mother, though upset, had been through it all before. The reasoning at first seemed unapparent; they were brought to the DA’s office on Jay Street in downtown Brooklyn and put into separate interrogation rooms. For hours upon hours, they were grilled. It didn’t matter. These two men had been through wars together, and as they remained cool, calm, and collected, they offered nothing.

  You see, just two nights before, in the public restrooms on the Canarsie Pier, two young Hispanic men were found beaten to death. Both had broomsticks shoved up their rectums, and adding insult to injury; both were castrated. Whether Albert did it, ordered it, or whatever, the message was loud and clear to the rest of the city. Don’t touch our children!

  Chapter 14

  Big Surprise

  I was shadow boxing in the bathroom of the locker room, alone as always. I had a good sweat going this time. The digs here were like none I had ever been in; this was the Garden, the pinnacle of boxing throughout the world. I was standing in the same place as the greats; Ali and Frazier. I was so focused on mayhem; jitters hadn’t yet seeped in.

  Tiger entered, trying to get a handle on my delicate psyche. When I turned to face him, he witnessed a cold, stone-like resolve. The muscles in my jaws were rock hard and taut, beads of sweat glistened as they rolled down my steel-like back; every sinew of muscle was ready for a battle royale. I felt strong, so powerful in fact; I knew every punch that evening would cause significant injury. I knew only one of us would be leaving that ring tonight alive.

  Tiger saw it too! Over his career, he witnessed it only a few times before, and he knew what it meant. His face beamed, and he hollered at the top of his lungs, “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” I remained silent; no words were necessary. Tiger went back to give Izzy a report; I could hear him exclaim, “The kid’s back, better than ever! He’s going to be great tonight!” I felt a rush; his enthusiasm reassured me I was ready. If I lost tonight, Weeden would have to kill me.

  “Marino, you’re up!” It oddly sounded like the call at Aqueduct; Rider’s up! I was now a stallion who was to be guided towards the starting gate. Sal surprised me with a brand-new robe; it was a gift from Albert Columbo. It was deep blue with white trimming; the back read Anthony “The Kid” Marino. A majestic robe such as this was meant only for a place like the Garden!

  “Tiger, can you dry me off before I get into it?” Izzy was his usual nervous self before a fight; he yelped, “Fuck that! No! Keep him sweating!” Tiger smiled and stood back. No challenging Izzy, not here and not now.

  I turned to Sal, who had a look of wonderment; he was searching for a sign, an indication as to how his brother would perform tonight. I peered into his eyes, “Where is she sitting?”

  He smiled, “Right up front.”

  “Is Albert there?”

  “No.”

  I got aggravated, with the fight minutes away; my nerves were on end, I couldn’t contain my hostility, “Sal, what the fuck! It’s like pulling teeth with you, who’s with her then? Is she alone?”

  He couldn’t hide the surprise any longer; his face became animated with great joy, “Ant…Pop is with her.”

  What! My father? It was like getting hit by a locomotive! A wave of euphoria mixed with an utter urge to cry overwhelmed me. Tears welled up, and I had a lump in my throat. Sal saw my reaction; he smiled and then hugged me tightly. Izzy wasn’t having any of it, “Excuse me, you two, but can we stop with all this brotherly bullshit, we have an arena full of people waiting.”

  Tiger chimed in, “Let’s bust his fucken hole open!”

  I tried to wipe the tears away with my new robe. Izzy felt for me, he took a towel and dried my face. For the first time in my life, my father would witness me fight!

  We entered an enormous maze of concrete corridors that led us down to the opening of the Garden. Above, I could hear the crowd; it was unlike any I had ever heard before. The mob was ravenous tonight.

  Ralphie stood in front of me; I rested my gloves on his shoulders as I bounced. I felt Ralphie deserved the honor; he had taken a back seat to Tiger, which he did without uttering a single complaint.

  The walls were trembling; the mob’s demand for the warriors to enter was resonating. As we made our way, unlike my last meeting with Weeden, this time, the mob would empower me. I felt like a gladiator, fierce, and prepa
red for whatever the Gods had in store for me.

  Melodramatic? Yes, this was the pinnacle of cliff-hangers. We seemed to be walking through endless corridors until when we reached the opening of the Garden, the expanse of the packed arena before me electrified my core. One of the promoters of the fight was waiting, “How do you feel, Marino?” Again, no words, no expression, just a nod to signify to all, let’s get it on. The promoter had a walkie-talkie, he whispered something into it, and seconds later, the trumpets sounded, that familiar music of Rocky charged the mob into a wild frenzy.

  (Release the lions and tigers and bears!)

  Amid all this wonderment and mayhem, I recalled a Roman saying that Calò Vizzini told me only days before to remember during the fight, The Son of God became man so we might become God. At that precise moment, I was a God!

  Again, I was the hometown hero, I was still one of theirs, and I had forgiven the mob for abandoning me during our last rendezvous. Every eye in the Garden witnessed that look in my eye. As we paraded our way down to the ring, all that was needed to complete this debauchery was the acrobats, palm-bearers, and a few Vestal Virgins.

  The excitement I felt as I stepped up onto the ring skirt and gazed upon the frenzied mob made me more alive than I had ever thought possible. I raised my gloves high in the air as the mob roared; We who are about to die, salute you!

  This time, Weeden was given his due; he was the second to enter the ring. Hell, why not? He kicked my ass last time, but I came to terms with that now.

  As Weeden took his sweet time dancing towards the ring, I asked Ralphie to remove my robe; I wanted to feel the air. It was chilled yet refreshing. I was anxious to draw first blood, so I bounded around the ring like a caged beast. I ground my teeth uncontrollably.

  I’m a fighter…I’m a fighter…I’m a fighter!