Bubblegum and Kipling. Tom Mayer

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СКАЧАТЬ sorts of fancy stuff himself, crossovers and the like, but Johnny just got tangled up. The rope got wound around his legs and hit him in the face, and once it got around his throat and I was afraid he’d strangle himself. Dad said that was happening because the rope was too long, so he took out a pocket knife and cut the rope down to where Johnny could use it. That helped, and Johnny began to get the idea.

      Dad said diet was very important. He said we would have to get Mother to feed Johnny the right things, and both Johnny and I said that might be pretty tricky. Mother didn’t approve of boxing.

      Just about then Mother came in anyway, and wanted to know what we were up to. Both Dad and Johnny were sweating considerable amounts, and Mother wanted to know if they were trying to shake the house down. She said she had just had the ceiling in the hall plastered, and it was flaking down all over the place.

      My father explained that we were training Johnny for a fight.

      “Little Johnny?” my mother asked.

      My father said yes. He said Johnny was already learning a jab, and they were going to do some running together the next morning. Johnny liked to sleep late, he never got up until just before breakfast, and even then you had to shake him, and he didn’t look too happy about the running bit.

      Mother said we weren’t going to turn her baby into a fighter, and that was that. Then my father and I explained about Melvin and Mr. Bascomb, and Mother said Mr. Bascomb was a blathering idiot. She kissed Johnny sweetly on the forehead and said it was mean of my father and me to make him fight. Johnny said he wanted to fight, and Mother said she didn’t believe him. Johnny said he had been insulticated and had to fight. Got no choice, he said. Mother asked what Melvin had done to him, and Johnny wouldn’t tell her any more than he had me.

      Mother saw it was no use, Johnny being the stubbornest one in the family when he made up his mind about something, and my father told her she would have to start fixing training meals. He said Johnny should have steak twice a day, preferably three times, and lots of milk and orange juice. That made Mother mad, and she said Johnny and all the rest of us ate very well as it was. My father was embarrassed and said that was true, she and Ramona were the best cooks in the business, but a fighter in training was different and he’d settle for steak once a day. Mother said she’d think about it. Then my father said that Johnny ought to cut out between-meal snacks, and no candy, and of course no cigarettes or liquor. My mother looked at my father as if he were crazy, and my father said he knew Johnny didn’t drink or smoke, but he wanted to emphasize the importance of condition. He asked Mother if she’d like to see Johnny’s jab, and Mother said not particularly, but she stayed while Johnny shadow-boxed. “Snap it hard,” my father kept saying, “stick it in his face, make it sting. That’s a boy.”

      My father said it was time for bed, because Johnny would have to get up early for roadwork, and he asked Johnny if he wanted a rub-down. Johnny said okay, and my father detailed me to give Johnny a massage. Johnny took a bath and went to bed, and I rubbed down his arms and legs and back. He said it felt good, and I told him he had been looking sharp, trying to build up his confidence. He said he didn’t think roadwork sounded like much fun, and went to sleep.

      The next morning my father got him up at six, and they ran around the block three or four times before breakfast. My father ate four eggs when they came in, said he hadn’t felt so well in years, and Johnny looked tired. My father made him drink three glasses of orange juice and told Mother to get some wheat germ and vitamin pills.

      At school I went to see Mr. Bascomb and told him that Johnny wanted satisfaction. I told him Johnny had been mortally insulted and wanted to fight Melvin.

      “But what did Melvin do?” Mr. Bascomb asked.

      “Terrible things,” I said. Then I asked Mr. Bascomb when he wanted the fight. He said something about the sooner the better, and would next Saturday be suitable. I lied and said we were all going to the ranch the next Saturday for spring roundup, how about a week after that? Mr. Bascomb said that was fine with him, but he didn’t look forward with any relish to telling Mrs. Oglethorpe about it.

      When I told my father about the fight date he said he wished I’d gotten more time. I said I’d done the best I could, and he said that was okay, he thought he could have Johnny ready, but he wished he had more time to strengthen up those legs.

      He ran Johnny a lot the next week and a half, and taught him how to punch straight. I sparred with Johnny, not hitting hard, and it was amazing how he picked up moves. He was very coordinated, which was something we had never suspected before because he hated sports so, and in no time at all he could do a fine bob and weave. Dad made him carry a small rubber ball around in each pocket, and told him to squeeze them all the time. After about a week Johnny began to have some sting to his punches. Dad kept working with him mainly on the simple stuff, keep the right up, the chin tucked in, the left jabbing; cross to the jaw when you get a clean shot, bob and weave when you get in trouble. Dad bought a medicine ball and tossed it to Johnny to toughen up his middle, but the ball was too big and it knocked Johnny’s wind out. That happened a couple of times, but Johnny got right back up and asked for more, and I was astonished at how tough he was getting.

      The last week Dad had him running around the block ten times before breakfast, eating wheat germ, steak, and orange juice, taking four kinds of vitamin pills, and sparring six rounds after school in addition to rope skipping and bag work. The Wednesday before the fight Dad bought Johnny a new pair of red silk fighting trunks, a jock, and a steel cup. The trunks fit fine and the jock was okay, but the cup was too big, and Johnny had to walk around bow-legged with it on. Dad said he had to have a cup, can’t fight without protection, and the next day he spent most of the morning buying up boys’-size protectors. He brought about twenty of them home, and at least ten fit.

      On Friday Johnny just skipped rope and sparred a round with me. Dad wanted to keep him home from school to make sure he took it easy, but Mother said she wouldn’t hear of it. My father said, but it was the day before the fight, and Mother said no, absolutely no. That night Dad fed Johnny a huge charcoal-broiled steak that he cooked himself, and put him to bed at eight-thirty after giving him a sleeping pill to make sure he relaxed well.

      The fight was scheduled for ten o’clock, and we got to school at nine-thirty. Johnny changed at home, and wore a blue bathrobe in the car. Dad asked him three or four times how he felt and if he had the right size cup in place. Mother wouldn’t come with us. She said she hated fights, any fights, they were brutal, and she wasn’t about to watch one with her last baby in it.

      The fight was in the Goodey-Gormley gym, and the ring was a joke. They had put down a wrestling mat in the middle of the floor, with a steel folding chair at each corner. No ropes at all. The referee was Mr. Nestor Gonzalez, one of the sixth-grade teachers. He was hunchbacked, wore glasses, and talked in a high thin voice. I had had him the year before and he was very nice, and very intelligent.

      Melvin and his parents showed up at a quarter till. Mrs. Oglethorpe had a red scaly face that looked as if she had just been yelling at someone. Lots of blood in her cheeks. Mr. Oglethorpe was huge, around six four, with hairy hands. Melvin was at least a foot taller than Johnny. He had black hair he was always brushing back out of his eyes, and he was very pale, scared stiff, I figured, and he was dressed in a regular shirt and khakis. When he took the shirt off he was skinny underneath.

      Mr. Bascomb was there too, and the first thing he did was run up to my father and ask how my mother was. Then he asked if there wasn’t some way we could solve this peaceably, and my father told him to ask Johnny. Mr. Bascomb asked Johnny, and Johnny said, “I wanna fight.”

      Mr. Bascomb said he guessed fight it was, and Melvin looked very unhappy.

      I was going СКАЧАТЬ