The Bear Abides

He thought he had him. In the fourth round he had him. And the boys couldn't blame him. If that mouthy faggot quit it wasn't his fault. He would have took the dive but it’s not his fault if the punk quit first.

He had done something that had worked time after time. Joey had smeared the medicine on his shoulder. He got that punks head and pushed it right onto his shoulder. Into his eyes. He could see that he was blinded. He looked around like a chicken before the ax. That punk was ripe for the pickin.

That boy could do one thing. He could run. He ran throughout the whole fifth round. He circled and circled and kept on the outside. There was no way to cut him off. Try to close him down. Crowd him. But that bitch kept running. It was like trying to tie water into a knot. Couldn’t do it. And his shoulder. It was just about done.

The fifth round showed that he had shrugged off the pain and that his eyes had begun to clear. In the sixth he started to land some combinations. He could shrug them off. They stung but he was strong enough to take it. He had been hit a lot worse. The problem was the shoulder. He couldn’t lift it. Couldn’t lift it at all. Left him open for a right cross. Over and over again. Eventually it would really take a toll. He might hang on to the decision. But what would that do. He couldn’t score with one arm so he would lose on points anyway. And the boys would want revenge for not taking the dive.

The sixth round was enough for him. He couldn’t win if he couldn’t use two hands. Might as well do what they want him to do. Nobody would care. Nobody ever did.  Except maybe Geraldine. Nobody roots for the monster.

He remembered when he went to see that Jap movie with Geraldine. It was the monster that attacked Tokyo. Squashed a bunch of Japs. They all attacked him. Shot him. Bombed him. Nobody roots for the monster. They all felt the same about him. He was a monster. A gorilla. An animal. Even his own people hated him. That lousy mofro cop who arrested him for loitering when he was just stopping to give an autograph. They hounded him. Now they were gonna get what they wanted. It was time.

He spit out his mouthpiece. “That’s it” he said. He looked at Joey Po and nodded. Joey knew he couldn’t raise his arm. It was time. The boys would get theirs. He would have to endure. The lies of the newspaper scum. The taunts of that prancing faggot. The loudmouth Jew with the rug and mike. They will dance on his grave.

He was tired. Bone tired. Let it come. Maybe they will let him win the rematch.