Burning Down

by Venero Armanno

  Stupid feelings. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to go to his stereo and put on another record. Turn up the volume and work harder on that bag, get things out of his system by driving himself to exhaustion. Then he could drop into his bed. Then he could be blank until the next four a.m. morning. For a few hours at least he’d forget Sistine and the way she’d walked out of this house, and he’d even forget Holly with her alien, understanding eyes.

  ‘So, these blank spaces?’

  ‘I’m giving things away.’ He needed a glass of water. Even to him his voice sounded husky and dark. ‘There’s a club up the road.’

  ‘Ricky mentioned something about that. He says he’s given up on soccer. He says he’ll train with you instead. When did the two of you work that out?’

  ‘He visited me at the ward.’

  ‘Once?’

  ‘A couple of times.’

  ‘You mean he skipped school every day?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Holly shook her head, gave a sigh. Her mood, that lightness, it didn’t change.

  ‘I guess school will survive. He really wanted to see you.’

  ‘The class,’ Charlie spoke, now thinking about the boy. ‘It’s tomorrow, Sunday.’ He wondered if he’d be able to find the enthusiasm for it. Maybe he’d hand the couple of hours over to Leila Hatami, just about the most motivated kid he’d ever met. ‘Early, but I know he might not be able to make it …’

  ‘He will.’ Holly gave him a smile, unforced and clear. ‘We’ve got the car back.’

  Charlie didn’t know what that meant.

  The icepack was already mostly melted, dripping and useless. He dropped it back into the bucket. Whatever Holly was saying, why she’d come tonight, he couldn’t make himself connect to any of it. Still perspiring, he took a towel and wiped his face and arms.

  ‘So I’ve been making plans,’ Holly said, ‘about selling the house. And I’m going back to university.’

  He nodded.

  ‘The thing is, Peter came by. It was out of the blue. Not even a telephone call first. I guess I should be grateful, but I’d rather use a pair of your boxing gloves on him. So that’s why I’ve got the car. He says he doesn’t need it. Turns out he’s going away … with someone. Another life in another city, something like that. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it in a movie.’

  ‘No chance to patch it up?’

  Holly looked at him, then looked away.

  But what did she want? What was on her mind? It was as if he just couldn’t make sense of her. That feeling of lightness she gave off, yet there was this story about the end of her marriage, the bald fact of her husband’s ‘someone’.

  Maybe it was all those pills confusing him. He’d come home from the hospital with two bottles and it could be they’d done something to his head. This gloom that wanted to suffocate him, maybe it wasn’t all because of Sistine. He remembered the way he’d kept nodding off in his armchair and how he’d had to fight to keep his eyes open.

  ‘Holly,’ he said. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I think,’ she nodded, ‘I think you get to a place where you realise you’ve done enough crying.’ She tried to smile, but this one wasn’t so easy. ‘At least for a while.’

  ‘So you said you’re making plans.’ He was watching her now. ‘That’s good, right?’

  ‘It’s taken me too long to understand that I don’t need Peter to say what he does and doesn’t want.’

  ‘You know what you want?’

  ‘I want—I want more of what this whole thing’s given me. I want to keep being free.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  He saw a flash of anger.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I, after so long? It’s like this horrible chain’s been broken. And do you know what? It’s the best feeling in the world.’

  The room had been hot and uncomfortable, heavy with Charlie’s exertion. None of that had bothered Holly and she hadn’t asked that they go somewhere cooler. Now the night’s breeze came in through windows open wide, and she moved her head to catch it. He saw her neck was long, and how her lips now didn’t smile. She gazed out at the space of that vacant allotment behind his home, yet there was a slice of nice shining moon above it.

  And the moonlight changed the blackness of her irises—violet, dark purple … no. ‘Really blue,’ Charlie said. ‘Your eyes are actually dark blue.’

  They glistened; Holly Banks wasn’t quite done crying, no matter what she wanted to believe.

  ‘What?’

  He kept looking at her eyes, now not feeling that he needed to look away, and she understood.

  ‘It puts some people off—I know I can look strange. The colours of my clothes, or things like eye shadow, it changes the colour.’

  ‘I thought violet.’

  ‘Did you like it?’

  ‘I still do.’

  Holly wiped her cheeks. ‘Charlie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you know I’m happy?’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I see the way you look at me.’

  He waited, not moving.

  ‘Do you see the way I look at you?’

  Charlie knew he could wait all he wanted, and stand there so frozen, but his heart, that troublesome thing, his heart and its beat, he felt it now, hard and heavy.

  ‘I wanted to say … tell you,’ she spoke. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Old men, Holly. They’re always going to look at younger women.’

  ‘You’re not old.’

  Charlie took a deep breath. This room, this little room finally cooling to the breeze, it centred now only on her.

  ‘And I’m not young.’

  She took a step toward him.

  Charlie said, ‘Where’s Ricky tonight?’

  He saw her trying to read his thoughts. ‘He’s old enough to be home on his own. There are a couple of old movies he wanted to watch. One’s about a boxer, believe it or not. Golden Boy, William Holden?’

  Charlie shook his head. He knew nothing about movies. Holly didn’t come closer. He watched her take a deep breath, then consider the room one more time. ‘Why don’t you tell me something?’ she said. ‘Tell me what you’ll have Ricky doing tomorrow.’

  The moment was broken. The heaviness of his heart had become a more familiar pain in his left shoulder. He wanted to rub it, and find more ice to apply, but he wouldn’t let himself do it in front of her.

  ‘With the kids the training’s always around boxing. For fitness mainly, and some fun.’

  ‘Can he get hurt?’

  ‘Most of the point is to learn how not to get hurt.’

  ‘And he’ll punch that thing?’ Holly asked, nodding at the heavy bag.

  ‘Things like it.’

  ‘Will you show me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How to do it.’

  Charlie wouldn’t stand still any more; he wouldn’t ask any more questions. ‘Put these on.’

  He passed Holly two white cotton inners to wear under the leather gloves. Her hands didn’t need wrapping, not for this, not unless she displayed a surprising inclination to whale away hard. Then he helped her with the gloves, strapping the velcro around her wrists.

  ‘You ever punched anything before?’

  ‘I’ve felt like it.’

  ‘Come here.’

  He stood her in front of the bag and helped her into a proper stance.

  ‘Don’t keep your feet glued to the floor. Try to move the way the bag moves. Your left’s your jab. Pop it right here.’ He showed her a spot on the bag, height of her chin. ‘Keep your wrist tight and straight. And you’re aiming to strike with the first two knuckles of your fist, that way there’s less chance to hurt your hand.’

  Holly’s left came out straight, which looked good, and she had a good s
houlder turn too. The bag, however, moved too much for a beginner. So he stepped around it and held it in place, allowing just enough give whenever she hit it.

  ‘Let’s try a right, but now you be gentle. Your hand and your wrist aren’t going to be used to striking hard. First rule, no injuries allowed.’

  Holly’s jab was good, the right awkward.

  ‘The power comes from here.’

  ‘Where?’

  He put his hands on her hips. He felt the way her body liked that touch; it was as unmistakable as words spoken. They stayed there without moving, her body through her cotton skirt warm to his palms.

  He said, ‘Make your right punch nice and slow.’

  She did, and as she punched he rocked her right hip forward to show her how to transfer her weight and produce her power.

  ‘Raise your heel as you twist, turn on the ball of your back foot.’

  They did it together. Her right came out with better force. Through his hands he felt the way she got the rhythm. In fact she wanted to whip that power all the way through her body—through her long, lean body and into the first two knuckles of her right fist.

  ‘Gently.’ He had to smile. ‘It’s too much for starting.’

  He rocked her right hip forward with the next punch, then Holly turned toward him. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes blue-black. She was close enough that he tasted the sweetness of her breath.

  ‘Holly—’

  She kissed him long and slow, her hands in those big gloves awkward against the back of his head.

  ‘Get these things off me.’

  He did.

  ‘Charlie—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m over forty and I’ve had a baby.’

  He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek. She pressed her face to his touch.

  ‘I’m pushing sixty,’ Charlie told her, ‘and I’ve been beaten up by experts.’

  She wanted him to slip the shirt off her shoulders. She pulled the still-damp singlet he wore over his head. As she kissed the nape of his neck Holly’s mouth was warm on his skin, then he lifted her.

  A small fan was on the floor, turned toward them, and in his bed Holly held him close. Charlie nuzzled her hair and kissed her cheeks, her lips, the lobes of her ears. He couldn’t quite believe he could be with a woman after so long, and that the woman should be Holly Banks.

  ‘Look at your skin,’ she said. ‘Look how white I am next to you.’

  He tasted some more of hers.

  ‘Where I come from northerners call my people the black men of Italy.’

  ‘I’ll be visiting your country one day.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I want to see what it’s like. And I want to eat what you eat.’

  ‘That roll?’

  ‘Never forgotten.’

  ‘I’ve got this recipe … something my people have been keeping from your people for generations. How about I make it for you?’

  She smiled into his eyes, nodding. ‘And I’ve got a trusty Margaret Fulton, first edition.’

  ‘I don’t know what that is.’

  ‘Lucky you.’ She moved her face closer to his. ‘I was wondering about something. Is it all right if I ask?’

  ‘Depends what it is.’

  ‘Did your daughter come to see you?’

  ‘Huh, yeah. This afternoon.’ He put his hand in hers, fingers clasping together. ‘Let’s not talk about that now.’

  ‘But was it bad for me to find her?’

  ‘Why did you?’

  Holly stared at the darkness of his ceiling, then said, ‘Everyone needs a little help now and then, right?’

  Yes, his own words.

  ‘Charlie, when you said that, it was just about the finest thing I ever heard.’

  Her hair fell across his face as she kissed him. Then Holly turned on her side and ran her fingers through his thick, wiry hair.

  ‘There’s something about Sistine I want to tell you.’

  ‘The problem with her boyfriend and his money?’

  ‘Sort of …’

  ‘It’s not her problem. And it’s not mine.’

  ‘Charlie … she misses her mother and she doesn’t know what to think about you.’

  ‘Sissy’s been pretty clear what she thinks about me.’

  ‘But do you understand how scared she is? She told me that boy, Bobby, was beaten up by these people he owes money to. And she’s sure there’s worse to come.’

  ‘Beaten up?’ Charlie thought it over. ‘Huh. It never changes.’

  ‘I told her she should go to the police.’

  ‘She won’t?’

  Holly nodded.

  ‘Listen,’ Charlie started. ‘The reason I didn’t want to talk about this. You did me a favour with Sistine that’s for sure, but someone like you better keep out of these things. Sissy’s right, she can’t go to the police. They’d cause more trouble. Gambling debts and money collectors go hand in hand with crooked cops. None of these are the type you want to know. Not you and not your boy, because sooner or later they suck everyone and everything into their shit. So stay away. I got out of that world a long time ago. Diego Domingo didn’t. I guess that goes for his son too. What was bad twenty, thirty years ago is still there, just smarter and harder.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not so easy for Sistine.’

  ‘What’s not easy?’

  ‘To disentangle herself.’

  And making it a hundred times worse by marrying into that family. But he refused to think about that. Charlie wouldn’t let Diego and his problems into his head.

  ‘Just look after Ricky and figure out what to do about your husband.’

  ‘Charlie.’

  ‘Yes?’

  She kissed him again. ‘It’s figured.’

  He made her lay flat, and caressed her face, and moved the sheet down to nipples so dark against the white of her breasts.

  ‘I have to get home …’

  He touched the lines of her marks with his lips even as she tried to hide the signs of her living, then the sheet came down further and he ran his tongue along her thigh to her hip, smooth and curved, and she pulled him over her again.

  Early morning at the little club and Charlie knew he wasn’t as sharp as he ought to be. Holly had left before eleven, he’d taken the pills he was supposed to take, then he’d fallen into a deep, deep sleep. He’d come awake what felt like three days later. Probably would have kept on sleeping, except that someone had been banging at the front door. With a metallic taste in his mouth and his ears buzzing, even before he’d got to that door he’d sworn to throw the pain killers and sleeping pills into the garbage where they belonged.

  He’d found Leila Hatami standing on his front step making a gesture of What the hell? Her small features were screwed up and behind her Charlie’s crew shuffled around. They must have gathered at the club, waited, been unable to get in so decided to come find him. Maybe they’d expected to see him dead in his front yard.

  Oh, Gesù, good morning Sunday—he’d slept in for the first time in decades.

  Now he watched his crew at work, his mind just as clouded as when he’d woken up. A shuffling step here and a good jab there gave him flashes of the guys he trained with as a teenager. Then his father visited—blame it on those drugs. Charlie rubbed his eyes and face hard, but his papà sat in a chair by the lip of some ancient ring, licking the wet nub of his cigar. His wooden walking stick was across his lap. Coach Joe urged Charlie on as he sparred a fighter just as likely to knock him down as give him this solid workout.

  ‘You wanna try or you just gonna keep dancing?’

  Meanwhile, his father’s baleful eyes reflected nothing but disappointment.

  Then Charlie moved kids from the red and black punching bags while he sent others to the barb
ells and dumbbells. Older ones helped each other at the pull-up bar and weight benches, spotting their chest presses. Leila was with three boys on skipping ropes. She’d well and truly mastered the art of the double-under. They hadn’t, so she was showing them how and why it was easy as pie. Four pairs of kids sparred lightly in gloves and headgear. If they red-lined it Charlie would give them a hundred push-ups. He kept a careful eye on their moves, then Holly walked in with the boy and he felt his tired heart leap.

  Hiding his delight, he said, ‘Ricky, you’re late.’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Smoke.’

  ‘Can’t happen again.’ Charlie spoke in his best Joe Pacca, ignoring the fact that his own crew had needed to call him out of bed. Then he couldn’t hold himself back. He spoke to Holly, low: ‘You are so welcome here.’

  She was mildly embarrassed and he wished he could hold her. But he clapped his hands twice.

  ‘Trainees—over here.’

  They put down weights, skipping ropes, headgear and gloves, and came to look Ricky up and down. The only ones who caught the new kid’s mother on their radar were a couple of the seventeen-year-old boys. Charlie recognised their glances, the covert stares. Dio mio, if only they knew.

  ‘Meet our latest recruit, Ricky Banks. What do we say?’

  ‘This is HELL.’

  ‘What advice do we have?’

  ‘Abandon hope!’

  ‘I let them make up their own sayings,’ he told Holly. ‘It can get a little cheesy.’

  Holly Banks, or whatever your maiden name is, just come closer.

  ‘And that’s Mrs Tran over there pretending no one can see her. She feeds and waters us.’

  Meanwhile, kids started asking questions. Ricky was a curiosity, a stranger from somewhere else, and they were all locals.

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘What school you go to?’