Horace’s ribs healed enough that he began training again, although now he wasn’t as certain about his future in Tucson. Diego was right: to be a real boxer he would have to leave Ruiz, he would have to leave Tucson, and he was just beginning to find his way there. Even his aunt seemed to like him better. She invited him to a small work party she was having at her house. He helped her clean up the carport and front yard and bring up a table and chairs she had stored in the basement. When the party began she even introduced him to her co-workers. She wasn’t exactly nice and he could tell she didn’t really want to know him, but it was getting better. If he did leave, he would have to move to San Antonio and begin again alone. He’d have to find a place to stay, get a new job, and he’d be even farther from everything he knew.
He began to think he would ask Mariana to go out with only him. But each Wednesday came and passed and he said nothing. He was scared that if he said anything she would stop seeing him. That it would put too much pressure on her. So, in the end, he kept quiet.
At work he just did what Benny asked. Shipments would come in, they would be swamped, and then it would again slack off. He’d have days with no real work, so he convinced Benny to let him paint the outside of the building, paint the office and bathroom, and do odd jobs to keep his hours up. He also began taking Wednesdays off entirely.
And then, one evening after work, he walked to Lucky Wishbone to find that Mariana had quit. The girl who worked with her, Camila, said she didn’t know why, and when he asked for Mariana’s number Camila just said she didn’t have it, although he knew she did. After that, he couldn’t sleep and could barely eat. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where she lived or how to get ahold of her. When the next Wednesday came, he went to the same theatre and waited in the lobby. He sat nervously on a chair near a fake fireplace, and when he looked up she was there.
She wore a yellow dress and the same white canvas shoes she always wore. She had on dark-red lipstick and black eyeliner. She smiled at him but, as she did, tears welled in her eyes.
‘Camila said you quit,’ Horace said.
‘I had to,’ she whispered, and sat across from him. ‘I’m pregnant, Hector. I never told you this but my boyfriend is in the Marines too. He and my brother are stationed in Texas and they’re best friends. They were on leave months ago, before I met you, and he stayed with us. It happened at a party we all went to. I was going to break up with him but now I’m getting married to him and moving to Texas.’
‘You’re moving to Texas?’
She began crying uncontrollably.
Horace watched her as she cried and then she looked at him and wiped her tears with her hands. ‘But can we still see the movie today?’
‘I want to if you do,’ he said.
She nodded slowly and tears continued to stream down her face.
In the theatre they sat in the back, in their usual seats, and the movie played. They held hands and kissed, but every time they did she cried. ‘I’m the stupidest person in the entire world,’ she whispered.
‘Maybe you could just stay with me,’ Horace said.
Mariana shook her head. ‘Everybody in my family already knows. We’re really, really Catholic and so is he. I get married next week and I move to Fort Bliss at the end of the month.’ She kissed him again and he held her in the darkness and then finally the movie ended and they walked to the lobby.
‘I won’t forget you, Hector, and I’ll follow your career. I think I love you and I will always watch for your fights on TV and maybe someday, somehow, we’ll be together again.’
His heart raced as she spoke. He wanted to tell her his real name, tell her about himself, but he knew it was the wrong time to do it. So he just told her he loved her back, they said goodbye, and she left.
*
That evening Horace called Mr Reese.
‘You sound like something’s troubling you,’ the old man said.
‘I met a girl,’ Horace admitted.
‘A girl?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Mariana.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘She’s moving to Texas,’ Horace said and laid back on his bed on the floor. ‘I guess we were sorta dating for a while, but she has a boyfriend.’
‘She has a boyfriend?’
‘I feel bad about it, Mr Reese. But I liked her. And she’s the only girl I’ve met here that liked me.’
‘That’s hard.’
‘We met every Wednesday at the movies.’
‘That sounds nice.’
‘But she can’t be a very good person if she’s marrying one guy and making out with another, right?’
‘She might be a good person … She just sounds like she’s confused. Who is she marrying?’
‘She has to marry her boyfriend in the Marines ’cause he got her pregnant. But she told me she doesn’t really like him. He’s just a friend of her brother’s and it went too far.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Nineteen.’
Mr Reese sighed. ‘She’s young and it sounds like she’s got herself into some trouble.’
‘Are girls in cities always messing with two guys like that, Mr Reese?’
‘No,’ he said, and laughed. ‘As you get older, you’ll get better at stopping things that can hurt you before they start. You’ll see farther down the line.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, for instance, the next time a girl you meet has a boyfriend, you might just walk the other way. Simple logic goes a long way, but logic’s hard when your heart’s involved. And you’re a romantic, so it will be harder for you.’
‘A romantic?’
The old man laughed. ‘You’re trying to be a Mexican championship boxer. That can be seen as being romantic.’
‘I never thought of it that way.’
‘And remember your girlfriend in high school – Mandy?’
‘Sure.’
‘Before her and her folks moved away, you two were going to get married and you were, what, sixteen?’
Horace laughed.
‘Look, everyone struggles with things like this. And people get lonely, and lonely people tend to make bad decisions. I’ve made mistakes too. That’s how you find out about these things. Paying attention to actions over words can sometimes save you a lot of heartache … What’s your girl’s name again?’
Horace sat up on his bed. ‘Mariana.’
‘That’s a nice name.’
‘I guess her action was that she was cheating on her boyfriend.’
‘I have a question to ask,’ said Mr Reese. ‘Did the boyfriend know about you? Was it okay with him that you were seeing her?’
‘No, he didn’t know.’
‘Did she take you to meet her folks and all that sorta thing?’
‘No,’ Horace said, his voice suddenly saddened.
‘I guess those actions say some things,’ said Mr Reese.
‘I guess they do,’ Horace whispered.
‘But remember you got to see a movie every week with a girl who liked you, right?’
‘I did.’
‘And now you remember that it hurts when it doesn’t work out. So next time you’ll be more careful.’
‘But still, I don’t think she’s a horrible person.’
‘I don’t think so either. She liked you, didn’t she?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then she couldn’t be all bad.’
‘And she did give me free dinners at the place she worked.’
The old man laughed. ‘I’m sorry you’re down, Horace, but it’ll get better with time.’
‘You think so?’
‘I’m pretty sure.’
‘I’m going to get off the phone now.’
‘Okay.’
‘And don’t tell Mrs Reese, alright?’
‘I won’t tell her.’
21
The weeks after Mariana left, Horace isolat
ed himself even further. Besides Benny at work, an occasional customer and the sessions he had again started with Ruiz, he spoke to no one. He quit going to Lucky Wishbone and again began cooking at home, to save money so he could move to San Antonio. He decided he would leave in two months.
He also made a new pact with himself, and every night he turned off the TV and again focused on listening to his Spanish-language CDs. He put stickers on every bowl, plate, mirror, table and lamp with the equivalent Spanish word. And each morning he put gel in his hair and walked out the door the way he thought a Mexican boxer would walk, and he held himself that way all day long. When he was around people he didn’t know, at a store or restaurant, he spoke with his version of a Mexican accent.
He trained four nights a week with Ruiz, who had just separated from his wife and moved into the basement of the rundown gym. He slept on a couch that Horace helped him carry down into the small windowless room. During training, Ruiz would fall into long speeches of personal robberies and swindles, missteps and lost opportunities. He gained more weight and his breath smelled always of Nicorette gum and potato chips.
And then, one Saturday morning at home, two months after Horace had last heard from Mariana, he received a call from Diego.
‘How you been, Hector?’
‘Alright,’ Horace said and shut off the TV.
‘Healed up?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘You still training?’
‘I’ve been working out on my own every morning and I go to Ruiz four nights a week.’
‘So you’re still with him?’
‘I don’t know what else to do here. But I am saving my money to move to San Antonio.’
‘San Antonio?’
‘To work with you.’
‘That’s right,’ Diego said, and paused. ‘I’m spread pretty thin, Hector, but I’ll help if I can. Let’s talk about that another time. The reason I called today is to let you know there’s been a cancellation in a preliminary fight at the Desert Diamond Casino in two weeks. That’s not far from Tucson. It’s in your area. The main event is Contrera versus Ochoa. Ochoa used to be the WBA featherweight champion. He’s a legend in Arizona. You ever heard of him?’
‘No.’
‘You should look him up. He’s over the hill now, but he was great for a while. The fight they’re trying to fill is against a lightweight named Raymundo Figueroa. You ever heard of him?’
‘No.’
‘He went to the Olympics for Mexico. He didn’t make it far, but he’s good. He turned pro a couple years ago and now he’s thirteen and O. He was supposed to fight a guy from the Ukraine, but the guy tore his bicep and cancelled. It’s eight rounds. He’s out of your league at this stage, but I’m making calls to see if I can find someone and I was at the H’s and I thought I’d see where you were at and how you were doing. So how are you doing?’
‘Pretty good, I guess.’
‘Have your ribs healed?’
‘More or less.’
‘How about your eye? Is it focusing?’
‘For the most part. Is Figueroa really that good?’
‘I think so.’
‘How much money is it?’
‘Five thousand dollars. Figueroa is a good draw all over the Southwest, and Mexicans love him. The promoters think thirty per cent of the ticket sales are because of him. He’s on all the promotions too, so they don’t want him to cancel. At this point they’re just looking for a body and they’re running out of time. No one they’ve tried is willing to take him on at such short notice.’
‘So you didn’t call just to see how I was doing?’
Diego paused. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, exactly, but the more I think about it the more I realize Figueroa is too much for you right now. He isn’t like Vicente Salido. He’s been trained as a technical boxer since he was a kid, but he’s also a brawler. He’s a devout Catholic and they say he’s never had a drop of alcohol in his life. People think he could be a champion someday. He’s not going to be distracted like Salido, that’s for sure.’
‘He’ll be a champion someday?’
‘People always say that, but in this case he might have a shot. But he’s the wrong kind of fighter for you. I hadn’t thought things through when I first called. So let’s forget about it.’
Horace got up from his bed on the floor and began pacing. His chest tightened and he grew short of breath.
‘Are you still there?’ asked Diego.
‘I’m still here.’
‘Do you want me to see if I can get you tickets?’
‘I’ll take the fight,’ Horace said weakly.
‘What?’
‘I’ll take it,’ he said louder into the phone.
Diego let out a long sigh. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I am.’
‘Ruiz won’t like it.’
‘He doesn’t like anything.’
‘Give Ruiz fifteen per cent and he’ll be okay. I’ll take twenty-five as a finder’s fee. Ruiz will want to be in your corner but he isn’t much of a cut man.’
‘Could you be in my corner?’
‘If he can’t do the fight, I’ll do it. But ask him first. Hector, just so you know, you’ll most likely lose. Maybe it’ll be good for you to lose, I don’t know. But Figueroa has one of the best trainers in Los Angeles working with him. He’s got a whole team behind him. Right now he’s just building up his record. You’ll only be a number. I’m telling you this ’cause I always try to be honest. He’s in a different league than you are.’
‘But didn’t you say that no one is superhuman or always successful, that anybody can be beat?’
‘I said that to build your confidence when I could tell you were sweating it in Tijuana. But I’m not sure I even believe that. You’re tough. You hit as hard as anyone, but you’re green and you have some serious flaws. You’re just not at the same level. Maybe someday, but I don’t know. And he’s quicker than anything you’ve seen – he’s a great technical boxer who’s had over a hundred amateur fights as well as the thirteen pro ones. He’s the worst kind of fighter for you.’
‘I’m not scared.’
‘Maybe you should be.’
‘Then why did you call?’
Diego was silent.
‘I might as well find out what it means.’
‘It’s going to hurt to find out.’
‘I’ve had the shit kicked out of me enough to know I don’t mind it.’
Diego breathed heavily into the phone and coughed. ‘I’ll make the call and see if they’ll go for it. They’ll want to find a more well-known fighter, but there’s not much time. If they get desperate, they might take you. Call Ruiz and then get on YouTube and watch all you can on Figueroa. If you see the footage and don’t want the fight, call me. Until then, I’ll try and get it.’
*
A week passed and no call came from Diego. Even so, each night after work, Horace ran to the library and watched YouTube clips on Raymundo Figueroa. From the moment he woke in the morning, it was all he thought of. He printed out pictures of Figueroa from the internet and wrote ‘B.O.A.T.’ on top of them. He put one next to his bed and one in the shop bathroom. When he told Ruiz about the possibility of the fight with Figueroa, Ruiz was both excited and angry. He talked about the deceit of Diego and his outrageous finder’s fee, but also of his own chance to – hopefully – meet the higher-ups working for Figueroa and, for once in his life, get a break. During their sessions he gave no real advice to Horace except for saying, ‘He’ll kill you if you go toe-to-toe with him. Just don’t do it and you may have a chance to last the eight rounds.’
*
Horace’s phone rang near midnight five days before the fight. He was half-asleep when he heard Diego’s voice telling him he had it. When he hung up he felt groggy, but as soon as he fell back into bed he was wide awake. He didn’t sleep the rest of the night. For the next four days he slept poorly, and when he ran to and from work he did so in a free-fall pa
nic. He felt as though he was always one step behind catching his breath.
The morning of the bout, he threw up, and when he looked at his hands he could see that they shook. He took out the thin box he kept underneath his bed and lifted the red boxing trunks from it. He stared at Mrs Poulet’s embroidery and then wrapped them in a T-shirt and carefully put them in the bottom of his gym bag.
The ride to the casino took less than an hour. Ruiz dropped him at the front entrance and then left to pick up his kids from school. The casino’s auditorium was a large oval room and workers were there, arranging chairs and hanging Tecate banners around the blue ring. Horace sat for a long time watching and then walked to the casino’s coffee shop for lunch. As he sat waiting for the Fried Chicken Special, he watched an Indian busboy walk past him. The busboy looked the same age as Horace. He wore new basketball shoes and his hair was short and he looked like he lifted weights. He pushed a cart around and then spoke to a waitress, who was also Indian. She was pretty and had long black hair that was curled slightly. Her fingernails were painted pink and they sparkled under the fluorescent lights. The two laughed and then she set her hand gently on his back and whispered something in his ear before going back to work. Horace wasn’t sure what tribe they were from, but seeing them together made him feel even more uneasy than he already did.
That same waitress set down his food, but it tasted like sand. He put forkfuls into his mouth, but he had trouble swallowing. He felt as though he was slowly falling from a cliff. When she came by again he ordered a Coke, and he asked her to refill it twice before his appetite came back and he finished his meal and left.
In his dressing room he drank water and cursed himself for drinking the three Cokes. His mind battled back and forth, so he turned off the lights and moved to the corner of the room and collapsed into sleep on the floor. When he opened his eyes next, the bright overhead lights were on and Diego stood hovering above him.
‘Nerves of steel, you have,’ he said. ‘Sleeping when most men would be shitting their pants.’
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