mouthpiece back in.”
“Oh,” Mr. Bascomb said.
“Well, get it in,” Mr. Gonzales said, and I stuffed it back in Johnny’s mouth.
“Get him,” I said. “But don’t be cocky.”
“Kill the little snot,” Mrs. Oglethorpe yelled.
Dad had said that if the first round went well it would be okay to open fast in the second, which is what Johnny did. Melvin had his hands up to protect his face, and Johnny got him with a four- or five-punch combination in the belly before he knew what hit him. Melvin grunted and dropped his hands, and Johnny got him on the chin again. Not as hard as the time the round before, because Johnny was off balance when he threw the punch, but Melvin was stung. Not hurt, but stung.
“Clobber him,” Mrs. Oglethorpe yelled.
Melvin rushed at Johnny and swing a terrific roundhouse left. Johnny had his hands up, the way he had been taught, and he caught the punch on his forearm, picked it off clean, but Melvin had all his weight behind it and knocked Johnny halfway across the ring. Johnny landed on the seat of his pants with a thump, and sat there.
“Get up,” I yelled.
“Take your time, Johnny,” my father yelled. “You’re not hurt.”
“Kick him,” yelled Mrs. Oglethorpe.
Mr. Gonzales began to count. “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . .” At six Johnny got up. He was about to cry, so I knew he was mad, and there was a red spot on his forearm from the punch.
“Keep cool,” my father yelled loudly, and I could tell Johnny had heard because you could see him relax. “Bob and weave.”
Melvin started in on Johnny again, and Johnny began to bob and weave. Melvin missed him three or four times, and then hit him on the top of the head. That knocked Johnny back again, but he didn’t go down. Melvin came after him, displaying vast amounts of the old killer instinct, and missed with a big right. Johnny was fighting smart. When Melvin missed with the right and left himself wide open off balance Johnny hit him with a perfect one-two in the solar plexus. You could hear the air rush out of Melvin. He doubled over and my father yelled, “Take him.”
“You got him,” I yelled as Melvin staggered. “Bomb him.”
Melvin was bent over now so that he was closer to Johnny’s height, and Johnny went to work. He hit him with two good straight lefts on the chin, and then he caught him with a beautiful right cross to the nose. That was what did it. Melvin was set up, his hands over his gut, hair flopping in his eyes, and Johnny pasted the right square into his nose, from good balance, with all his power behind it.
Melvin stood up straight. Then he sat down hard, arms hanging at his sides. Then he began to cry. Then his nose began to bleed. The blood ran down over his upper lip, and dropped off his chin in two streams starting from the corners of his mouth.
Mr. Gonzalez began to count with Johnny standing there looking down at Melvin, and my father yelled, “For Chrissake get to a neutral corner. Quick. Remember Dempsey and Tunney.” Johnny didn’t hear him, though, and stayed there standing over Melvin. When Mr. Gonzalez saw the blood he stopped counting and said, “The fight is over.”
Mr. Gonzalez and Johnny helped Melvin up and began to walk him around. “Keep your head back,” Mr. Gonzalez said. I brought over one of my unused towels and said, “Here. Take this.”
Johnny was walking with Melvin and finally he said, “Are you okay, Melvin?”
Melvin nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “I’m not sore at you any more.”
Then Mr. Oglethorpe and my father came over, and we all stood around Melvin, who was standing in the middle of the mat with his head back and a towel over his face. Except for Mrs. Oglethorpe. She stayed in her seat and she looked very mad.
Melvin nodded again. He was still crying.
My father said to Mr. Oglethorpe, “You got a game boy there,” and Mr. Oglethorpe said, “Yours is okay too.
“You fought hard,” my father said to Melvin. “You got pretty fair power.” Melvin looked as if he might be trying to smile underneath the towel.
“That boy a yours,” Mr. Oglethorpe said. “If I was his size I wouldn’t a climbed in the ring with nobody, much less a kid the size a mine.”
“My boy’s been training,” my father said.
“I could tell.”
Then Mr. Bascomb, who had been standing there listening, said, “Are the young men reconciled?”
“I think so,” Mr. Gonzalez said.
“I’m not sore any more,” Johnny said.
Melvin shook his head to show that he wasn’t sore either.
“Let’s get out of here,” Mrs. Oglethorpe said loudly from her chair.
Mr. Oglethorpe turned around and looked at her and said, “As soon as I get ready.”
My father told Mr. Gonzalez he did a fine job refereeing, and Mr. Gonzalez said if the truth be known he didn’t like anything about boxing. My father didn’t know what to say to that. He knew that I had liked Mr. Gonzalez from the year before when he was my teacher, but Dad thought only women didn’t like fights. I got Dad away before he’d have time to think about it any and ask Mr. Gonzalez questions about why he felt the way he did. Dad probably wouldn’t have said anything more though anyway, because he never did well in school himself and is still afraid of teachers and only talks to them when he has to. He thinks teachers are different from other people.
In the car on the way home my father didn’t say anything, and neither did Johnny, but you could tell they were happy. Johnny would jerk his head to the side every so often, without moving any of the rest of him, and I knew he was practicing a head feint Dad had showed him that he hadn’t had a chance to use.
When we got home we told my mother all about it, and she made Johnny sit on her lap, which he plainly didn’t want to do. She felt his forearm where he had been hit, and said perhaps it was broken and ought to be X-rayed. It was getting black and blue. My father said he knew it wasn’t broken. Then my mother asked Johnny again why he had been mad at Melvin.
“He insulticated me,” Johnny said.
“But what did he do?” Mother asked. “You must have had something happen to you to bring all of this on.”
Johnny said, “It’s all over now.”
“You’re not the slightest bit angry any more?”
“No.”
“Well at least we can quit this ridiculous training program,” my mother said.
“For a while,” my father said.
“Training was kind of fun,” Johnny said.
“I can’t imagine how it could be,” my mother said.
“You fought a good fight,” my father said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Showed you can take it too,” my father said. “Fighter’s got to be able to do that.”
“I wish Mr. Bascomb had kept time right,” I said. “I didn’t know when to put his mouthpiece back in.”
“Johnny is not going to fight any more,” my mother said. “Not ever.”
“I might have to,” Johnny said.
“No,” Mother said.
“You can’t tell about things,” Johnny said.
“He can hit too,” my father said, more to himself than to the rest of us. “I was keeping