The Fortunate Pilgrim - Mario Puzo [36]
For the first time in his life, Larry really wanted to fight, to hurt someone, to show himself the master of his world.
People were running across the Avenue to watch the fight. Heads were popping out of tenement windows. The Panettiere’s son, Guido, came to him and said, “I’ll be your second.” Behind him was Vinnie with a scared look on his face.
Larry and the Bull raised their hands against each other. In that moment Larry felt the full force of his mother watching at the window, and his two small brothers tense and wide-eyed in the crowd. He felt a great surge of power. He would never be humbled; they would never see him beaten. He sprang at the older man. They rained blows on each other, their fists sliding off each other’s shoulders and arms. One of the Bull’s defensive blows struck the onrushing Larry full in the face and left a long bloody gash on his cheek.
The Panettiere’s son rushed between them, yelling, “Take off the ring, you yellow bastard. Fight fair.” The Bull flushed and took the rough gold wedding ring he had slipped up to his knuckle and threw it to Charlie Chaplin. The crowd jeered. The Bull rushed at Larry.
Larry, a little frightened at all the blood running down his face, yet filled with a murderous hatred, hit the Bull with a roundhouse right to the stomach. The Bull went down. The crowd yelled. Guido kept shouting, “Knock him out, Larry. Knock him out.” The Bull got up and everyone was still. Larry heard his mother, far away, screaming, “Lorenzo, stoppa stoppa.” Some of the people turned and looked across the Avenue and up toward the tenement window. Larry made a furious, imperious gesture for his mother to shut up.
The two men kept swinging at each other until the Bull went down again, not from the force of a blow, but to get rest. He was winded. When he got up, Larry knocked him down with a painful blow in the face.
The older man, furious with humiliation, grabbed Larry by the neck and tried to kick him. Larry flung him away. They were both exhausted, and neither was skillful enough to score a clear-cut victory. Charlie Chaplin grabbed the Bull and Guido grabbed Larry. Each held his friend back. The fight was over.
“O.K.,” Charlie Chaplin said with authority. “It was a good fight. You both showed you ain’t yellow. Shake hands and no hard feelings.”
“Right,” said Guido. Then, with a wink at Larry and with a voice filled with condescension for the Bulls, he said, “It’s a draw.” Some of the crowd shook Larry’s hand and patted him on the shoulder. Everybody knew he had won the fight.
And then both Larry and the Bull had sheepish smiles on their faces. They shook hands laughing and grasped each other’s shoulders to show their friendship. The Bull said huskily, “You’re all right, kid.” There were murmurs of approval. Larry put his arm around Gino and said, “Let’s go, brudder.” They crossed the Avenue and went up the stairs to the house. Guido and Vincent came with them.
When they came into the house the mother aimed one blow at Gino, which he dodged easily. Then she saw Larry’s cheek. She wrung her hands and moaned, “Marrone, marrone,” and rushed to put a wet rag on the cut, meanwhile screaming at Gino, “Sfachim, because of you, your brother gets a beating.”
“Ah, Ma,” Larry said proudly and happily. “I won the fight—ask Guido.”
“Sure,” Guido said. “Your son could be a professional fighter, Mrs. Corbo. He knocked the hell out of that Bull. He wouldn’t have a mark except for that ring.”
Gino said excitedly, “Ma, Larry knocked that bastard down four times. That makes you win the fight, right, Larry?”
“Sure,” Larry said. “But you cut out that cursing.” He felt full of affection for his mother and brother and the whole family. “Nobody is gonna lay their hands on anybody in my family,” he said. “I woulda killed the guy except for my job in the railroad.”
Lucia