With half an hour to go, O'Rourke arrived to supervise the taping of Peekay's hands. He was smoking a large cigar and looked cheap and ruddy, wearing a grey pin-striped suit, a green-striped shirt with a gold collar pin, a bright green tie and a real carnation in his buttonhole. They were surprised to see him. It was usual to send the fight manager along or even the trainer to supervise the bandaging. 'I've come to do the honours meself,' he announced, smiling. 'The Garden's sold out, standing room only. Mr O'Flynn's a very happy man.'
'He ought to be, he got a grand out of me for the piano,' Hymie said.
'Well now, a piano takes a lot of space, son! At two hundred and fifty bucks a ringside seat, I reckon you got off light, my boy!'
'I'd rather you didn't call me son or boy, Mr O'Rourke. Only your fighter is further from being of Irish descent than I am and I imagine we're both grateful to our antecedents for this fact.' Hymie turned to Dutch. 'Have you got the bandages, let's get this over! Daddy Kockle, you better go do the same and check out
Munch, Crunch and Swallow's
hands.' O'Rourke removed the cigar from his mouth, tapping ash onto the floor. 'Now, now, no hard feelings, Levy? We've come this far. It could have been worse for you, to be sure, we don't take too kindly to strangers playing on our turf.'
'Sure, Michael, you've been a perfect gentleman. Let's leave it there, shall we?'
But O'Rourke was clearly not finished yet. 'Be thankful you got a crack at the title, we could have held out, made things a lot more difficult, son.' O'Rourke stuck his chin out and pushed the cigar back into his mouth, holding it between his forefinger and thumb, waiting for Hymie to challenge him again on his use of the word 'son'.
'Hey! We're all a little tense,' Peekay exclaimed. 'Did you bring a pen, Mr O'Rourke?'
O'Rourke kept his eyes on Hymie, squinting down at him. Then he grinned, 'Sure thing, Peekay.' He removed his hand from the cigar and looking down at his left-side top pocket he withdrew a solid gold Parker, holding it up in triumph for all to see.
When Dutch had completed taping his hands, Peekay held them out for O'Rourke, who crisscrossed the bandages with his pen. He drew back. 'Okay, may the best man win, Peekay, and we all know who that is,' he said, attempting an enigmatic smile.
Hymie walked over with the Everlast gloves, offering them to the Irishman to inspect. O'Rourke shook his head, indicating that Hymie should go ahead and put them on. The gloves were a new bright red colour and soaked up the light where they curved around the fist. Hymie fitted the left glove on first, the way Hoppie Groenewald had done that first time on the train.
First with your head and then with your heart!
It was such a long time ago.
Peekay banged the two gloves together, feeling the fit. O'Rourke punched him lightly on the shoulder, then he turned and left the room.
Peekay slipped off the rub-down table and, crossing the room, sat down on the bench against the wall. Togger knelt down, slipped the' soft boots onto Peekay's feet and tied the laces, taping the ends to the boots so they didn't flap around during the fight.
Daddy Kockle entered with an official who stood just outside the door holding onto the lintel with both hands and leaned in as he spoke. 'Ten minutes! The champ wants to go last. Get ready to move when you hear the ring announcer declare the result of the last fight on the undercard.'
Daddy Kockle said, 'We got a police escort to the ring, now ain't that something?'
Peekay closed his eyes, emptying his head. Doc had been dead six years, lying in the crystal cave of Africa, 'You can be it, absoloodle!' he'd said when Peekay had announced he intended to be the welterweight champion of the world. 'Every day you must say, I am champion of za world! You will see, one day you will be it.'
'Son, this for you.' Peekay heard Daddy Kockle say. 'This is the song my daddy played on his horn when something good happen.' He paused, holding the clarinet ready for his lips. 'It's called, "Crossin' over Jordan to the Other Side".' Daddy Kockle, seated once again on the rub-down table, began to play, The sweet low sound of the clarinet climbed slowly, filling the room and calming the sharp light. The negro spiritual lifted Peekay, holding him, cradling him in its arms, rocking him, calming him, until at last it softened to an almost mute note then faded like a snowflake into nothing as it let him go, Peekay opened his eyes and Daddy Kockle put down his instrument. 'Son, I got a whole heap of respect for you,' he said quietly.
The noise of the crowd lifted suddenly and they heard the ring announcer beginning to call the introductions. Though they'd not yet glimpsed the crowd they could feel the excitement in the Garden. The women at the ringside wearing formal gowns and the men evening suits and tuxedos. The mink from the Bronx and Harlem mixed with the silver fox from Sutton Place, and diamonds in every configuration called it a draw between bandit and banker. Boston blue blood mixed happily with prominent figures from boxing, showbiz and the Italian, Irish and black underworld. Several of the better-known TV and sporting personalities drew an excited response from the crowd as they made their way to the ringside, the loudest applause perhaps being for Joe Di Maggio of the New York Yankees.
'Time to go.' Hymie called softly, holding out the blue-and-yellow silk robe with 'The Tadpole Angel' embroidered on the back.
Peekay. held his arms out for Hymie to slip the sleeves of the silk robe over them. First tying the front of the robe, Peekay put his hand on Hymie's shoulder and they walked out together to the sudden and growing roar of the crowd. Hymie could feel the slightest tremble coming from Peekay's hand. It was a good sign. The adrenalin was beginning to pump; Peekay was ready to fight.
The roar of the crowd lifted as they came into sight. There wasn't any doubt Peekay was popular, the noise had a shrillness to it, pitched high. 'The women, they love you, Peekay.' Daddy Kockle shouted. Peekay entered the ring, the lights overhead at first blinding him, so he looked into blackness as he acknowledged the audience, one glove raised above his head.
The Odd Bodleians had risen as he entered. Each wore a yellow rose in the lapel of his evening suit with a flash of blue ribbon laced through the buttonhole. Aunt Tom was dressed in a dinner suit, a brooch of canary yellow diamonds and blue sapphires clipped to her lapel.
Mrs Smith, seated at the piano, looked like an enormous party decoration in a full length, fitted evening dress made entirely of electric blue sequins. Pinned to her large bosom was a corsage of tiny yellow roses. Peekay, raising his glove, acknowledged them with a grin. Then he walked over to the rosin box in his corner and dusted the soles of his boots before sitting on the pot.
The applause as the champion entered was tumultuous; the home-grown boy was getting the acknowledgement he deserved as a great fighter. Jake 'Spoonbill' Jackson came down the aisle surrounded by his large entourage, led by half-a-dozen policemen. He climbed into the ring, jumping up and down with his arms held high above his head, twisting with each jump so that as he landed he faced a different section of the crowd. The tremendous noise hadn't stopped since he'd first appeared in the aisle.
Daddy Kockle began to massage Peekay's shoulder lightly.
'Righto, my son, let's concentrate on fightin' fifteen rounds.' Dutch said.
The ring announcer now stepped into centre ring and the microphone was lowered down to him. He was a small, bald man, dressed in a white tuxedo jacket and black evening pants. The bow tie to his white shirt was no more than half-an-inch wide but stuck out nearly six inches on either side of the tiny centre knot. The first quick impression he gave was of someone with an arrow through his epiglottis who'd had both ends sawn off for the sake of mobility and convenience.
'Ladies and gentlemen, be upstanding for the national anthem.' To everyone's surprise the usual scratched record didn't come wheezing on. Instead the opening chords of 'The Star-Spangled Banner' came from Mrs Smith at the piano where one of several microphones was located. The Odd Bodleians picked up the beautiful anthem and carried it to the crowd. It was stirring stuff and Jake 'Spoonbill' Jackson stood at attention in the centre of the ring while Peekay stood quietly in his corner. The applause was tremendous as they came to the end, the crowd conscious of the compliment they were being paid.
The crowd returned to their seats and the Odd Bodleians remained standing. The noise in the huge place died down as the prelude to the
Concerto for the Great Southland
played, merging quickly to the start of the great Zulu chant. The voice of Mrs Smith called to the chanters in song urging them to declare for the great Shaka King of the Zulus. The male voices responded. At first like distant thunder, when the great clouds on the Drakensberg are still tipped with white, then louder as the storm clouds mulled and gathered, swelling and building following the beautiful contralto voice as it called down in the valleys and up in the high mountains for the young men who had killed a lion and who had lain with a maiden to come and declare themselves for the great warrior king. Then Jam Jar, laying aside his violin, took up the calling. The voices rose in the great war cry, the blooding was coming, when the great Zulu impi would descend in waves, like wind in the grass, to crush the enemy.
Jam Jar's voice held high and then died slowly as he mourned the Zulu dead. Then it rose again as he called the living to pay homage to their fallen comrades. Softly, tenderly the deep male voices rose, like far-off thunder rolling across the valley of a thousand hills, building the sunlight, wiping the sky clean; then again the thunder of their voices rolled louder and louder until it crashed into the valley of the dead and rose again in one sudden, stricken, terrible outcry and stopped. Only the single cry of Jam jar's violin was left to bring the chant to a close. The enemy was vanquished and the dead returned to their shadows.
For a few moments there was no sound, the crowd stunned by the impact of the chant. Then they rose as one and applauded. They all knew suddenly that this was a challenger who had come to fight for a title, if necessary to die, rather than to walk away without it.
The ring announcer raised his right hand high and, holding onto the microphone with his left, intoned, 'Under the authority of the State of New York Boxing Commission and the New York Athletic Commission, the World Boxing Council, I declare the welterweight championship of the world open to contest!'
He paused, looking over at Peekay and indicating with a jerk of his head that he should rise. 'In the blue corner, weighing one hundred and forty-three pounds and twelve ounces and wearing blue shorts, with fourteen professional engagements for thirteen knock-outs and one decision on points, the British Empire Welterweight Champion and the Welterweight Champion of Europe, the contender, from Oxford University, England and South Africa, Peekay, the Tad-a-pole Aing-el!!'
Peekay lifted his arms to acknowledge the tremendous and sustained applause. He returned to his stool and the announcer waited for the cheering to die down before he turned to face Jake 'Spoonbill' Jackson. Jackson was pumped up, already standing, his gloves held above his head, running on the spot and jumping in small, excited jerks.
'In the red corner, wearing white shorts, weighing one hundred and forty-four pounds, with thirty-two professional fights for thirty-two wins and thirty knock-outs, the undefeated genius of the square ring and welterweight champion of the world, from Louisville, Kentucky, Jake "Spoonbill" Jack-son!!'
The crowd went wild and it was nearly two minutes before they could be stilled again.
'Your referee for tonight, from Mexico City, Mr Emmanuel Sanchez. Judges appointed by the State of New York Boxing Commission are Judge Joseph Tesoriero, Judge Mannie Mankerwitz and Judge Hoover J. Booker.'
'We got ourselves a I-talian, a Jew and a coloured man, no goddamn Irish; can't be no fairer than that!' Daddy Kockle announced, satisfied.
The referee called the two boxers into the ring and gave them the usual instructions to break at his command, to retire to a neutral corner in the event of a knock-down and not to hold in the clinches; finally, he described the deduction of points or disqualification for a foul. Peekay, as usual, looked down at his feet while Jackson stared directly at him, hoping to catch his eye and stare him down.
Sanchez directed them back to their corners: 'Come out fighteeng, boys!'
Peekay returned to his corner and Hymie removed the lion's tooth from about his neck. 'Gideon goes with you, Peekay,' he said quietly.
The warning bell sounded and then the bell and the two welterweights came out of their corners fast, Jackson covering more ground so that they met on Peekay's side of the ring. Jackson threw a left which Peekay parried and moved left, so that they now stood in the centre of the ring. Jackson threw another left and followed it with a right, Peekay taking both blows on his gloves. Jackson's stance was slightly stooped and he held his gloves wide. It was a sign of a very quick fighter who was confident he could close up in time from a left lead, no matter how fast it came. Peekay thought he might be bluffing, seeing if he could get away with the arrogance of the hit-me-if-you-can stance, at the same time trying to intimidate his opponent from the very start.
Peekay's left lead shot out so fast that Jackson had no time even to blink. It hit him square on the mouth, knocking his mouth-guard half out. It wasn't a bad punch but it was a brilliant insult. Jackson backed away fast and Peekay let him go. The referee called a stop, allowing Jackson to replace his mouth guard. 'Box on, boys!' Sanchez called.