The Fight

The dressing room was like a morgue. The lights were all you could hear. At a certain point, he said, “Why is everyone so unhappy? What is the matter with all of you?”

The sense was, we were watching a man go to the gallows. We all believed that, with his pride, he was going to take one of the world's worst beatings, ever. That he wouldn’t give up, that he would die, and we were terrified, but after a moment, he looked at us and said, “Why is everyone so unhappy? What is the matter with all of you? We’re going to dance.” He smiled. “What am I going to do?” “You’re going to dance!” we said. “I’m going to dance and dance!”

He built them up, to a degree, where everyone became half-happy.

They walked into the stadium, an arena built for gladiators. Trumpets played, and the crowd took their seats, unaware of who was walking in. He removed his robe, and he could see his opponent. Everyone was affected by the humidity, and no one noticed the flies crawling across their face. You could not see the blood beneath the floorboards, but you could feel it as part of the atmosphere.

The atmosphere before the bell rang was as intense as any I can recall. The bell rang, and he jabbed away. Very dangerous against something so large. It was like he was suggesting this mass was slow enough that you could hit it with this meager tap. He wasn’t going to dance; he was going to try to knock this thing out in the first round, but he didn't knock it down or out; instead, it went crazy.

The bell rang. He went back to the corner. The first round was over. The nightmare he had been waiting for had finally come to visit him. He was in the ring with something he could not dominate, that was stronger than him, was not afraid of him, could hit harder than he could, and was determined and unstoppable, but he had a look on his face.

I will never forget. It was the only time I saw fear in his eyes. It was as if he looked into himself and said, “Alright, this is that moment, this is what you been waiting for, this is that hour, and do you have the guts?” He nodded to himself and said, “You've got to get it together, boy, you really got to get it together. You are going to get it together. You will get it together.” He nodded some more and looked as if he were looking into the eyes of his maker. He turned to his friends and family, raised his fist in the air, and, for the first time, realized that these are my people. They are who I am here for. The time has come. I’m going to find a way to master this disease. Then the bell rang.

He went to the ropes. Into the rope-a-dope. Those afar thought that the fight was over, because it looked like this monster was killing a very weak opponent. There was an expression on his face, as if he were being stabbed while a safe landed on his head.

You don’t go to the ropes, and there he was, leaning back like he was looking out his window to see if there was something on his roof, and it looked like he was set up for the kill. He was leaning halfway to the floor. That he was going to go down, he was getting hit harder than he had ever been hit before, and it looked as though he had to cave in.

They became so basic it was like kids fighting, and in the following rounds, he lay against the ropes and took a beating, but he talked. It was extraordinary. You had to be there to see it; it was so intimate. It swung at him and hit him, and he’d lean forward, very briefly, and say, “You disappoint me. You’re not hitting hard enough. I have vomited, I have shaken on the ground, and you have caused irreversible damage to my stomach and mind, but I thought you’d do more than that.” The disease went insane with rage and hit harder. Powerful, powerful punches to the body, mind, and soul for the next three rounds, but by the end of the 6th, it had worn itself out, and he came off the ropes.

He was asleep for five years. Five years of fear and nightmares. Thinking of death every day. There was no more thinking. The bell rang. He rested against the ropes. When it was complex, it was simple. When it was strong, it was loose. The bell rang. 8th round.

He knocked it down. We couldn’t believe it. The fight was over.

He raised his fists and felt nothing until he looked over at the mixed emotions in the corner. He knew there would be more. More fights, ups and downs, lefts and rights, but something else happened. He saw who it was. A part of his history, someone he loved. Himself.

This titanic, formidable figure lying in the corner. He walked over and helped him up, and whispered, “I love you,” into his ear. “I will never forget you, what you have given me, and what you have done for me. I love you. Never think I hate you, or am resentful. You created me, and I am forever grateful.”

They carried each other out of the ring, and stayed up all night, as far as anyone heard, and spoke to one another, very simply and beautifully. They said, “Some people may be healthier than us, but there is a dignity in our poverty we must never lose.”

The rain came, and what was washed away, and what was separate was whole. They watched as one. Never in this life, they thought, could this life happen, but it does, just like the rain.