THE CHAMPION
1. Long ago in India, when I was still young, the uncertainties of a squalid youth were relieved by an innocent dream. I was convinced that I possessed the necessary qualities – speed, ferocity, stamina and the rest – to transform me into a world – class boxer. I now know that I was mistaken in this belief, and that my skill as a pugilist amounted to nothing.
2. Yet, it was true to say that I did possess a certain unusual agility in the ring, that is, I was capable of running away from y opponent with exceptional speed. I could also shoot out a fast, accurate left, and had the ability to emit a series of savage snorts and grunts designed to frighten my opponent into submission. Against these slender credits must be placed the melancholy truth that I could punch hard enough, and that once the going got tough, my one impulse was to leap over the ropes and take to my heels.
3. I lacked the killer instinct, but all the same, I spent hours drugging myself with dreams in which I became the undisputed middleweight champion of the world. The roar of a vast crowd battered against my ears and the arc-lights blazed above my head, when , swiftly and dangerously as a panther, I almost decapitated my unfortunate opponent with a savage upper-cut. Beautiful, rich, amoral, reckless and hot-blooded women pursued me wherever I went. I could choose one, or half a dozen of them, any time of my life. What dreams!
4. The fact that my real life was lived in rather different surroundings did not worry me in the least. I could wait, could I not? I had all the time in the world. However, real life was pretty frustrating at times. I lived in a down-at-hell Y.M.C.A. hostel in a shoddy part of the city where I occupied a tiny cubicle for which I paid ten dollars a month. Basically, I worked at a very ignoble job on Mount Road, Madras.
5. There were several white youths of about my own age, plus a sprinkling of Goans, Indians and Anglo-Indians, living in this hostel. Whenever I got the chance, I would persuade one of them to spar with me. most of them had never boxed in their lives. Grimacing horribly, snorting like a bad-tempered war-horse, bobbing and weaving like some crazy puppet on a string, I must have seemed a formidable antagonist to those easy-going, pacific youngsters. Indeed, the tactics proved so successful that, after a while, some of my more timid companions refused to spar with me – a state of affairs which flattered my vanity.
6. The Y.M.C.A. hostel also sheltered one or two middle-aged residents who seemed to us to be tottering on the verge of senility. There was one such Goan, with a bald head and a set of flashing white teeth. He was a peppery little man, a woodwork teacher employed at a local school, who was deeply devoted to playing the violin whenever the opportunity occurred. The walls of my room were extremely thin, and I was frequently disturbed by the vibrations of the instrument bursting through the flimsy partition like the moaning of a demented bull-elephant. The sounds produced a vague grievance which was responsible for all the at follows.
7. As a general rule, Dacruz and I got on pretty well. I was a talker, and he had the valuable gift of saying almost nothing; I would sit yammering away while he listened with contemplative detachment. Everything went on smoothly until one evening when I was tactless enough to say something slightly disparaging about his ability as a musician. I cannot recall exactly what it was, but it must have hurt his feelings because suddenly, his bullet head jerked upwards and he glared at me with unmistakable hostility. The argument which ensued was incoherent but heated.
8. After a while, Dacruz regained his composure and our conversation continued amicably, veering finally towards my prowess as a boxer. I remarked smugly that I was afraid of becoming stale because it was impossible to get the practice I needed.
9. "Why?" asked Dacruz. "Surely our chaps give you all he sparring you need." I told him this was not the case.
10. "Most of the blighters refuse to fight me now. They're a lily-livered bunch, and I only wish I could find somebody really tough in the way of opposition."
11. He appeared to reflect for a moment before he said offhandedly, "Perhaps I could find the sort of fellow you need. Would you like me to try?"
12. "Yes, do that," I said quickly, never believing that the offer needed to be treated as anything more than a polite formality. After all, where could Dacruz find the kind of opponent who was likely to threaten my supremacy?
13. Unsuspecting, confident, I moved through the next two days without thinking again of this trivial exchange. The following day, I cycled back to the hostel. I was dead tired, oozing with perspiration, when at last I reached my room. Once inside, I climbed out of my damp clothes, changed into a pair of pyjama trousers and lay on the bend, determined to enjoy a siesta until tea-time. Almost immediately, I was engulfed in a deep sleep.
14. Suddenly, I was jerked awake by a determined hand kneading my shoulder and voice calling sharply, "Come on, wake up, wake up, I say."
15. Struggling to shake off the hand, and longing to return to the comfortable depths of sleep, I said thickly, "What's the matter? Leave me alone."
16. My bleary eyes focused unwillingly, first on dacruz's dark, grinning face, peering intently into my own, and then, with a sensation of indescribable horror, on the form of an enormous, young man, with a chest like a barrel and close – cropped, dark hair, who towered beside him. With a sense of dazed disbelief, I noticed that this giant was attired, as though for a fancy – dress party, in the vest, shorts and boots of a boxer.
17. "Hallo," I said weakly, directing the situation somewhere in the direction of my two men as they loomed above my head.
18. I heard Dacruz say, "This is Gibson, a medical student, who has come along to spar with you."
19. "Spar with me?" A current of fear coursed through my veins.
20. "Yes," said Dacruz. "he's come along to take you on with the gloves. Don't you remember asking me to get you somebody tough to spar with?"
21. "Oh yes, of course," I mumbled unwillingly, and then I said to Gibson, "Very kind of you to come along."
22. I forced my lips into what I hoped would be accepted as an affable grin. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to establish a friendly relationship with this man. However, my efforts at warmth met with negative results. Gibson's small, steady, pale – grey eyes slid away from my genial glance and I noticed that he had a singularly unpleasant face.
23. "When do we get started?" he asked, ignoring my presence and directing his question high above my head towards Dacruz. It was clear that his sole ambition lay in beating the living day-lights out of me.
24. However, always patient and unwilling to believe the worst, I made a second effort to bridge the gulf that divided us. "How much do you weigh?" I asked brightly.
25. "Ugh!" said Gibson, apparently astonished at the question. His eyes roved past me again as he looked helplessly at Dacruz.
26. There was a pause, and then Gibson, still ignoring me, mumbled hoarsely, "About 180 kgs, I think." He was clearly a man who found conversation irksome and enjoyed only the more savage and demanding forms of action.
27. "Well," I said, smiling bravely and speaking in a rather wavering note, "I weigh just over seventy kilograms, so take it easy when we meet."
28. Instead of offering me the reassurance I needed, he remarked sullenly to Dacruz, "I thought you said he wanted to fight?"
29. Pulling myself to my feet, I told them curtly, "You'll have to wait until I've had a shower."
30. I wanted time to think, to formulate a plan. Under the shower, with the chill water pouring over me, my brain worked with the speed of an insane piston. What could I do to avoid the dreadful ordeal that lay ahead? I could pretend to faint; let my body slump to the slippery floor of the washroom. That was useless; nobody would want to believe that such a collapse was genuine, and for the rest of my life, my reputation would bear the smear of crass cowardice. No, fainting was out of the question. What else was there? Could I go suddenly mad, wander out of the washroom gibbering and grimacing? Again, no-one would accept the validity of such a convenient breakdown.
31. Clean and horribly awake, I left the shower and returned to my room. After I had put on my shoes and a pair of trousers, I looked for a belt, but the thing had vanished. Watched by the grinning Dacruz and the stolid, menacing Gibson, I hurriedly opened drawers and peered under my bed. Finally, in despair, I found an old red tie and knotted it swiftly around my waist. Then the three of us – myself some distance ahead, Dacruz and Gibson, like warders guarding a prisoner, following a few meters at the rear – walked down he narrow, stone staircase towards the ring on the other side of the compound.
Adapted From: Short Story International, 1977, Volume 1 Number 4, October, 1977, New York, Published By International Cultural Exchange.