But as he continued to punch, my fear vanished. I felt only astonishment at his strength and energy. Where did he get it? A swine like him? He was loaded. I couldn't see anymore - my eyes were blinded by flashes of yellow and green light, purple light - then a terrific shot of RED… I felt myself going down. Is this the way it happens?

I fell to one knee. I heard an airplane passing overhead. I wished I was on it. I felt something run over my mouth and chin… it was warm blood running from my nose.

"Let him go, Jimmy, he's finished…"

I looked at Newhall. "Your mother sucks cock," I told him.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

Newhall rushed me before I could quite get up. He had me by the throat and we rolled over and over, under a Dodge. I heard his head hit something. I didn't know what it hit but I heard the sound. It happened quite quickly and the others were not as aware of it as I was.

I got up and then Newhall got up.

"I'm going to kill you," he said.

Newhall windmilled in. This time it wasn't nearly so bad. He punched with the same fury, but something was missing. He was weaker. When he hit me I didn't see flashes of color, I could see the sky, the parked cars, the faces of his friends, and him. I had always been a slow starter. Newhall was still trying but he was definitely weaker. And I had my small hands, I was blessed with small hands, lousy weapons.

What a weary time those years were - to have the desire and the need to live but not the ability.

I dug a hard right to his belly and I heard him gasp so I grabbed him behind the neck with my left and dug another right to his belly. Then I pushed him off and cracked him with a one-two, right into that sculpted face. I saw his eyes and it was great. I was bringing something to him that he had never felt before. He was terrified. Terrified because he didn't know how to handle defeat. I decided to finish him slowly.

Then someone slugged me on the back of the head. It was a good hard shot. I turned and looked. It was his red-headed friend, Cal Evans. I yelled, pointing at him. "Stay the fuck away from me! I'll take all of you one at a time! As soon as I'm done with this guy, you're next!"

It didn't take much to finish Jimmy. I even tried some fancy footwork. I jabbed a bit, played around and then I moved in and started punching. He took it pretty good and for a while I thought I couldn't finish it but all of a sudden he gave me this strange look which said, hey, look, maybe we ought to be buddies and go have a couple of beers together. Then he dropped.

His friends moved in and picked him up, they held him up, talked to him, "Hey, Jim, you O.K.?"

"What'd the son-of-a-bitch do to you, Jim? We'll clean his drawers, Jim. Just give us the word."

"Take me home," Jim said.

I watched them go down the stairway, all of them trying to hold him up, one guy carrying his shirt and undershirt…

I went downstairs to get my cart. Justin Phillips was waiting.

"I didn't think you'd be back," he smiled disdainfully.

"Don't fraternize with the unskilled help," I told him. I pushed off. My face, my clothes - 1 was pretty badly messed up. I walked to the elevator and hit the button. The albino came in due time. The doors opened.

"The word's out," he said. "I hear you're the new heavyweight champion of the world."

News travels fast in places where nothing much ever happens.

Ferns of the sliced ear was waiting.

"You just don't go around beating the shit out of our customers."

"It was only one."

"We have no way of knowing when you might start in on the others."

"This guy baited me."

"We don't give a damn about that. That's what happens. All we know is that you were out of line."

"How about my check?"

"It'll be mailed."

"O.K., see you…"

"Wait, I'll need your locker key."

I got out my key chain which only had one other key on it, pulled off the locker key and handed it to Ferris.

Then I walked to the employees' door, pulled it open. It was a heavy steel door which worked awkwardly. As it opened, letting in the daylight, I turned and gave Ferris a small wave. He didn't respond. He just looked straight at me. Then the door closed on him. I liked him, somehow.

48

"So you couldn't hold a job for a week?"

We were eating meatballs and spaghetti. My problems were always discussed at dinner time. Dinner time was almost always an unhappy time. I didn't answer my father's question.

"What happened? Why did they can your ass?"

I didn't answer.

"Henry, answer your father when he speaks to you!" my mother said.

"He couldn't hack it, that's all!"

"Look at his face," said my mother, "it's all bruised and cut. Did your boss beat you up, Henry?"

"No, Mother…"

"Why don't you eat, Henry? You never seem to be hungry."

"He can't eat," said my father, "he can't work, he can't do anything, he's not worth a fuck!"

"You shouldn't talk that way at the dinner table, Daddy," my mother told him.

"Well, it's true!" My father had an immense ball of spaghetti rolled on his fork. He jammed it into his mouth and started chewing and while chewing he speared a large meatball and plunged it into his mouth, then worked in a piece of French bread.

I remembered what Ivan had said in The Brothers Karamazov , "Who doesn't want to kill the father?"

As my father chewed at the mass of food, one long string of spaghetti dangled from a corner of his mouth. He finally noticed it and sucked it in noisily. Then he reached, put two large teaspoons of white sugar into his coffee, lifted the cup and took a giant mouthful, which he immediately spit out across his plate and onto the tablecloth.

"That shit's too hot! "

"You should be more careful, Daddy," said my mother.

I combed the job market, as they used to say, but it was a dreary and useless routine. You had to know somebody to get a job even as a lowly bus boy. Thus everybody was a dishwasher, the whole town was full of unemployed dishwashers. I sat with them in Pershing Square in the afternoons. The evangelists were there too. Some had drums, some had guitars, and the bushes and restrooms crawled with homosexuals.

"Some of them have money," a young bum told me. "This guy took me to his apartment for two weeks. I had all I could eat and drink and he bought me 'some clothes but he sucked me dry, I couldn't stand up after a while. One night when he was asleep I crawled out of there. It was horrible. He kissed me once and I knocked him across the room. 'You ever do that again,' I told him, 'and I'll kill you!'"

Clifton's Cafeteria was nice. If you didn't have much money, they let you pay what you could. And if you didn't have any money, you didn't have to pay. Some of the bums went in there and ate well. It was owned by some very nice rich old man, a very unusual person. I could never make myself go in there and load up. I'd go in for a coffee and an apple pie and give them a nickel. Sometimes I'd get a couple of weenies. It was quiet and cool in there and clean. There was a large waterfall and you could sit next to it and imagine that everything was quite all right. Philippe's was nice too. You could get a cup of coffee for three cents with all the refills you wanted. You could sit in there all day drinking coffee and they never asked you to leave no matter how bad you looked. They just asked the bums not to bring in their wine and drink it there. Places like that gave you hope when there wasn't much hope.

The men in Pershing Square argued all day about whether there was a God or not. Most of them didn't argue very well but now and then you got a Religionist and an Atheist who were well-versed and it was a good show.

When I had a few coins I'd go to the underground bar beneath the big movie house. I was 18 but they served me. I looked like I could be almost any age. Sometimes I looked 25, sometimes I felt like 30. The bar was run by Chinese who never spoke to anyone. All I needed was the first beer and then the homosexuals would start buying. I'd switch to whiskey sours. I'd bleed them for whiskey sours and when they started closing in on me. I'd get nasty, push off and leave. After a while they caught on and the place wasn't any good anymore.