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La Morena

Mark Scott

    The Austin boxing team arrived in their bus at the arena in Alice, Texas a little after four in the afternoon on the Friday before the murder happened. David was asleep in the back of the bus and when he awoke he looked out the window and saw a pair of long brown legs dangling out of the passenger side of a red Camaro. A young Sophia Loren lookalike emerged a few seconds later, having retrieved her purse from the back seat. She brushed a wisp of black hair away from her eyes and stepped back into her flip-flops that had fallen off when she dove for her purse.
    “Pretty girl,” Paul Hayward said. “Sturdy legs and hips. But keep your minds on the fights. Alice is a small town but they have good fighters.” Paul said he was glad women like her didn’t hang around his gym in Austin. “You can be a lover, or a fighter. But not both.”
    Paul Hayward had trained hundreds of boxers all over the world. Whenever they rode into a town, Paul would have something to say about it. “You’ve all been to Dobie Mall in Austin. Frank Dobie, the famous writer, lived in Alice. The first Tejano band came from here back in the fifties.”
    The Austin welterweight boxer, the class clown as they called him, said, “That was fifty years ago, what do they got now?”
    “Oil drilling, mostly. And boxing.”
    David watched the girl from the Camaro all the way to the arena. Their eyes met and she flashed him a bright, sexy smile. She tilted her head to the side as if to study him.
    Paul said, “What did you weigh last night, David?”
    “One fifty nine.”
    “Three eggs and toast this morning?”
    “Yes, sir. No butter or jam. Drank water.”
    “Should be fine then. Let’s go get you guys weighed.”
    Inside the arena the Alice team was congregated around an elderly man with an eye patch. Paul went over to speak with him and when he returned he said, “Suarez says we got two opponents from Houston, two from San Antone, and two from Alice.” He pointed to a tall skinny red-head. “David, you’re fighting him.”
    “He’s from Alice? Looks white.”
    “No, he’s Mexican. His name is Jorge Espinoza. Got a room full of trophies, forty knockouts. Suarez thinks he’ll win the state Golden Gloves this year.”
    David and his teammates all made weight. When the red-head got on the scale David realized he was over six feet tall, maybe 6'1". Long arms and skinny. Powerful legs, looked more like a sprinter than a boxer. Espinoza got off the scale and looked round. “Donde esta mi morenita?”
    Paul laughed. “That babe from the Camaro is his “little dark-headed girl.” David looked over and saw her waving to Espinoza. The tournament would start at the lowest weight and then move up until the heavyweights fought around 8 pm, prime time so to speak. The first bout was at flyweight, one boxer from San Antonio and the other from Fort Worth. David said, “Anyone seen Espinoza fight before?”
    “Not me,” Paul said. “When the Fort Worth team doesn’t have a fight, I’ll ask Benny. He’s been training amateurs for years and he’s probably seen the Alice fighters.” Fort Worth didn’t have anyone at the featherweight 126-pound class, and so Paul went over to talk to the Fort Worth trainer Benny Monroe. Ten minutes later he came back looking worried.
    “Benny says he’s seen all of ‘em, that Espinoza is their best, but that he doesn’t do anything spectacular –just has a hard right.”
    Benny Monroe saw David and jogged over to him. “That red-headed boy has a mean overhand right. Look out fo’ it.” He patted David on the shoulder. All of the trainers liked David because he worked hard and was always polite. He looked Italian, had the manners of old Vienna, but in fact his parents were from a Caribbean country where they spoke French. The result was that people saw in him whatever they wanted.
    “Fighting out of the blue corner, from Austin, David Martel.” David saw Espinoza’s girlfriend sitting on the front row. She had her hands on her knees, leaning forward as her black hair cascaded down around her shoulders.
    Paul put David’s mouth piece in. “I want you to fight out of a crouch, throw your jab high going in and guard your chin with your right like we practiced. Stay low enough and you can just roll under his left jab. Keep in close so he won’t have room to punch. Benny said he doesn’t have a left hook to worry about. Got it?”
    “Seconds out for Round One.”
    David dipped under Espinoza’s long left jabs and blocked a right with his own right hand. It landed on his open palm with a loud smack, knocking David’s gloved fist into the side of his face. He countered with two hard left hooks that knocked his opponent back into the ropes.

    The next thing David remembered was the referee counting, “...four, five, ...” Then, “You all right? Take a step forward.”
    The fists flew and, once again, “...five, six...” The referee said, “What city is this?”
    “Alice. I’m fine.”
    “Okay, fight.”
    Between rounds Paul told him, “He’s stepping over to his right and looping that over-hand in there. This round just circle towards his left until your head clears. There’s something wrong with his left arm. You may have hurt it when you pulled him down.”
    “Pulled him down?”
    “You grabbed him as a reflex.”
    “Seconds out for Round Two!”
    Paul returned David’s mouthpiece. “Circle to his left!”
    Espinoza rushed in to end the fight and David ducked under a looping right, and then countered with a left hook under the heart. Then he weaved out and circled to Espinoza’s left. The body shot took the steam out of the red-head.
    “Great round,” Paul said. “Still, keep out of range of his right, it’s like a canon.”
    In the last round David could see Espinoza planting his right foot to load up to throw a bomb. Each time David would throw a quick jab then skip to his right, keeping Espinoza off balance for the whole three minutes.
    “Beautiful,” Paul said at the end. “It’s gonna be a close decision.”
    They announced the split decision victory for the Alice fighter and David was still a little fuzzy headed from the knockdowns. “Muchos juevos,” somebody at ringside said. A lot of guts.
    David told Paul, “I was off balance in the first round, I must have slipped.”
    “No, he hit you clean. He just looped that right hand in there. You thought your left was up, but it was a little low. He hit you in the temple both times.”
    “Next time I’ll keep my hands higher and my head lower.”
    “Nothing to be ashamed of—everyone said you won the last round. You win at the AAU next month; you’ll still be in line for the Olympic trials. You win that; they’ll throw enough money at you to put both of your sisters through college.” Paul gave David a reproachful look. “And I mean in an honest way.”
    There it was again. David and three San Antonio boxers had gotten into trouble for fighting at a few of the fraternity fight nights. They had won money by betting on themselves, “like a bunch of pool sharks,” the newspapers said later. David made enough money on it to pay for a year of his older sister’s college. A few of the parents got wind of it and now Paul had to let the frat boys work out for free at his gym. Paul made cracks about it every day, couldn’t let it drop.
    They looked over at the concession stand where the girl from the Camaro was hugging Espinoza. She bought them some nachos.
    Paul said, “He got tired. Probably spends all his time climbing on top of his ‘morenita,’ as he calls her.”
    “I wouldn’t blame him if he did,” David said. “How do I tell him in Spanish he fought a good fight?”
    “Buena pelea. But he probably speaks English.”
    The referee came over and said to David, “I nearly stopped it in the first round. I’m glad I didn’t, though. Great fight.”
    “I apologize for pulling him down.”
    “Happens a lot. I didn’t penalize you for it.”
    Espinoza’s girlfriend came over to introduce herself to David. She had high cheekbones and full cherry-red lips, and said her name was Rosalinda Ruiz. “Call me Linda.” Now she had her hair tied back in a ponytail and David noticed a bruise high on her forehead. Her eyes were big green emeralds and they fixed on David’s face like a referee trying to decide whether he was fit to keep fighting. There was a sad determination about her.
     “I’m David Martel.”
    Linda said, “You live in Austin near South Austin Recreation Center?”
    “How’d you know that?”
    “Your AAU card. I check out all of Jorge’s opponents, where they’re from and stuff. Jorge fought there a couple of times.”
    “I don’t remember seeing him.”
    “It was, like, three years ago. He’s been fighting a long time.”
    “It shows. He’s good.”
    “You were good, too. Better than I thought you’d be.”
    David said, “Maybe we could watch the fights together on Sunday.”
    Linda raised her eyebrows.
    “I mean, um, I was going to watch my teammates anyway.”
    “That’s nice of you, but actually I have to go to Corpus Christi to babysit for my sister. I’ll see you at the next tournament, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    She started fishing around in her purse. It was the biggest purse David had ever seen. Finally she pulled out something wrapped like a small piece of bubblegum. “Do you get headaches after a fight?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “This is some herbs mixed with belladonna. Jorge takes it for headaches, helps him sleep.” She gave it to David and he tucked it in his sock.
    David watched her leave the arena, wondering where her boyfriend had gone. Maybe she would drive him home. Boxers weren’t supposed to drive after a fight, just in case of a concussion.
    The second middleweight fight was between a Houston left-hander and a stocky San Antonio fighter who seemed to have nothing other than a left hook. The Houston fighter had a style just like David’s main sparring partner, and David figured he could have easily beaten him. The Austin team didn’t have a light heavyweight, and while that division’s boxers were going at it Paul came over and sat beside David. “How you feel, Lover Boy?”
    “Fine. Just a little dizzy.”
    “You got hit hard. But you did good. What did his girlfriend want?”
    “Not sure. Just showing hospitality to the out-of-towners, probably.”
    “And she probably noticed you gawking at her. Don’t feel bad about the loss. These kids have been fighting since they were five years old. I thought you might pull it out in the last round, but the two knockdowns won it for him.”
    David watched the rest of the fights with Paul Hayward. But he couldn’t get his mind off of Linda, her sad determination, her smooth skin, or the way her legs hung out of the Camaro and her pink toes curled up towards the sky when she dove for her purse. He wondered if they curled when she had sex, and what kind of noise she made.
    The arena was filling up in anticipation of the heavyweight bouts. David said, “I guess boxing’s the most popular sport down here.”
    Paul said, “Yeah, too bad they don’t give boxing scholarships so that some of these kids could have a way of going somewhere. Some of them turn pro; most of them end up working menial jobs or selling dope.”

    That Saturday was warm for February, even for the south of Texas. David had tried Linda’s headache concoction the night before and when he woke up it took him a few minutes to remember where he was. He went to the bathroom mirror and saw a swelling over his left eye, and remembered getting hit there the night before. He felt no pain, nothing.
    His roommate, Jake the heavyweight, was already downstairs at the breakfast buffet. He could eat his fill, since the heavyweight division had no upper limit. David finally made his way down to the breakfast table.
    Jake and the welterweight were both banged up from fighting the San Antonio boxers. In fact the welterweight had won on a disqualification because of head butts. Jake won by a knockout. They were both icing their hands to be ready on Sunday.
    Paul Hayward had rented a suite of rooms on the second floor. David was the last one down to the breakfast table, and they were all talking about his fight. Everybody was saying it was the fight of the year.
    “What’s that?” Paul looked over at the television set on the other side of the room from the buffet table. He rushed over, found the remote control, and turned up the sound.
    “Local police are saying that it was gang related, although Espinoza was not a known gang member. Police say he was stabbed once in the stomach and once in the throat.” Paul turned down the sound and a hush went over the room.
    After a while Paul said, “You guys keep eating. I’m going to call Suarez.”
    When he came back down Paul called everyone together. “It’s a puzzle,” he said. “They, uh, they don’t want to say anything until they know more about what happened. The good news is that the tournament wants David to fight in the middleweight final. David, Suarez was bragging on you, says you improved a lot since he saw you in San Antonio.”

    On Sunday morning David got up at six and went to the empty room where they had a television and a pile of videos of old boxing matches. He would be fighting the left-handed Houston boxer. He watched two of the best fights of Marvin Hagler, the left-handed middleweight champion of the 1980’s. When they got to the arena David was confident he would win. He had studied the Houston fighter, but he was pretty sure the Houston fighter had only studied Espinoza.
    David had the perfect combination to use against a lefty—a straight-right hand lead followed by a left hook to the body. By the middle of the second round the Houston fighter had taken so many rights to the head that his corner stopped the fight.
    David felt that flush of victory and the rush of adrenalin that comes from fear and the thrill of the fight. It was a few fleeting moments, which Paul Hayward called “as ephemeral as the twilight between the sunset and the darkness.” Paul thought that was the reason so many former athletes got into drugs, to recapture that feeling.
    When David had showered up at the hotel he walked back to the arena to watch the heavyweight final. Paul said, “The police called this morning. Wanted to know what you and Espinoza’s girlfriend were talking about after the fight Friday night. I told ‘em she was just being hospitable, as you put it.”
    “We just talked about the fight.”
     “All right, tiger. Just remember: Fools fall in love. Show me a hard luck story, and I’ll show you a guy who’s been in love.”
    “Cops wanna talk to me?”
    “Nah. Turns out your illustrious opponent had a pretty stout criminal record. I think the cops are glad he’s dead. He was like a football star that everybody had to put up with. Tall, good looking, they figured Espinoza would be a star.”
    While the light heavyweights were fighting, Linda showed up and came over to where the Austin fighters were sitting. David said, “We’re all sorry about Jorge. When did you get back from Corpus Christi?”
    Linda’s hair was down and David thought it was the longest, fullest, darkest mane he had ever seen. “Crazy gangs,” Linda said. “I warned Jorge about them.” She picked up the trophy David had won. “I wanted to congratulate you. Good job.”
    “Thanks.”
    “David, do you know anything about cars? Mine won’t start.”
    “Let’s go take a look.”
    They walked outside where it seemed half the town had parked their cars, bikes, and motorcycles so they could watch the Alice heavyweight, who everyone thought would have a good shot at an Olympic gold medal. David lifted the hood of Linda’s Camaro. “Okay, try again.”
    It started right up. Linda rolled down the window and said, “What was the problem?”
    “Loose battery cable. You got a pair of pliers?”
    “Not here. At home, though.”
    “You’ve got a couple of other problems under the hood.”
    “Can you come by my house to fix them?”
    “Hold on.” David pointed towards the arena and then went to tell Paul Hayward where he would be.
    Paul was watching intently as the final light heavyweight fight was finishing up.“Yeah, yeah. Have fun.”

    They drove by Coastal Bend College and David thought it looked like the Army-Navy stores in Austin, with its aluminum walls. Linda lived at the end of a long dirt road. There was an old broken-down truck at the side of a two-story house that was painted yellow like the ones David had seen when he fought in Juarez.
    “Come on in.” Linda smiled and said suddenly, “Did you forget your trophy?”
    “Mr. Hayward takes all our trophies back to Austin.”
    “You know, if I hadn’t given you the medicine, you wouldn’t have been able to fight on Sunday.”
    “Yeah, the good night’s sleep helped. Thanks.”
    She opened the front door and they went in. “Do you have a girlfriend in Austin?”
    David told her about how he and his girlfriend had broken up over going to college. “I had a fight the night before the SAT test. Didn’t make it back in time to take it. I hate school anyway, except for math.”
    “I hated school too. The army recruiters, and the drug dogs, that’s why I quit. There has to be a better way out of here.”
    After David got the car fixed up Linda brought him some enchiladas and said they were from her father’s restaurant. “He owns the place next to the arena. I’ve worked there five years, since I was fourteen. You know, you and Jorge fought the best fight of the tournament, the news said yesterday. In a way, you had something with him, like I did. He told me you were his toughest fight.”
    “When did he say that?”
    “Friday night.”
    “I thought you didn’t see him that night.”
    “He was hurt bad. Said his vision was fuzzy, like he was loaded but he hadn’t drunk nothing. I mixed up some herbs to relax him. When he went out that night, he was probably too relaxed to defend himself.”
    “Weren’t you in Corpus Christi?”
    There was a silence and then David looked around. “You live here all alone?”
    “My parents are in Corpus Christi for a week.”
    “I thought you were going there to babysit.”
    Linda picked up their dishes, then walked over and took David’s hand in hers. “Can you stay with me a while? I’m afraid whoever killed Jorge will come after me.”
    “How would I get back to Austin?”
    “I have money. I’ll buy you a bus ticket.”
    There was an awkward silence. Linda put a hand on David’s knee, then leaned forward and gave him a deep, wet kiss on the mouth. “Let’s go to bed, mi’jo.”
    Linda’s clothes and her bedroom smelled sweetly of White Shoulders perfume. They kissed for a while and then she reached back to pull down the bed sheets, and brought him to her. She coiled her legs around his back, open and ready beneath him. He pushed into her and it wasn’t long before he felt her come in waves, intense spasms of pleasure. He wasn’t far behind.

    Afterwards David said, “What does meho mean?”
    “Mi hijo. It’s like calling you baby, a term of endearment. ” She got up and put on a white robe, then opened a bedroom window. “Sometimes it might not be endearing. Like, ‘Oye, mi’jo’ could mean, ‘listen up, dude.’”
    David laughed. “Got it. What about your nickname? Why did Jorge call you his morenita?”
    “Morena means dark headed, sometimes dark skinned. In Mexico some people think it’s a status symbol to be light skinned like Jorge. ‘Dark hair, black heart,’ he used to say.”
    “So he was insulting you?”
    “Hmm, kind of. Sometimes he’d call me Bruja, or witch, because I can make medicine from herbs.” She caressed David’s forehead with her fingertips. “You’re a nice boy, you would never hit me. I can see that in you. What are you going to do when your boxing is over?”
    “Like, what am I going to be when I grow up?”
    Linda said, “Yeah, you said you don’t like school, but you can’t fight forever. You like math?”
    “At least I can see what it’s good for, counting money and stuff.”
     “You could study business, then. But you still gotta read a lot in college.”
    “History’s not bad. I like reading about the Greek and Roman warriors. Achilles, Ajax, Hector the Trojan.”
    Linda reached down and picked up the condom wrapper that had fallen by the bedside. She pretended to study it. “Says Trojan, but nothing about Hector.”
    “No. Hector was from the City of Troy.”
    “I know that, mi’jo. You ever read about Medea in your Greek mythology books?”
    “No, who’s he?”
    Linda lay there quiet for a while before she answered. “She. She helped Jason get away with the Golden Fleece.”
    “Okay, I’ve heard of that. Then what did they do?”
    Linda sat up. “He—. He humiliated her. Treated her real bad.” Linda jumped off the bed and walked over to the other window. “It’s hot in here.” When she had all the windows up and the shades down she said, “Nice and cool outside.”
     “Aren’t you afraid?”
    “Of what?”
    “Leaving the windows open. Aren’t you afraid of whoever killed Jorge?”
    “No, they killed him for the $500 he had in his pockets.”
    “How did they know he had $500?”
    Linda got back into the bed and snuggled her face into David’s chest. “Because I told them he had it.” Linda’s dusky scent mixed with the White Shoulders perfume. David brushed the dark hair from her face and kissed her forehead where he had noticed the bruise on Friday. He felt the silky touch of her beautiful bronze hands and he was ready for another round.

    Later that evening David called Paul at the hotel and said he had a cold. There was no point in getting the whole team sick.
    “Yeah, I used to get colds like that too when I was your age. I’d get ‘em two or three times a day.”
    “No, really, I –”
    “Is that girl, the hospitable one, going to get you back to Austin any time soon?”
    “Yes, sir. I’ll catch a bus back to Austin tomorrow.”
    “Take a whole week,” Paul Hayward said. “Kid, you earned it. Learn yourself some Spanish.”

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