All the fights I’ve ever had, all the hits I took, all the shit the other guys talked, none of that meant a thing to me. Even the beatings at the orphanage were doled out with a kind of bureaucratic coldness that let you know you were just a victim of the system.
But this. This is fucking personal.
I felt every blow to Meyer’s body as if it were a fist right in my guts. I counted each one as they fell, and I marked their place. Everything that Yakov did, I’ll return to him with interest. He’ll feel that pain and fear, and then once he’s experienced that same level of humiliation and helplessness, then I’ll fucking kill him.
I stay close to Meyer, making sure the doctors and nurses are doing everything they can for him. After several rounds of x-rays, they inform me that his arm is broken in two places, as well as six of his ribs. His shoulder is dislocated, and his collarbone fractured. But the most dangerous thing is a rupture to his spleen. He’ll have to go into surgery for that.
“It’s a miracle he’s alive,” the doctor tells me.
“He’s stubborn, that’s all,” I say.
“He just woke up, if you want to see him before the surgery.”
I go into the bright, clean hospital room.
Meyer looks very small on the bed. His skinny body barely makes a lump under the blanket.
His skin still looks gray and drawn, but at least the beeps coming from the dozen machines to which he’s been hooked are steadier than they were before.
Despite what the doctor said, his eyes are closed, and I don’t want to wake him. But as I linger in the doorway, Meyer croaks out, without opening his eyes, “Don’t just stand there starin’ at me, boy.”
I come closer to the bed.
Meyer does open his eyes now, blinking several times. His gaze looks unfocused, maybe because of all the drugs they’ve given him, or because he doesn’t have his glasses.
“Can’t see anything,” he complains.
“Yeah, sorry,” I say. “I couldn’t bring your glasses. They were broken.”
“Those fuckers,” Meyer says. “I ain’t made of money.”
“Why didn’t you just tell them my address?” I say.
“Cause fuck ‘em, that’s why,” Meyer says.
I feel a rush of some feeling that I wouldn’t have been able to identify before. It’s a mix of admiration, anxiety, frustration, and warmth. It’s only because Sasha recently unlocked a flood of this feeling inside of me that I recognize it. It’s love. I love this old man.
And I know he loves me. He’d rather die than help Yakov find me.
“I’ll get him back for this,” I tell Meyer.
Meyer just scowls and shakes his head.
“Don’t get distracted,” he says. “You win your fight. That’s all that matters.”
“I don’t think they’re gonna finish the tournament,” I say. “Not after what happened to the Rabbi. Not after that riot.”
“Oh, they’ll finish,” Meyer says darkly. “The whole city’s talking about it. Tickets will be a king’s ransom to see you face off against the Beast.”
The Beast.
In my anger at Yakov, I almost forgot about that fucking animal. The Rabbi deserves vengeance as much as Meyer. And I’m the only one who can provide it.
“Don’t let your emotion run the fight,” Meyer warns me. “Fight with the head, not the heart.”
“If they hold off a couple days, you’ll be there in my corner to remind me,” I say.
“Maybe,” Meyer replies, but I can tell from the exhaustion in his face, that won’t be happening. He’ll be alright, but not in time for the fight.
I’ve never done one without him.
He’s always been the voice in my ear, reminding me not to give in to my worst impulses. Forcing me to remember everything he taught me.
“You’ll still have Boom Boom there,” Meyer says.
“That’s worse than nothing,” I say.
Meyer chuckles, then winces.
“He’s a good boy,” he says. “You both are . . .”
I can tell he’s tired. I’m lingering for myself, not for him. I should let him sleep.
“I’ll be here,” I tell him. “After the surgery.”
Meyer nods. He’s already drifting off again.
I text Sasha, to make sure she’s okay.
I’m at the restaurant, she says. Papa says nobody came here. So I think it’s alright.
Text me when you get home then, I tell her.
The nurse pokes her head into the room.
“We’re almost ready for him,” she says. “Are you staying for the surgery?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’m staying.”
