Bubblegum and Kipling. Tom Mayer
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like Larry O’Leary.”
“He just insulticated me.”
“And what did you do to him?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not what I heard. I heard you got him so scared he can’t eat.”
“I follow him home,” Johnny said. “That’s all.”
“You haven’t hit him?”
“No.”
“Well, what’s going to happen? You can’t keep following him home all the time.”
“I don’t know,” Johnny said. “I gotta learn to fight.”
“It’s about time,” I said.
“Oh yeah?” Johnny was afraid of me but he always tried very hard not to show it.
“Yeah,” I said. “Mr. Bascomb says he’s gonna put gloves on you if you don’t make it up with Melvin.”
“Jeepers,” Johnny said.
“Well, what you going to do?”
“Learn to fight,” Johnny said, and hooked at the bag.
“Dad can show you a lot,” I said. “He’s good himself.
“I know, but I don’t want him to find out about it.”
“Why not? He won’t care.”
“I just don’t.”
“He’s going to anyway,” I said.
“How come?”
“I gotta tell Mother.”
“Why?”
“’Cause,” I said.
“Why?”
“’Cause Mr. Bascomb told me to. He will himself if I don’t. You know how he is.”
“You have to tell her?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then I guess it’s okay to tell Dad too,” Johnny said.
“Okay?” I said. “It’s better to tell Dad. He can be a big help.”
“I guess so,” Johnny said.
We talked about it a while longer, and decided to tell my father after dinner that night. The more Johnny thought about it the more he agreed with me that Dad should show him how to fight, and, what’s more, would probably jump at the chance to do it.
After dinner we told Dad that we had some big business we wanted to talk to him about alone, without my mother and grandmother. He said okay, but not too long, he had some work to do, and we took him into the TV room and explained the whole thing to him. He thought about it a minute, and said we had to get Johnny into training right away. Then he asked Johnny what Melvin had done to him to get him riled up, and Johnny said Melvin had insulticated him. Dad said he understood.
We talked it over, because Dad said good managers always make up their preparation plans long before the match, so they can play all the angles, and we decided I should go to see Mr. Bascomb the next day and explain that Johnny wanted to fight. Dad said I should get the date of the bout set as far in the future as possible to give Johnny training time.
Dad said Johnny had better get started right away. He put Johnny up on the chair and watched him punch the bag awhile. Then he said the bag was too high for Johnny, but I told him that didn’t matter, because Melvin was too high for Johnny too. My father took me aside and said we had to build up Johnny’s confidence, so I shouldn’t say things like that any more.
My father showed Johnny how to jab that evening, and how to keep his hands up. He told Johnny to keep his hands in front of his face, elbows down in order to block punches with his forearms, and his chin behind his shoulder. Then if he jabbed a lot, my father said, he could keep the other guy off balance until he opened him up. Dad said legs were very important, and he got an old jump rope from the closet in his office and showed Johnny how to jump with it. Dad had good timing and could do all sorts of fancy stuff himself, crossovers and the like, but Johnny just got tangled up. The rope got wound around his legs and hit him in the face, and once it got around his throat and I was afraid he’d strangle himself. Dad said that was happening because the rope was too long, so he took out a pocket knife and cut the rope down to where Johnny could use it. That helped, and Johnny began to get the idea.
Dad said diet was very important. He said we would have to get Mother to feed Johnny the right things, and both Johnny and I said that might be pretty tricky. Mother didn’t approve of boxing.
Just about then Mother came in anyway, and wanted to know what we were up to. Both Dad and Johnny were sweating considerable amounts, and Mother wanted to know if they were trying to shake the house down. She said she had just had the ceiling in the hall plastered, and it was flaking down all over the place.
My father explained that we were training Johnny for a fight.
“Little Johnny?” my mother asked.
My father said yes. He said Johnny was already learning a jab, and they were going to do some running together the next morning. Johnny liked to sleep late, he never got up until just before breakfast, and even then you had to shake him, and he didn’t look too happy about the running bit.
Mother said we weren’t going to turn her baby into a fighter, and that was that. Then my father and I explained about Melvin and Mr. Bascomb, and Mother said Mr. Bascomb was a blathering idiot. She kissed Johnny sweetly on the forehead and said it was mean of my father and me to make him fight. Johnny said he wanted to fight, and Mother said she didn’t believe him. Johnny said he had been insulticated and had to fight. Got no choice, he said. Mother asked what Melvin had done to him, and Johnny wouldn’t tell her any more than he had me.
Mother saw it was no use, Johnny being the stubbornest one in the family when he made up his mind about something, and my father told her she would have to start fixing training meals. He said Johnny should have steak twice a day, preferably three times, and lots of milk and orange juice. That made Mother mad, and she said Johnny and all the rest of us ate very well as it was. My father was embarrassed and said that was true, she and Ramona were the best cooks in the business, but a fighter in training was different and he’d settle for steak once a day. Mother said she’d think about it. Then my father said that Johnny ought to cut out between-meal snacks, and no candy, and of course no cigarettes or liquor. My mother looked at my father as if he were crazy, and my father said he knew Johnny didn’t drink or smoke, but he wanted to emphasize the importance of condition. He asked Mother if she’d like to see Johnny’s jab, and Mother said not particularly, but she stayed while Johnny shadow-boxed. “Snap it hard,” my father kept saying, “stick it in his face, make it sting. That’s a boy.”
My father said it was time for bed, because Johnny would have to get up early for roadwork, and he asked Johnny if he wanted a rub-down. Johnny said okay, and my father detailed me to give Johnny a massage. Johnny took a bath and went to bed, and I rubbed down his arms and legs and back. He said it felt good, and I told him he had been looking sharp, trying to build up his confidence. He said he didn’t think roadwork sounded like much fun, and went to sleep.
The next morning my father got him up at six, and they ran around the block three or four times before breakfast. My father ate four eggs when they came in, said he hadn’t felt so well in years, and Johnny looked tired. My father made him drink three glasses of orange juice and told Mother to get some wheat germ and vitamin pills.
At school I went to see Mr. Bascomb and told him that Johnny wanted satisfaction. I told him Johnny had been mortally insulted and wanted to fight Melvin.
“But what did Melvin do?” Mr. Bascomb asked.
“Terrible things,” I said. Then I asked Mr. Bascomb when he wanted the fight. He said something about the sooner the better, and would next Saturday be