Marvin looked at the open magazines on the bed. They had a lot of photographs in them. From the poster on the wall, he recognized photographs of X-Man.
“You were famous,” Marvin said.
“In a way, I suppose,” X-Man said. “I look at these, I got to hate getting old. I wasn’t no peach to look at, but I was strong then, looked better than now. Ain’t much of the young me left.”
“Is Jesus in them?”
X-Man flipped a page on one of the open magazines, and there was a photograph of a squatty man with a black mop of hair. The man’s chest was almost as hairy. He had legs like a tree trunks.
X-Man grinned. “I know what you’re thinking: Couple mugs like me and Jesus, what kind of love magnets are we? Maybe Felina ain’t the prime beaver I say she is?”
The old man went around to the head of the bed and dragged a small cardboard box out from under it. He sat it on the bed between them, popped the lid, and scrounged around in a pile of yellowed photographs. He pulled one out. It was slightly faded, but it was clear enough. The woman in it looked maybe mid-twenties. It was a full shot, and she was indeed a knockout. Black hair, high cheekbones, full lips, and black as the Pit eyes that jumped out of the photo and landed somewhere in the back of Marvin’s head.
There were other photos of her, and he showed Marvin all of them. There were close shots and far shots, and sneaky camera shots that rested on her ass. She was indeed fabulous to look at.
“She ain’t that way now, but she’s still got it somehow. What I was gonna do, kid, was gather up all these photos and pile them and burn them, then I was gonna send word to Jesus he could forget the match. That Felina was his until the end of time. But I think that every few years or so, and then I don’t do it. You know what Jesus told me once? He said she liked to catch flies. Use a drinking glass and trap them, then stick a needle through them, string them on thread. Bunches of them. She’d knot one end, fasten the other to a wall with a thumbtack, watch them try to fly. Swat a fly, that’s one thing. But something like that, I don’t get it, kid. And knowing that, I ought to not get her. But it don’t work that way … Tell you what, you go on to bed. Me, I’m gonna turn off the light and turn in.”
Marvin went and crawled under his blanket, adjusted the pillow under his head. When he looked at the old man, he still had the light on and had the cardboard box with the pictures in his lap. He was holding up a photograph, looking at it like it was a hand-engraved invitation to the Second Coming.
As Marvin drifted off, all he could think about were those flies on the thread.
Next day the old man didn’t wake him for the morning workout, and when Marvin finally opened his eyes it was nearly noon. The old man was nowhere to be seen. He got up and went to the refrigerator to have some milk. There was a note on the door.
DON’T EAT HEAVY. I’M BRINGING THANKSGIVING.
Marvin hadn’t wanted to spend Thanksgiving with his mother and the painter, so he hadn’t really thought about it at all. Once his mother dropped him out of her mind, he had dropped the holidays out of his. But right then he thought about them, and hoped the painter would choke on a turkey bone.
He poured a glass of milk and sat in a chair by the ring and sipped it.
Not long after, the old man came back with a sack of groceries. Marvin got up and went over to him. “I’m sorry. I missed the workout.”
“You didn’t miss nothing. It’s a fucking holiday. Even someone needs as much training as you ought to have a day off.”
The old man pulled things out of the sack. Turkey lunch meat, some cheese slices, and a loaf of good bread, the kind you had to cut with a knife. And there was a can of cranberry sauce.
“It ain’t exactly a big carving turkey, but it’ll be all right,” the old man said.
They made sandwiches and sat in the TV chairs with a little table between them. They placed their plates there, the old man put a video in his aging machine, and they watched a movie. An old black-and-white one. Marvin liked color, and he was sure he would hate it. It was called Night and the City. It was about wrestling. Marvin didn’t hate it. He loved it. He ate his sandwich. He looked at the old man, chewing without his dentures. Right then he knew he loved him as dearly as if he were his father.
Next day they trained hard. Marvin had gotten so he was more of a challenge for the old man, but he still couldn’t beat him.
On the morning of the bout with Jesus, Marvin got up and went out to the store. He had some money X-Man gave him now and then for being a training partner, and he bought a few items and took them home. One of them was a bottle of liniment, and when he got back he used it to give the old man a rubdown.
When that was done, the old man stretched out on the floor on an old mattress and fell asleep as easily as a kitten. While he slept, Marvin took the rest of the stuff he had bought into the bathroom and made a few arrangements. He brought the bag out and wadded it up and shoved it in the trash.
Then he did what the old man had instructed him to do. He got folding chairs out of the closet, twenty-five of them, and set them up near the ring. He put one of them in front of the others, close to the ring.
At four-fifteen, he gently spoke to the old man, called him awake.
The old man got up and showered and put on red tights and a T-shirt with a photograph of his younger self on it. The words under the photograph read: X-MAN.
It was Christmas Eve.
About seven that evening they began to arrive. On sticks, in wheelchairs, and on walkers, supported by each other and, in a couple of cases, walking unassisted. They came to the place in dribbles, and Marvin helped them locate a chair. The old man had stored away some cheap wine and beer, and had even gone all out for a few boxes of crackers and a suspicious-looking cheese ball. These he arranged on a long foldout table to the left of the chairs. The old people, mostly men, descended on it like vultures alighting on fresh roadkill. Marvin had to help some of them who were so old and decrepit they couldn’t hold a paper plate and walk at the same time.
Marvin didn’t see anyone that he thought looked like Jesus and Felina. If one of the four women was Felina, she was certainly way past any sex appeal, and if any one of them was Jesus, X-Man had it in the bag. But, of course, none of them were either.
About eight o’clock Marvin answered a hard knocking on the door. When he opened it, there was Jesus. He was wearing a dark robe with red trim. It was open in front, and Marvin could see he had on black tights and no shirt. He was gray-haired where he had hair left on his head, and there was a thick thatch of gray hair on his chest, nestled there like a carefully constructed bird’s nest. He had the same simian build as in the photograph. The Bomb looked easily ten years younger than his age; he moved easily and well.
With him was a tall woman and it was easy to recognize her, even from ancient photos. Her hair was still black, though certainly it came out of a bottle now, and she had aged well, looked firm of face and high of bone. Marvin thought maybe she’d had some work. She looked like a movie star in her fifties that still gets work for her beauty. Her eyes were like wells, and Marvin had to be careful not to fall into them. She had on a long black dress with a black coat hanging off her shoulders in a sophisticated way. It had a fur collar that at first glance looked pretty good and at second glance showed signs of decay, like a sleeping animal with mange.
“I’m here to wrestle,” Jesus said.
“Yes, sir,” Marvin said.
The woman smiled at Marvin, and her teeth were white and magnificent, and looked as real as his own. Nothing was said, but in some way or another he knew he was to take her coat, and he did. He followed after her and Jesus, and, watching Felina walk, Marvin realized he was sexually aroused. She was pretty damn amazing, considering her age, and he was reminded of an old story he had read about a succubus, a female spirit that preyed on men, sexually depleted them, and took their souls.
When Felina sashayed in and the old man saw her, there was a change in his appearance. His face flushed and he stood erect. She owned him.
Marvin put Felina’s coat away, and when he hung it in the closet, a smell came off it that was sweet and tantalizing. He thought some of it was perfume, but knew most of it was her.
Jesus and X-Man shook hands and smiled at each other, but X-Man couldn’t take his eyes off of Felina. She moved past them both as if unaware of their presence, and without being told took the chair that had been placed in front of the others.
The old man called Marvin over and introduced him to Jesus. “This kid is my protégé, Jesus. He’s pretty good. Like me, maybe, when I started out, if I’d had a broke leg.”
They both laughed. Marvin even laughed. He had begun to understand this was wrestling humor and that he had in fact been given a great compliment.
“You think you’re gonna beat me this year?” Jesus said. “I sometimes don’t think you’re really trying.”
“Oh, I’m trying all right,” X-Man said.
Jesus was still smiling, but now the smile look pinned there when he spoke. “You win, you know she’ll go with you?”
The old man nodded.
“Why do we keep doing this?” Jesus said.
X-Man shook his head.
“Well,” Jesus said. “Good luck. And I mean it. But you’re in for a fight.”
“I know that,” X-Man said.
It was nine o’clock when X-Man and Jesus took out their teeth and climbed into the ring, took some time to stretch. The chairs in the audience were near half empty and those that were seated were spread apart like Dalmatian spots. Marvin stood on the outside of the ropes at the old man’s corner.
The old man came and leaned on the ropes. One of the elders in the audience, wearing red pants pulled up nearly to his armpits, dragged his chair next to the side of the ring, scraping it across the floor as he went. He had a cowbell in his free hand. He wheezed himself into the seat, placed the bell on his knee. He produced a large watch from his pants pocket and placed it on his other knee. He looked sleepy.
“We do this five years from now,” X-Man said to Marvin, “it’ll be in hell somewhere, and the devil will be our timekeeper.”
“All right,” said the timekeeper. “Geezer rules. Two minutes rounds. Three minutes rests. Goes until it’s best two out of three or someone quits. Everybody ready?”
Both parties said they were.
Marvin looked at Felina. She was sitting with her hands in her lap. She appeared confident and smug, like a spider waiting patiently on a fly.
The timekeeper hit the watch with his left thumb and rang the bell with his right hand. X-Man and Jesus came together with a smacking sound, grabbing at each other’s knees for a throw, bobbing and weaving. And then X-Man came up from a bob and threw a quick left. To Marvin’s amazement, Jesus slipped it over his shoulder and hooked X-Man in the ribs. It was a solid shot, and Marvin could tell X-Man felt it. X-man danced back, and one elderly man in the small crowd booed.
“Go fuck yourself,” X-Man yelled out.
X-Man and the Bomb came together again. There was a clenching of hands on shoulders, and Jesus attempted to knee X-Man in the balls. X-man was able to turn enough to take it on the side of the leg, but not in the charley horse point. They whirled around and around like angry lovers at a dance.
Finally X-Man faked, dove for Jesus’ knee, and got hold of it, but Jesus twisted on him, brought one leg over X-Man’s head, hooked the leg under his neck and rolled, grabbed X-Man’s arm, stretched it out, and lifted his pelvis against it. There was a sound like someone snapping a stick over their knee, and X-Man tapped out. That ended the round. It had gone less than forty-five seconds.
X-Man waddled over to his corner, nursing his arm a little. He leaned on the ropes. Marvin brought out the stool.
“Put it back,” the old man said. “I don’t want them to think I’m hurt.”
Marvin put it back, said, “Are you hurt?”
“Yeah, but that cracking you heard was just air bubbles in my arm. I’m fine. Fuck it. Put the stool back.”
Marvin put the stool back. X-Man sat down. Across the way, Jesus was seated on his stool, his head hung. He and X-Man looked like two men who wouldn’t have minded being shot.
“I know this,” X-Man said. “This is my last match. After this, I ain’t got no more in me. I can feel what’s left of me running out of my feet.”
Marvin glanced at Felina. One of the lights overhead was wearing out. It popped and went from light to dark and back to light again. Marvin thought for a moment, there in the shadow, Felina had looked older, and fouler, and her thick hair had resembled a bundle of snakes. But as he looked more closely, it was just the light.
The cowbell clattered. They had gotten some of their juice back. They moved around each other, hands outstretched. They finally clinched their fingers together, both hands. X-Man suddenly jutted his fingers forward in a way that allowed him to clench down on the back of Jesus’ fingers, snap him to the floor in pain. It was a simple move, but it put the Bomb’s face in front of X-Man’s knee. X-man kneed him in the face so hard, blood spewed all over the matting, all over X-Man.
Still clutching Jesus’s fingers, X-Man stepped back and squatted, pulled Jesus to his face. X-Man pulled free of the fingers, and as Jesus tried to rise, X-Man kicked him in the face. It was a hard kick. Jesus went unconscious.
The cowbell clattered. The timekeeper put the cowbell down and made his way to the ring. He climbed through and hitch-legged it over to Jesus. It took almost as much time as it would take for a blind man to find a needle in a haystack.
The timekeeper got down on one knee. Jesus groaned and sat up slowly.
His face was a bloody mess.
The timekeeper looked him over. “You up for it?” he said.
“Hell, yeah,” Jesus said.
“One to one!” yelled the timekeeper, and he made his slow pilgrimage back to his chair.
Jesus got up slowly, went back to his corner, trying to hold his head up high. X-Man was sitting on his stool, breathing heavily. “I hope I didn’t break something inside the old cocksucker,” he said.
X-Man closed his eyes and sat resting on his stool. Marvin was quiet. He thought the old man was asleep. Three minutes later, the cowbell clattered.
Jesus huffed loudly, creaked bones off the stool, stuttered-stepped to the center of the ring. X-Man came out in a slow shuffle.
They exchanged a few punches, none of which landed particularly well. Surprisingly, both seemed to have gotten a second wind. They tossed one another, and rolled, and jabbed, and gouged, and the bell rang again.
When X-Man was on his stool, he said, “My heart feels like a bird fluttering.”
“You ought to quit,” Marvin said. “It’s not worth a heart attack.”
“It ain’t fluttering from the fight, but from seeing Felina.”
Marvin looked. Felina was looking at X-Man the way a puppy looks at a dog treat.
“Don’t fall for it,” Marvin said. “She’s evil. Goddamn evil.”
“So you believe me?”
“I do. You think maybe she has those pipe cleaners with your hair with her?”
“How would I know?”
“In her coat, maybe?”
“Again, how would I know.” And then it hit the old man. He knew what Marvin was getting at. “You mean if she did have, and you got them …”
“Yeah,” Marvin said.
Marvin left X-Man sitting there, made a beeline for the closet. He opened the door and moved his hands around in there, trying to look like he was about natural business. He glanced back at X-Man, who had turned on his stool to look.
The cowbell rang. The two old gentlemen went at it again.
It was furious. Slamming punches to the head and ribs, the breadbasket. Clutching one another, kneeing in the balls. Jesus even bit the lobe off X-Man’s ear. Blood was everywhere. It was a fight that would have been amazing if the two men in the ring were in their twenties, in top shape. At their age it was phenomenal.
Marvin was standing in the old man’s corner now, trying to catch X-Man’s eye, but not in a real obvious way. He didn’t want him to lose focus, didn’t want Jesus to come under him and lift him up and drive the old man’s head into the ground like a lawn dart.
Finally the two clenched. The went around and around like that, breathing heavy as steam engines. Marvin caught X-Man’s eye. Marvin lifted up two knotted pipe cleaners, dark hair in the middle of the knot. Marvin untwisted the pipe cleaners and the hair floated out like a puff of dark dandruff, drifted to the floor.
X-Man let out his breath, seemed to relax.
Jesus dove for him. It was like a hawk swooping down on a mouse. Next thing Marvin knew, Jesus had X-Man low on the hips in a two-arm clench, and was lifting him up, bending back at the same time so he could drive X-Man over his head, straight into the mat.
But as X-Man went over, he ducked his head under Jesus’ buttocks, grasped the inside of Jesus’ legs. Jesus flipped backwards, but X-Man came up on his back, not his head. Instead, his head was poking between Jesus’ legs, and his toothless gums were buried in Jesus’ tights, clamping down on his balls like a clutched fist. A cry went up from the crowd.
Jesus screamed. It was the kind of scream that went down your back and got hold of your tailbone and pulled at it. X-Man maintained the clamp. Jesus writhed and twisted and kicked and punched. The punches hit X-Man in the top of the head, but still he clung. When Jesus tried to roll out, X-Man rolled with him, his gums still buried deep in Jesus’ balls.
Some of the oldsters were standing up from their seats, yelling with excitement. Felina hadn’t moved or changed her expression.
Then it happened.
Jesus slapped out both hands on the mat, called, “Time.” And it was over.
The elders left. Except Jesus and Felina.
Jesus stayed in the bathroom for a long time. When he came out, he was limping. The front of his tights were plumped out and dark with blood.
X-Man was standing, one hand on the back of a chair, breathing heavy.
Jesus said, “You about took my nuts, X-Man. I took one of your towels, shoved it down my pants to stop the blood. Them’s some gums you got, X-man. Gums like that, you don’t need teeth.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” X-Man said. “Besides, old as you are, what you using your nuts for?”
“I hear that,” Jesus said, and his whole demeanor was different. He was like a bird in a cage with the door left open. He was ready to fly out.
“She’s all yours,” Jesus said.
We all looked at Felina. She smiled slightly. She took X-Man’s hand.
X-man turned and looked at her. He said, “I don’t want her,” and let go of her hand. “Hell, I done outlived my dick anyhow.”
The look on Felina’s face was one of amazement.
“You won her,” Jesus said. “That’s the rule.”
“Naw,” X-Man said. “Ain’t no rule.”
“No?” Jesus said, and you could almost see that cage door slam and lock.
“No,” said X-Man, looking at Felina. “That hoodoo you done with the pipe cleaners. My boy here undid it.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Felina said.
They just stared at each other for a long moment.
“Get out,” X-Man said. “And Jesus. We ain’t doing this no more.”
“You don’t want her?” Jesus said.
“No. Get out. Take the bitch with you. Get on out.”
Out they went. When Felina turned the corner into the hallway, she paused and looked back. It was a look that said: You had me, and you let me go, and you’ll have regrets.
X-Man just grinned at her. “Hit the road, you old bitch.”
When they were gone, the old man stretched out on his bed, breathing heavily. Marvin pulled a chair nearby and sat. The old man looked at him and laughed.
“That pipe cleaner and hair wasn’t in her coat, was it?”
“What do you mean?” Marvin said.
“That look on her face when I mentioned it. She didn’t know what I was talking about. Look at me, boy. Tell me true.”
Marvin took a moment, said, “I bought the pipe cleaners and some shoe polish. I cut a piece of my hair, made it dark with the shoe polish, twisted it up in the pipe cleaners.”
X-Man let out a hoot. “You sneaky son of a bitch.”
“I’m sorry,” Marvin said.
“I’m not.”
“You’re not?”