8 March 1990
Mad
Nat stepped into the gym around eight o’clock in the evening. Everybody had gone home except Danny. Which was hardly a surprise. Nat had planned it that way quite purposely.
Danny was pounding a heavy bag, his back to Nat. Nat knew Danny must have heard the door swing shut. But he did not turn around. Man, he was one big kid. Working out with just his trunks on, he looked close to a heavyweight already. And probably no more than fourteen. Not much more, anyway.
“Danny.”
“What you want, Nat?” Still without turning around. Without missing a punch. No wonder Little Manny kept saying Danny reminded him of Nat.
“My name is Nathan, actually.”
Danny stopped punching. Held the bag a moment and looked over his shoulder. “Well, I know that,” he said. “But you go by Nat.”
“Not any more. Now I go by Nathan.”
“Oh, so now I lose points because I didn’t know that, when how could I know?”
“I’m not upset. I’m just telling you.”
“Doesn’t that make it more confusing with the older Nathan?”
“The older Nathan is gone now. He died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Nat. I mean, Nathan. That’s too bad.”
“Yeah,” Nat said. “I’m sorry, too. Come on, get in the ring with me. I want to see what you can do.”
Nat walked over to the equipment shelves and took down a pair of mitts. When he turned back, Danny hadn’t moved. He just stood there next to the bag, gloved fists hanging at his sides. Staring at Nat.
“What?” Nat asked.
“I been hanging around here the better part of two years and you ain’t wanted to see what I can do.”
“Well, tonight I do.” Nat stepped through the ropes and into the ring.
Danny seemed to chew that over for another few seconds. Then he shrugged and ducked through the ropes. He waited patiently while Nat put the mitts on, raised them to position and gave the word.
“OK. Hit me.”
Danny began sparring gently. Too gently. Technically, his punches looked good. But they felt too easy on Nat’s mitts. As if Danny were treating him like fine bone china.
“Know what your problem is?” Nat asked.
Danny stopped punching. Stood still in the ring, hands frozen in position. As though someone had punched him. His face soft. Too nice, Nat thought. Too sweet a kid. At least, for this business.
“As a fighter?”
“Yeah. As a fighter.”
“Didn’t think I had a problem. Little Manny thinks I’m good.”
“You want to hear my opinion or not?”
Danny’s arms fell to his sides. “OK. What’s my problem?”
“Passion.”
‘Passion?”
“Yes. Passion. As in, where’s yours?”
“I thought passion was like … a thing between a guy and his girlfriend.”
“That’s just one kind of passion and it’s not the kind I’m talking about. I’m talking about emotion. Fire. Anger. That’s it!” Nat shouted, and Danny jumped as if someone had fired off a gun next to his ear. “That’s what’s missing. Anger.”
“Who’m I supposed to be mad at?”
“Has to be somebody. What about me? I refused to train you.”
“That’s up to you. You don’t gotta work for free.”
“It didn’t make you mad?”
“No. I just don’t like you much.”
“OK, let’s try this another way. Who would you be mad at if you were the kind of guy to get mad?”
Danny tried to scratch his nose with one glove, but gave up quickly. “My dad, I guess. For taking off before I was born. And my mom. ‘Cause when she left me at my grandma’s she said she’d be back in just a few weeks, and we’d live together again. But she only came back one summer and a couple weekends, and we ain’t lived together since.”
“Ha. You call that a sad story? My mother could have dumped me at my grandmother’s house, but instead she left me in the woods under a pile of leaves. To die. In October.”
Danny rocked his head back in disbelief. “Why you standing here, then?”
“Just luck. Nathan was out hunting with his dog, and the dog sniffed me out before I could freeze all the way to death.”
“You feeding me shit?”
Nat raised his right mitt as if in a court of law. “God’s honest truth. I’ve got the newspaper clipping to prove it.”
Danny stared down at the mat for a beat or two. Then he looked Nat right in the eye. “OK. So your story sadder’n mine. OK. But my story still my story. I mean … even if somebody else got it worse. What I got was bad enough. You know?”
Nat took two steps in. Stood almost nose to nose with the boy. Raised his mitts again. “Then why don’t you … get …” He geared up every ounce of volume he had in him. “Mad!”
Danny hit him with a powerful shot to the right mitt. Nat, who still wasn’t a hundred per cent steady on his feet, ended up on his back, his head thumping hard on the mat.
He looked up into Danny’s terrified face.
“Nat! You OK? Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine, kid. I’m not a raw egg.”
“Little Manny said you gotta be careful with your head.”
“That’s just the right side here. Back of my head is just as hard as anybody’s. Harder than most. You want to back off a little so I can get up?”
Danny took a step back and held out an arm to Nat. “I know how to get up on my own,” Nat said. He rolled over and rose to his feet.
“You sure you’re OK? I’m sorry, Nat. I mean, Nathan.”
“Do not be sorry. Never be sorry for your anger in the ring. Now, that was good just then. Show me some more of that.”