Half of Paradise Read Online Free PDF

massaged his shoulders and taped his hands. Some of the other preliminary fighters came into the locker room and began dressing. The buzzer sounded for the first bout. One of the fighters left with his trainer. Fifteen minutes later they were back. The fighter was bleeding from the nose and mouth. He slammed the door and threw his robe into a locker. His chest and stomach were covered with red welts. He lay back on the rubbing table.
    “I tell you he had oil on his gloves. I couldn’t see what I was doing,” he said.
    His trainer pinched the bridge of his nose to coagulate the blood.
    “Every time I got in close he slapped me across the eyes. It ain’t right.”
    “You were lucky to last three rounds. He had it all over you,” his trainer said.
    “I could have chewed him up and spit him out if he fought fair,” he said, still bleeding from the nose.
    “Did Ruth say anything about talking with the promoters?” Toussaint said.
    “They’ll give you a ten-round bout next month if you knock over the dago,” Archie said.
    “I got to get out of the prelims before long. I ain’t got many years left fighting.”
    “How does your back feel now?”
    “I’m okay.” He rolled his arms and shoulders.
    “You don’t pick up any fat on the docks.”
    “Loading machinery don’t do nothing for me before a fight neither.”
    “The second bout is almost over. Move around a little bit.”
    Toussaint stood up and threw some shadow punches. Archie laced his gloves and snipped the plastic tips off with a pair of scissors. He put a mouthpiece, a water bottle, and some towels into a canvas bag.
    “There’s the buzzer. Let’s go,” he said. He picked up the canvas bag and the first-aid kit, and they went out into the corridor and up the concrete ramp that led to the arena.
    The arena was overcrowded and the air was heavy with a drifting haze of cigarette smoke. The house lamps dimmed for the third bout as they walked down the aisle. The lights above the ring were bright through the smoke. There was a steady noise of talking and scraping of chairs. Some of the people shouted to Toussaint as he passed them. He looked at his opponent, who was already in the ring. The Italian had a scarred face and was a few pounds heavier than Toussaint. He was rubbing his feet in the rosin and pressing one glove into the palm of the other. Toussaint climbed into the ring and did some footwork while the announcer tried to get the crowd’s attention.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said. He was dressed in a tuxedo. “Tonight we have two good boys with us for the third bout. Wearing scarlet trunks at a hundred and ninety-five pounds is Toussaint Boudreaux, a local boy with eleven wins and one loss. His opponent in the opposite corner, wearing black trunks, at two hundred pounds is Anthony Pepponi from Chicago, Illinois, with seventeen wins and two losses—”
    Toussaint and Archie went to the center of the ring to get the referee’s instructions. They came back to the corner and Archie climbed down through the ropes. Toussaint handed him his scarlet robe.
    He moved out fast with the bell and started punching. Pepponi had the reach on him, but Toussaint stayed in close and kept his head low to catch most of the heavy blows on his forearms and to work in for a body attack. Pepponi opened his guard when he hooked, and Toussaint unloaded on him. His head jerked back and the Negro hit him twice in the rib cage with his left and slammed another right on his jaw before he could recover. Pepponi backpedaled, fighting defensively, then caught Toussaint on the chin with a long one. Toussaint moved in and worked on his midsection. He crouched low to keep under Pepponi’s arms. Pepponi fought his way out of the corner, jabbing with his left to keep Toussaint away, and sent a right to his brow. Toussaint took a punch on the forehead for every two punches to Pepponi’s body. The Italian was breathing hard. They tied up in the center of the ring