Rich Man, Poor Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

out of his lungs with a large, dry sound, as Tom danced back.
    ‘It’s disgusting,’ a woman said. ‘A big oaf like that. Somebody ought to stop it.’
    ‘It’s all right,’ her husband said. ‘He’d said he’d only slap him a couple of times.’
    The soldier swung a slow, heavy right hand at Tom. Tom ducked under it and dug both his fists into the soldier’s soft middle. The soldier bent almost double in pain and Tom
    hooked both hands to the face. The soldier began to spurt
    blood and he waved his hands feebly in front of him and tried to clinch. Contemptuously, Tom let the soldier grapple him, but kept his right hand free and clubbed at the soldier’s kidneys. The soldier slowly went down to one knee. He looked up Wearily at Tom through the blood that was flowing from his cut forehead. Angela was crying. The crowd was silent. Tom stepped back. He wasn’t even breathing hard. There was a little glow under the light, blonde fuzz on his cheeks.
    ‘My God,’ said the lady who had said that somebody ought to stop it, ‘he looks just like a baby.’
    ‘You getting up?’ Tom asked the soldier. The soldier just looked at him and swung his head wearily to get the blood out of his eyes. Angela knelt beside him and started using her handkerchief on the cuts. The whole thing hadn’t taken more than thirty seconds.
    ‘That’s all for tonight, folks,’ Claude said. He was wiping sweat off his face.
    Tom strode out of the little circle of watching men and women. They were very quiet, as though they had seen something unnatural and dangerous that night, something they would like to be able to forget.
    Claude caught up to Tom as they turned the corner. ‘Boy, oh boy,’ Claude said, ‘you worked fast tonight. The combinations, boy, oh boy, the combinations.’
    Tom was chuckling. ‘Sidney, you’ll kill him,’ he said, trying to imitate the girl’s voice. He felt wonderful. He half-closed his eyes and remembered the shock of his fist against skin and bone and against the brass buttons of the uniform. ‘It was okay,’ he said. ‘Only he didn’t last long enough. I should have carried him a while. He was just a pile of shit. Next time let’s pick somebody who can fight.’
    ‘Boy,’ Claude said. ‘I really enjoyed that. I sure would like to see that fella’s face tomorrow. When you going to do it again?’
    Tom shrugged. ‘When I’m in the mood. Good night.’ He didn’t want Claude hanging around him any more. He wanted to be alone and remember every move of the fight Claude was used to these sudden rejections and treated them respectfully.
    Talent had its prerogatives. ‘Good night,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
    Tom waved and turned off down the avenue for the long
    walk towards his house. They had to be careful to go to other parts of town when Tom wanted to fight. He was too well
    known in his own neighbourhood. Everybody avoided him when they sensed one of his moods coming on.
    He walked swiftly towards home down the dark street towards the smell of the river, dancing a little around a lamppost here and there. He’d shown them, he’d shown them. And he was going to show them a lot more. Them.
    As he turned the last corner, he saw his sister Gretchen approaching the house from the other end of the street. She was hurrying and she had her head down and she didn’t see him. He slipped into a doorway across the street and waited. He didn’t want to have to talk to his sister. She hadn’t said anything that he wanted to hear since he was eight years old. He watched her almost run up to the door next to the bakery window and get her key out of her bag. Maybe once he would follow her and really find out what she did with her nights.
    Gretchen opened the door and went in. Tom waited until he was sure that she was safely upstairs in her room, then crossed the street and stood in front of the weathered grey frame building. Home. He had been born in that house. He had come unexpectedly, early, and