The Dylan Thomas Murders Read Online Free PDF Page B

a prop forward, huge hands. And he was black. That really shocked Eliot, I could see.
    â€œHe was well known to the locals, for they cheered and cheered when he climbed in the ring. He took off his shirt, and laid it carefully in one corner. He took out a small tin from his pocket and rubbed his body with grease till his chest gleamed like cocoa in candle-light. The man from Bristol was taunting him, I can’t remember what he said, but nowadays we would say it was racist. The young man took no notice, and calmly came to the centre of the ring.
    â€œThe referee started the fight and then quickly jumped out of the way. The two men moved around each other cautiously. A few blows were landed, but not many, and then a handbell was rung to end the round. As the young boy turned to go back to his corner, the Bristol man hit him on the side of the head. Well, that made the crowd absolutely livid and for a moment we thought they’d invade the ring and lynch him.
    â€œThe second round was pretty bloody, and I can only say that Eliot was engrossed. I doubt if he knew I was beside him, or that half of west Wales were shouting their heads off behind us. It lasted far longer than it should have, because someone forgot to ring the bell, or if they did, no-one heard it. Eventually, the local policeman climbed into the ring and dragged the two men apart.
    â€œAs the third round started, someone shouted some comment about the Bristol man’s legs. The crowd burst out laughing. The young boy lost his concentration, and was hit badly. He staggered back across the ring and fell on the grass. The crowd went silent again. Eliot whooped with joy and gave me a hug. He leaned forward and kissed me. You might describe it as passionate.
    â€œThe young boy staggered to his feet, and they threw a bucket of cold water over him. He came forward, quite steady and snarling. He threw one punch to the Bristol man’s face, squashing his nose and mouth, and he collapsed. The crowd cheered wildly and some started singing ‘Bread of Heaven’. He was up on eight, and staggered back to the ropes. The young boy moved in, and that was it. The Bristol man pretended to stumble, the boy hesitated and was caught on the side of his face. His legs gave way, and he dropped to the grass. And there was Eliot, leaping to his feet, arms outstretched in joy, suddenly twisting in mid-air as if he were a dog catching a fly. Then he dropped to the ground, and was scrabbling round on his hands and knees, looking for something in the grass. He jumped up with this wonderful smile on his face and held out his upturned hand. It was a blood-smeared tooth, lying there like a beached seal pup. He unscrewed the top of his cane, put the tooth in the top, and screwed it back on again. He took me in his arms, and kissed me again.
    â€œWe caught the little bus back to Ciliau, though I felt like making my own way home. The incident with the tooth had upset me. We sat in the front seat and Eliot talked, rather incoherently as if he were drunk, about the time he had spent in Paris. It was early evening when we arrived back at the house. The Fabers were out. Eliot rang the bell in the drawing room and asked Annie to prepare some food. He paced about, still muttering about Paris, and took two or three sizeable whiskies. After we’d eaten, we walked down to the river, and came back up the field to the Beech Walk. By now, we were holding hands. We stopped at the walled garden, and went down the path to his shed. He shuffled his papers about, had another whisky from a bottle that was hidden in a bag of compost, and said something silly about not being able to get a decent bottle of Irish whiskey so the next best thing was to put the scotch in peat.
    â€œI took his hands, pulled him towards me and put his head on my shoulder. I put one hand on the back of his neck and the other around his waist. He went completely limp and folded into me. I stroked the back of his