Sunday, February 18, 2007
Chapter 3 7,340words.
I wake up and instantly know where I am. Elizabeth doesn’t like getting up so early, but she loves the strength and energy of my body and dutifully does the 100-sit ups and 100 pushups that’s been my wakeup routine forever. There’s a phone call for me, this is the very first time Elizabeth has used a phone, and she was thrilled hearing the voice emitted from the instrument. Of course she knew all about phones, because of her ability to scan my memory, and glean any and all information there. The act of actually talking on a telephone was a pleasurable experience for her. I wondered who could be calling? After fifty years I figured everyone I knew would have died by now. I answered, “Jim Jackson here.”
“Hello Mr. Jackson, this is your attorney Mr. Zloty.”
I’m thinking he has to be over a hundred and I can’t believe he has lived this long. I told him, (I thought and Elizabeth told) “Aren’t you a little old to still be working?”
“I’m sorry, my father who was your original attorney died thirty years ago. I inherited your file along with his business. Now the reason I’m calling is about your trust fund. Do you remember setting that up with my father?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well the initial investment has multiplied many times over and you’re a very wealthy man Mr. Jackson. If you’d like to come in we can go over your assets so you can take control of them or if you’d like I can continue to handle them for you.”
“How much are we talking about I asked?”
“ I don’t have an exact figure but I can tell you, you’re worth multiple millions of dollars.”
“You mean like a billion.”
“Not quite yet, but in a few years you should be there.”
I pretend to be nonplused at this disclosure, but Elizabeth is trembling all over. Almost a billion dollars, she knows is a vast amount of money. She said, “In that case put $2,000,000 in an account that I can easily access and I’ll see you when I get an opportunity.”
“O.K. Mr. Jackson I’ll get that done right away. Where do you want me to send the paperwork?”
“I don’t know where I’ll be staying yet.”
“Let me send a cell phone to your son’s house and then I can find you whenever I need a signature or confirmation on any issues that may arise.”
“All right, send one on over. Goodbye for now Mr. Zloty.” Elizabeth was thrilled. She knew a million dollars was a lot of money and to have many millions meant I could live like royalty. In the manner she was accustomed to. To top it off she was getting a cell phone, something that absolutely was a miracle to her.
If she only had one of these back then! She sent a shudder through my body when she thought of back then. She told herself to concentrate on the now.
Now meant she wanted to get laid, because the masturbation she experienced last night had whetted her desire to experience sex from a mans perspective, I mean she wanted to get laid! Using my body to see how it felt.
Audrey had breakfast ready, and Joe was sitting at the table looking at pictures of Emily and me before he was born. I look at her picture and my heart skips a beat. She was so beautiful I’m thinking, and Elizabeth agrees with me. Elizabeth enjoys eating my breakfast, and I again wish I could be the one enjoying it.
My son asked me if I was nervous about seeing mom? Mom! Then I remember he means Emily and I sense somewhat the years I’ve missed, because it’s hard to picture anyone calling sweet, young Emily, “MOM!” I answer in the affirmative, and tell him I’m ready when he is.
It’s not a long drive to the nursing home where she lives. It’s definitely a first class facility and I make a note to somehow reward my son for taking such good care of his mother. We walk through the double doors and head for the elevators as Joe tells me, she’s on the third floor.
If I had control of my body, I’d be shaking now, I’m so nervous. I follow Joe down the hall to her room; he knocks and opens the door. I stare as he walks in and kisses the very old woman in the room. I’m shocked, repulsed, confused, I knew Emily was in her seventies, but to see her. Her luxurious, thick black hair, now completely gray, her smooth flawless skin, now as wrinkled as the prunes I ate at breakfast, her twinkling eyes, those beautiful eyes are dimmed and almost sightless. I want to close my eyes so I don’t see anymore, but Elizabeth doesn’t let me. I see the I.V. stuck in her arm and the diaper she’s wearing. I’d cry if I could, but Elizabeth prevents this too. She’s staring at Emily, and she’s shocked too. After viewing her pictures shortly before coming here, and commenting on how beautiful she was. To see her now, a shriveled, dried up old woman was an affront to her senses. It made her aware of the effects of time and she appreciates my body all the more.
Emily doesn’t comprehend when my son tries to tell her who I am. I’m glad she doesn’t, because if the situation were reversed I sure wouldn’t want to see Emily at twenty-five when I was in my seventies. I should have thought of this before we came to visit. Not much I could’ve done about it anyway, Elizabeth is in charge. We leave, and I’m happy to get out of there. My memories of Emily destroyed by seeing how time has destroyed her.
When we get back to Joe’s house there’s a limousine parked in front. A gift from Mr. Zloti, sent along with the cell phone he promised. The driver explains how Mr. Zloti was concerned I may not be used to driving after all the years of being out of circulation. The car and driver were mine as long as I wanted them. Nice touch I thought. If I was worth “Many millions,” I’m sure he has made millions from my money over the years. It was still a nice gesture and Elizabeth sure appreciated it. She could hardly believe that such machines existed, and driving one she felt was beyond her capabilities for now. Even using my abilities it would’ve been a difficult task to drive after all this time.
Elizabeth told the driver to take us to the best hotel in town, and paid for it with the unlimited American Express card, Zloti had sent with the driver.
Elizabeth wanted the best room available, so we ended up moving into the penthouse amidst opulent luxury that I had never experienced in my previous life. She lived in luxury in the 1500’s, but compared to this that luxury was medieval, well it actually was medieval. What I’m trying to say is there’s no comparison to luxury then and now. Elizabeth played with all the gadgets, the remote that opened and closed the drapes, the remote for the T.V., and stereo, even the vibrating bed thrilled her. She loved the Jacuzzi tub, and hot shaving cream dispenser. She opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the patio. She looked up and thought the sky was beautiful and the lighted buildings surrounding us, breathtaking. Then she looked down, and was overcome with acrophobia. She froze in place; her fear of falling from this great height amazed me, because I never had a fear of heights. She’s thinking, “I’ve never been higher than the castle turret before now. I need to accustom myself to these great heights that are nothing to you.
I walked into the room and she grabbed the T.V. remote and turned it on. Of course it was tuned to the porno channel with an S&M movie playing. We watched it, she got aroused, me, I got mentally stimulated. Not having any feelings is a tough way to live, but like I said before, it beats floating around in a tank full of nitrogen.
She reads the hotel brochure and a picture of a couple dancing in the lounge gets her attention. She decides that’s where she wants to go, and gets dressed in a dark blue Armani suit she had purchased for me by using the cell phone and giving the tailor my measurements. They had delivered a dozen suits within an hour of the call. Of course they delivered all the accessories with the suits, because she had told them to spare no expense. Just get the best that money could buy.
I look in the mirror, and see my handsome self, looking back at me. The suit hugs my body like it was made for it, The blue shirt sets of my very white face framed in thick jet black hair that’s combed straight back, The scar running from my right eyebrow down to my lip gives me a dangerous look, taking away from what might have been considered a pretty boy look.
As I’m leaving I take one last look at the movie, and the closing scene of the movie arouses Elizabeth, She turns the T.V. off and heads for the lounge. She refuses to take the glass-enclosed elevator, and finds an interior one to take down. I walk into the crowded lounge and pass un-noticed through the crowd until I find an empty stool at the bar.
The place was full of women who were soft and delicious looking, and if I had control of myself, my mouth would have been watering at the sight of so much delectable flesh. Instead my eyes are wandering and settle on the man sitting next to me. He’s around my age, “I mean the age I look.” He’s well dressed and I find very personnel when he introduces himself as Alex, and warmly shakes my hand when I say, “Hi I’m Jim.” I want to look at the beautiful women, but Elizabeth has my eyes glued on Alex. “What’n the fuck is she doing, I question myself? Then I remember, (She) I start to panic, and mentally I’m screaming, No! No!” She’s entranced with Alex, and completely ignores my mental screaming. Alex is getting very chummy, while telling me the latest joke, he puts his arm around my shoulder in a friendly manner. I try with all my ability to shrug the arm off, to no avail. I can think all I want, but Elizabeth is in complete control.
I rationalize, and tell myself he’s just being friendly. Then I feel his hand on my leg, slowly moving towards my balls. Now mentally I’m sweating, on the verge of a panic attack. His hand is on my dick, and it’s getting hard. How can this be I wonder, because mentally I’m puking at the thought of some homo, holding onto my dick. Elizabeth is transfixed, enjoying every “To her” sensuous moment. She responds in kind, and puts my hand in his lap. I’m so repulsed I want to pass out, but I can’t, she’s in control as my hand feels his rock hard dick through his pants. Now I’m mentally screaming for her to stop, and she continues to ignore me.
Her and Alex decide to go up to my room for a drink, and I’m helpless to do anything to stop this insanity. Insanity is, me having sex with a man. If she goes through with this, I’ll never be the same, never be able to look in a mirror without calling myself a faggot.
We get in the glass-enclosed elevator. Elizabeth is so excited she has forgotten her fears. We’re in my room, Alex takes his jacket off, Elizabeth takes my jacket off, and we’re sitting side by side on the couch. Alex leans toward me with his eyes closed and his lips pursed, posed for a kiss. God-dam Elizabeth is leaning forward to kiss him when I see my reflection in the glass doors. The scar is vivid now and I remember how I got it. Rage! Anger boils over, me sitting here with a fucking queer, about to swap spit with him is just too much. My rage boils over, and I take control away from Elizabeth. I punch the closed eyed Alex right in the face as hard as I could. Taking my anger at Elizabeth out on him. I broke his nose and he’s lying on the floor bleeding, and perplexed. “Why,what?” He’s asking as I kick him in the ribs, and tell him to get the fuck out before I kill him. Elizabeth is fighting me mentally; I feel her regaining dominance over my mind. I run to the balcony and throw one leg over the balcony railing, and tell her, “ We’re going over if you don’t back off.” She relents and I see her fear of flying through space before hitting the ground.
I’m wondering if this is how it works for those poor bastards that have multiple personalities? Always fighting to see who’s going to be in charge.
Now I feel my wants and desires. I pick up the phone and now it’s me talking, not Elizabeth. I call an escort service and tell them to send three of their best right over. I’m sated, and lay there enjoying the feeling as I ask Elizabeth if she enjoyed the sex as much as I did, and was surprised when she answered yes. I fall to sleep, big mistake, when I wake up Elizabeth is firmly in control. She tells me that she’s willing to compromise, as I’m so repulsed by men she will only encourage women from now on. I know she compromises because she fears I’m getting stronger and may one day overcome her.
I let her know in no uncertain terms, “I want to claim my right to a championship fight.” This enthralls her, she always wanted to be a warrior, and this was an opportunity she couldn’t let pass her by. The opportunity to be a champion and to be admired as her husband was for his successfully fought battles.
I go shopping for a training gym, that’s right shopping, not one to join but one to buy. I’ve got to hand it to Elizabeth, nothing but first class for her. I purchased the gym I used to train in, and Elizabeth had it completely remodeled. Fit for royalty is the term she used when telling the contractors what improvements she wanted. Everyone worked 24/7 to complete the work as soon as possible.
While waiting I started my conditioning program by running ten miles a day, doing calisthenics, and shadow boxing. I could feel the vast improvement in my physique from the rebuilding my son’s nano-bots had done rebuilding me atom by atom. My endurance was astronomical, my reflexes were sharper than ever; I felt ready for the big fight right now.
The refurbished gym was ready in a matter of weeks. I hate to say this, but it was too classy for the type of guy that normally hangs out at a fighter’s gym. I wanted to be around my kind of people, and came up with a solution. I offered free membership to anyone in my weight class who could last one round with me while sparring. I figured to get some quality fighters to frequent my gym with this offer and keep the deadbeats away. Evidently free membership wasn’t enough of an incentive to get my fellow pugilist interested enough to enter this new world of amenities, as I didn’t acquire one member with this offer.
Elizabeth knew how motivating money was, and since we had plenty of it, a bonus of five thousand dollars would be paid along with free membership to anyone who could last one round with me in the ring. The only protection allowed would be a mouthpiece and a cup, and the gloves would be 8 ounces. I didn’t want to fight a bunch of pansy’s wearing headgear and pillow gloves, who would try to just hang on to complete the round. I wanted warriors who thought they could beat me. Also I wanted to be able to end it quickly, if I thought my opponent wasn’t deserving of a membership in my gym.
There was a line to sign up the day following the advertisement, and to my surprise the first in line was a woman named Helga. Elizabeth was thrilled to find out women could compete in this gladiatorial sport. I was dumbfounded that women allowed to even get near the ring. Of course a lot has changed since the 50’s. Elizabeth reminded me that we had hired the models that carried the round numbers around the ring as hostesses for our gym. That’s right I thought we didn’t even have that in the old days. I couldn’t fight a woman though; it would be unfair, and unequal. I hired her as a trainer on the spot, because just by being prepared to fight me I knew she had the spirit. Along with her pumped up muscular body I knew she was serious.
Several hundred signed up the first day; all had to pass a physical, stress test, x-rays and a psychological exam before they would be allowed to fight me. The $5000 was a great motivator, and not one applicant refused to participate in the test. Of course we told them a free lunch, and dinner would be supplied to all being tested. This motivated quite a few who I’m sure hadn’t eaten for a while.
One third of the applicants passed the exam with acceptable results. Now I had over two hundred potential gym members. All they had to do was last three minutes in the ring with a man who hadn’t been in one, in over fifty years. I saved the professional fighters for last, in order to get tuned up by going through the amateurs first.
Monday was the big day, I’d get to finally punch some galoot again, and I could hardly wait. Today is Friday; I’m resting for two days before I start fighting the ten rounds a day, I’ve scheduled for the next thirty days straight. We set the cut off point at three hundred for applicants, and knew there wouldn’t be a problem having that many ready for me. This would have been way to many rounds, (ten a day for thirty day’s) in the old days, but the way I was rebuilt gave me the strength and endurance for this agenda.
The ten are ready standing around the brand new boxing ring I had built in my brand newly remodeled gym. The word had spread of what I was about to do, and there were twenty reporters present, hoping to see me humiliated, I knew this story would sell papers, not the humdrum story of my sparring with amateurs.
I walk toward the ring, and some asshole plays the “Rocky Theme,” over the loudspeakers. The ten boxers are all warming up by skipping rope, punching speed, and heavy bags. My first opponent is already in the ring. I know he weighs in at two hundred and sixty lbs. fifty more than my two ten. He looks to be mostly solid, with just a smidgen of fat covering his muscles. I know this physique is the best for a heavyweight, not too much muscle, but enough to do damage.
I climb into the ring; remove my robe, and I’m ready for my first round in fifty-one years. The ref. has us touch gloves, and it begins. He charges me, trying to force me against the ropes. I easily sidestep him, and give him a good right to the kidney as he passes me. Elizabeth is thrilled, her dream of participating in combat is now being fulfilled, and she’s loving it. She has my adrenalin flowing, and goes on the attack to soon. I take a punch to my head, because of her eagerness. I’m telling her to let me fight. “I’m the expert,” she’s smart enough to realize what I’m saying is true, and control returns to me. I won’t make a mistake like that again, getting punched by some amateur.
My opponent tries to seize the initiative after landing that one punch. He’s rather clumsy, and not the type I want hanging around my gym. He charges again, I easily side step to his right this time, and catch him on the side of his head with a pretty good straight right. It dazes him, and already I can see the glaze in his eyes as I follow through with different combinations, he tries to counter, but just doesn’t have the speed. I finally put him away after a minute and a half; longer than I thought it would take. But hey! I haven’t fought in over fifty years. The other nine went easier, and there wasn’t one among them I would deem deserving of membership in my gym
The reporters to a man are amazed by my performance, and the story makes it to the second page of a few newspapers. “77 year old man knocks out ten younger ones.” With a short description of the action following.
I leave my dressing room the following day, and hear a commotion as I near the gym. As soon as I walk through the door, the “Rocky Theme” is loudly played over the loudspeaker system. I walk down the aisle, between a now very large crowd who cheer me as I pass. Elizabeth is loving this; it reminds her of the crowds that cheered her and the count after the many battles they had won.
I look at my opponents for today; I see fear, where yesterday I saw nothing but cockiness. I can almost read their thoughts, “He must be tired after yesterday, drag it out, make him come after us. They’re living on dreams, because I feel great, and I intend to come after each and every one of them.
Today went like yesterday, and was getting boring for me. I gave instructions to offer compensation of one thousand dollars to any amateur who would withdraw from the tournament. That way I could get to fight the pros., and maybe find some competition. All but eight of the amateurs accepted the thousand; they knew it was a better deal than fighting me in the hope of winning five. I was curious about the remaining eight, and looked them over. I didn’t see anything special; whatever they had to get them to stay must have been on the inside.
The next day I was to fight the remaining amateurs, and was glad to get them out of the way. The papers were now calling me the 77-year-old bully who was using his vast experience against a bunch of innocent novices. They all predicted a different outcome when I started fighting the pros in line.
Last day of novices I thought, and couldn’t wait to get it over with. The first contender was another big man; he didn’t appear to be well built at all. He surprised me when I immediately went after him; he easily danced away from me. A man that big, so light on his feet was amazing. I left jabbed, he blocked, I right crossed, he blocked, I left hooked following with a right cross, he blocks the hook, dodges the cross, and comes back with a right uppercut that glances off my chin. I dance backwards, amazed at the speed and agility of this big man. I want him to be a gym member, so I decide to let him last the full round. I feel the need to let him know I’m in control, and proceed to beat him bloody without finishing him. He’s the first one to go a complete round, and now I have at least one sparring partner. I fight the next six, and I guess the only thing special about these guys was their need for money. I see that each one gets a check for $1500 for their effort. There’s one left, a Mexican that I outweigh by about twenty pounds. I’m surprised that he thinks he has a chance. To my amazement when the fight starts, he’s smiling. Talking in Spanish he circles me, feinting every other step. I’m holding back, seeing what he’s going to do, when he comes directly at me, hands by his sides. I throw a jab that he avoids and throws his arms around me. He hangs on; the ref taps his back telling him to break. He pretends not to understand trying to get the clock to run. He only needs to last another 2-1/2 minutes. He finally lets go, I back him up to the ropes, and throw a body punch with my right, he wraps his arm around mine; I try to kidney punch him with me left, he wraps his arm around that too. He’s hanging on my arms with all his weight. Trying to tire me out, but I don’t get tired. I admire his perseverance and courage. I decide he will make a fine addition to my gym, and let him hang on until the round is over.
The sports page has a headline “Old man boxer, finally meets his match in underweight illegal immigrant.” The story goes on to tell how the next day I’ll be fighting professionals, and that means my joy ride is over.
It wasn’t fair to the first ten, because the stories got to me, and I was determined to show them they didn’t know beans. The first ten professionals took me all of ten minutes total to obliterate them.
The papers changed their tone, and were now calling me championship material. I went through the remaining boxers, and found 33 to my liking. Now I had a total of 35 sparring partners, and one-woman trainer. Elizabeth was awed by Helga’s courage. In her day a woman could never even think of meeting a man in hand to hand combat, yet here she was, willing to do so with some of the toughest men in the world. Elizabeth wanted to spar with her I absolutely refused. Elizabeth I knew didn’t want to risk my emotional upheaval by making me do something unnatural to me, so she relented.
I went to the boxing commission to renew my boxing license and was told the statues don’t allow anyone over fifty-five to be licensed. I argued that I was only twenty-seven actual years old as I had been entombed for fifty years. They apologized, but said, rules are rules. Yeah I answered, “Rules are made to be broken.” I couldn’t fight for the championship without a license. I was confused on what to do, when Elizabeth suggested I offer a large purse, and take on all comers who qualify. I thought about it, and decided I could have elimination fights. The winners of these fights would get to fight me. This way I wouldn’t need to wait forever to fight, I could have Monday, Wednesday and Friday night fights.
I set up thirty-five elimination bouts for the next week, ten bouts each on Mon., Wed. and Friday. Five were to be fought on Saturday. The winners would fight each other the following week. There would be an odd fighter; he would be kept in reserve in case of accident or illness to one of the other fighters.
Of course all thirty-five of my gym members would compete in the first round. That way I’d at least know there would be qualified fighters put up against me. These elimination bouts would go on weekly in order to keep me supplied with qualified opponents.
Now the motivation was $1000,000 to anyone who could last ten rounds< and 10,000,000 to anyone who beat me. I or should I say Elizabeth tried to get pay per view to carry the fights. They weren’t interested, so I got a local PBS channel to broadcast them.
The first Monday night fight came around, other than my fans, and the opponents fans there wasn’t very many in attendance. Two or three reporters who had been following me showed up. Of course the director and cameraman from the PBS station were there.
I read the dossier on my challenger for this night. It was impressive; thirty fights, 28 won, 26 of those by knockouts. 3 losses, and all the losses came at the worst time. When the fight really counted, he couldn’t seem to stay in there. Tonight there was no pressure on him, he was just here for the money, and hoped to last the full ten rounds. He hailed from South Africa, with the blondest hair, and bluest eyes I have ever seen. Big! Wasn’t a word to describe this guy. Humongous was more apt, He reminded me of the biblical pictures of Hercules; he was so well muscled, and weighed close to three hundred pounds. I wondered what those two guys who had beat him looked like?
We got the fight started; he tried to overpower me. And was surprised when he couldn’t move me backwards. We stood there toe to toe punching each other. I was able to block most punches, but a few grazing blows got through. I’m thinking if it wasn’t for the amazing rebuilding job those nano-bots of Joe’s did on my body, I probably wouldn’t be able to absorb the punches so easily.
He was a good fighter, and lasted three rounds. He didn’t win any money, but I sent him a $10,000 check and a membership card to the gym. He was the kind of fighter I wanted as a member.
The number of viewers, of the PBS station was up fractions on that first fight night. By the Friday night fight the number had tripled. They were featuring reruns of the fights three times a day. The end of the month they had gone from thousands of viewers to millions. Seems I was a phenomenon, every one, especially the old timers loved watching the old guy beat the heck out of the younger fighters night after night. This schedule of three fights a week amazed everyone who knew anything about boxing. Usually a champion boxer will fight once or twice a year. Here I am fighting twelve times a month times twelve months that will be 144 fights in one year.
Pay per view was now begging for rights to my fights’. The greedy bastards’ mouths’ were watering thinking of millions of viewers three times a week. As I didn’t need any more money, I told them PBS has exclusive rights to all the fights. PBS did sell some of those rights that was fine with me, because when I needed them, they were there for me. I was happy to see their faith in me rewarded.
A clamor went up for the Heavyweight Champion of the World to fight me. He refused on the grounds the Boxing Commission wouldn’t license me because I was too old. This bought him nothing but ridicule, and he petitioned the board to reinstate my license for one fight. It wasn’t his good nature that prompted this request. It was the huge purse offered by the Pay Per View companies.
The Champion was named “azzam Alhason Abbas” (In Arabic this translated as “determined, handsome, lion.”) He was the first and only Arab champion to date. He was widely disliked, but there was no one who could beat him. He had won sixty fights in five years. At twelve fights a year he was a prolific fighter also. He traveled with his harem wherever he went. This caused much resentment that this one rag head should have so many beautiful women for himself. The hatred was not unlike that for Jack Johnson at the turn of the twentieth century. Johnson being black, and beating all white contenders caused much hatred towards him. His dating of white women was scandalous in those days.
I felt he was a worthwhile champion, and if I beat him I would truly be champion of the world. My goal from so long ago, remembering how hard I worked back then, and the support Emily gave me. A feeling of guilt and regret washed over me. I haven’t even thought of her in months. I’m guessing I don’t think of her because of the sadness it brings.
This was to be the richest fight in history, and to be fought right here at home as I now have my boxing license. The fight was to be held in a football stadium in order to crowd in as many in as possible. The demand for tickets was great. Scalpers were getting three and four times the original price weeks before the fight.
Finally, fight night. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and when I look at the hulking champion, with his stupid looking turban and pointy boxing shoes, I see through the faade. Behind this masquerade is a cold calculating strong, vicious fighter. He lets one of his attendants unwrap his turban and long black hair flows to his shoulders. The attendant ties the hair into a ponytail. The champ looks at me through cold, calculating eyes, and smiles. If smiles could kill, this one sure would have. I don’t know how someone can put so much evil in a smile, but he sure accomplished it. I smiled my good natured Irish smile right back at him.
The ref. had us touch gloves; the bell rang. Instantly I knew I was in a fight, my punches were harmlessly glancing of the lion (As I came to think of him). His punches were strong and swift. I wasn’t prepared for someone as tough as this. No wonder he has been champ for so long I’m thinking, when a solid right hits me in the exact spot where my brain tumor used to be. The Lion takes advantage, and follows through with a left that splits my right eyebrow, right above the scar. I’m bleeding profusely, and the ref has me count fingers. He lets the fight go on and I’m wondering if I can hang on, he comes at me again, and I just cover up trying to shake the numbness in my head. He unanimously takes the first round. I’m glad I’ve got Helga in my corner, as she’s an expert cut person. She quickly stops the blood flowing from the long open gash above my eyebrow. My face is starting to swell from the beating it has taken.
2Nd round, I box him to a draw, while staying away from the vicious punches.
3rd round, I land a few that stun him, and he smiles that evil smile at me again. I don’t return the smile this time.
4th round, I wipe that smile off his face with a hard right uppercut that would have knocked out a normal man. The bell rings; I go to my corner, Helga says. “What the fuck?” I just look at her. She tells me, “The cuts almost healed, and all the swollen bruises in your face have gone away. It was then I knew the nano-bots were still at work, repairing my body. To tell you the truth, I was happy to know this. Now I thought, “I know Abbas can’t seriously hurt me, so I can afford to take a few chances.
5th round, I attack this time, and we slug it out toe to toe, and this gives me an idea. I lift my foot and step down on the lion’s pointy shoe. Now he can’t back up as I drive into him, punching with all my might into his solar plexuses. He tries to back up and falls because of my foot on his shoe. The ref rules it a knockdown, and Abbas is pissed, trying to claim tripping. Of course the ref. is an American and it’s a sure thing he’ll rule in my favor any chance he gets.
Abbas, takes the nine count and ferociously attacks me, trying to end it now. I bob, and weave then dance away from him. He’s pissed, and charges me; big mistake, I catch him with a right hook that puts him down. The bell is the only thing that saves him from a knockout.
6th round, he’s not smiling anymore, but I am. Now I go after him, and I see it, just a flicker, but its there. Fear is what I saw, and once it takes hold you may as well quit. I intended to inflict a lot more fear into him right now as I backed him into the ropes, and worked him over.
7th round, the fight announcers are talking about my miraculous comeback and the fact, my cut closed itself and my bruising was disappearing faster than bruises could be inflicted on me. Abbas ran the whole round.
8th round, Elizabeth is telling me to quit playing, and finish him now. There are only two rounds after this. I know I need a knockout to clearly win the title, so that’s what I go for. The Lion backs away, he knows too, all he has to do is last two more rounds, and he’ll still be champ. He last through the eigth, but I know I’m going to get him in the ninth.
9th round, Elizabeth warns me about the blinding substance she observed him putting on his gloves. I know I can’t let him get near enough to put his gloves in my face. I circle, and circle. He drops his gloves to say come on, and I do before he has a chance to raise his gloves I’m in his face with a triple combination that stuns him. I follow through with some mighty hard body shots until he’s forced to drop his guard to defend his body. As soon as he does this, I’m in his face again with some powerful punches, until he raises his gloves to protect his face. I again go for the body shots. He’s bleeding now. Nose, mouth, eyes, he’s really beat up. I’ve got to hand it to him, he’s not about to give up. The bell rings, round over.
10th round, this is it and we both know it. He tries to just last out the round, but I won’t let him. I go after him viciously, and Elizabeth is telling me, “Get him, get him.” I do, I get him in a corner, and when he tries to get out I hit him with a full roundhouse right that drops him to the canvas. His whole harem is screaming for him to get up, to no avail. He’s beyond getting up for a while. He doesn’t move until long after the ten count is over.
I get the championship belt something I wanted all my life. Now that I have it, it doesn’t mean much. I think again of Emily, and my heart sinks. All the joy of victory is dried up, and blown away with her memory.
The papers next day instead of celebrating my victory are calling me a freak. Saying I had help from the Devil, and Helga, my corner girl was a known witch. She was accused of using black magic to heal my cuts, and bruises during the fight. Poor Helga, probably didn’t even know what a witch was supposed to do. She called me crying, because of this adverse publicity, and I told not to worry. It would blow over in a few days. Elizabeth knew this witchcraft accusations were getting close to home for her. She started thinking about buying her castle in Romania.
Unfortunately it didn’t blow over, it got worse. So many had seen my cut heal, magically, and the swelling and bruises disappear, before their eyes. That made the charges of witchcraft believable. Worse yet, “The Lion.” Filed a protest with the boxing commission claiming I used illegal occult methods to win the fight. Get this, They’re considering his request.
Helga walking through the Boston Commons that night was set upon by a drunken mob, who were saying things like, burn the witch, kill the bitch. Being who she is, Helga didn’t run, but stood and confronted the mob. The mob began chanting, burn the bitch, kill the witch, burn the witch, kill the bitch, over and over they chanted. Finally Helga let her temper get the best of her, and waded into the crowd. She knocked a good many to the ground that remained conscious, but most who hit the ground were knocked cold. Maybe if there were only a hundred or so in the mob, she may have dispersed them. But this crowd numbered in the thousands, and she was soon overwhelmed. It’s hard to believe that when someone yelled, “String her up.” A rope as if by magic appeared, and a noose was thrown over her head; then tightened around her neck. The end of the rope was flung over a branch. Several men hauled on the rope, lifting Helga off her feet. Now the crowd was crying, “Burn her, Burn her.” Branches were broken off the surrounding trees for firewood. Soon there was a roaring fire under her feet. Just then Boston’s finest arrived with a contingent of mounted officers who rode right on over the mob. The horses trampling, and clubs beating them; the mob quickly dispersed.
Helgas flesh, from her feet to her waist was burned black. The EMT tried desperately to revive her, but the rope around her neck had slowly strangled her.
Jim and Elizabeth both were devastated by Helgas death, both had liked and admired her. Jim offered millions in reward money for the apprehension and conviction of anyone involved. Elizabeth thought Americans were uncontrollable, first Salem, now this.
It got worse when Father O’malley started his spiel about Jim Jackson being possessed, and needing a good exorcism. He made it abundantly clear that he was willing and able to perform this holy action to send the Devil back where he belongs.
Two days ago I was hailed as “The Champ,” today they’re calling for me to return the champion belt. They’re actually calling me Devil Spawn, and some other names that aren’t so nice. I’m worried about my son, and even Emily now, after what happened to poor Helga.
It sure wasn’t witchcraft that healed my cut, and bruises. It was science, those little nano-bots circulating in my blood, constantly repairing anything that needs repairing. This being Boston, I guessed there’s not a clear distinction between science and witchcraft. I had to agree, it wasn’t fair. If I hadn’t been repaired so quickly, who knows, maybe the Arab would have won? I send my resignation papers as world champion to the commission. They gratefully accept and,
Allow me to go on the books as the oldest heavy weight champion ever.
I give the gym to the members; Zloty takes care of all the details. I retire from boxing.
Elizabeth tells me, I want to return to my castle for a while, and if possible purchase it. This is fine with me. I look forward to a Romanian trip. It’ll be good to leave here, because I’m reviled here. People actually believe I’m in league with the Devil. Sometimes I wonder if Elizabeth is and by proxy, then I am.
I leave for the airport in the morning. The papers have reported this, and the streets are lined with spectators. Hoping to see the Devil. My car is pelted with garbage, and bottles all the way to the airport.