The Famished Road

‘Your fameis begi

‘Don’ttalktoomuch,’Dadsaid,takingup asouthpawstance.

It worried me that I couldn’t see the man’s eyes. The two men circled one another. Dad lashed out at him and the man grunted. Dad hit him again on the face and this time Dad cried out.

‘You’re like wood!’ Dad said.

‘Now you’re talking,’ the man said, and struck Dad in the face.

Dad fell, rolled over, and landed in a puddle. The man waited for him. I still couldn’t see his face. Dad got up slowly, his head hanging. Suddenly he rushed the man. The three lights dispersed at the assault. Then I noticed that many other lights of different colours had appeared. The two men fell in another puddle. They picked themselves up. Dad hit the man with all his might. The man grunted again and Dad cried out.

‘You’re like a tree!’

The man launched a barrage of punches at Dad. And I saw Dad ducking, parrying, shuffling, blocking with his elbows, bobbing and weaving, but he didn’t give way, or give ground. Then Dad, planting his feet solidly, let out a continuous animal cry, a wounded cry, and unleashed an onslaught of wild blows. He rained them down on the man. He released a veritable hurricane of combinations, of swinging punches, wild hooks, vicious crosses, crackling upper cuts. I saw the man rush backwards, I saw his head lower, his arms helpless. Dad didn’t stop his cry till he had beaten the man into theswamp.My spiritsliftedwithpride.Andthenthedarkness,seemingtorisethicker from the swamp, covered them both. There was silence. I waited. I heard nothing. I saw nothing. Then after a while I heard feet trampingthrough mud. Dad emerged and slouched towards me.

‘Where is the man?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Dad said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. ‘He disappeared in the swamp.’

And then I heard someonekickingin themud. Then amighty voice,speakingwith the power of the darkness, rose and said:

‘I have just started!’

And the man, all thunder and density, came rushing back into the fight. As he pounded towards Dad, emerging from the darkness, two things struck me about him: he was covered completely in mud, and his eyes burned yellow. He descended on Dad like a whirlwind, a mistral, a tornado. He shattered Dad’s defences. He anticipated Dad’severy movement.AndheknockedDadabouttheplace,cuttinghimdownwith swift punches and combinations, merciless blows, blinding and accurate counter-punches. Dad fell under the savage assault like a puppet. The man had become a ferocious energy, an u

‘Your eyes are too bright!’ cried Dad.

And then I realised that the yellow pair of eyes had joined on to the man.

‘I amamad Jaguar!’ theman boasted, andpouredafrighteningtorrentofblowson Dad.

The man went on beating Dad, pulverising him, crushing him with an avalanche of ceaseless punches. I could see Dad falling around in exhaustion and bewilderment. There was a terrified and cowardly look in his eyes. Blood poured down the sides of his noseand thecorners of hiseyes.Dadwastakingacruelbeatingbuthedidn’tturn around and run. He took the blows. He absorbed them. He withstood them. He soaked them into his body and spirit. I heard the wrenching of his neck. I heard the rattle of his teeth whenever the man’s knuckles co

‘Black Tyger, USE YOUR POWER!’ I cried.

And Dad, dead on cue, utterly surprised the man with the unrestrained and desperate fury of his own counter-attack. Dad rose miraculously in stature. And with all the concentrated rage and insanity of those who have a single moment in which to choose between living and dying, Dad broke the chains of his exhaustion and thundered such blows on the man as would a

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he whispered.

We waited. The wind moaned over the sleeping ghetto. Branches creaked. We felt around on the earth and then I came upon a hole. Dad went in and fetched a match. It wasn’t a hole, but the full imprint of a grown man on the ground, as if he had fallen a long way. Dad was covered in mud and blood. His mouth had been beaten out of shape and his lips had grown monstrous in a short space of time. His nose was all cut up and the swellings on his forehead frightened me. Blood drooled from the cut near his eyes and from the corner of his mouth.

I began to feel cold.

‘What was his name again?’ Dad asked, blowing out the match.

‘Yellow Jaguar,’ I said.

Dad gripped mein asudden horrifyingrealisation.

‘Yellow Jaguar used to be a famous boxer in this area,’ he said, lowering his voice fearfully.

‘What happened to him?’

‘He died three years ago.’

A shiver ran through my bones. I heard the wind draw a breath. Dad had beaten a boxer from the spirit world. He trembled. Then he held on to me, as if for support. I could feel him quaking.

‘It’s cold,’ I said.

‘Let’s go in,’ he said, hurriedly.

Then he lifted me up, ran back into the compound, and into our room. He locked thedoor. Hesatonhischair.InthedarknesswelistenedtoMumsleepingonthebed. Dad lit a cigarette. He smoked, his eyes blazing. I could smell the mud, the sweat, the fight, the excitement, the terror, and the blood on him. I could smell the fists of Yellow Jaguar on his spirit. I could smell Dad’s rebirth in advance. Sulphur stank on his breath. It was a mystery. When he finished his cigarette he went and had a wash. He came back and swiftly got into bed. I heard him tossing, turning, and creaking his body all night. He couldn’t sleep for thinking about the dead boxer. And neither could I.