who’d vanished.
In the humid dark he followed slowly along the road. The seasons here confused him. It was another magic altogether, the warm winters, the hot, ugly summers. He no longer knew how old he was.
Louisiana–New Jersey–Virginia
1968–1970
It looks like Ali’s out of the picture for a while, Carney told him the next day—still stripped of that dang belt for draft evasion. But if you show good on your upcoming matches, we can probably risk putting you in with Joe Frazier. After that it’s history, sonny.
Jude hardly heard. He boxed but didn’t follow boxing. Carney said it would be the money he needed to retire. He’d become thin in recent months, the bones of his face prominent, his eyes yellowish. But Jude could think onlyof Louise’s belly, a line down it like that on a peach. The girl was gone. She was bright and strong and beyond his grasp.
One evening they walked the familiar lane between grown-up ditches and fields, a few pecans along the way, the shells of previous years in the gravel.
I know you’re not happy, Jude, she said. I can feel it. You don’t hardly speak and I don’t expect you to, but … I am just trying to understand this. Is it because I’m pregnant—
que je suis enceinte?
Or is it me?
He watched his shoes scuff in the dirt.
Peut-être j’étais …
I don’t know … just lonely, she said.
J’ai pensé …
I thought I knew.
They came to a farm where they’d walked often. They passed the gabled plantation house at a distance. The night sky shone in the groomed pond. Near the barn he smelled horses and fresh alfalfa.
She paused. I love barns, she said. It’s the lofts. I wished I had one when I was a kid.
The bay doors were open. A horse nickered and stomped somewhere inside.
Do you want to go up? she asked and looked at him. Her eyes shone. He regretted having ever met her.
T’es trop grande
.
Non
, she told him. Women used to do a lot pregnant.
Just inside she found the ladder. She tested the rungs and began climbing. He stared at her thighs, then followed.
The vaulted room was half-full, bales stacked along the ceiling. She lowered herself on one, and he sat nextto her. If he’d never left Québec, he’d have been a farmer or a fisherman. He tried to think of what he was. A boxer. The muscles of his shoulders coiled.
It’s normal to be afraid —
c’est normal
, she said. My grandmother once told me that accepting love or having a child is like accepting that you’re going to die.
In the drone of sawing crickets something scuffed in the rafters, the sound followed by a resonant birdlike fluting. As she spoke she leaned close. She smelled of cut grass and the sweet soil in the roots of pulled weeds. Listening, he felt as he had leaving home, forcing himself towards a dream of sunlight that came only in flashes, knowing already that what he’d loved was dead. A pale shape moved in the air, and it took him a second to realize. It was an owl swooping, its spread wings catching the ambient moonlight. Louise called his name sharply. He struck out and the bird and his hand appeared briefly joined, and he struck again and it fell too softly onto the hay.
Jude, she said and took his hand. Blood shone darkly on her fingers where she touched him.
When he returned to the club and Carney saw the swelling hand, the torn meat of the palm and the gouged muscles, he just stared.
Well, he said. I guess I was pretty close to retiring.
They went to a doctor this time. After the sewing and the shots Louise gave her own treatment. Carney cancelled a few fights. Watson was concerned, his face red, the hair at his temples wet. The club hadn’t beendrawing. Some thought it wasn’t competitive enough, others no more impressed with the white brutes than with the blacks.
The next night Carney died in his sleep. It was probably his heart. Maybe a stroke, the doctor said. No reason for an autopsy. Jude felt cut loose.
Those next days he stayed with Louise. He
In the humid dark he followed slowly along the road. The seasons here confused him. It was another magic altogether, the warm winters, the hot, ugly summers. He no longer knew how old he was.
Louisiana–New Jersey–Virginia
1968–1970
It looks like Ali’s out of the picture for a while, Carney told him the next day—still stripped of that dang belt for draft evasion. But if you show good on your upcoming matches, we can probably risk putting you in with Joe Frazier. After that it’s history, sonny.
Jude hardly heard. He boxed but didn’t follow boxing. Carney said it would be the money he needed to retire. He’d become thin in recent months, the bones of his face prominent, his eyes yellowish. But Jude could think onlyof Louise’s belly, a line down it like that on a peach. The girl was gone. She was bright and strong and beyond his grasp.
One evening they walked the familiar lane between grown-up ditches and fields, a few pecans along the way, the shells of previous years in the gravel.
I know you’re not happy, Jude, she said. I can feel it. You don’t hardly speak and I don’t expect you to, but … I am just trying to understand this. Is it because I’m pregnant—
que je suis enceinte?
Or is it me?
He watched his shoes scuff in the dirt.
Peut-être j’étais …
I don’t know … just lonely, she said.
J’ai pensé …
I thought I knew.
They came to a farm where they’d walked often. They passed the gabled plantation house at a distance. The night sky shone in the groomed pond. Near the barn he smelled horses and fresh alfalfa.
She paused. I love barns, she said. It’s the lofts. I wished I had one when I was a kid.
The bay doors were open. A horse nickered and stomped somewhere inside.
Do you want to go up? she asked and looked at him. Her eyes shone. He regretted having ever met her.
T’es trop grande
.
Non
, she told him. Women used to do a lot pregnant.
Just inside she found the ladder. She tested the rungs and began climbing. He stared at her thighs, then followed.
The vaulted room was half-full, bales stacked along the ceiling. She lowered herself on one, and he sat nextto her. If he’d never left Québec, he’d have been a farmer or a fisherman. He tried to think of what he was. A boxer. The muscles of his shoulders coiled.
It’s normal to be afraid —
c’est normal
, she said. My grandmother once told me that accepting love or having a child is like accepting that you’re going to die.
In the drone of sawing crickets something scuffed in the rafters, the sound followed by a resonant birdlike fluting. As she spoke she leaned close. She smelled of cut grass and the sweet soil in the roots of pulled weeds. Listening, he felt as he had leaving home, forcing himself towards a dream of sunlight that came only in flashes, knowing already that what he’d loved was dead. A pale shape moved in the air, and it took him a second to realize. It was an owl swooping, its spread wings catching the ambient moonlight. Louise called his name sharply. He struck out and the bird and his hand appeared briefly joined, and he struck again and it fell too softly onto the hay.
Jude, she said and took his hand. Blood shone darkly on her fingers where she touched him.
When he returned to the club and Carney saw the swelling hand, the torn meat of the palm and the gouged muscles, he just stared.
Well, he said. I guess I was pretty close to retiring.
They went to a doctor this time. After the sewing and the shots Louise gave her own treatment. Carney cancelled a few fights. Watson was concerned, his face red, the hair at his temples wet. The club hadn’t beendrawing. Some thought it wasn’t competitive enough, others no more impressed with the white brutes than with the blacks.
The next night Carney died in his sleep. It was probably his heart. Maybe a stroke, the doctor said. No reason for an autopsy. Jude felt cut loose.
Those next days he stayed with Louise. He
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