When he opened his eyes the first thing he could make out was the peeling paint from the ceiling of the casino ballroom, and the flood lights were blinding him, partly because he couldn’t open the eye that was gashed and teared up with blood, and partly because the top of his head was pushing down on to his brain, and he felt stupid to be so happy but proud that he had fought without fear. His jaw was locked and he was grinding the back of his teeth, and he choked on cigarette smoke and clotted blood he breathed in through his nose, and it took him a while to speak because he was focused on not dying in the moment from the suffocation. This was the nearest casino to the southern border and the Mexicans had taken back the area, like tall grass on an abandoned road, and they usually were a nasty crowd when he fought, but in the moment they all were looking away, waiting for him to get off of his back. Ray noticed how the ceiling paint was peeled from the humidity and how the canvas was shifting and spinning against his back, and at that moment he knew he’d lost again.

“Sit down Ray. Sit Down.” His coach sat the stool down.

His ribs hurt when he lifted up and he felt like vomiting from the pain. The coach took the mouthpiece out with two fingers and Ray spit on the coach’s apron.  He was drooling blood out onto his chest while he looked past the coach with wide eyes.

“Ray, look at me. Look at me Ray. This was your last one. No more.”

“What’s that coach?”

“That was it, Ray. No more.”

“What you mean no more?”

“No more Ray. You’re worn down.”

“It was an even fight in the beginning.”

“It’s always even in the beginning.”

Ray remembered now the young Mexican had fought hard. He had come across the border from Juarez the night before and he came in overweight.  Ray’s coach never wanted to take fights with Mexicans on short notice–not since Tijuana, where the vaquero with the worn-down gloves broke Ray’s jaw and eye socket and no one got paid for the fight because it ended too quickly.  Ray’s coach told him to not take this fight and Ray took it anyway and the Mexican had broken Ray’s collarbone in the third round. Afterwards he couldn’t protect his face, and his left eye started to bleed badly from the beating and he didn’t see the knockout punch.  It was easy getting knocked out. He was glad it happened the way it did because he didn’t want Grace seeing him getting beat for too long again.  She never liked to watch it when it went for too long.

“Where’s Grace, coach?  She didn’t stay too long did she?” Ray asked.

“Grace left early, Ray. She left. No woman is gonna keep hanging around for fights like this.”

“Next time he’ll go down. ”

“Ain’t gone be no next time. You’re outta time.”

“How you gonna tell your fighter he’s out of time?”

“Somebody gotta tell you you’re outta time, else you just gonna keep on fighting.”

In the spring before his first professional fight, Ray trained and ran the hills in the forest upstate. He was alone in the hills but didn’t notice the loneliness because of the training. He trained hard that spring and in the summer he made the paper for hurting the Italian boy badly. The Italian’s coach was lost in the fight so he kept it going and the Italian kept on fighting even after the fight was over, and he died a few days later in a hospital bed in White Plains. After his fighter died he had no more fighters to coach, and they said he shot himself sitting in a car on the top of a hill.

Back in the dressing room, an Indian wearing cowboy boots delivered a check to his coach and told them they had to be out in two minutes. There was another fighter coming in. The coach folded the check and put it in his pocket. The Indian left and they were the only two left in the dressing room. A broken light buzzed and flickered in the hall.

Ray pushed himself up and the coach helped him change his underwear that were wet from when his head hit the ground. Ray couldn’t feel his legs, but he knew they were there.

“I know a guy that’s got some work, Ray. Good work.”

“How am I supposed to train if I’m working?”

“You ain’t gonna be training ‘cause you ain’t gone be fighting Ray.”

The coach looked away as he spoke.

“You’re worn down Ray. I’m the only person who’s man enough to tell you. Grace would tell you, but she loves you too much. No woman can tell a man that when she loves him Ray, so I’ll tell you–it’s over.”

The coach wiped the blood from Ray’s mouth like a child, and he was embarrassed–embarrassed to be there and embarrassed that Ray was not embarrassed. The coach knew Grace would leave Ray, not because of the beatings, but because she was still young and had enough money to get through the hard times immediately after leaving a man.

“I’m gonna get you to town, Ray. There’s a hospital in town.”

“Grace will take me. The nurses like Grace. Where is she?”

“I told you Ray–she’s gone.”

A warm breeze came down through the valley as they walked out into the night air. The moon was coming up from behind the mesa and coyotes howled behind the horizon. Ray was cold in the night, but felt better as he closed his eyes and let his breathing slow. As he drifted off, Ray dreamed of becoming champion of the world.