The Dog Fighter by Marc Bojanowski Read Free Book Online

The sound of the water reminded me of the creek where I lay with Perla in my arms. But this air smelled only of salt. Not of wet trees and fallen logs and her perfume. We were some distance now from the smell of dirt and rocks. Of land. In the quiet of the journey I was quickly frustrated by my remembering Perla. I chose to ignore that she did not look me in the eyes when we were together intimately. I was a fool to think that she had cared for me. That I cared for her enough to kill a man that I honestly did not know if he should die. I never saw him hit her. Never heard him say a word against her honor. And to have her betray me. I had let myself be made the fool. My relationship with her while I was not drinking and imposing my size on others had been a time of peace in my young life. So much that I did not think killing her husband something violent but necessary. I decided this feeling of peace had been because of her. Now I was not sure.
    I decided to end these thoughts by walking the deck of the ferry. I was a young man then thinking only of myself in ways I wanted others to fear me. To create and tell stories that held my name as my grandfather said they would. Soon I was drawn to laughter at the back of the ferry. A group of children crowded around a skinny toothless man who kept a pet scorpion in a mason jar. The face of the toothless man scarred by working in the sun. The gums of his mouth black but with shallow pink impressions where his teeth had once been. He held the mason jar at eye level for the children to admire the tiny yellow creature. They staggered back shrieking when the scorpion struck at their fingers touching the jar. At this the toothless man laughed delighted. Quickly I became jealous of his audience. Of how he possessed their attention.
    When the mothers noticed me approaching they dragged the children by their small arms into the shade. Some husbands near a large box of hemp ropes and wrenches stood and crossed their arms. Some of the workers woke those who slept to witness the scene. The toothless man hurried to put the mason jar into his canvas bag but his dirty fingers struggled to untie a knot already undone. When the last child was gone I stood over the toothless man with my hand extended. My palm up.
    Pendejo! A man hissed at the toothless man. Give it to him.
    I held the jar to the sun. Turned it slowly. A drop of venom collected at the end of the scorpions stinger. Honey on a thorn. I had never before seen such a beautiful creature. It was something of my grandfathers dreams. My tongue tingled and if the workingmen had not been present I would have whispered to it.
    She is beautiful verdad? The toothless man stammered his words. Holding out his grimy hand for the jar. I found her a year ago. I did not see her until she stung me. My arm went dead for a week. Before I kept her in a little box with some velvet. But in Pueblo I had to sell it to eat.
    Knife tip sized holes were poked through the lid of the jar. I put my nose over these and the smell of the scorpion was a damp handful of black soil. In the reflection of the glass I enjoyed the audience that had gathered around me but some feet away. The toothless man looked nervously for help but those eyes he met only looked down. The older women crossed their hands over the chests of the children. Crossed themselves. Some decided to return to the heat below.
    Her legs are not made for crawling over glass. The toothless man said but stopped when I unscrewed the lid slowly. I. He stammered. I.
    To steal the toothless mans audience completely I handed him the jar and held out my hand. Children leaned forward. Eyes white and wide. They gasped when the scorpion staggered into my palm from the jar. My thighs shivered. This is when I felt most strong.
    Fool. I heard a man say about the toothless man.
    You would do the same. Said another.
    The stinger at the end of the scorpions tail curled stiffly above its head. Almost to a vibration.
    Count. I