Bob and Weave

Number One Fighter

100 Number One Fighter He has learned to tolerate their hands. There is no training for the first fight, only waiting in a small room with one window too high to reach. Only a feminine voice from speakers telling Tom he has no choice, he will fight. He takes comfort from the fact that it is a woman’s voice. The sunlight in his window for one hour each day is good, and Tom is grateful. And the food, though bland, is healthy, and he remains strong. He can see their faces, but he has learned to forget them instantly, to become ignorant of faces. The fight takes place in a larger room. No windows this time, only a small camera dangling from each of the four corners. He has been given a dark blue costume, tight fitting. The other man’s costume is the same, except it is white. Both men have a knife with a six inch blade. The door closes behind Tom, and he looks at the other man. Small but wiry. He will be quick. Tom knows he must get in an early damaging thrust, must use his superior strength. There are only two rules: (1) A fighter must not throw his knife. If he does and he kills the other, he will face the number one fighter next. (2) One fighter must die. Early on, the smaller man proves his quickness. A skilled practitioner of the bob-and-weave, he slips Tom’s every thrust and slash. Even his eyes are quick, shifting alertly in their assessment of Tom’s feet and hands, never meeting Tom’s eyes. And his hands are never still, like huge crazed flies whirling before Tom’s face. Soon Tom has cuts on his forearm and both thighs. There is more blood on the mat than sweat. He is growing weak. Without thinking, he retreats a step, takes his knife by the blade and throws it. It is only in this moment Tom realizes his knife is a well crafted weapon, perfectly balanced. The way it releases from his fingers, the way it rotates in the air like the spokes of a wheel. The way it enters the small man’s chest almost without a sound. How quickly the man with quick hands empties his life onto the floor. 101 For two days they are good to Tom. Good food, treatment for his cuts, time to rest. Time to contemplate the skills of the number one fighter. He requests and receives training in the bob-and-weave. Finally they strip him naked, give him his knife and shove him through another door. The mind has this power—to extend one instant into a great space. Tom finds the other man in a distant corner, also naked, a short, fat man with frightened eyes, a black splash of hair, already crouched with his left foot forward, right arm and hand extended before him and moving across his body which has already begun its forward curl into a tumble. Offense and defense packaged into one swift motion. The will to move explodes in Tom’s chest—bob first, then weave. Already the air is full of spinning light. ...