“That’s real benevolent of him.”
“He’s got his good points. Like the way he protects his brother, T.J.”
“Brother?”
“Half-brother, actually. He’s retarded and about the size of a small army tank.”
I thought of the big man Leonard and I had seen working in the yard outside of the church.
“Rumor has it,” Hiram continued, “the boy wasn’t really the old man’s son either, but that the wife had been slipping around again. I don’t know. Maybe the Reverend wanted to believe she was slipping around. Man like him, it might have been easier to believe that than believe his seed could be tainted, could produce something like T.J. A giant with the mind of a poodle. Fitz, though, he always treated T.J. special. Real special. T.J. didn’t have Fitz, he wouldn’t last long. They got a serious bond.”
When we were close to the church and Reverend Fitzgerald’s house, Hiram said, “This might be the last year I see Fitz. When MeMaw passes, I know I’m through. Me and Fitz were kind of close when we were kids, but the older I get, harder it is for me to connect with the guy.”
We parked in the church lot, and before we got out of the van, I said, “I got a confession. Me and Leonard were over here the other day, like I said, but it didn’t go that well. We came looking for someone Leonard’s uncle knew that Reverend Fitzgerald was supposed to know, and well, Leonard and him didn’t hit it off.”
“How bad did they not hit it off?”
“Hard to say. Fitzgerald was polite. No one came to blows, but it was a little tense.”
“It was a point of religion?”
“That, and the fact that Leonard’s homosexual.”
Hiram was quiet for a time. “He’s queer?”
“That’s not a word he prefers.”
“Well, I didn’t mean nothing by it… I guess I didn’t. You queer?”
“No, I’m a Democrat when they’ve got the right people to vote for. Listen, Hiram, Leonard’s a good guy. I don’t know what your deal is concerning homosexuals, and frankly, I don’t care, but I wanted you to know what happened.”
“Leonard seems all right.”
“He is. Gay guys come in all shades and types. Leonard’s one of the good guys.”
“It’s just a surprise.”
“I know.”
“He’s not like I thought a queer was. He’s like us, you know. I mean… hell, I don’t know what I mean.”
“Nothing to know. I took you up on your offer to box so I could apologize to the Reverend. Things could be a little awkward is what I’m saying. I figured I ought to tell you now. You’re uncomfortable, you can drive me back.”
“No. No. I know how Fitz is. We’ll get through it.”
“Thanks,” I said.
We got out of the van and walked around to the back of the church.
T.J., dressed in gray sweatpants and T-shirt and tennis shoes, was standing at the back door and it startled me. He was just standing there, not moving. His arms hung limp by his sides. He seemed to be waiting on something, or considering some deep, forgotten secret that wouldn’t quite come to him. He looked like a black golem. He lifted his huge arms slightly and his hands flopped forward like catcher’s mitts on pegs.
Hiram said, “Fitz in, T.J.?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You remember me, T.J.?”
T.J. thought about it for a moment, and shook his head.
“That’s OK,” Hiram said. “Would you tell Fitz I’m here? Just say Hiram’s here. He’s expecting me.”
The giant nodded, turned and opened the door, and disappeared inside. Hiram turned to me, said, “Every year T.J. forgets who I am. He can only hold certain kinds of thoughts for so long. Remembering me from year to year isn’t one of them.”
A moment later T.J. came back, and Fitzgerald was with him. T.J. let Fitzgerald go outside, then took his place in the doorway, filling it, substituting for a door. Fitzgerald was wearing a white T-shirt and white shorts and tennis shoes. He was grinning until he saw me. He looked at me, then Hiram, then back to me. Slowly the grin came back.
“You decide I was right?” the Reverend said. “About wanting to hand your life over to God?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I conned Hiram to get a ride over here. I wanted to apologize for the other day. I’m sorry about how it went with you and my friend.”
“Ah, yes. Him. Well, it didn’t go so bad. Apologies were made all around. It’s over with.”
“I didn’t apologize,” I said, “and I wanted to. For me and him. We just got sideways. It wasn’t our intent to step on your beliefs.”
“You didn’t. They’re too solid for that. And I don’t need an apology. I was merely trying to do what it’s my mission to do. Point out how God sees things. Then let you, and your friend, take your own path. If you’re going to owe anyone an apology, it’s God.”
“Maybe I’ll drop him a card,” I said, then immediately wished I hadn’t. I was getting as bad as Leonard.
The Reverend, however, hadn’t lost his grin. He said, “You can laugh about anything in this life, my friend, but in the next-”
“Hap boxes,” Hiram said. “He’s a friend. That’s why I brought him. To box. Why don’t we just do that?”
“All right,” Fitzgerald said, “we can do that. T.J., move aside. You fellas come on in.”
34.
The only light in the gym was the sunlight that came through high shutter windows, and it was bright to the center of the gym, but there its reach played out and the shadow took over, grew darker toward the far wall.
The Reverend took off his T-shirt and showed us a hard body, and said, “Hiram, you and me. We’ll start easy, get warm.”
Hiram nodded, picked up some blue boxing gloves lying against the wall, and put them on. They were the slip-on kind. No strings.
The Reverend pulled on a pair of red gloves, and he and Hiram moved toward the center of the gym, and the line of light and shadow split them down the middle, putting one side of their bodies in the light, the other in the dark, but then they began to move, to bob and weave, to shuffle and dance, and they were one moment in brightness, the next in shadow.
Back and forth, around and around, reaching out with the gloves, slow at first, touching, jabbing, and then they came together and the blows were smooth and soft and not too quick, and on the sidelines T.J. watched like an attack dog, ready for the word.
They slugged and dodged and bobbed and weaved, and Hiram was, as he said, a scrapper, not a boxer but a scrapper. He threw his punches wide and dropped his hands, but he was fast and game and landed shots because of it. Fitzgerald was somewhere between a boxer and a brawler. It was obvious he was holding back. He could easily have been a retired heavyweight, a guy that might have been a contender.
They eventually came together in the center of the gym, locked arms, and began moving around and around in a circle, light and shadow, their foreheads pushed together as if they were Siamese twins connected by flesh and brain tissue. Around and around. T.J. carefully watching.
Finally Fitzgerald pushed Hiram away and smiled at him. “You’re a little better, my man.”
“I been working out at a gym,” Hiram said when he got his breath. “But I’ve had all I want.”
“You tire too easily,” Fitzgerald said.
“That’s the truth,” Hiram said.
Fitzgerald looked at me. “You want to go?”
“Sure,” I said.
Fitzgerald turned to T.J. “Take it easy, T.J. It’s just fun.”
