‘It’s way out in Queens.’
‘Hey, get dressed. I don’t care where it is, you can’t go alone.’
Cody was a true gentleman. His macho bravado had vanished when they met the girls, replaced by a tenderness that astounded Hatcher. Now Cody organized the trek to the hospital quickly, and when they were gone Hatcher and Linda lay side by side in the bed, the news of the wreck somehow making sex — even touching — seem self-indulgent and frivolous. They lay there for a long time, Hatcher dozing off, then ‘waking, then dozing off again. The sky was turning gray when the doorbell rang.
Linda sat bolt upright in bed.
‘My God, who could that be?’ she whispered. Hatcher scrambled to the door and peered through the peephole.
‘It’s Murph,’ he said and opened the door.
Cody stood there with his hat under his arm.
‘Just thought you’d like to know that Fred — that’s Helen’s brother — is gonna make it.’
‘Hey, that’s great,’ Hatcher said.
‘I didn’t know the phone number, that’s why I didn’t call.’
‘Hey, right, we’re glad to get the news.’
‘Uh.. .‘
‘Yeah?’
‘I don’t feel like going back to the hotel alone,’ he said quietly.
Linda, huddled in a bathrobe, appeared in the doorway beside Hatcher.
‘C’mon,’ she said, drawing Cody into the apartment. Hatcher and Linda got back in bed and watched Cody strip to his shorts, and as he sat on the edge of the bed taking off his socks, Linda looked at Hatcher and turned back to Cody and said, ‘Hey, sailor, come on over here, this bed’s warm already.’
Cody smiled and looked at Hatcher, who motioned him over; he crossed the room and slid in beside Linda. And Hatcher and Murphy each put an arm around her and they all fell back to sleep.
Hatcher, in remembering that night, thought, My God, was life ever really that simple and innocent? Had friendship and love ever been closer together than on that night?
Then the next morning they were back on the bus, and suddenly Hatcher was ‘maggot’ again and it was as if the trip had never happened.
Spring 1964. There was still a chill in the air but fifty miles away in Washington the Japanese apple trees were in bloom and tourists were crowding the malls and parks shooting pictures, and at the academy Hatcher was double-timing across the yard thinking, Two more months, only two more months, and this shit will be over.
The now familiar voice cried, ‘Maggot!’
Hatcher stopped immediately, chin in, eyes boring straight ahead. Cody stood behind him.
‘Tryouts at the gym, three tomorrow. Be there.’
‘Yes,
Hatcher got to the gym early and ‘worked the fast bag for fifteen minutes, loosening up, enjoying the familiar arena smell of alcohol and Ben Gay. Then Snyder showed up, cocky as always.
Cody, still a few weeks from being captain of the team, was acting referee. When they called for the middleweights, Cody made sure Hatcher and Snyder were paired off against each other.
‘Three rounds,’ he said. ‘Winner makes the team, loser goes to the bone pile. Break clean when I tell you to, no rabbit punching. Shake and come outfighting.’
He checked Snyder’s gloves, patted him on the shoulder, then crossed to Hatcher’s corner and, leaning over, checking the laces, said very softly, ‘I told you he’s got a glass jaw. He also has a left uppercut like a torpedo. He’ll try to infight and tag you with the left. Box him two rounds to slow him up, move in and keep on top of the left so he can’t throw it. One good shot anywhere from the point to the ear and you’ll plant him.’
It was sound advice. Hatcher played to Snyder’s left, constantly jabbing and moving, crowding the left so Snyder couldn’t break it loose. Twice he took good solid shots and shook them off, countering quickly with combinations of his own. He was faster than Snyder and, he quickly knew, smarter. Snyder was a flat-footed fighter, a plodder, stalking his opponent while looking for a shot. Hatcher didn’t give it to him. Then Snyder made a move. He jogged in, threw the right and then brought the left up hard. Hatcher took it on his shoulder and there, right in front of his eyes and wide open, was Snyder’s flat, ugly jaw. Hatcher fired a hard, straight right cross over Snyder’s shoulder, right into the jaw just under the ear. He felt the power of the punch telescope up his arm to his shoulder, saw Snyder’s eyes roam wildly out of control, saw his legs turn to jelly. Snyder turned halfway around and fell straight to the deck.
Cody walked across the ring and stared down at Snyder’s limp form for a moment, then nodded to Hatcher. ‘Welcome to the team,’ he said with a grin.
Graduation day, 1964. Outside Hatcher’s room, there seemed to be a constant scurrying of feet as the midshipmen rushed to and fro across the yard getting ready for the dress parade. Hatcher was setting his cap when Cody appeared in the doorway, that stern hawk face glowing.
‘All right, you’re still maggots until after the parade. Everybody out but Hatcher.’
Hatcher’s roommates vaulted out of the room. Hatcher stood at sharp attention in front of Cody, but for the first time he stared straight at the upperclassman, a practice forbidden the first-year frogs.
‘Maggot, do you know what a floogie bird is?’ demanded Cody.
‘No, sir.’
