Finally, the prow of the boat bumped into a sand bank, stewed around and came to rest.
Not bothering about the other two, I stripped off my wet, mudcaked shirt and dived into the sea. I swam slowly, feeling the mud, the blood and the sweat leaving my body.
A woman doesn't scream that at the husband she has lived with for only six months in that tone of voice unless she means it. This wasn't hysteria. I knew I had lost Lucy.
When I felt clean enough, I swam back to the boat. I swam slowly. I saw Timoteo and Lucy were also in the sea. I trod water, watching them. After a while they came out of the sea and moved up the beach to a sand dune.
I came out of the sea and walked up to them.
Timoteo got to his feet while Lucy sat where she was, staring up at me, her eyes round and terrified.
'Okay, slob,' I said, pausing in front of him. 'Maybe you can't shoot, but you can steal my wife. Tell me, how many times have you screwed her?'
He didn't react as I hoped he would. I had hoped to provoke him to take a swing at me and then it would have been a knock down and drag out which I wanted.
'Did my father do that to you?' he asked in a shocked, husky whisper.
I saw he was looking at the Red Dragon brand.
'Does that bother you?' I said. 'Does that bother you more than stealing my wife? Your father isn't fit to live. I'm going to kill him.' I moved around so that I stood in front of Lucy. She jumped to her feet, backing away from me.
'Look at this, Lucy,' I said, pointing to the brand. 'His father said he would put this on your face if I didn't kill a man this slob is too gutless to kill. He branded me to show me he meant business. Do you still want this gutless creep who hasn't the guts to spit in the face of the animal who calls himself his father? Do you?'
She stared with horror at the brand mark, then she put her hands to her face.
'Lucy! Do you want me or do you want him?' I yelled at her.
I saw by the expression in her eyes that I had lost her.
'I'm sorry, Jay . . . We love each other.'
I slapped her face. As she reeled back, I saw Timoteo move. I spun around and into a punch that lifted me off my feet and flung me down on my back with my head half in the sea.
I wanted this. I was sure I could take him. I wanted to smash him and drop him bleeding and helpless at Lucy's feet. I wanted to show her the kind of man she had chosen.
I had had a number of fights when I was in the Army. Every so often you got a challenge: some guy would think he was better than you and you had to show him he was wrong. Sometimes a guy was nearly right and the fight was long, bloody and savage. I had had around twenty fights while I was in the Army and I lost only one. This guy I had lost to had a chest like a beer barrel and I had broken my hands on him. He took everything I gave him : grinning, his face a mask of blood. I got one of his teeth embedded in my fist and I broke two fingers of my left hand hanging a punch on his jaw. He took everything I dished out and he still stayed on his feet. Then when I had nothing else to throw at him, he started to creep towards me like a crab and started hitting me. Well, he was a better fighter and a lot stronger than I was, and when he finally stretched me on my back, covered with blood, I admitted it.
But I was sure Timoteo wasn't a better and stronger fighter than I was, but I had learned he could punch and he was fast so I moved towards him cautiously. I wanted to land one crippling punch and once I had him shaken, I would go in and cut him to pieces: that's what I wanted to do.
I moved in, weaving, my head down, my chin tucked in, feinting with my left to set him up for my right. It was the classic Jack Dempsey attack, but he wasn't there. As my right started, he slid away. With the ease of a professional, he caught me with a short jolting right that exploded on the side of my jaw and stretched me flat on my back.
I had walked into the punch and worse, I hadn't seen it coming. Then I knew I was up against a fighter who might lick me. I felt a trickle of blood run down my chin. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, shook my head and got to my feet.
Timoteo stood away from me, his long arms hanging by his sides, his serious, goddam intellectual face expressionless.
I started towards him. He let me come within punching distance, then with the same professional arrogance, he slid my rush and again I found myself flat on my back from a bruising punch to the side of my head. This long slob carried a punch like the kick of a mule.
I stared tip at him. He had again moved back and was looking down at me. Behind him I could see Lucy watching, her eyes large and her hands to her face.
'You're quite a fighter, aren't you, you sonofabitch?' I said as I got to my feet. 'Well, so am I.'
He could dish it out, but could he take it? I knew I could absorb a lot of punishment. I was built to take it, but could this thin beanpole take a man-sized punch?
He seemed rooted to the sand until I got within range of him, then he flitted away. He poked out a long left that thudded into my face and rocked me back.
Go ahead, slob, I thought, and I kept coming in to be jabbed away with long raking lefts. Up to now I hadn't landed a punch on him, and I had taken half a dozen jolts, but I had taken such punches before. I again bored in. The left jab came again, but this time I was ready for it, I shifted and closed in. I hit him in the belly with all I had. I felt my fist sink in. I heard the breath come out of him like the sound of a burst tyre. I saw his face fall to pieces and I smashed my right to his jaw. He went down as if pole-axed. I stood over him, my chest heaving, blood from the cuts he had made in my face dripping on my chest.
Lucy ran between us and kneeling down, she lifted his head and cradled it against her breasts.
