when god laughs and other stories(当上帝发笑时)-第38节
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and furious onslaught； overwhelming opposition with its own unlimited
glory of strength and desire。
Sandel was in and out； here； there； and everywhere； light…footed and
eager… hearted； a living wonder of white flesh and stinging muscle that
wove itself into a dazzling fabric of attack； slipping and leaping like a
flying shuttle from action to action through a thousand actions； all of them
centred upon the destruction of Tom King； who stood between him and
fortune。 And Tom King patiently endured。 He knew his business； and
he knew Youth now that Youth was no longer his。 There was nothing to
do till the other lost some of his steam； was his thought； and he grinned to
himself as he deliberately ducked so as to receive a heavy blow on the top
of his head。 It was a wicked thing to do； yet eminently fair according to
the rules of the boxing game。 A man was supposed to take care of his
own knuckles； and； if he insisted on hitting an opponent on the top of the
head； he did so at his own peril。 King could have ducked lower and let
the blow whiz harmlessly past； but he remembered his own early fights
and how he smashed his first knuckle on the head of the Welsh Terror。
He was but playing the game。 That duck had accounted for one of
Sandel's knuckles。 Not that Sandel would mind it now。 He would go on；
superbly regardless； hitting as hard as ever throughout the fight。 But later
on； when the long ring battles had begun to tell； he would regret that
knuckle and look back and remember how he smashed it on Tom King's
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
head。
The first round was all Sandel's； and he had the house yelling with the
rapidity of his whirlwind rushes。 He overwhelmed King with avalanches
of punches； and King did nothing。 He never struck once； contenting
himself with covering up； blocking and ducking and clinching to avoid
punishment。 He occasionally feinted； shook his head when the weight of a
punch landed； and moved stolidly about； never leaping or springing or
wasting an ounce of strength。 Sandel must foam the froth of Youth away
before discreet Age could dare to retaliate。 All King's movements were
slow and methodical； and his heavy…lidded； slow…moving eyes gave him
the appearance of being half asleep or dazed。 Yet they were eyes that
saw everything； that had been trained to see everything through all his
twenty years and odd in the ring。 They were eyes that did not blink or
waver before an impending blow； but that coolly saw and measured
distance。
Seated in his corner for the minute's rest at the end of the round； he lay
back with outstretched legs； his arms resting on the right angle of the ropes；
his chest and abdomen heaving frankly and deeply as he gulped down the
air driven by the towels of his seconds。 He listened with closed eyes to
the voices of the house； 〃Why don't yeh fight； Tom？〃 many were crying。
〃Yeh ain't afraid of 'im； are yeh？〃
〃Muscle…bound；〃 he heard a man on a front seat comment。 〃He can't
move quicker。 Two to one on Sandel； in quids。〃
The gong struck and the two men advanced from their corners。
Sandel came forward fully three…quarters of the distance； eager to begin
again； but King was content to advance the shorter distance。 It was in
line with his policy of economy。 He had not been well trained； and he
had not had enough to eat； and every step counted。 Besides； he had
already walked two miles to the ringside。 It was a repetition of the first
round； with Sandel attacking like a whirlwind and with the audience
indignantly demanding why King did not fight。 Beyond feinting and
several slowly delivered and ineffectual blows he did nothing save block
and stall and clinch。 Sandel wanted to make the pace fast； while King；
out of his wisdom； refused to accommodate him。 He grinned with a
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
certain wistful pathos in his ring… battered countenance； and went on
cherishing his strength with the jealousy of which only Age is capable。
Sandel was Youth； and he threw his strength away with the munificent
abandon of Youth。 To King belonged the ring generalship； the wisdom
bred of long； aching fights。 He watched with cool eyes and head； moving
slowly and waiting for Sandel's froth to foam away。 To the majority of the
onlookers it seemed as though King was hopelessly outclassed； and they
voiced their opinion in offers of three to one on Sandel。 But there were
wise ones； a few； who knew King of old time； and who covered what they
considered easy money。
The third round began as usual； one…sided； with Sandel doing all the
leading； and delivering all the punishment。 A half…minute had passed
when Sandel； over…confident； left an opening。 King's eyes and right arm
flashed in the same instant。 It was his first real blowa hook； with the
twisted arch of the arm to make it rigid； and with all the weight of the half…
pivoted body behind it。 It was like a sleepy…seeming lion suddenly
thrusting out a lightning paw。 Sandel； caught on the side of the jaw； was
felled like a bullock。 The audience gasped and murmured awe…stricken
applause。 The man was not muscle…bound； after all； and he could drive a
blow like a trip…hammer。
Sandel was shaken。 He rolled over and attempted to rise； but the
sharp yells from his seconds to take the count restrained him。 He knelt
on one knee； ready to rise； and waited； while the referee stood over him；
counting the seconds loudly in his ear。 At the ninth he rose in fighting
attitude； and Tom King； facing him； knew regret that the blow had not
been an inch nearer the point of the jaw。 That would have been a knock…
out； and he could have carried the thirty quid home to the missus and the
kiddies。
The round continued to the end of its three minutes； Sandel for the first
time respectful of his opponent and King slow of movement and sleepy…
eyed as ever。 As the round neared its close； King； warned of the fact by
sight of the seconds crouching outside ready for the spring in through the
ropes； worked the fight around to his own corner。 And when the gong
struck； he sat down immediately on the waiting stool； while Sandel had to
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walk all the way across the diagonal of the square to his own corner。 It
was a little thing； but it was the sum of little things that counted。 Sandel
was compelled to walk that many more steps； to give up that much energy；
and to lose a part of the precious minute of rest。 At the beginning of
every round King loafed slowly out from his corner； forcing his opponent
to advance the greater distance。 The end of every round found the fight
manoeuvred by King into his own corner so that he could immediately sit
down。
Two more rounds went by； in which King was parsimonious of effort
and Sandel prodigal。 The latter's attempt to force a fast pace made King
uncomfortable； for a fair percentage of the multitudinous blows showered
upon him went home。 Yet King persisted in his dogged slowness； despite
the crying of the young hot…heads for him to go in and fight。 Again； in
the sixth round； Sandel was careless； again Tom King's fearful right
flashed out to the jaw； and again Sandel took the nine seconds count。
By the seventh round Sandel's pink of condition was gone； and he
settled down to what he knew was to be the hardest fight in his experience。
Tom King was an old un； but a better old un than he had ever encountered…
…an old un who
