Heart of Scorpio Read online

  In those days Andrés was an eighteen year old kid with clear political aspirations, spending his free time organizing street marches in Bogota. That was when the friendship between Milton and Andrés started, based more on mutual interest than affection, and it continued for more than twenty years.

  From the 28th of October of 1972, when Olivella won the title, the country that had rejected him for being poor, ugly and black now hung on every single detail of his life. The same heavies who controlled the TV programming and didn’t want to televise Olivella’s first title fight because they thought that boxing was for the blacks and the poor now paid to see his apartment in Bocagrande, or to watch the stylist at the Reinado beauty salon trim Milton’s hair and moustache. El Universal hired a reporter who for more than five years had no other responsibility than to follow Olivella’s footsteps. El Espacio never missed a single detail of the champ’s love life and put him on more than five hundred front pages, each showing him with a different woman. Between 1973 and 1980 El Tiempo dedicated more pages of the cultural section to Milton Olivella than to Nobel Prize-winning novelist Gabriel García Márquez. The magazine Semana dedicated three special editions to the champ. The first reviewed Olivella’s sophisticated musical tastes. The second revealed his favorite foods and drinks, a mix of international cuisine and local favorites that graced the table in the home of the king of the 140 pound class. The last, titled, ‘Colombia’s Best Dressed Man,’ featured the contents of his closet. El Espectador asked Gabriel García Márquez to write a chronicle about the occult forces that helped Milton but the novelist abandoned the project because he considered them to be very powerful forces in which he preferred not to meddle. The only thing that came out of their private meetings was that the spirits that accompanied Olivella in the ring came from the heart of Africa and that he had received them as part of a blood pact in exchange for glory in the ring.

  Olivella’s influence was so great that when he stated in a radio interview that the seafood empanadas at the Pegasus pier in Cartagena had aphrodisiac powers they sold out in a matter of hours and exhausted the supply of shellfish in the whole country within the week. It was said in Cartagena that he could, with a word, place councilmembers and mayors, and that in his best days he could have gotten more votes for president than the entire Conservative Party.”

  * * *

  “A blood pact in exchange for glory in the ring,” thought Olivella sitting with his arms resting on the ropes with his eyes closed, when the sound of the bell snapped him back into the present. It was common for Olivella to daydream during a fight. He stood up in his corner and saw King full of energy and coming toward him. He made space between a chair and a table, downed a shot of rum, chased it with a swallow of beer and steeled himself for King´s onslaught.

  He told about the fight as if he were there at the present moment, as if he had told it many times. “I walked him around the ring a little trying to get to his side. I was moving towards the corners and towards the center but him, nothing; he punched and punched and never got tired or let his guard down. I raised my guard and he moved away from me looking for a long distance punch, something he felt like he could connect with the right. He was trying to sense when my defense was opening up. You, know, brotha, he had a longer reach than me, he was taller than me and that long-distance fight worked to his advantage. I tried to wear him down but he was a young guy, you know how it is. At the start of the third I decided to surprise him. As soon as the referee motioned for us to come out of our corners, I walked right up to him and hit him with a combination. I figured if I could catch him, he´d be done: knockout. But nothin´ doin´ brotha, the boy was slick; he got by me on the right side and clinched me. I was tired and I leaned on him to rest, you know how it is, brotha, you put all your weight on him and you rest, and the other guy gets tired, while I hit him in the ribs, you know, bro, those punches take it out of ´em, they wear ´em down, but ol´ King was an old dog and he nailed me with a headbutt that opened up my right eyebrow. When they separated us I made like I was just gonna wait on him, you know how it is, like I was saying, ‘I´m getting ready for ya, you stay over there and I´ll wait for you over here’ and he got distracted for a second. He believed it and relaxed a little, and I hit him with a short, quick combination to the midsection.” Milton gave a little jump to the side of a table and put together some low, quick punches without going to the trouble of keeping his guard up. The crowd made a sound like a big wind entering through an open window. The punches bounced off King´s midsection like asphalt and Milton threw a big right hand that sailed up and looked for King’s unprotected chin. King avoided the punch and let loose a hook that exploded against Milton’s ribs. “Sometimes you can see things in slow motion during the fight. It’s a strange thing, brotha. When King nailed me in the ribs I started to see everything in slow motion, you understand me. Sometimes it happens because something hurts real bad, like in my ribs, but it also happens when you see a little daylight in the other guy’s defense and you stick your hand in there and send him to the mat, you see that in slow motion, too. I thought, ‘OK, brotha, let’s go, let’s go, this is the fight you gotta win, this is the one that’s gonna pull you out of the mud. From now on it’s all uphill, no more chances, if you lose this one it’s all over.’” King moved two steps to get to Milton. He launched a straight punch with each hand, starting with the right, that bashed against Milton’s defense and then, before stepping back, an upper cut that hit nothing thanks to Olivella’s hip movement. “That’s it, bro, that’s it, taking care of those ribs,” thought Milton. “It’s over; he had his turn, now it’s yours.”

  Julián

  I call Lucero again and she doesn’t answer. I put the phone down and leave for the lawyer’s office.

  Armando Carreño, Attorney reads a gold plaque on the office door. The secretary tells me to wait for “the doctor” to be free. I explain to her that I’m in a hurry and she says it shouldn’t take more than five minutes.

  She’s not bad. She’s got dark, straight hair and dark eyes and cinnamon skin. She’s wearing a Gap shirt that doesn’t show good taste but shows that she’s making an effort. I bet she’d hit the sheets with me.

  You want me to call you later, I ask.

  I have a boyfriend, sir, she responds.

  It seems like the lawyer is doing well and makes good money and there’s no doubt that he’s getting it on with the secretary. It’s a big office and everything looks clean and elegant. There are books with photos of Cartagena that people can look at while they wait.

  The secretary tells me I can go in Carreño’s office. I don’t know what was keeping “the doctor” busy because no one came out of his office when I went in. It’s an old lawyer trick: make the clients wait so they seem much more important. The problem is that you have to have money to do that; if you don’t, you know, nobody waits for a person without money.

  It’s a big office with walls lined with books. No doubt he’s one of those people who hasn’t read a single one of the books in his office. I wouldn’t waste my money on a library. It’s the most useless thing you can think of.

  The lawyer is real friendly when he greets me and he recognizes me on the spot. He says he’s a great admirer of my father, that he’s a person who’s given much to Colombia, bla, bla, bla. He’s wearing a John Varvatos suit which says that he’s got good taste and he goes to the United States to buy clothes. But really, it’s nothing that my father wouldn’t have worn in another time.

  So to get down to business I explain, What my father and mother and I want is for the pension that the government gives to my father for the honor that he bestowed on Colombia to be controlled by me instead of by him.

  I see, said Carreño. In other words, you’d be the new administrator of that pension.

  No, my mother would be the pension administrator, I say.

  And what do you need a legal proceeding for if all the parties involved are in agreement? asks Carreño.

  I
make a face like I don’t understand.

  It seems to me like if everyone agrees, explains Carreño, the easiest thing to do would be for your father to hand over the money to your mother every month.

  What’s going on is that with my father’s drug problems, he’d rather not have the temptation so close to him, I say.

  Ah. And why not put in the document that your mother will be the one who will receive the money from the pension, asks Carreño.

  You know, Mom is getting up in years and it’s better not to expose her to all the bureaucratic red tape and have her wait in line every month, I say.

  For a document of that kind we need the signature of all the parties, the lawyer tells me. We’ll revise the paperwork and you can go get all the signatures and come back to the office and we’ll make the document legal. We shook hands and said goodbye. When I was about to leave the office the lawyer told me to say hello to my father and tell him he’s a great admirer.

  I leave the office with the revised paperwork and the secretary doesn’t say goodbye to me, so I don’t even turn around to wave to her.

  In the elevator I’m thinking all about it. It occurs to me that he asked me all those questions to try to get me to bribe him, as if what I was asking him to do was against the law. He’s not a guy capable of sacrificing, this lawyer Carreño. He’s not someone who would take care of his mother like I’m doing. That’s why he’s got an office like that. You can’t be a good person and be successful in business.

  Johnny Pitalúa

  That kid Miguel could be fighting for the title in a year and a half or two years if he would have stayed with me. Nobody else in this gym is a title contender. That’s a thing you can see in a fighter, you understand. Like when Turk Samir clapped eyes on Milton the first time we went to his gym. But that business of going off with the Venezuelans and turning his back on everything I’ve done for him here is ingratitude, you understand me.

  And then I said, “Hard, ‘Hands of yams’, hard. You hit like that you won’t knock down your grandma.”

  “Hands of yams” is a dedicated man and he’s not a bad fighter but he’s never going to fight for a world title. That’s how I was. Well, no not really. This kid has his strong points but doesn’t have the stuff of a real champion; I didn’t have anything, some desire but nothing else. If he’s lucky he’ll win a couple of important fights, make a little money and retire with some recognition. At the end of the day, fighters like “Hands of yams” are more important because they’re the ones that can surprise you and make the sport. When you really think about it, a lot of world champions really didn’t have the stuff of a champion, just discipline and good luck, because if there’s not a great reigning champion, like Milton or Muhammad Ali or Mike Tyson, somebody who has to have the crown, then that’s an opportunity for the good fighters who may not have championship stuff. If in boxing there were only the great world champions, we’d only have a fight about every eight years, you understand.

  And I said, “Harder, harder. When you move me and the bag with one punch you can say you’ve got a punch to fight for a world title.”

  And then Kid Óscar “Hands of yams” Manzur said, “Milton moved you and the bag and everything when he hit?”

  And I, “Of course, me and one more guy. It was impressive, cuz.”

  And there’s the point, the kid Miguel had the talent and desire, one in a million, you understand, and the discipline, the will, the desire, cuz, the desire.

  And Blackie Espinosa said, “They’re looking for you, Ol’ Johnny.”

  I let go of the sandbag and turned around. Standing next to Espinosa was the kid Miguel with his backpack on his shoulder.

  And I said, “What a miracle, Migue’! How you doin’?”

  And the kid Miguel said, “You got time for a cup of coffee, Ol’ Johnny?”

  So when we went for the coffee the kid Miguel said, “Ol’ Johnny, here’s the deal. Those dudes ain’t legal, you understand, they were telling me that they were going to give me some money to fight and afterwards they gave me less, and stuff like that.”

  The kid Miguel took a sip of coffee and kept going, “I thought they were on my team, people I could trust, the ones that have your back and all that stuff; but if you can’t trust your team you’re screwed. It’s just . . . I don’t feel good like that, Ol’ Johnny.”

  And I said, “That’s how those people are, cuz, I told you a thousand times.”

  I stirred the sugar that had settled in the bottom of the coffee cup.

  And the kid Miguel said, “You’re exactly right, Ol’ Johnny, exactly right. But here’s the deal, sometimes you gotta learn for yourself the hard way, you understand, you don’t learn from other people’s mistakes. It’s just that, when I went with those guys I believed in everything that you had told me about who to trust, it’s just that I thought these guys I went with were gonna be OK, you understand, you always think that you’re gonna have better luck than everybody else. It’s like when you get married, Ol’ Johnny, you think you’re never gonna have the same problems other people have in their marriages, you know, less problems than your folks had, you think your marriage is gonna be the only perfect one, Ol’ Johnny, the only perfect one.”

  And I, “That’s how it is, Migue’.”

  And the kid Miguel, “The deal is that I want to come back to the gym, Ol’ Johnny, here with the people, and I want you to manage my stuff, like before. I know I screwed up, ol’ man, and that I hurt you, but I realized that this is the only place where people are gonna be interested in my career, and not just tryin’ to get money out of me. We were a team here and that’s what’s most important, Ol’ Johnny. It really is.”

  The kid Miguel sat there for a minute without saying anything waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t say anything.

  And then the kid Miguel said, “Ol’ Johnny, I learn from my mistakes, you know, and I learned this lesson like they say. I’m man enough to tell you I screwed this up and you and Blackie Espinosa and Olivella had warned me and I went off first thing and screwed it up, but I’m also man enough to tell you that this is my team and my team to the death.”

  And then I said, “You’re getting all philosophical on me, cuz.”

  And the kid Miguel, “Of course, Ol’ Johnny, absolutely. This is serious, Ol’ Johnny, on my mother’s life. Boxing is my life, you know, and I want to go far and to go far you need a solid team, you know, teamwork . . .”

  And I said, “Well, enough speechmaking, cuz, better finish that coffee and go change.”

  And then the kid Miguel went wide-eyed and said, “No shit? Thanks, Ol’ Johnny, really, I won’t let you down.”

  * * *

  It was the second fight against the Argentine Marturet where Olivella took the punch that hurt him. The first fight was in 1971, the year before Olivella won the title. Marturet was the reigning champion and Olivella faced him as the challenger. Luna Park[1] was overflowing with people and from the beginning Milton knew who was beating him. It wasn’t the Argentine’s punches; it was the delirious support of the multitude that filled that arena. Marturet was the pride of a country that lifted up its heroes to never let them back down, a country that never would abandon them. It was a sensation that he never felt in his own country, there was never a Colombian crowd that would intimidate a foreign fighter. But the fight where he got hurt was a lot later, in 1976, in the second fight against Marturet, where Olivella was the champion and the Argentine was the contender. The fight was unequal from the very beginning. Marturet, an excellent fighter, especially agile, already had a lot of fights and years under his belt but his speed and power weren’t what they once were. From the beginning, Olivella punished him with impunity. Bap, to the face of Marturet, bam, a shot to the mouth, boom boom, a cross and a hook to the body of the Argentine who staggered, bang, a straight to the eyebrow that started to bleed, bap, bap, two straight overhands to the bleeding eyebrow, boom, a hand of stone ripped his lips open. The Argentine
took the beating and held on to the ropes to keep from falling. He clinched Olivella, ran from him for entire rounds, avoided taking him on and clinched him again to keep from fighting. Every now and then he’d throw wild punches with everything he had hoping to win the fight with a knockout. One of those punches caught Milton in the ribs and had him spitting blood for nearly a month. The fight ended when somebody from Marturet’s corner threw in the towel. Olivella raised his arms and celebrated. When he got back to the dressing room he recognized Marturet’s dry mournful cry.

  Olivella’s narration was interrupted by a group of men who entered the bar who breathlessly told what they knew about a tragedy that happened barely a block away. It seems that a man had given a prostitute such a severe beating that she died.

  Julián

  I call Lucero one more time. No answer. It was a good day to get laid.

  I look for something for lunch. Something cheap. I’m not the kind of person who spends money on lunch paying for nice furniture, well dressed waiters and cooks who studied in France. It’s a shame what happened to my father: first he didn’t even have enough to eat, then he only ate in exclusive restaurants, and now he begs for food on the street. That’s never happening to me.

  Now that I think about it I’m going home for lunch. I stop a taxi and get in.