The Man Game (72 page)

I crapped out at the end there, said Dee to Litz and Pisk afterwards.

No, for Christ—you were slaughtering out there, said Litz. Where'd you learn to—

You fishing for compliments or points or what? said Pisk.

No, I—

You beat
three
a those dudes, said Pisk. Be happy for yourself, eh. Meanwhile two a those dudes should a been for Litz. Who do you think you are?

I just meant—

What do you think so far? said Molly, looking down at her men.

Call down to Langis. I want to put ten dollars on Meier to

take Litz.

Ten dollars? I feel lucky.

Are you s-sure?

Are you really behind all this? Every detail? Was Smith to go out when he did? Is Litz sure to win the next game? These are my questions, Chinook.

Oh, Chinooky, she said, and swatted him. You tease me. Do you really care to know? Don't you like it?

I do, I really do.

It's funny, isn't it?

It is, yes. I may not have laughed aloud when Dee stopped to pick Boyd's tooth out of his kneecap, but I saw the humour regardless.

Would I marry a man who didn't love theatre?

He gazed at her, gazed at her soul all the way to the other side of this very weakness that pinned him down, and saw his solution in the watery green lakes of her gorgeous, maieutic eyes. This was one of the not infrequent occasions when his love was acutely defined by the panic he felt at the possibility of losing her.

Litz and Meier shook hands and Litz didn't let go. It was exactly what Clough had cautioned would happen. Meier tried the swift body flinch Clough had taught him, but it didn't work and soon they were in a tug-of-war over Meier's fingers inside Litz's ever more pinching claw.

Ow ow ow ow ow, said Meier. Litz had him in a brutal handshake, to the point that Meier sank to his knees in tears. His tears soaked his beard.

Clough shouted: Get the fuck back on your feet.

Meier was clenching his teeth and screaming: Oh, please somebody make him stop. He flipped flat on his back when Litz rotated the handshake a little so that if Meier didn't lie down it felt like his arm was going to pop out of its shoulder, elbow, and wrist sockets and all the tendons were going to rip apart like splintered trees. He begged Litz to stop, at which point Litz did a one-handed cartwheel and whiplashed Meier back on his feet. Still in his grip, Litz used the momentum to send himself flying over Meier's head, rotating their locked arms in space. When he landed he was
still attached to Meier. He dug his heels in the dirt and chucked Meier over his head one more time. He let go and Meier sailed into the crowd
{see
fig. 16.9
}
.

The critics responded:

What—

'The fuck—

Did you see that? Did you see that? Mother—

—'Fucker.

That was some fancy footwork.

First point to Litz, said Calabi, putting nib to pad.

For fuck's sake—, screamed Daggett. 'The hell was that? Don't tell me he meant that. No one means to do that. It don't make sense to look at.

That's the Flipping Handshake, said Vicars, hopefully.

'The fuck asked you?

No answer from Vicars.

That's no move, said Clough. That's purely accidental. The wind helped.

You saw as clear as anybody here, said Litz. It's my point. Call it whatever name you want, I'll show you the same handshake right now if you want, he said to Clough, reaching for his one hand. I'm a ballpeen hammer nailing you. I'm going to put each a you in the earth like a railroad spike. You see what I did to your poor friend Meier? The same for you two.

Not so much as a bead of perspiration lay on Litz's body. The audience was a little slow to comprehend the difficulty of
the move. Litz made it look like no more of a challenge than handwriting, something for experts, not masters. But then it became clear, in reviewing the move in their minds, that it was physically impossible, and that Litz was a god. Flick you off the ends a my fingers, he said to Meier, dancing riotously in the sudden applause. Litz was flexed at every step. Top condition. His skin looked thicker than cured meat.

FIGURE 16.9
The Somersaulting Carpenter,
aka the Flipping Handshake

Calabi's commentary: This move requires plenty a space and a limber opponent.

Happened so quickly, said Sammy, upstairs. I hardly had time to focus. How did he do that?

Litz has such long arms, said Molly, and he's firmly planted on the ground. It took us a few weeks to perfect it.

Only has a few moves, then?

When I was in Moscow, in three days an old master taught me, oh, it must be hundreds a dances. I learned how the b
od
y remembers. I can teach this way, so that the body remembers very easily. And now you see, it's been how long? six months we practise the man game?

Has it been so long? I see. The moves they must know …

Shh, she said, catching the insinuation in his voice. Oh, Sammy. Come to your senses. I would not betray you even in death. These are sportsmen. I love them as a prayer loves God, unrequited. Laughing at herself, she said: Quite unrequited. When will you trust me? When will you end your jealousies?

When we send our first child to war.

Our first child …, she said. Would you like to give me a child?

I'm not so foolish as to try to contain you with motherhood.

Motherhood would not contain me. Oh, try being kind to me for once. I'm so upset that you don't enjoy the man game.

I do, darling, I really do.

And so it was that the dodges and parries of love continued on upstairs while down below, surrounded by hate, Litz taught Meier how to do the Hudson's Bay Blankets, bearing down on him with all his weight.

I'm going to put you in figure-four leglocks, Litz said, walking past the audience, shaking hands with the hoi polloi, talking to Meier in high swagger. He took big tramping steps around the circle and snuck up behind and baited and swiped at Meier, just out of pleasure, then swooped in and connected, startling his opponent with the swiftness of ice water. He jammed Meier up at the knees in a rugged mazurka and broke him down, merciless. It wasn't even a move. He bragged about what he was going to do to Meier in very specific terms and then spooked him out completely by doing it, half-finished moves, crabbing up him and readying his forehead for a headbutt just to prove he could do the Wishful Thinking at any moment and finish him off. Litz did half a move, and then did the same half backwards. He made Meier look like a raggedy doll with no control over his own body. He was humiliating Furry & Daggett and they sure knew it. Clough was shaking his fist at him. Men in the crowd routinely took their hats off their heads, slapped themselves in the face with them, and said: How the fuck—? Tongues lolled below moustaches. Moustaches yellow-brown from smoking tobacco. Tongues grey-black from chewing tobacco. Jesus fuck—, they said. Motherfuck—, they said. Holy shi—, they said. He came in from above, moving with airy swiftness, and did his moves inside a blink.

I'm going to lean you over my shoulder like a blanket, fold you in four directions, throw you in the corner and get a dog to fall asleep on you
{see
fig. 16.10
}
.

FIGURE 16.10
Hudson's Bay Blankets

Calabi's commentary: Convince your opponent to flop across your back and carry him for twenty paces before dumping him.

Again, the entire crowd gasped.

Watch these murderous acrobatics, said Litz. Watch me paint you like a sign and nail you to the wall. I'm the ballpeen hammer, he repeated.

The next move ended with an unneccessary but instantly popular swooping gutkick that sent Meier into the crowd so hard that whole sections collapsed on top of each other like a pile of kindling sticks, Chinaman upon Chinaman, laughing with pigtailed glee. Hoisting Meier to his feet, they tossed him back into the ring for game point, limping to his fate, even dropping to a knee, head doozy, looking airless. Litz put his hands on Meier's chest and held him standing. One of Meier's eyes was bruised shut, the other wasn't focusing more than a bit.

You're making it look too easy, Litz said under his breath.

I'm fucked, said Meier.

Bullshit, said Litz, you're lazy. He grabbed his partner's wrists and took Meier through a fast waltz, dipped him once, waltzed back again even faster, dipped him again, then, after an enchanted pause, let him drop. It was standard vaudeville, but it was enough to win Litz the match. Five-zero. Shut out. Meier lay there, mouth ajar, his one decent eye looking stunned.

Cheering reached insurrectionary levels.

Litz stared down his challengers. Furry and Daggett alone remained. They seemed decently impressed with how speedily Litz had mopped up their best crewmate. Despite the unwavering poker faces, their respect was still visible in their shifting feet and hip swivels, plenty enough exposed weakness for the audience to see they'd taken a personal blow. True that Litz was a stark figure there in the chill, steaming. Undressed and unbeaten, inarguably the best player on toed feet. Anyone in his right mind would be intimidated.