"Turn and walk to your corners and don't turn around," Sheriff Jimmy said.
George and Harry did as they were told. Sheriff Jimmy followed Harry and put an arm around his shoulders. "I got four hogs riding on you," he said. "And I'll tell you what, you beat the nigger and I'll do you a favor. Elvira, who works over at the cafe has already agreed. You win and you can have her. How's that sound?"
Harry was too numb with the insanity of it all to answer. Sheriff Jimmy was offering him a piece of ass if he won, as if dus would be greater incentive than coming out of the pit alive.
With this bunch there was just no way to anticipate what might come next. Nothing was static.
"She can do more tricks with a six inch dick than a monkey can with a hundred foot of grapevine, boy. When the going gets rough in there, you remember that. Okay?"
Harry didn't answer. He just looked at the pit wall.
"You ain't gonna get nowhere in life being sullen like that," Sheriff Jimmy said. "Now, you go get him and plow a rut in his black ass.
Sheriff Jimmy grabbed Harry by the shoulders and whirled him around, slapped him hard across the face in the same way the dogs had been slapped. George had been done the same way by the preacher. Now George and Harry were facing one another.
Harry thought George looked like an ebony gargoyle fresh escaped from hell. His bald, bullet-like head gleamed in the harsh lights and his body looked as rough and ragged as stone.
Harry and George raised their hands in classic boxer stance and began to circle one another.
From above someone yelled, "Don't hit the nigger in the head, it'll break your hand. Go for the lips, they got soft lips."
The smell of sweat, dog blood and Old Codger's shit was thick in the air. The lust of the crowd seemed to have an aroma as well. Harry even thought he could smell Preacher's snakes. Once, when a boy, he had been fishing down by the creek bed and had smelled an odor like that, and a water moccasin had wriggled out beneath his legs and splashed in the water. It was as if everything he feared in the world had been put in this pit. The idea of being put deep down in the ground. Irrational people for whom logic did not exist.
Rotting skulls on poles about the pit.
living skulls attached to hunched-forward bodies that yelled for blood. Snakes.
The stench of death-blood and shit.
And every white man's fear, racist or not-a big, black man with a lifetime of hatred in his eyes.
The circle tightened. They could almost touch one another now.
Suddenly George's lips began to tremble. His eyes poked out of his head, seemed to be looking at something just behind and to the right of Harry.
"Sss… snake!" George screamed.
God, thought Harry, one of Preacher's snakes has escaped. Harry jerked his head for a look.
And George stepped in and knocked him on his ass and kicked him full in the chest. Harry began scuttling along the ground on his hands and knees, George following along kicking him in the ribs. Harry thought he felt something snap inside, a cracked rib maybe. He finally scuttled to his feet and bicycled around the pit. Goddamn, he thought, I fell for the oldest, silli-est trick in the book.
Here I am fighting for my life and I fell for it.
"Way to go, stupid fuck!" A voice screamed from the bleachers. "Hey nigger, why don't you try 'hey, your shoe's untied,' he'll go for it."
"Get off the goddamned bicycle," someone else yelled. "Fight."
"You better run," George said. "I catch you I'm gonna punch you so hard in the mouth, gonna knock your fucking teeth out your asshole Harry felt dizzy. His head was like a yo-yo doing the Around the World trick.
Blood ran down his forehead, dribbled off the tip of his nose and gathered on his upper lip.
George was closing the gap again.
I'm going to die right here in this pit, thought Harry. I'm going to die just because my truck broke down outside of town and no one knows where I am. That's why I'm going to die. It's as simple as that.
Popcorn rained down on Harry and a tossed cup of ice hit him in the back.
"Wanted to see a fucking foot race," a voice called, "I'd have gone to the fucking racetrack."
"Ten on the nigger," another voice said.
"Five bucks the nigger kills him in five minutes."
When Harry backpedaled past Preacher, the snake man leaned forward and snapped,
"You asshole, I got a sawbuck riding on you.
Preacher was holding the big rattler again. He had the snake gripped just below the head, and he was so upset over how the fight had gone so far, he was unconsciously squeezing the snake in a vice-like grip. The rattler was squirming and twisting and flapping about, but Preacher didn't seem to notice. The snake's forked tongue was outside its mouth and it was really working, slapping about like a thin strip of rubber come loose on a whirling tire. The copperhead in Preacher's pocket was still looking out, as if along with Preacher he might have a bet on the outcome of the fight as well. As Harry danced away the rattler opened its mouth so wide its jaws came unhinged. It looked as if it were trying to yell for help.
Harry and George came together again in the center of the pit. Fists like black ball bear-ings slammed the sides of Harry's head. The pit was like a whirlpool, the walls threatening to close in and suck Harry down into oblivion.
Kneeing with all his might, Harry caught George solidly in the groin. George grunted, stumbled back, half-bent over.
The crowd went wild.
Harry brought cupped hands down on George's neck, knocked him to his knees.
Harry used the opportunity to knock out one of the big man's teeth with the toe of his shoe.
He was about to kick him again when George reached up and clutched the crotch of Harry's khakis, taking a crushing grip on Harry's testicles.
"Got you by the balls," George growled.
Harry bellowed and began to hammer wildly on top of George's head with both fists. He realized with horror that George was pulling him forward. By God, George was going to bite him on the balls.
Jerking up his knee he caught George in the nose and broke his grip. He bounded free, skipped and whipped about the pit like an Indian dancing for rain.
He skipped and whooped by Preacher. Preacher's rattler had quit twisting. It hung loosely from Preacher's tight fist. Its eyes were bulging out of its head like the humped backs of grub worms. Its mouth was closed and its forked tongue hung limply from the edge of it.
The copperhead was still watching the show from the safety of Preacher's pocket, its tongue zipping out from time to time to taste the air. The little snake didn't seem to have a care in the world.
George was on his feet again, and Harry could tell that already he was feeling better.
Feeling good enough to make Harry feel real bad.
Preacher abruptly realized that his rattler had gone limp.
"No, God no!" he cried. He stretched the huge rattler between his hands. "Baby, baby," he bawled, "breathe for me, Sapphire, breathe for me." Preacher shook the snake viciously, trying to jar some life into h, but the snake did not move.
The pain in Harry's groin had subsided and he could think again. George was moving in on him, and there just didn't seem any reason to run. George would catch him, and when he did, it would just be worse because he would be even more tired from all that running. It had to be done. The mating dance was over, now all that was left was the intercourse of violence.
A black fist turned the flesh and cartilage of Harry's nose into smouldering putty. Harry ducked his head and caught another blow to the chin. The stars he had not been able to see above him because of the lights, he could now see below him, spinning constellations on the floor of the pit.
It came to him again, the fact that he was going to die right here without one good, last thought. But then maybe there was one. He envisioned his wife, dumpy and sullen and deny-ing him sex. George became her and she became George and Harry did what he had wanted to do for so long, he hit her in the mouth. Not once, but twice and a third time. He battered her nose and he pounded her ribs.