filled with light and smoke when the ragmen carried him in with his arms around their shoulders. He did not scream but his breathing was a hiss through his lips pulled tightly over his teeth. He grimaced when they sat him down and pressed his hands against the blood soaked rags around his leg. Cursing the dog. He narrowed his eyes at us. Ramón continued to rub his leg and the fugitive did push ups to strengthen his arms. His toenails scraping against the floor.
I want the teeth of that dog. The Tlaxcaltec hissed at one of the ragmen.
Mendoza? Ramón asked.
No. He smiled a wicked smile. They are saving him for you.
The Tlaxcaltec dug his nails into the chair when the ragmen took the cloths from around his leg for the inspection by a short bald doctor. The fighters knuckles went white. The doctor sweated through the arms and back of his shirt. A bloody flap of muscle fell to the floor still held to the Tlaxcaltecs leg. None of us in the room looked easily from this however much we tried to impress each other. Before coming up the staircase we had all drawn sticks from a velvet bag ElÃas held hiding their painted ends. The painted ends told us which dog we were to fight that night. If we were to fight only one dog or two. Our fate left to chance we thought. We did not know whose dogs we were to fight until they entered the ring.
No fighter wanted a dog belonging to Mendoza. We all feared the sharpened teeth. If a dog of Mendozas bit into you the teeth went to the bone. The pain went through your skeleton like electricity. Other trainers did not take files to the teeth of their dogs because as Eduardo had told me the men of Canción had been fighting dogs for many generations and they thought this wrong.
It does not stop Mendoza though. Eduardo had told me. They fear Cantana. Many of us young men of Canción bet on the dogs of Mendoza. We laugh at the old men and their tradición. It is a small game we play.
Vargas fought next. The fugitive ran the metal claws along the walls of the room as he left. Whistling as if it was nothing. The yelling of the men came through the edges of the door. The light was more electric than moon. Alone together Ramón and I said nothing at first. The ragmen had taken the Tlaxcaltec from the room with the bald doctor. The doctor had decided that the muscle would have to be cut away.
The calf is ruined. He said. If we do not take it off you will die from infection.
I am sure you will find a way. The fighter smiled his wicked smile.
You are forgetting. The doctor smiled back. Who it is that pays me to help you amigo.
The Tlaxcaltec spit at the doctors feet.
We will blame that on your pain. The doctor said.
When the fugitive returned to the small room after his victory Ramón also asked him if his dog had been one belonging to Mendoza.
No. Vargas said. Wiping the sweat and blood of the dog from his face and body. The Tlaxcaltec was right. After your last fight they have decided to save him for you. They want you to continue to impress them.
While the ragmen cleaned the ring from the fugitives fight the crowd began to chant Ramóns name in anticipation. He studied the painted end of his stick.
Maybe I have Mendoza. I said to him then.
No. He smiled a small smile without taking his eyes from his stick.
Why are you so certain? I asked him.
The teeth are in my dreams.
During Ramóns fight I was left alone in the small room. I wiped the sweat from my face and could taste the blood of the Tlaxcaltec still in the room at the back of my throat. I did not know what to anticipate. The dogs had been trained to kill. I knew only the fighting of men and labor. A small moment of doubt almost took me before I heard the yelling men outside.
Ramón! They chanted. Ramón! Ramón!
The door swung open and I could see the brilliant light globes strung above the ring as they had been at the circus. Low in the sky beyond this the full moon a glowing white orb. The cigarette
I want the teeth of that dog. The Tlaxcaltec hissed at one of the ragmen.
Mendoza? Ramón asked.
No. He smiled a wicked smile. They are saving him for you.
The Tlaxcaltec dug his nails into the chair when the ragmen took the cloths from around his leg for the inspection by a short bald doctor. The fighters knuckles went white. The doctor sweated through the arms and back of his shirt. A bloody flap of muscle fell to the floor still held to the Tlaxcaltecs leg. None of us in the room looked easily from this however much we tried to impress each other. Before coming up the staircase we had all drawn sticks from a velvet bag ElÃas held hiding their painted ends. The painted ends told us which dog we were to fight that night. If we were to fight only one dog or two. Our fate left to chance we thought. We did not know whose dogs we were to fight until they entered the ring.
No fighter wanted a dog belonging to Mendoza. We all feared the sharpened teeth. If a dog of Mendozas bit into you the teeth went to the bone. The pain went through your skeleton like electricity. Other trainers did not take files to the teeth of their dogs because as Eduardo had told me the men of Canción had been fighting dogs for many generations and they thought this wrong.
It does not stop Mendoza though. Eduardo had told me. They fear Cantana. Many of us young men of Canción bet on the dogs of Mendoza. We laugh at the old men and their tradición. It is a small game we play.
Vargas fought next. The fugitive ran the metal claws along the walls of the room as he left. Whistling as if it was nothing. The yelling of the men came through the edges of the door. The light was more electric than moon. Alone together Ramón and I said nothing at first. The ragmen had taken the Tlaxcaltec from the room with the bald doctor. The doctor had decided that the muscle would have to be cut away.
The calf is ruined. He said. If we do not take it off you will die from infection.
I am sure you will find a way. The fighter smiled his wicked smile.
You are forgetting. The doctor smiled back. Who it is that pays me to help you amigo.
The Tlaxcaltec spit at the doctors feet.
We will blame that on your pain. The doctor said.
When the fugitive returned to the small room after his victory Ramón also asked him if his dog had been one belonging to Mendoza.
No. Vargas said. Wiping the sweat and blood of the dog from his face and body. The Tlaxcaltec was right. After your last fight they have decided to save him for you. They want you to continue to impress them.
While the ragmen cleaned the ring from the fugitives fight the crowd began to chant Ramóns name in anticipation. He studied the painted end of his stick.
Maybe I have Mendoza. I said to him then.
No. He smiled a small smile without taking his eyes from his stick.
Why are you so certain? I asked him.
The teeth are in my dreams.
During Ramóns fight I was left alone in the small room. I wiped the sweat from my face and could taste the blood of the Tlaxcaltec still in the room at the back of my throat. I did not know what to anticipate. The dogs had been trained to kill. I knew only the fighting of men and labor. A small moment of doubt almost took me before I heard the yelling men outside.
Ramón! They chanted. Ramón! Ramón!
The door swung open and I could see the brilliant light globes strung above the ring as they had been at the circus. Low in the sky beyond this the full moon a glowing white orb. The cigarette
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