candles part three cont.

        The Jolly Roger was serving hair of the dog. There would be cinnamon rolls and dark coffee on the sideboard, compliments of Hannah Ramirez, owner of the upstairs bed-and-breakfast. McEwan bought a Daily Gleaner from Chubby Guzman's kiosk on Bowling Green and strolled on to the pub. If that crazy Cayman guy who ran the place was in a good mood then together they could solve the problems of the world in the context of soccer.
         In college McEwan had played rugby. Even drove a battered aquamarine VW Bug with a bumper-sticker: RUGBY PLAYERS EAT THEIR DEAD. He boasted that soccer was played by pussies and watched by hooligans. Bashing toward the goal, he would imagine he was a naked Celt smeared blue with wold. Battling the entire Saxon Wulf clan.
         "So who's going to win the World Cup?"
         "We been through all dat."
         "All right. Then who's going to have the most rowdies thrown in jail?"
         "Now dat's worthy of thought."
         Sports, McEwan was thinking. A white man and a black man can always shoot the shit about sports.
         "Tell me about your local hero. Guzman."
         "We call him Angel Eyes. All the women love him. He gathers dere foolish hearts and runs away wid dem."
         "How is he on the field?"
         "Could be anudder Pele."
         "Well, Cap, I'm off to the club.


                                                                              *


         Established in 1936 during the hey-day of boxing, the club housed a ring and a gymnasium that provided punching bags, free weights, skip ropes, wrestling mats, and lockers and showers with an optional low-fee towel service. Built of cement block and stone and painted in broad horizontal stripes of cerulean (sky),avocado (rain forest) and burnt sienna (earth), it stood proudly in a neighborhood of island poverty. The finest tropical hardwoods were installed, maintained and polished throughout the years. Like the church, it was a center of spiritual sanctity, supported by people who did not mind pouring their hard-earned money into it. It was their basilica. Even gangsters showed it respect. After-hours scrub parties kept personal areas clean and disinfected. The entire place was swabbed and as trim as a navy gunboat. In fair exchange for volunteer custodial work the club gave its members a bonus sense of self-worth and esteem.


                                                                        *


         McEwan stripped down to a jockstrap and gray flannel shorts. He started his reps. Sit-ups and ab-crunches. Thinking that Maurice could only envy such perfection.