King of the Ring

1

I was in my prison garb when my future trainer, retired Colonel Richard Faga of the US army said to me, Don’t talk to the press, okay. Alright Colonel, I said sadly, trying to look straight into his eyes. He was not rude as most Americans of his calibre are thought to be. He spoke kindly, often resting his heavy arms on my shoulders. He had accompanied my brother Kagiso when he came to tell me of our mother’s death. All I had was: Poor mommy, I knew she would never make it to this day! Then I felt tears gathering at the corners of my eyes and suddenly gashed. The Colonel had taken my hand and whispered softly into my left ear. I’m so sorry, but things will be okay some day, just have faith." How could things be ever okay without a mother?

Now in half an hour I would be a free man once again, I could feel the cool breeze of mid morning Durban, a romantic city nestling quietly on the coastline of the raging and fearsome Indian Ocean. The paparazzis and thousands of fans were waiting outside, so I was told. My release from prison had attracted a huge crowd, may be similar to the one Mr. Nelson Mandela attracted on the day he left Robben Island. This was Westville Prison, Durban. I had been locked since 2002, and five solid years had elapsed through tears, pain and sorrow. I knew it was true that I had no money and no mother. My whole life I had lived to be nothing but a kick boxer, a tartan sort of. There are things that you men out there, who have never been into the ring fighting to survive, know nothing about. The pain, the blood and the tears, no-, life is just hard. I never thought I would step into the ring again, one as a prize fighter and two as a hero who had lost credibility. When you are well above thirty, your chances of surviving in the ring are quite slim especially when you face a younger opponent. The rules of the sport are either you surrender unconditionally, or you die trying to wrestle the crown from the goddamn mother-fucking champion.

Prison wardens were pacing up and down, scoffing and cracking rude jokes. You could wonder they were some kind of hot shots, or something. My fellow inmates hugged me, some wept while others shared jokes. Others did not like me at all. In prisons gangsterism is raw. You can never run away from it. It traps you like a spider web.

The media is outer there, and the people too. They want a glimpse of their hero. The Colonel said as we walked on, I said nothing. I was not a hero anymore. Yes the media people were out there, and lots of fans and all that staff. I was not ready yet to take another challenge in life. Opportunities come and go, mine had come and left, I was poorer than I could ever imagine.

Somehow things are gotta be okay. He said again, trying to restore my lost pride by injecting some confidence in me. Of course I had fought too many a battle-blood, sweat and tears became the order of the day.

When will that be? I asked him. He looked at me like a mentor who had lost confidence in his pupil, or who had suddenly gone bananas. He sighed and we moved on. He was not sure how much I owed life and it seemed nobody would put me on my feet once again. For five fucking years I had missed KwaZulu Natal. I had missed the ivory beaches invaded by super gorgeous women from all over the world. Five solid years without setting my feet on the cumbersome soil of Phoenix, Newcastle, Hilton, Ladysmith, and Durban Beach. In other words, with no home, no wife and no kids—I was fucked.

Anytime. There’s still plenty of future in you.

That is right but hope.

Goddamn it, how the hell are you supposed to know until you drop dead?

I know I shouted back. I’m already dead. He looked astonished from the way he stopped. It was a total embarrassment to him. I just felt I should let him know the real thing, the truth and life’s other side. Yes, I could box and kick, but not to a level of international recognition, kickboxing had produced a lot of blob-thirsty and money hungry and powerful punchers. It was yet to be decided by the Council for Brave Fighters if I would be the number one contender for the title fight expected to attract over two billion viewers worldwide. That meant everybody in Africa would be watching the fight. Bushido Uno, the Japanese Super Heavy Weight had killed eight challengers inside the ring and the last of his victims had been a young American from Texas County. The organisers staged the fight in Bankok, Thiland. People from all over the world converged to see the young Texan crushed to death in the sweltering heat of the Asian city. Bushido Uno had become a kick boxing devil and probably one of the richest men on the planet. He was the undisputed king of kick boxing, the champion. Colonel Faga wanted me to take the animal.

Why on earth would I? And at what cost?

You ain’t dead man. There is a hell of strength and vigour in you and you tell me that… he said catching up with me, but I stopped him.

That’s enough Colonel, I’m not going to fight Bushido Uno.

The ball is in your court champion.

I’m not a champion. I snapped. A cab waited out side the prison. About close to three thousand fans were waiting, among them frantic journalists from the media world, News Week, The Times London, The Telegraph, The Sunday Times, Mail & Guardian and The Sun. I did not know my release from prison was such a big event. About three police guards escorted me to the waiting cab. A journalist, from heaven knew where, pushed a police guard to ask me:

Do you think you can wrestle the title from Bushido Uno? Colonel Faga intercepted harshly. We have no time for questions ladies and gentlemen. We are quite behind schedule. The crowd started to yell. We will call for a press conference tomorrow at the Southern Sun Elangeni Hotel. The noise was deafening by the time I reached the cab, I caught the glance of a screaming Indian girl.

Champion! Champion! Champion! They chorused, I felt I was betraying my people and betrayal was something I thought to be better than humiliation or death. No, I thought they’d rather call me sucker than champion. Women were weeping as flashes from zoomed cameras cut across my face many times over, filling me with fear rather than delight.

As the door flung instantly, I was pushed rudely, as though a terrific storm was coming. The fans were getting wild. The car screeched, made a three point turn and sped off at break-neck. While we drove, the Colonel nudged me and with a sharp glance he asked Did you hear what the fans were saying?

So what?

So you are the champion? I fell back reluctantly. my mind was racing up and down. My first day of freedom. I would never forget it. I would start life all over again, at nearly forty five, not quite bad. I could date a single mom, marry her and settle down. But first I had got some money, not much. A few thousand rand, perhaps. A decent accommodation somewhere, brings up a kid or two. A cheap car would not be bad. Something of the sort?

Are you the first born? the colonel asked, looking at me measuringly. Why, of course? Then he took my hand. I knew it from the very day I met you. I could tell it in your eyes."

How?

I’m not a sooth saver mind you. But what I know, biblically speaking every first born belongs to god. And because of that eternal connection, you are somehow unique, special in some way. You see the ocean must bring forth its best from its depth, and the earth from its belly. You get the most beautiful, gorgeous woman in the southern hemisphere, the best wines and the food. Because you are the first born, you inherit heaven’s estate. Everything belongs to you. And because of the word… he paused, even the crown belongs to you. And to you alone. You shall remember I said this.

Are you made, Colonel? That is nonsense. Every thing you have said is utterly nonsense.

Yeah. You can say that again. He pulled a Dunhill cigarette and put it between his teeth. A deep silence followed. We passed tall, beautiful buildings and I could smell a different kind of air. The air was smelling from wild flowers and roses, but above all, it smelt from the sweet coconut ascent of the beautiful women of Durban. All I wanted for that moment was being with my brothers and nothing, nothing else. A woman could come later, if there was any. Infect, my life was just in tatters. I had no permanent house of my own, my brothers had all forsaken me and I was just too poor to allow another irresponsible person in my goddamn life. After all what would I give her? Modern women are fashion-crazed and want to keep up with time. Jewellery would be one thing and pizza another. Where would I scratch the few thousands of rand so as to keep me and my woman in tune? My little brother, now a school dropout would need money to go back to school. Colonel Faga was actually dreaming. As the first born, I had nothing but troubles all around me. I was thinking about all that when Celine Dion’s Immortality began to play softly. Life was but a piece of shit, after all, I was only mortal.

He lit his cigarette and with the curling smoke from his cigarette, my hope to become the world kick boxing champion disappeared with it. For a brief moment I tightened my ass and I hoped the world was not watching.

2

BUSHIDO UNO IS AN IMPOSTER He said with a ferocious grin. I reckoned Uno is an extra large beast. I spoke mildly. Not an imposter. At 10:30 am we arrived at the Southern Sun Elangeni Hotel. The place was already crowded with journalists and fans who were yelling and screaming and shouting. I was not sure what I would tell the press. I would tell them that I was bankrupt and all I wanted was a little rest. To live a life with so little to do with the media. My life had taken a completely wrong turn.

Tell the media what is positive, Joseph Luthuli. The world is listening right now. Said the Colonel as the hired Lincoln green stretch limousine stopped in the middle of a frantic crowd. For a moment I felt a heavy load of irresponsibility being put on my bare shoulders. i felt an urge to refuse to challenge the Japanese super heavy weight kick boxing champion. He was the king of the ring, and he reigned with terror. Not doubt, no man would beat Bushido Uno. For once since I left the prison, I was going to frustrate the American’s plans to get rich. Already he had used his own money to carter for all my needs. including paying for my accommodation with my five brothers. He was also making plans to bring a WWF superstar and three time champion to South Africa to spare with me. And there was a possibility that Don King would become my promoter and not Golden Gloves. My future as a fighter literally was becoming a success. At this moment you are like a big ship approaching the tip of iceberg. Exercise maximum caution. You are big news and…

That’s enough Colonel, I shot angrily. After all it’s my life. So don’t push me, don’t put words in my mouth."

That is ridiculous. he shouted at me. A brave fighter like you doesn’t speak like a woman. You must be sort of crazy, king of kick-boxing. I said stop it now! now let me tell you Colonel, you can go and have a glass of martini, I’m not going to fight Bushido Uno and the world must know the truth. I saw his face turning pale and his eyes danced with ferocious scorn. Before he could speak, I got out.

My face was constantly lit by the flashing cameras of the paparazzis. I remembered the day Monica Lewisnky arrived in London to promote her book. Fans were overcome by an irresistible urge to see what she is actually made up of. Someone from the media could have told them that kick boxers are dinosaurs, and they had come to see one coming out of an elegant limousine. After all I was not a writer, nor an actor or some shameless musician performing nude. I was just an outlaw, a simple idiot like all of them. Now it came to my mind that if I attracted such a huge crowd, such publicity, how about Bushido Uno the world champion? I felt my skin flinch. I did not know what to tell the journalists. Many questions came and left unanswered. I was still not sure. I realised for the first time that everything was happening just too quickly or just a little too early. I was not prepared to talk to the press. I wanted to get back into the car and tell the chauffeur to speed off. I would give it a second thought altogether. But before I could do that my eyes caught an extraordinarily beautiful Indian girl, for a moment I was transfixed, and breathless. All my life I had never seen anybody that beautiful, when she smiled at me, I became a little unsettled. I was still looking at her when the same question came a third time.

Are you going to fight Bushido Uno?

Yes! I said with a gentle nod. I will take the beast. There was great applause from the fans. They were cheering, blowing whistles and shouting. But the Indian girl remained totally composed. She did not cheer nor shout like them all. Then just as the second question came, I watched tears flowing down her cheeks. It was the Colonel who pulled me into the car and slammed the door.

We have to leave this place, its stinking asshole, he said as he told the chauffeur to get the car in gear. The limousine took on its wheels slowly, and then increased speed gradually. Fans were cheering and waving frantically. Women blew kisses.

Yeah! What do you call that? he asked referring to the crowd. I call that Destiny. I’m destined to die in the ring, before a huge crowd. He looked at me quietly. There was something on his mind. Durban is a good city with beautiful people.

I don’t care what you say Colonel, I’m hungry. It’s in great fighters. They are always hungry."

You need to have a good mental ability before we can start training. You must be psychologically fit."

I have one thousand troubles waiting for me. Don’t tell me about psychology, it smells from shit.

You don’t know any better, Joe.

I don’t give a damn, man I have seen many years of sorrow, pain and loneliness.

Don’t be a pig headed asshole Joe. No man has ever done anything great alone. It is simple arithmetic, now follow the rules. Every idiot is important in a great man’s life. Every fool counts. I shook my head.

I don’t want to have anything to do with a fool. We argued as the car cruised and the Colonel became agitated when I said I could change my decision to face the great Japanese fighter.

Then there are more women in you than men.

You can go to hell, Colonel. There was silence.

We stopped at 191 Musgrave Road. I knew I was hungry and I thought I could eat a whole otter.

When was the last time you ate here?

I don’t remember, but it must have been five years ago.

Good place man. Isn’t it? the Colonel asked.

I hope so. The food must be nice, I replied. He ordered chicken tikka skewers for three. We were eating quietly when he suddenly broke the silence.

Don King is going to be your promoter. I picked a glass of champagne and took a sip. Chunks of food were dripping from the corners of my mouth. I was eating rather ravenously, I could not remember the last time I had a pretty good meal. It was beef fillet with creamy mushroom sauce, or was it small skewers of pork or something of a similar nature? I couldn’t remember.

I have made arrangements to meet him in New York. He is a very good and influential man.

I don’t like the idea of flying. Bring him here to Durban.

it’s gonna be expensive, Joe. King is a big man, it will be like bringing half of Lower Manhattan here. And you can imagine how expensive that is. He is the only man who can help us get you settled financially.

I can do without King, Colonel.

I was just telling you that you can hardly go this long way alone. You need a group of people to back you up.

And what will that make me?

A champion, Joe. He caught my eye. The chauffeur was busy eating. I gave a long, deep sigh.

What are the papers going to say?

You mean about King?

No about me.

He smiled candidly Let’s wait until tomorrow. The world will be in uproar as the biggest fight ever to be fought on this planet, the Mother of Battles will take place in six weeks time. Everyone in South Africa will be watching. You will become a superstar and stinking rich.

I am afraid to face Bushido Uno, Colonel. He is a real killer. The American stopped eating at once.

I know Joe. I know how it is like to face the ugliest man on the planet, the most ruthless. But he is just a man like you. He has blood cells—five fingers on each hand, ten toes and gets hungry just like you and me. He is a man not made of steel. To hell with the Japanese.

Please Colonel, just call the fight off, for God and Kagiso’s sake. I’m just too young to die.

Don’t be stupid Joe. What will the world say?

Does it matter?

Of course it does. Don’t be nuts for the sake of the sport. After all you told the journalists that you would take the Japanese.

Something made me say so.

What is that? he stared at me.

In fact it was someone I saw among the crowd.

Someone! he said drawing his head closer to me. What do you mean by someone? I didn’t see Jennifer Lopez among the fans, neither did I see a gung-ho of the Boer War Generals. They were all plain idiots and…

Oh do shut up. I said my voice thick with irritation. He drew back his head at the instant.

Are you crazy or something?

I’m something.

And what is that something?

You know I have come a long way Colonel. I was raised on the streets of Durban and that is where I learnt my trade, I’m a kick boxer and before that I brawled constantly, drank heavily, smoked and did drugs. Many times I fought for my friends and brothers and eventually I became a gang leader. I never loved women but it was this morning when I… I stopped suddenly.

What?

I’m just too lonely, Colonel. It’s time I need a woman. He looked at me as if he was looking at a spoilt brat.

We are talking of your pre-flight arrangements, and here you are talking about history and women. He turned his face away only to look at me again.

Now look at me boy, I didn’t fly all the way from Texas to face such humiliation. Everyone in America is counting on you as the only true hero to bring an end to Bushido Uno’s reign of terror. You have become a household name in the United States and Britain. The money that I am spending on you is not my own. It is the American public’s money. And a ₤36 million purse is within reach if you wanna fight the world champion.

What if I lose?

He swallowed then paused. As a loser, bloodied loser, how much would you expect?

Half the purse! I lashed.

₤18 million for a loser would be too much.

So how much?

A third would be okay and a 2 percent incentive from the body. I’m not so sure if you would leave the ring alive.

What! I stormed.

Bushido Uno might kill you. The chauffeur had stopped eating. The plate before him was almost empty.

You bastard how dare you! I felt anger gathering in me like a storm. Then I lost my temper. I pushed the table against the Colonel who lost his balance and crashed headlong to the floor. The chauffeur rose and quickly went to lift the Colonel who was now bleeding from the mouth. There was food on the floor, pieces of broken glass and plates. Three waiters who witnessed the incident came running. Go away or else I will clobber you. They retreated at once. Then just as they went out of sight, the manager appeared, accompanied by two armed black guards. The manager was Indian, I was still looking at the Colonel, blood coming from his mouth when the manager confronted me.

Who the hell on this planet do you think you are? he shouted angrily.

I’m Joseph Luthuli, the challenger to Bushido Uno’s throne. And who are you on this planet?

I’m… I’m the manager. Would you like some sushi? I was flabbergasted. Then I grabbed a chair that was close by and hurled it at him. He dodged the missile and the chair crashed to the ground. By now a small crowd had gathered and watched the event from a distance.

Arrest him! he shouted at his guards. The Colonel managed to stand on his feet starring at me with blank, hateful eyes. His white handkerchief was red with blood. Our eyes met then I turned and started to walk away.

I said arrest him or else? the Indian manager shouted at the guards.

Or else what? the Colonel shot angrily. Don’t you realise that his powers come from advanced martial arts and psychology supported by a formidable bank account. He can’t control his temper and you can’t blame him. He has done it for the greater good of society.

Ya Basta! the manager cried, I don’t care what you think of that bare arsed, borne-through-the-mouth son-of-a-bitch. I will get him arrested and now! I turned and saw him running to his office. I knew that in less than half a minute he would be ringing the police.

Kaffir! he turned to shout at me You really are going to pay for this! then he disappeared behind a building. The word Kaffir meant as little or as much to me as any word. After all, I had been used to taunts outside Kwazulu. I cared about nothing. Then shortly after that I heard the Colonel’s footsteps. He was following me.

It’s alright Joe, it’s alright. Don’t care what he said to you. Pain and blood are just for men, and you and I have made what I should call uh… the seal of blood. Look at me when I’m talking to you. I stopped, paused and then turned to look at him. I was so baffled to see a large crowd behind him. He held the bloodied handkerchief to me.

That is my blood. Where is yours? There was deep silence, and the crowd was spreading rapidly making a circle. Soon we would be at the centre of an anxious crowd. It reminded me of the old days of battle, kicking and punching in front of a cheering crowd. It looked like those days had come… in fact the bone crushing, bloody day was weeks away. I took a small knife and cut my wrist. Blood began to drop on the handkerchief that was already soaked in the Colonel’s blood. When the blood stopped, the Colonel squeezed the handkerchief, took my hand and we embraced. The crowd suddenly burst in a thunderbolt of cheers. It was gang like, and American style. The Colonel took a long deep breath. He turned to the crowd.

You are his strength, together we are going to create a black super-hero, not a violent monster. The Black Panther. He is going to be greater than Blade, the original day walker and the vampire slayer. He is not a Todd Mcfarlane creation, but a real American dream. He paused as the cheers grew louder. Now let me tell you this people, I and the King of kick boxing have made a pact before you all. You have witnessed this incident, and this man has become my son, and I have become his father. I’m changing his name and his life style. His name is now Prince Coco, born and bred in Durban, but lives in New York City. A great applause followed and then it died away.

You see him now bald. But when he will enter the ring, he will wear a pretty good dread, dyed pure, or snow white. Take my word for it, he is going to beat Bushido Uno.

The crowd began to chant my new name. Prince Coco! Prince Coco! Prince Coco! they shouted then it