(Buenos Aires, 2007)
In all my twenty-three fights throughout my life, there was never a crowd that rose roaring, I was never a professional fighter, although I took two years of karate, and got in my share of fights. Can you believe this: my last fight was in 2007, five years ago, in Buenos Aires, at the age of fifty-nine years old? It was against three young punks, robbers, in hopes that they would gain treasures beyond reason—seeing us as tourists with a big stash of dollars.
I knew how to carry a wicked punch and kick, I was with my wife walking down a deserted street from a park in Buenos Aires—kind of throwing caution to the wind as they say. Not a smart thing to do. When three young adults: one my size and weight, the other a little smaller, the third, like the hawk. Guess who gets the hawk, it’s always that way. Well there is no sense of brooding over this, I got him, as we walked down the sidewalk, my wife and I, they got in front of us, stopped, the Hawk gave me a bear hug from behind me as the other two went after my wife, cornered her, trying to take her purse. I gave the Hawk a hard right to the head; I call it: the back punch. There was no way for him to duck, it was a venomous right and it crashed into his jaw. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a back punch, I’ve used it twice, very effective, and then the instinct to fight harder came to me—as he loosened his grip around me, a right elbow to his ribs, and a crushing blow with my heel to his toes, and he let go: he had suffered enough, then I leaped out blasting full into the center of his ghostly face with a mocked look, he was still waking from the nightmare, all three blows came simultaneously, within a few seconds of the leap, and he limped from his position—
In the interim, the two fellows were trying to snatch the purse from my wife, having a hell of a time; she gave the purse a bear hug, I suppose they thought her and I were going to say:
—Now here’s your money, you want it— but it wasn’t that easy.
Back to my situation: the Hawk, was brooding even staggered a bit, he was stung out of his apathy, and tried to rebound, but he was simply a wavering shadow in front of me, I pulled out a pen, and held it as a knife and was going to stab him with it, he pulled back taking no chances, my wife cried:
—Help me, they’re getting the purse! So I ran towards the two fellows and one of the two fellows came at me, and the Hawk came from behind, both circled me, one pushed me, and I fell halfway down onto one knee, and the Hawk saw the pen again, and stepped back, and the other fellow already went to help his fellow assailant concerning the purse. But this time I stepped forward—at the Hawk. He felt no fatigue whatever, I had though, and this time, as I thrust at him with the pen, someone from behind grabbed my arm and throw me to the ground—the pen was now smashed. They had at this point discarded their former intention of winning treasures from both my wife and I: nil and void, and went savagely for the purse.
—I have to let go, cried my wife.
—Obey, I yelled back. Let go! And she did and the three ran to a high fence to escape and I clamored after them, they had an enormous lead, and I was out of breath, how I lasted that long eight minute fight, I’ll never know, I was cut, bruised, and with blood-stained features from the two falls. They never come back! And that roaring crowd I was talking about, was a lady on the corner who saw it all, her and her husband had stopped the car so she could get out and watch the show, he sat like a coward in his car, missed the vicious fight.
Oh, incidentally, what they got was: an old camera, that cost $105-dollars, five years previously, and about fifty-dollar cash from the purse. What they didn’t get was, whatever was in my pockets, which I had $300-dollars cash, and a $1500-dollar wedding ring on, the second pinky ring worth $600-dollars, and a gold chain with trinkets worth another $2000-dollars around my neck, a gold watch worth $2000-dollars, my wife’s rings worth, $3000-dollars, and so forth: they missed the jackpot.
Later that afternoon, I bought my wife a new purse, that evening we went to see a live stage musical—ate pizza, and took the rest of our trip in Buenos Aires, with caution: which I suggest you do likewise.
#931 (6-21-2012)
The Author has been in Buenos Aires three times: 2002, 2007, and 2010
