We train and fight and keep training, and I get my first win up. It’s down in Helensburgh, against some yobbo who keeps calling me cowboy.

‘That all y’ got cowboy, huh?’

‘You hit like my mother, cowboy.’

All that kind of thing.

I put him down once in the third and twice in the fifth. I win it on points. Fifty dollars, but more importantly, a win. A sniff of victory for the underdog. It feels great, especially at the end, when Rube smiles at me and I smile back.

‘I’m proud a’ you.’

That’s what he says afterwards, in the dressing room, before concentrating again.

Later, he worries me.

He … I don’t know.

I notice a deliberate change in my brother. He’s harder. He has a switch, and once a fight comes near, he flicks it and he is no longer my brother Rube. He’s a machine. He’s a Steve, but different. More violent. Steve’s a winner because he’s always been a winner. Rube’s a winner because he wants to beat the loser out of himself. Steve knows he’s a winner, but I think Rube’s still trying to prove it to himself. He’s fiercer, more fiery, ready to beat all loss from his vision.

He’s Fighting Ruben Wolfe.

Or is he actually fighting Ruben Wolfe?

Inside him.

Proving himself.

To himself.

I don’t know.

It’s in each eye.

The question.

Each breath.

Who’s fighting who?

Each hope.

In the ring tonight, he leaves his opponent in pieces. The other guy is barely there, from the very beginning. Rube has something over all of them. His desire is severe, and his fists are fast. Every time the guy goes down, Rube stands over him tonight, and he tells him.

‘Get up.’

Again.

‘Get up.’

By the third one, he can’t.

This time, Rube screams at him.

‘Get up boy!’

He lays into the padding in the corner and kicks it before climbing back out.

In the dressing room he doesn’t look at me. He speaks words that are not directed at anyone. He says, ‘Another one, ay. Two rounds and he’s on the deck.’

More women like him.

I see them watching him.

They’re young and trashy and good-looking. They like tough fellas, even though guys like that are likely to treat them poorly. I guess some women are only human, too. They’re as stupid as us sometimes. They seem to like the bad ones a bit.

But is Rube bad? I ask myself.

It’s a good question.

He’s my brother.

Maybe that’s all I know.

As weeks edge past us, he fights and wins and he doesn’t bother shaving. He turns up and wins. Turns up and wins. He only smiles when I fight well.