Is it real? I ask myself. Is … Because there, in front of me, Rube is wearing only one boxing glove and his eyes circle inside mine. He’s wearing one boxing glove, on his left hand, just like all those times in the backyard. He’s standing there, before me, and something very slight glimmers across his face. He’s a Wolfe and I’m a Wolfe and I will never ever tell my brother that I love him. And he will never tell it to me.

No.

All we have is this …

This is the only way.

This is us. This is us saying it, in the only way we can possibly do it.

It means something. It’s about something.

I return.

To my corner.

With my teeth, I take off the left glove. I give it to Bumper, who accepts it in his right hand.

Mum and Dad are somewhere in the crowd, watching.

My pulse does a lap of the silence.

The ref calls something out.

Sight.

Is that what he yells?

No, it’s ‘Fight,’ although …

Rube and I look at each other. He comes forward. So do I. The crowd erupts.

One fist covered. One fist naked.

That’s all.

Rube throws first and takes me on the chin.

It’s over. I’m hurt, I’m … But I throw a punch back, just missing. I cannot go down. Not tonight. Not now, when everything hinges on me staying on my feet.

I’m hit again, and this time the world has stopped. Opposite me, Rube’s standing there, wearing a solitary boxing glove. Both his hands are at his side. Another silence gathers strength. It is broken, by Perry. His words are familiar.

‘Finish him off!’ he calls out.

Rube looks at him. He looks at me. He tells him.

‘No.’

I find them. Mum and Dad.

I collapse.

My brother catches me and holds me up.

Without knowing it, I’m crying. I’m weeping on my brother’s throat as he holds me up.

Fighting Ruben Wolfe. He holds me up.

Fighting Ruben Wolfe. It hurts.

Fighting Ruben Wolfe. His fight inside.

Fighting Ruben Wolfe. Like the rest of us.

Fighting Ruben Wolfe. Not fighting him, no. It’s something else …

‘Y’ okay?’ he asks me. It’s a whisper.

I say nothing. I just cry on my brother’s throat and let him hold me up. My hands feel nothing and my veins are on fire. My heart is heavy and hurting, and out there somewhere, I can imagine the pain of a beaten dog.

I find that nothing more has happened. The bell rings and it’s over. We stand there.

‘It’s over,’ I say.

‘I know,’ Rube smiles. I feel it.

Even in the following minutes, when we walk back through the murmuring crowd, the moment carries on. It carries me back to the dressing room, helps me get changed, and waits with me, for Rube.