nd went down to the hotel bar. He ordered an
ale and watched a boxing match on a large TV. Pit Bull Salvatori was
wearing down a fighter named Fanatuua. He was sagging, his body
blotchy. The bell rang and Fanatuua collapsed back against a padded
corner post. A trainer squirted something into his mouth and rubbed his
chest while his manager talked in his ear. Fanatuua nodded once.

The bell rang again, and Pit Bull was on him, lefts, rights, uppercuts,
trying to end it. At some point in life, Joe thought, how people lose
becomes more interesting than how they win. Fanatuua wouldn't go down,
seemed calm, almost as though he weren't there. He was covering up,
weaving slowly from side to side. Maybe he was fighting the clock, not
the man. Maybe if he made it through eight rounds he would have earned
his money. Maybe he was out on his feet. The Philly crowd yelled for a
knockout; the referee watched closely.

Fanatuua stepped forward, moved Pit Bull back, threw a combination that
did no damage. Maybe he was fighting for his family, Joe thought. Maybe
he was married to one of the Samoan women who come to Hawaii to work in
the Polynesian Cultural Center and study at the Mormon school in Laie.
They walk slowly across the grass, books in their arms, flowers in
their dark hair. He ought to make fifteen or twenty thousand from this
fight. Maybe he'd give it to his father, the Chief, who was proud of
him, who would know what to do with it. His hands dropped. Pit Bull
drove him into the ropes with an overhand right. The camera zoomed to
Fanatuua's face, sweat, a small cut. His eyes were bright. His mouth
was set in a slight smile. He was not afraid.

Pit Bull smashed him four times. The ref jumped in and separated them.
TKO. Pit Bull ran around the ring, fists in the air, and hugged
Fanatuua. Fanatuua tapped him twice on the back and walked to his
corner. Maybe he was thinking that Salvatori won, might be the champ
soon, but couldn't knock him out. Maybe he was thinking about home.

Joe leaned back in his chair and remembered his new bag. He pictured
himself packing it and realized that he was going to Hawaii. That was
why he bought the bag, although he hadn't known it at the time. There
were complications: the truck, what to bring, what to do when he got
there. But that was where he was going.

3

As the plane banked over Diamond Head, green at that time of year,
tears came to Joe's eyes. Hawaii is so beautiful, so