that, Extreme Affliction Heroes was damn exciting.
Something wet. Drops of sweat from Tomic landed on Natalie’s forehead.
Goran looked at her.
“Nice,” she said.
Third round. They continued their war. Tomic, Dad’s hero, was dominating more and more. Natalie was only half-watching. Now and then she glanced down at her phone.
Stefanovic, Goran, and one more of Dad’s cronies, Milorad, had stood up. Were so into the fight that, when Tomic took a hit, it almost looked like they were getting whipped too.
Natalie tried to concentrate during the last seconds of the fight.
Tomic used his knees well, but so did Yunis. Tomic jabbed and tried to sweep. Yunis got up close and threw punches at Tomic’s kidneys. Tomic tore free and attacked with hard jabs to the Swede’s head. But, unexpected: Tomic’s swings didn’t bite, Yunis shadowed him so that Tomic ended up on the mat instead. The Swede threw himself over him. Pressed Tomic’s arms down with his knees. Showered punches over his face. Tomic tried to twist out of his grasp. But he was stuck. Natalie saw how Yunis’s fists pounded into Tomic’s nose, landed on his chin, cheeks. Tomic almost seemed to give up.
But then he made a swift move. They rolled around and ended up next to each other. Suddenly the Serb was fast. He gripped Yunis’s head between his thighs. Pushed. Pressed. Yunis’s face grew redder and redder. Tomic continued to squeeze his thighs together. The Swede was being suffocated. The referee nudged Tomic. The Serb ignored him, continued to strangle the Swede.
The referee nudged him again. Yunis’s face was growing blue.
The referee pushed Tomic aside—he stood up.
Everyone waited.
Yunis didn’t move.
Joy rushed through Natalie. She stood up. She pumped her fist in the air. “Yes!”
The Swede remained where he was. The referee counted off.
“One.
“Two.
“Three.”
Emergency medical personnel rushed up into the ring. Natalie sat back down.
Dad was still standing up. Screaming, “
Ostani
. Stay where you are! Keep lying there. Don’t get up,
pićko
, you pussy!”
“Four.
“Five.
“Six.”
The arena was in uproar. Was the Swede even alive? The EMT guy bent down, yelled into Yunis’s ear.
“Seven.
“Eight.”
Yunis stirred where he was on the mat. Sucked after air.
The referee was holding nine fingers in the air.
“Nine.”
It was over.
When they left, Goran walked first. Divided the swaths of people the way Stefanovic’d done on the way in. Kind of like a president with bodyguards—all fans and photographers: step aside. Except now it wasn’t as easily done as when they’d arrived. The crowd pushed. Stefanovic walked behind Natalie and Dad at an angle and made sure the space around them widened. Milorad was walking behind her.
It felt good. High spirits. Lazar Tomic—a hero. Extreme Affliction Heroes, a success. They talked about the fight, laughed, recounted over and over again: Tomic’s thigh muscles, Yunis’s bluish-purple face.
It was a good day. They were going to go eat at Clara’s Kitchen & Bar, all of them together. Still, Natalie felt strange. An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something unpleasant.
They reached the parking garage. People were streaming out of the elevators. The cars were queuing up, on their way out into the Stockholm night.
Stefanovic was going to drive Natalie. Dad was going to ride with Goran and Milorad. She saw his Lexus over there. He turned around to hug her, said, “See you soon.” Kissed her on the forehead like he always did.
That’s when she heard something.
Sharp sounds. Bangs.
Like fireworks.
Natalie saw Dad in front of her. His movements were choppy. As if she were seeing what was happening image by image in a video-editing program. As if she were watching the frames in an animated movie. Small changes like jerky breaks in the flow. She saw everything: shifts in people’s gestures, expressions, ways of breathing.
Another bang echoed
Something wet. Drops of sweat from Tomic landed on Natalie’s forehead.
Goran looked at her.
“Nice,” she said.
Third round. They continued their war. Tomic, Dad’s hero, was dominating more and more. Natalie was only half-watching. Now and then she glanced down at her phone.
Stefanovic, Goran, and one more of Dad’s cronies, Milorad, had stood up. Were so into the fight that, when Tomic took a hit, it almost looked like they were getting whipped too.
Natalie tried to concentrate during the last seconds of the fight.
Tomic used his knees well, but so did Yunis. Tomic jabbed and tried to sweep. Yunis got up close and threw punches at Tomic’s kidneys. Tomic tore free and attacked with hard jabs to the Swede’s head. But, unexpected: Tomic’s swings didn’t bite, Yunis shadowed him so that Tomic ended up on the mat instead. The Swede threw himself over him. Pressed Tomic’s arms down with his knees. Showered punches over his face. Tomic tried to twist out of his grasp. But he was stuck. Natalie saw how Yunis’s fists pounded into Tomic’s nose, landed on his chin, cheeks. Tomic almost seemed to give up.
But then he made a swift move. They rolled around and ended up next to each other. Suddenly the Serb was fast. He gripped Yunis’s head between his thighs. Pushed. Pressed. Yunis’s face grew redder and redder. Tomic continued to squeeze his thighs together. The Swede was being suffocated. The referee nudged Tomic. The Serb ignored him, continued to strangle the Swede.
The referee nudged him again. Yunis’s face was growing blue.
The referee pushed Tomic aside—he stood up.
Everyone waited.
Yunis didn’t move.
Joy rushed through Natalie. She stood up. She pumped her fist in the air. “Yes!”
The Swede remained where he was. The referee counted off.
“One.
“Two.
“Three.”
Emergency medical personnel rushed up into the ring. Natalie sat back down.
Dad was still standing up. Screaming, “
Ostani
. Stay where you are! Keep lying there. Don’t get up,
pićko
, you pussy!”
“Four.
“Five.
“Six.”
The arena was in uproar. Was the Swede even alive? The EMT guy bent down, yelled into Yunis’s ear.
“Seven.
“Eight.”
Yunis stirred where he was on the mat. Sucked after air.
The referee was holding nine fingers in the air.
“Nine.”
It was over.
When they left, Goran walked first. Divided the swaths of people the way Stefanovic’d done on the way in. Kind of like a president with bodyguards—all fans and photographers: step aside. Except now it wasn’t as easily done as when they’d arrived. The crowd pushed. Stefanovic walked behind Natalie and Dad at an angle and made sure the space around them widened. Milorad was walking behind her.
It felt good. High spirits. Lazar Tomic—a hero. Extreme Affliction Heroes, a success. They talked about the fight, laughed, recounted over and over again: Tomic’s thigh muscles, Yunis’s bluish-purple face.
It was a good day. They were going to go eat at Clara’s Kitchen & Bar, all of them together. Still, Natalie felt strange. An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something unpleasant.
They reached the parking garage. People were streaming out of the elevators. The cars were queuing up, on their way out into the Stockholm night.
Stefanovic was going to drive Natalie. Dad was going to ride with Goran and Milorad. She saw his Lexus over there. He turned around to hug her, said, “See you soon.” Kissed her on the forehead like he always did.
That’s when she heard something.
Sharp sounds. Bangs.
Like fireworks.
Natalie saw Dad in front of her. His movements were choppy. As if she were seeing what was happening image by image in a video-editing program. As if she were watching the frames in an animated movie. Small changes like jerky breaks in the flow. She saw everything: shifts in people’s gestures, expressions, ways of breathing.
Another bang echoed
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