Argosy, September 1955 — page 98: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

96 GERALD KERSH by means of one or two of my “ secret ’’ punches—which are no secret at all to any shepherd boy in Scythia. Here is practically the end of the story. I tried the left-right. The barbarian countered. I tried the swinging upper-cut. ‘The barbarian parried it. At last, reduced to unconventional play, pretending to fall—oh, how the crowd roared!—I snatched a handful of sand and threw it into his eyes, while with my right hand I hit him in the liver, so that he fell. Then, as I stood over him, our eyes met, and I saw him staring, amazed, at the tattooed birth-mark on my thigh. And so I looked down to his... You have guessed? Yes, this shadow of mine, this mirror of mine, was my twin brother, born in the same hour of the same mother. He rose. I could have cracked his skull, but I sparred a little, and so did he, for we had recognized each other, and had always loved each other. ‘“And how are things at home?”’ I asked, swinging my left hand to his head, but taking care to miss. Driving at me with his right hand—it whizzed past my ear like an arrow—he gave me news of our sister. Then, while the crowd roared, I said to him: “ Caesar has ten thousand on me. I daren’t lose. Wait for it, brother, and [ll break your arm.” He nodded, and I prepared to bring up my left. But the sand on which we stood was slippery. We had shed a good deal of blood between us. As he fell forward, instead of hitting him in the upper arm—woe is me!—my caestus went home between eye and ear. And he fell dead. The crowd went mad. The nobility filled my hat with gold, over and above my fee. But my heart was so sore I could not even weep .. . I could not fight again after that. I took my money and bought this pleasant farm in Sicily—the ghosts of the dead cannot cross running water. Here is the end of the story. I have a strong son whom I have named after my brother; but I am not teaching him to box— only to run and jump. Good night. * * * INCOME BRACKET SUGAR-DADDY (sl.) elderly protector and source of revenue of a (female) gold-digger. The Concise Oxford Dictionary comichooks.con 5