Брайс Кортни - The Power of One

‘All the best, Peekay. We will be pals.’ He took his cap off and put it on my head. I wondered if he was a Nazi. He didn’t seem to know I was English, so why tempt fate?

‘Thank you for taking care of me, Mr Groenewald,’ I said politely and handed him back his cap.

‘Ag man, just call me Hoppie.’ He grinned as he replaced his cap.

Hoppie left to check the tickets in the African carriages but promised he would return soon.

It was almost totally dark outside, as I sat alone in a lighted room, flying through the African night, lickity-clack, lickity-clack. I had defeated the Judge and his Nazi stormtroopers, survived Mevrou and I had grown up and changed my name, lickity-clack, lickity-clack.

Opening my suitcase I took out one of Harry Crown’s green suckers. Carefully removing the Cellophane wrapper I licked the bits of green sugar that had stuck to it. The faint taste of lime transferred to my tongue, sweet promise of the main event when I began on the sucker itself.

Harry Crown was right, of course the green ones were a very close second to the raspberry. I examined the photographs above the seats, sepia-toned pictures of a flat mountain with a streak of white cloud resting just above it. The caption underneath read, ‘World famous Table Mountain wearing its renowned tablecloth’. All there was was a big white cloud above it but I couldn’t see a renowned tablecloth. Another showed a big city seen from the air with the caption, ‘Cape Town, home of the famous Cape Doctor’. I wondered what the doctor had done to be famous and rich enough to own a big town for his home. He must have been richer even than Harry Crown. Years later I discovered that the Cape Doctor was a wind which blew in early spring to clean out the flu germs and general accumulated nasties that had gathered during the winter. Another photograph of Table Mountain was captioned ‘Truly one of the world’s natural wonders’. The last picture showed a big white house and it said, ‘Groot Constantia’s famed and spacious cellars, the home of superb wine’.

‘Well,’ I thought, ‘this will be a pretty good journey if we visit all those places!’ I decided I’d ask Hoppie about them when he came back.

Hoppie returned after what seemed ages but probably wasn’t very long. On a train, with the darkness galloping past, time seemed to disappear, the lickity-clack of the wheels on the track gobbled up the minutes.

He plonked himself wearily on the seat opposite me. ‘Sis, man, those Kaffirs stink!’ he declared then gave me a big grin and a light playful punch to the point of my chin.

‘When we get to Tzaneen in an hour we’ll have some dinner. We stop for forty-five minutes to take on coal and water and there’s a café across the road from the station. From Tzaneen I’m only the guard and another conductor takes over. What’s your favourite food, Peekay?’

‘Sweet potatoes,’ I answered.

‘Sweet potatoes, maybe and maybe not, I’ve never asked for sweet potatoes at that café. How about a mixed grill. A two-bob special, heh?’

‘I’ve only got a shilling and it’s for emergencies. Is a mixed grill an emergency?’ I asked.

Hoppie laughed. ‘For me it is. Tonight I’m paying, old mate. The mixed grills are on me.’

I didn’t want to ask him what a grill was and how it was mixed so I asked him about the pictures on the wall. ‘When are we going to see Table-Mountain-one-of-the-natural-wonders-of-the-world?’

‘Huh, come again?’

I pointed to the picture above his head. ‘When do we go there?’

Hoppie turned around to look at the picture, but he didn’t laugh when he worked out what I was talking about. ‘It’s just stupid pictures showing where South African Railways go, but we are not going there, Peekay.’ He started to study all the pictures as if he’d noticed them for the first time.

‘I almost went to Cape Town last year to fight in the finals but I was beaten in the Northern Transvaal championships. Split decision but the referee gave it to the fighter from Pretoria. I’m telling you, man, I beat the bastard fair and square. It was close, I’ve got to admit that, but I knew all the time I had him on points.’

I listened, astonished. What on earth was he talking about?

Hoppie looked me straight in the eyes. ‘You’re almost looking at the railways boxing champion of the Transvaal, you know.’ He brought his finger and thumb together in front of my face. ‘That close and I would of been in the National Railway Boxing Championships in Cape Town.’

‘What’s a boxing champion?’ I asked

It was Hoppie’s turn to look astonished. ‘What a domkop you are, Peekay. Don’t you know what boxing is?’

‘No, sir,’ I dropped my eyes, ashamed of my ignorance.

Hoppie Groenewald put his hand under my chin and lifted my head up. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. There comes a time in everything when you don’t know something.’ He grinned. ‘Okay, man, settle down, make yourself at home, we’re in for a long talk.’

‘Wait a minute, Hoppie,’ I said excitedly. I clicked open my suitcase. ‘Green or red?’ I asked, taking out a sucker of each colour. I had decided that I would have one sucker in the morning and one at night, that way they would last me the whole journey. But a friend like this doesn’t come along every day and I hadn’t heard a good story since Nanny.

‘You choose first, Peekay. What’s your favourite?’

‘No, you choose, Hoppie. You’re the one who is going to tell the story so you get first choice,’ I said with great generosity.

‘Green,’ he said. ‘I like green, my mother had green eyes.’ He took the green sucker and I put the raspberry one back and clicked the suitcase shut.

‘I’ve just had one,’ I said, grateful that I had two of the best raspberry ones left for the next two days.

‘We will share then’ he said, ‘you lick first because I’m going to be too busy doing the talking. ‘He watched me as I unwrapped the Cellophane and licked it clean. ‘When I was your age I used to do the same.’ He looked at his watch. ‘One hour to Tzaneen, just about time for a boxing lecture and maybe even a demonstration.’

I settled back happily into the corner of the large green leather seat and proceeded to lick the sucker. One and a half suckers in less than an hour was an all-time happiness and having a real friend was another. What an adventure this was turning out to be.

‘Boxing is the greatest sport in the world,’ Hoppie began, ‘even greater than rugby.’ He looked up, ready to defend this last statement if necessary, but saw that I was prepared to accept his premise. ‘The art of self-defence is the greatest art of all and boxing is the greatest art of self-defence. Take me, a natural welterweight, there isn’t any man I have to be afraid of, not even a big animal like a front-row forward. I’m fast and I can hit hard and in a street fight a little bloke like me can take on any big gorilla.’ He jabbed once or twice into the air in front of him to demonstrate his lightning speed.

‘How little can beat how big?’ I asked, getting excited.

‘Big as anything, man. If you’ve got the speed to move and can throw a big punch as you’re moving away. Timing, speed and footwork, in boxing they are everything. To be a welterweight is perfect. Not too big to be slow, not too small to lack a punch. A welterweight is the perfect fighter, I’m telling you for sure, man!’ Hoppie’s eyes were shining with conviction.

I stood up on the seat and lifted my hand about another eight inches above my head. Which, of course, was about the height of the Judge. ‘A little kid like me and a big kid, big as this?’

Hoppie paused for a moment; he seemed to be thinking. ‘Ja, now you see with small kids it’s a bit different. Small kids don’t have the punch. Maybe they’re fast enough to stay out of the way, but one stray punch from a big gorilla and it’s all over, man. Kids are best to fight in their own division.’ He looked at me. ‘Who you want to fight, hey? What big kid gave you a bad time? Just you tell me, Peekay, and he’ll have to reckon with Hoppie Groenewald. I’m telling you, man, nobody hurts a friend of mine.’