Брайс Кортни - The Power of One

‘This is a fifteen-round contest, may the best man win.’ The referee had already assumed the authority of the fight and he didn’t look small any more. It was clear the crowd accepted him. He moved to the edge of the ring where the light spilled sufficiently to show three men seated at a small table. ‘Ready, judges?’ They nodded and he turned to the two fighters. ‘At the sound of the bell come out fighting, gentlemen.’

Out of the darkness the bell sounded for round one.

Hoppie jumped from the stool as Nels pulled it out of the ring and Jackhammer Smit stormed towards him. In the oppressive heat the air was as still as a dead man’s breath and the big boxer’s torso was already glistening with sweat. I had earlier unwrapped my first sucker, as usual licking the clear Cellophane clean. It was the yellow one the beautiful Indian lady with the diamond in her tooth had given me, and the wrapper tasted vaguely of pineapple, only even sweeter than a real pineapple.

Hoppie danced around the big man and Jackhammer Smit let go two left jabs and a right uppercut, all of which missed Hoppie by a mile. He followed with a straight left which Hoppie caught neatly in his glove as he was going away. Hoppie feinted to the right as Jackhammer tried to catch him with two left jabs, then he stepped in under the last jab and peppered Jackhammer’s face with a two-handed attack. Two left, then two stabbing rights to the head. The blows were lightning fast; Hoppie had moved out of reach by the time Jackhammer Smit could bring his gloves back into position in front of his face. Hoppie continued to backpedal most of the time, making Smit chase him around the ring. Occasionally he darted in with a flurry of blows to the head and then danced out of range again. Jackhammer came doggedly after him, trying to get set for a big punch, but Hoppie was content to land a quick left and a right and then move quickly out of harm’s way. The first round saw him land a dozen good punches, most of them just above Jackhammer’s left eye, while the big man only managed a long straight left that caught Hoppie on the shoulder as the welterweight was moving away.

It was clear that Jackhammer Smit was having trouble with the southpaw and was showing his frustration. The bell went for the end of the first round and the fighters returned to their corners. This time, like Hoppie, Jackhammer sat down, breathing heavily. He drank deeply, straight from a bottle of water one of his seconds held up to his mouth. The other second sponged him, dried him and smeared Vaseline above his left eye.

Hoppie looked composed, breathing lightly. He drank from a bottle with a tiny bent pipe coming out of it, rinsing his mouth and spitting the water back into a bucket Bokkie held for him. Nels was massaging his shoulders and Hoppie was nodding his head at something Bokkie was saying.

‘Is Hoppie winning, Mevrou Hettie?’ I asked anxiously.

‘It’s early times yet, Peekay. In the early rounds the Kid will be too fast for the big guy, but one thing’s for sure, Hoppie’s punches are too short to hurt Smit.’

The bell went for round two, a round much the same as round one except that Jackhammer Smit landed three punches to Hoppie’s head, all of them glancing blows, but each time the miners went wild. After the second round a red blotch began to appear above Jackhammer’s left eye. The next three rounds saw Hoppie leading Smit all around the ring making him throw punches that nearly always missed and then darting in with a quick flurry of blows before bouncing back out of harm’s way.

The bell went for the sixth round and Jackhammer shuffled to the centre of the ring, his gloves rotating slowly in front of his chest. He was getting the hang of the southpaw and was going to make Hoppie take the fight to where he stood rooted to the centre of the ring.

Jackhammer dropped his gloves, leaving his head a clear target, knowing he could take anything Hoppie dished out. Hoppie was forced to move in close enough for Smit to hit him in the gut and around the kidneys. In this way Hoppie had to take a couple of vicious blows to the body every time he moved in to hit the spot above Jackhammer’s left eye. Jackhammer gave a grunt as he drove a left or a right into Hoppie’s body and the crowd responded as one man with an exclamation of pain. By the end of the sixth Jackhammer’s left eye was almost closed but deep red welts showed on Hoppie’s ribs where Jackhammer had caught him. Both men were breathing hard as they returned to their corners.

‘It’s not looking good for the Kid. The big ape has found his mark and he’s going to wear him down with body punches. You could of fooled me, he got more brains than I would have given him credit for,’ Big Hettie said. She didn’t show any emotion, appraising the progress of the fight as though she were simply an informed, though disinterested bystander.

‘Don’t let him have brains, Mevrou Hettie. Brains is one thing you’ve got to have to win,’ I said in anguish. Big Hettie was fanning herself with a brightly coloured Chinese paper fan, the perspiration running down the sides of her face and neck. ‘He hits awful hard, Peekay,’ she said absently.

The bell went for the seventh and Jackhammer shuffled back to the centre of the ring. The heat was plainly telling on him and his gloves were held even lower than before. This left enough of his body exposed for Hoppie to hit him at long range, getting a lot more power behind his punches. The left eye was closed and Hoppie was beginning to work on the right, jabbing straight lefts right on the button every time. Near the end of the round he attempted a right-cross to Jackhammers’ jaw just as the big man had moved back slightly to throw a punch. Hoppie missed with the right and was thrown slightly off balance as Smit followed through with an uppercut that caught the smaller man under the heart. You could hear his grunt as the punch landed and Hoppie’s legs buckled under him as he toppled to the canvas.

‘Oh, shit! One-punch Johnny has found the punch. Goliath wins in seven,’ Big Hettie said in dismay as the miners went wild. The tiny referee was standing over Hoppie and yelling at Jackhammer Smit to get into a neutral corner, but the big man just stood there his chest heaving, waiting for Hoppie to rise so that he could finish him off. The referee wouldn’t start the count and precious seconds passed as the big man stood belligerently over the fallen welterweight. Jackhammer’s seconds were screaming at him to move away and when finally he did so a good thirty seconds had passed.

The referee started to put in the count. Hoppie rose onto one knee and waited until the count of eight before rising and getting to his feet. The referee signalled for the fight to continue and Jackhammer Smit lumbered across the ring to finish Hoppie off. The almost forty-second respite had been enough to stave off disaster and Hoppie simply kept out of harm’s way as Jackhammer, energy leaking out of him with every assault, kept charging at him like an angry bull. The bell went just as Hoppie landed a hard left uppercut to Jackhammer’s eye when the big man tried another desperate charge.

‘Dammit, Peekay! That was lucky. Thank the Lord Jesus, Sparrow Fart knows the blêrrie rules, the Kid was out for a ten count for sure.’ Big Hettie removed a dishtowel that covered the basket and mopped her face and bosom. ‘Smit’s just another stupid Boer after all. All balls and no brains. Hoppie can thank his lucky stars for that.’

In all the excitement I had bitten the sucker clean off its stick and crunched it to bits, shortening its life by at least half an hour. I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth, seeking the last of the pineappley taste. It could be a long time before another one came my way. Big Hettie took a Thermos flask from the basket and, using the silver lid which was shaped like a cup, poured it full of hot, sweet, milky coffee and handed it to me. Then she opened a large cake tin and handed me a huge slice of chocolate cake. My eyes nearly stood out on stalks, this was going to be a night to remember all right. If Hoppie, beloved Hoppie, could just keep away from the big gorilla. The way he danced around the big man, seemingly only to get out of the way of a punch at the last second, reminded me of how Granpa Chook used to dodge when stones were thrown at him. I only hoped that Hoppie had the same survival instinct. For an instant I grew sad. In the end even Granpa Chook’s highly developed sense of survival couldn’t save him, the big gorilla finally got him.