Брайс Куртенэ - The Power of One

‘He did it all himself, I seen him do it in the hospital,’ Marie said suddenly, her voice quaking with terror.’

‘Well that’s one good thing, little Miss Florence Nightingale has found her voice,’ the colonel said. ‘Perhaps we can get on with the interview now?’ He turned to me. ‘Son, I want you to tell me the whole story again, just as it happened.’ I repeated the story although Marie had no chance of pronouncing the Latin names of the two succulents which I then referred to as, ‘blue chalksticks and another succulent genus which I can write for you, if you want?’ The colonel pushed a piece of paper across the desk and I wrote the Latin names on it. ‘Extraordinary, it seems I owe you an apology, madam,’ he said dipping his head at Mrs Boxall. When we got to the swear-words Marie refused to say them. ‘Please, sir, I can’t say them words, I’ve never said words like that in my whole life,’ she said fearfully but with absolute resolve.

The colonel would cut in every once in a while and ask me questions such as, ‘What was the colour of the sergeant’s cap and belt?’ They were all questions which involved some minor piece of detailing, but I had no trouble answering them.

When I was finished, he told Marie that she had done an excellent job and she blushed crimson and the pimples stood out on her face. Then he turned to Mr Andrews.

‘The child’s statement coincides almost precisely with that of the prisoner. We have already determined that neither has been in a position to compare notes nor to have a third party co-ordinate a defence. Mrs Boxall did try to see him but was not allowed to do so. The prisoner has been visited and interviewed only by military personnel and I am satisfied that the incident took place as the boy has alleged. I am quite sure the court will find for the defendant in all matters except one. I will ask that the charges of assault to a minor and attempted escape be withdrawn. Quite obviously the striking of the Provost sergeant was under severe emotional provocation and the court is likely to look upon it as such. Both the army and the prison reports state that the prisoner smelt heavily of whisky but we can quite easily ascertain whether his coat sleeve is stained.’

He pulled at the purple tape on the file and opened it up. Inside were two folded copies of the Goldfields News , the picture of me sitting on the rock and a number of Doc’s other photographs and also one of his small spiral-bound notepads. The colonel held up one of the newspapers. ‘Really, this kind of hysterical nonsense makes it very difficult for us. The trial of aliens is distressing enough without having the general population turning the butcher, the baker and the music maker into enemies of the State. The only charge Professor Von Vollensteen faces is a technical one, that of not having registered as an alien.’ He rose from his chair and smiled briefly at me. ‘I only wish I could be here to have a chat with you when your jaw is better, young man. I am also beginning to form a healthy respect for the teachings of your professor.’ He shook Mrs Boxall and Mr Andrews by the hand and said something privately to him, then Mr Andrews hustled us out of the room.

When we got back to the waiting room Mr Hankin of the Goldfields News was waiting. Mr Andrews spoke to him and he nodded towards the colonel’s office. Mr Hankin rose and walked towards the office. ‘I think Mr Hankin’s career as a spy catcher is about to come to a sticky end,’ Mrs Boxall said to me and then started to laugh. ‘We won, Peekay, we won!’ she said triumphantly.

But we hadn’t won. While Doc was acquitted of all the charges just as the colonel said he would be, he was charged with being an unregistered alien and the court ordered him to be detained in a concentration camp for the duration of the war. The Goldfields News headline read, NO SPY BUT STILL A GERMAN! It was a year before Mrs Boxall agreed to resume her column, ‘Clippings from a Cultured Garden by Fiona Boxall’.

Doc was to be kept in custody at the Barberton prison until arrangements could be made to send him to a concentration camp somewhere in the highveld. Two days after Doc had been sentenced I went to the library to take a bunch of roses from my mother to Mrs Boxall. Mr Andrews had explained to my mother how my evidence had saved Doc from a severe sentence, one that might well have killed a man of his age. He had also persuaded her that we had nothing to be ashamed of and that he only wished his two sons, now at boarding school in Johannesburg, had had the benefit of a man as remarkable as the professor. My mother decided that the Lord had guided her in the matter and that His will had been quite clearly wrought through me. The roses to Mrs Boxall were her sign that the librarian’s trespass into the hospital to see me had been forgiven.

Mrs Boxall seemed excited when she saw me come through the door. ‘I’m so fearfully glad you came, Peekay, I have a letter for you.’ I handed her the roses. ‘How very nice of your mother.’ She placed them on the book-sorting table and withdrew into her tiny office to return with a small blue envelope which she handed to me. The envelope was sealed and I opened it carefully pulling back the flap at the back, the glue giving way reluctantly. ‘Do hurry, Peekay, I can’t bear the suspense,’ Mrs Boxall said, looking over my shoulder. I withdrew a single sheet of cheap exercise paper and opened it. Doc’s neat hand covered the page. ‘Oh dear, I’m such an awful nosy parker! May I read it with you?’ Besides Hoppie’s note, it was the only letter I had ever received and the first one sealed in an envelope. I would have preferred to read it alone but of course I couldn’t possibly say so and I nodded my agreement.

Dear Peekay,

What a mess we are in. Me in this place where they tear down a man’s dignity and you with a broken jaw. But things could be worse. I could be a black man and that would be trouble and half. Absolute.

I have been placed under open arrest, it means I can go anywhere in the prison grounds and my cell is not locked. Best of all, it means I can have visitors. Will you come and see me?

Ask Mrs Boxall to telephone the people here and make arrangements. There is also good news about the Steinway. The Kommandant is going to allow me to have it in the prison hall. This is good news, ja?

I do not think of myself as a German. What is a German? To say a man is a German what is that? Does it tell you if he is a good man? Or a bad man? No, my friend, it tells you nothing about a man to say he is German. A man must think what he is inside, what he is on the outside, how can this matter?

Also, because I am German, I am well treated by the warders. This also is stupid. Have you planted the Senecio serpens ? No of course not, I am getting old and think only of my own welfare. Perhaps Mrs Boxall will take the books in the cottage and put them in the library? In the meantime I am treated well and whisky is getting easier not to have. Please come soon.

Your friend, Doc

‘We will call the prison at once,’ Mrs Boxall said, inviting me into her office. The superintendent of Barberton prison, Kommandant Jaapie Van Zyl, told Mrs Boxall that Colonel de Villiers had said Professor Von Vollensteen should be allowed access to the boy within the normal rules of the prison. He added that he had heard of my bravery and wanted to meet me himself. That if Mrs Boxall cared to have me bring Doc library books this would be permitted. The professor was a musician and a scholar and Barberton prison was honoured to have him.

Mrs Boxall selected three botanical books she knew to be among Doc’s favourites and I set out with a note from her to visit Doc in prison.