Брайс Куртенэ - The Power of One

I wasn’t at all sure how my mother would take the news of my inclusion in the squad. Boxing was never mentioned, and as far as she was concerned my early morning journey to the jail was in order to take piano lessons. She had been very busy of late with a commission from a Johannesburg shop to make three ball gowns and her Singer machine could be heard whirring away late at night. I knocked and entered the sewing room. It seemed full of a plum-coloured taffeta evening gown which was almost finished. My mother rose and held it against her body and she looked just how I imagined Cinderella must have looked when she went to the ball. The neckline plunged in a deep vee-line and the sleeves were puffed. The skirt billowed from the narrow waist and as she moved, the taffeta caught the light and rustled in a most expensive and provocative way.

‘Such an extravagance, I can’t imagine where they found the material for this in the middle of the war.’ She kicked at the skirt and it billowed out to reveal a second layer of net in a peacock blue.

‘You look beautiful,’ I said, not thinking to flatter her.

My mother laughed, and reaching for a cloth-padded hanger proceeded to hang the dress up on a rod protruding from the wall. Even away from her body the dress had a life of its own, filling the small sewing room with glamour. ‘That’s the trouble with the things of the devil, they are often sorely tempting and very pretty,’ she said with a sigh.

I had forgotten for a moment that dances were very high on the Lord’s banned list. My heart sank. If dancing was frowned upon by the Lord, what would he think of a boxing match? I immediately consoled myself with the knowledge that, as far as I knew, God was a man, and therefore He’d obviously like boxing a lot better than dancing.

‘You’ve come about the boxing, haven’t you?’ my mother said, resuming her seat at the sewing machine.

‘Yes, Mother.’ I was unable to conceal the surprise in my voice.

‘Yes well, Lieutenant Smit, a very nice man, came to see me this morning, though I’m not at all sure I liked what he had to say. I’ve spoken to your grandfather about it and I made it the subject of my quiet time with the Lord after lunch. I have to tell you He gave me no clear guidance on the matter, though your grandfather seems to think it can’t do you any harm.’ Her head jerked back in a sudden gesture of annoyance. ‘Oh, how I do wish you’d stick to the piano. It’s quite clearly the Lord’s wish that you do so or He wouldn’t have made it possible for you to learn under such trying circumstances. Lieutenant Smit seems to think you have a natural talent as a boxer which is more than the professor has admitted about your music.’

‘Doc has said my Chopin is coming along extra good,’ I said, mimicking him ever so slightly.

My mother was sewing a press stud onto what looked like a cummerbund for the taffeta dress, and she now looked up at me. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t call him by that silly name. Heaven knows this town has few enough nice people and, after all, he is a real professor of music and merits your respect. His being German is simply unfortunate. I suppose we’d all talk German with a funny accent if Hitler won the war. You’ll have to sleep on Friday afternoon if you’re going to be up that late on Saturday night.’

I jumped with joy. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ I cried and gave her a hug and a kiss.

‘I’m not at all sure the Lord approves,’ she said, but I could see she was glad I kissed her. ‘Run along now.’

On Friday morning, after callisthenics, Lieutenant Smit called us all together around the ring. ‘I want to tell you first a few things,’ he said. He turned to the five kids standing to one side with Geel Piet. ‘The rules for under fifteen says you get knocked down, you out. No use getting up, man, you finished and klaar . So don’t get knocked down, hey.’ He indicated Klipkop who was standing on his right. ‘Sergeant Oudendaal is a semi-pro so is not allowed to fight, so Gert will fight in the heavyweight division and Sergeant Oudendaal and me will be your seconds. You do as you told, man, and no monkey business, you hear? Don’t go thinking you know better. You all know the rules, the most clean blows landed wins, that’s how Geel Piet here taught you. The rest of you in the weight divisions just fight your normal fight, if you need to change tactics I’ll tell you, man.’ He was turning to leave the ring when his eye caught something at his feet. He stooped down and picked up a small blue singlet, on the front of which in yellow were the letters BB, standing for Barberton Blues. He turned the singlet around to face us; on the back, written in neat cut-out letters, we saw PEEKAY. ‘Welcome, Peekay,’ he said and everyone clapped. ‘Welcome to the Barberton Blues,’ There was a roaring in my head and my throat ached as I choked back the tears. Lieutenant Smit bent down again and picked up a pair of blue shorts with a yellow stripe down the side, and bundling the shorts and singlet together he threw them at me. They parted company in mid-air and my left hand shot out to grab the singlet while my right fetched the shorts out of the air. ‘The little bugger is fast and uses both hands well. I only wish he carried another fifteen pounds,’ he said as he climbed from the ring.

I showed Doc my singlet and shorts and he seemed very pleased for me and I told him about the three rounds. ‘Do you think you can go three rounds with Mr Chopin, Peekay?’ he asked. I nodded, determined to show Doc that his precious music was not taking a backseat, although I suspect he knew that my mind was more on staying on my feet and not getting knocked down than on the étude with which I was trying to come to grips. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Geel Piet enter. I knew that if he wanted to he would come in unnoticed, that he had worked out the exact angle to enter so he was seen without disturbing anyone. It was unusual for him to come into the hall at this time. I always put the day’s mail in the piano seat and later, when he came in to polish the Steinway, he would retrieve it. We had decided the three of us should never be seen together near the postbox. I glanced over to where he stood pretending to clean a window, a bucket at his feet. Finally Doc noticed him and raised his hand for me to stop.

‘You must not come when we practise, that is the rule,’ he admonished. The battered little man quickly picked up the bucket and trotted towards us. Doc looked annoyed. ‘What is it?’

‘Please, baas, it is very important, baas,’ Geel Piet put down the bucket and withdrew a parcel wrapped in a piece of cloth. ‘The people have put money together and in the bootmaker’s we have made for the small baas a present.’

He opened the cloth to reveal a pair of boxing boots. I gasped. They were beautiful, the black leather brought to a soft sheen and the soles the bluish white of raw new leather. ‘It is from all the people, a present for the Onoshobishobi Ingelosi, it is from all of us so you will fight a mighty fight tomorrow, small baas.’

I leapt from the piano stool, unable to contain my delight. ‘It is why I asked you for the tackies, small boss.’ He gave me a big, toothless smile. ‘It was to know the size.’

I quickly pulled my school boots off and put the boxing boots on. The leather was soft and pliant and the boots felt light as a feather and fitted perfectly. ‘Geel Piet, they are the nicest present anyone ever gave me, honest.’

‘They are from all the people, it is their way to thank you.’

Without warning he dropped to his knees, and using the cloth in which the boxing boots had been wrapped he started to polish the floor around my feet. Some instinct in him which never rested had sensed danger. A good five seconds elapsed before the warder actually stood at the entrance to the hall.