Брайс Куртенэ - The Power of One

‘Peekay,’ he said, ‘in this world are very few things made from logic alone. It is illogical for a man to be too logical. Some things we must just let stand. The mystery is more important than any possible explanation.’ He paused for a moment and tapped his fingers on the edge of the keyboard. ‘The searcher after truth must search with humanity. Ruthless logic is the sign of a limited mind. The truth can only add to the sum of what you know, while a harmless mystery left unexplored often adds to the meaning of life. When a truth is not so important, it is better left as a mystery.’ It was an answer which left me confused for some years, for Doc worshipped the truth and had always demanded it between us at any cost.

Geel Piet had not expected me to win through to the finals in Nelspruit. The most he had hoped for was a berth in the semis. His delight at the Monday morning training session knew no bounds. ‘The people are very happy. I’m telling you, since we heard the news they have talked about nothing else, man. The Zulus say you are surely a Zulu chief disguised as a white man, for only a Zulu can fight with this much courage.’ He laughed. ‘When we heard the news, everybody who had a stompie smoked it and the warders could not stop the people singing in the night.’

In fact, one of the warders told Doc and me at breakfast on Monday morning that there had been a strange feeling in the prison on Saturday night and they had alerted off-duty men to be on standby. He said that at about seven o’clock, before any of the warders knew the results, one of the old lags told him I had won. He had only officially been told after midnight, when the news came from the warder on duty at the gates within minutes of the return of Lieutenant Smit to the prison. ‘Wragdig, man. Kaffirs are funny that way. Sometimes they just know things without the telephone or anything. I seen it before in Pollsmoor when a prisoner is going to be hanged. The decision is made not even in the jail but they know even before the instructions come to the Kommandant. An old lag once told me they send out their combined energy to find out. I dunno how it works, man, but I’m telling you they blêrrie well know.’

At my piano lesson on Monday, Doc found an excuse for Geel Piet to come into the hall and I played back the three fights blow by blow to him. He nearly died laughing when I told him about my pants falling down. I added that I would get my mother to shorten them and tighten the elastic around the waist. It was Geel Piet who cottoned on to why Killer Kroon had the asthma attack.

‘He is not used to boxing three rounds hard. Probably he never even boxed three rounds before, because he always got a TKO decision like the first two fights. Then you come along and he has to chase you all over the place, man, and you keep hitting him under the heart. So what do you think happens? He has to breathe harder and harder, man, and the strain brings on his asthma attack. I had an aunty in Cape Town who couldn’t even climb some steps without getting an asthma attack. I’m telling you, it’s the truth, man. You found his weakness and you attacked it.’ He smiled, ‘Hey man, blêrrie lucky he had a bad left hook. When you came in under his right cross he could’ve done some real damage with a good left hook.’

That morning Lieutenant Smit had made a short speech to us all. ‘I’m proud of you all, you hear? Not one boxer let us down, even those of you who lost, you fought good.’ He turned to Klipkop. ‘Wait until the Potgieter turns professional, man, I’m telling you, you in for a lot of trouble.’

‘Let him come,’ Klipkop mumbled.

‘Gert, you done good. You hit him maybe ten times for every one time he hit you but two hundred and twenty pounds isn’t two hundred and eighty pounds. That big ape belongs in the jungle.’ We all laughed and then he said, ‘I left the smallest for last. The under twelve finals was the best boxing match I have ever seen.’ Fonnie Kruger punched me in the ribs and I didn’t know how to stop my face burning. ‘No, honest man, if you all want a lesson in boxing then watch Peekay.’ He paused and looked directly at Geel Piet standing twenty paces behind us. ‘Geel Piet, you just a yellow Kaffir, but I got to hand it to you, you a good coach.’

We all looked round to see Geel Piet cover his face with both hands and dance from one foot to another as though he were standing on hot coals.

‘Don’t think you can get cheeky now, you hear?’ Lieutenant Smit said. But there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Geel Piet pulled his hands down over his face as though wiping away the expression concealed under them. ‘No, baas, thank you, baas. This yellow Kaffir is a very happy man, baas.’

The prison photographer came into the gym and Lieutenant Smit announced we were going to have our picture taken but not our fingerprints. We all laughed and the photographer lined us up, fussing around until he had got it just right. There was an explosion of light as he took the picture, and then he said he wanted to take another for luck. Lieutenant Smit looked about him as Doc entered the hall. ‘Come Professor, come stand here,’ he invited and then to everyone’s surprise he beckoned to Geel Piet. ‘You too, Kaffir,’ he said gruffly.

Klipkop stepped out of the photographer’s former arrangement. ‘No way, man! I’m not having my photo taken with a blêrrie Kaffir!’

Lieutenant Smit brought his hand up to his mouth and blew a couple of breathy notes down the centre of his closed fist. ‘That’s okay, sergeant Oudendaal,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Anybody else also want to step out?’

Geel Piet stepped out of where he was standing on the edge of the group. ‘I am too ugly for a heppy snap, baas,’ he grinned.

‘Get back, Kaffir!’ Lieutenant Smit commanded.

Geel Piet returned to the edge of the group, whereupon the remainder of the adult boxers stepped out of the group with the exception of Gert, then Bokkie de Beer moved away followed by the other kids. I could see they were real scared. Only Doc, Gert, Geel Piet and myself were left when Lieutenant Smit stepped back into the picture. ‘Okay, man, take the snap!’ he commanded.

The photograph captured the exact moment when I understood with conviction that racism is a primary force of evil designed to destroy good men.

We were all given a large ten by eight inch photograph of the Barberton Blues and the photographer gave Doc, Gert and me a copy of the second photograph. The lieutenant refused his copy which I begged from the photographer and gave to Geel Piet privately. He kept it in the piano stool and looked at it every day when he collected the prisoners’ mail.

Some weeks later Lieutenant Smit was promoted to captain and some people even started to talk about him as the next Kommandant. He called me aside after training session one morning and asked if I would return the second photo and get Doc’s copy back as well. I had no option but to obey, and Gert did the same. Lieutenant Smit tore them up but forgot about the extra copy. He obtained the plate from the prison photographer and destroyed this also. A man cannot be careful enough about his career and the second photograph had been aberrant to his normal behaviour. He had no intention of living to regret it.

Between Doc and Mrs Boxall, my education was in fairly safe hands. Mrs Boxall consulted with Doc by note and they decided on my serious reading. She was the expert on English literature and he on the sciences, music and Latin. The Barberton library, apart from containing Doc’s own botanical collection, had also been the recipient of two surprisingly good private collections and Mrs Boxall said it was choked with intellectual goodies for a growing mind. Both Doc and Mrs Boxall were natural teachers and enthusiasts who never lost patience when my young mind couldn’t keep up. Doc set exams and Mrs Boxall conducted them in the library. I had an exam on Tuesday and Friday every week and I grew to love this time spent with Mrs Boxall, who often violently disagreed with a conclusion reached by Doc. I was the carrier of debate notes and some of the intellectual arguments went on for weeks at a time. I was never excluded and I learned the value of debate and of having a point of view I was prepared to defend.