Брайс Куртенэ - The Power of One

Afterwards, as the crowd was leaving, I went over to Doc and Mrs Boxall to tell them that I had to change and would see them at the braaivleis. Mrs Boxall said that she wanted to have a word with the inspector chappie and that she’d be obliged if Doc would go with her for moral support, so they’d see me later. As I turned to go she called me back.

‘Peekay, I must say I’ve never been too keen on your boxing. But you do seem to be rather good at it and I do believe you will be a welterweight champion of the world some day. Jolly well done is all I can say!’

‘A champion already. Absoloodle!’ Doc added.

We were all in the showers changing when Klipkop came in. ‘Captain Smit wants you all to come back into the gym when you finished. Make quick, you must all be there in the next ten minutes. When you get into the gym the lights will be off. Only the lights above the ring will be on.’ He had changed hurriedly as he spoke and now he fumbled with his shirt buttons and then sat down and pulled on his socks and shoes. ‘Sit in the dark and be very quiet. Not near the door but on the far side of the ring, you hear?’ We all nodded and he hurried from the room.

We hadn’t been seated long in the darkened gym when one of the double doors opened spilling a shaft of light from the passage into the gymnasium. Caught in the light were Captain Smit, Klipkop and, standing between them, Lieutenant Borman. The door swung back into place and we could only dimly see the three men walking towards the ring, while they would not have been able to see us. Then they appeared suddenly in the circle of light illuminating the ring.

‘Climb in, Borman, up into the ring,’ Captain Smit said.

‘What you doing, man, what’s happening?’ we heard Lieutenant Borman say.

‘Just climb in, we’ll tell you in a minute. Everything will be made clear in a minute,’ Captain Smit said. Borman climbed up into the ring and Captain Smith and Klipkop followed. A pair of boxing gloves hung from the posts of each of the two boxers’ corners and in one of the neutral corners lay what appeared to be a piece of rolled up canvas. Like Captain Smit, Lieutenant Borman was wearing civilian clothes, an open neck shirt and long pants. Captain Smit leaned into the ropes and removed his shoes, leaving his socks on.

‘Take off your shoes, please, lieutenant,’ Klipkop said politely.

‘Hey man, what’s going on here?’ Borman said, with just a hint of apprehension in his voice. ‘I’m not going to fight, man. I don’t want to fight nobody. What’s going on?’

‘Take off your shoes, please, lieutenant,’ Klipkop repeated. Captain Smit picked up his shoes and placed them neatly beside a corner post.

‘I got no quarrel with you, Smit. I never done anything personally to you. Why do you want to fight me?’

‘Take off your shoes or am I going to have to take them off for you, lieutenant?’ Klipkop asked calmly.

‘Keep you hands off me, you hear,’ Borman snarled. ‘I am your superior, Oudendaal! You show me respect or you on report, you hear?’ He seemed to gain courage from the sound of his voice, shaking his finger as he shouted at Klipkop. Klipkop sighed, shook his head slowly and started to move towards Lieutenant Borman. Borman hurriedly pulled one shoe off and dropped it on the canvas, then removed the other and placed them both in the neutral corner right next to the rolled up piece of canvas.

From the moment Captain Smit had stepped into the ring he had remained silent, and I could sense this was beginning to unnerve Borman. Klipkop lifted the gloves from the post nearest to the lieutenant and walked over to him.

‘Give me your hand please, sir,’ he said in a matter of fact sort of voice.

Lieutenant Borman immediately folded his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits. ‘No, man! No way! You can’t make me fight, man. Let Smit tell me first what I done.’ Captain Smit had retrieved the gloves in his corner; placing one between his legs, he slipped his hand into the other. ‘Jus’ tell me, you hear!’ Borman shouted. Captain Smit looked up from the glove straight at Borman. Keeping his eyes fixed on the lieutenant he slowly pulled the glove from his fist and dropped it, then opened his knees so that the second glove also fell onto the canvas. He walked over to the neutral corner and picked up the object lying there. We could now see, for sure, that it was a roll of canvas. He held the roll up to his chin so that it unrolled. My heart gave an enormous leap. The canvas sheet Captain Smit was holding was covered with dry blood. Borman pulled back in horror but then, as quickly, recovered himself.

‘What’s this, man? I never saw that before in my whole life.’

Captain Smit said nothing but began to roll the canvas up again. I had been terrified, when I climbed into the ring earlier, that I might see signs of Geel Piet’s blood, but the old canvas had been removed and the ring re-covered. The sight of Captain Smit holding part of the old blood-stained canvas brought back the shock I had felt, and without realising it I began to sob. Suddenly a large, hard hand covered my mouth and Gert’s arm came around my shoulder and drew me into him.

Captain Smit put the canvas back in the corner and retrieved the boxing gloves. Klipkop pulled Borman’s arms open and slipped his gloves on. This time the lieutenant made no move to stop Klipkop who laced up the gloves.

‘I don’t know what you talking about, you hear! I swear I was at home the night the Kaffir died. I can prove it! I had to go home because my wife had an asthma attack. Everybody saw I wasn’t at the Kaffir concert. That’s because I was at home, I got called on the telephone, my wife had a bad attack and I had to go home. You’re mad, I’m telling you, you’re mad, I never done it. I never killed the Kaffir!’

Klipkop finished tying Captain Smit’s gloves and he walked to the centre of the ring. ‘No butting, no kicking, fight like a man,’ Klipkop said, and climbed out of the ring leaving Smit and Borman to fight.

Captain Smit started across the ring towards Lieutenant Borman, but Borman held up his glove open-handed. ‘Look. I admit I phoned Pretoria about the Kaffir concert, I admit that. Orright you got me on that. I thought I was right, I done my duty, that’s all. You can’t blame me for that. I done what I thought was right.’

Captain Smit brushed the open glove aside with a left and drove a hard right into the soft spot of gut that spilt over Borman’s belt. The lieutenant doubled up, clasping at his stomach with both hands trying to catch his breath. Smit stood over him waiting. Without warning, Borman suddenly smashed his gloved fist into Captain Smit’s balls. The captain staggered back, grabbing at his genitals, and then he sank to his knees. Borman was on him in a flash, and catching him on the side of the jaw he sent Captain Smit crashing to the canvas. Borman shouted, ‘You Kaffirboetie, you nigger lover, don’t fuck with me you hear, man!’ He kicked Captain Smit in the ribs just as Klipkop, who had climbed back into the ring, reached him and brought his arms around him. But Borman’s blood was up, he was a big man, and he jerked free just as Captain Smit was attempting to rise. He caught Smit another solid blow to the side of the head, putting him back on the canvas. Klipkop tried to hold Lieutenant Borman again.

‘I killed the bastard, you hear!’ Borman shouted. ‘I killed that yellow nigger. He wouldn’t tell me who gave him the letters, who brought the letters in. I caught him red-handed, two letters, man, red-handed! Two fucking letters in his pocket. He wouldn’t tell me. I broke every bone in his face. I jammed the fucking donkey prick up his arse till he shit his entrails, but he wouldn’t tell me! The black bastard wouldn’t talk!’ There were flecks of foam at the corners of Borman’s mouth and he began to sob.