The Power of One

by Bryce Courtenay

  The bell went for the second round and I let Du Toit chase me around the ring. He must have been told to try to get me into a corner because he would work me carefully toward one but at the last moment I’d feint left and duck out right and his right cross would miss by miles. But then I did it once too often and he caught me with a left uppercut in the gut and had it not been for the ropes behind me I might have gone down. He knew he’d hurt me and was trying for the big hit. All I could do was duck until I could use my feet to get out of trouble.

  To my surprise, in the second half of the round he seemed to be tiring. He’d thrown a lot of punches, most of them landing on my gloves, though he did hit me a good body blow that hurt like hell. I began to move in quickly and pick him off. Toward the end of the round the crowd was beginning to laugh as I seemed to be able to hit him almost at will. A look of desperation had crept onto his face. I don’t think I was hurting him much but I was making him very tired and very frustrated, just the way Geel Piet had said it must be done. The bell went and I was sure I had won the round.

  “You don’t have to hit him again to win,” Lieutenant Smit said. “Just stay out of his way, you hear? Just counterpunch, no attack. You going to win this clear, man, unless he cops you a lucky one.”

  The bell went for the final round. Du Toit must have had instructions to nail me because he kept rushing me, throwing wild punches. I’d nail him with a straight left or a right hook as he passed, but I was careful not to get set to throw a big punch. The crowd was laughing as I made him miss and I was beginning to feel pretty good. I had outboxed him and hadn’t been hurt; the bell would go any moment and I’d won. The right cross came at me and I couldn’t move out of the way. It smashed into my shoulder and into my face and I felt as though I had walked into a telegraph pole. I felt myself going and grabbed at the ropes behind me to stop myself falling. The next blow came but I managed to get my head out of the way; then Du Toit threw another right and it just grazed my face. But my legs felt okay and my head had cleared. I ducked under a straight right and danced out of the way just as the bell went.

  “Phew!”

  Doc was at the ringside jumping up and down. “Eleven out of ten. Absoloodle!” he yelled at me. It was the happiest moment of my life.

  I had started to move back to my corner when Meneer de Klerk called us both into the center of the ring. We shook hands and I thanked Du Toit for the fight but I think he knew he’d lost as his eyes brimmed with tears and he didn’t reply. Then Meneer de Klerk took us both by the hand and said: “The winner three rounds to nothing is Gentleman Peekay!” He held my hand up and the crowd clapped and laughed at my new name. The Barberton Blues all yelled and whistled.

  “That was good,” Lieutenant Smit said. “But it’s early times; you were lucky, man. When I tell you to stay out of the way you stay out of the way, you hear? That right cross nearly brained you. Two like that early in the next bout and we throw in the towel, you understand?”

  I nodded and tried to look contrite. As Klipkop pulled the big mitts off my hands I suddenly felt light, as though I were going to float away. It was a wonderful feeling. It was the power of one stirring in me. I jumped down from the ring feeling ten feet tall.

  Doc gave me a big hug. “Peekay, I am very proud today! Absoloodle! Such a dancer, already. Absoloodle.” I had never heard so many absoloodles.

  Fonnie Kruger won his fight against a kid from Boxburg and so did Maatie Snyman in the under-thirteens, Nels Stekhoven in the under-fourteens, and Bokkie de Beer in the under-fifteens. I’m telling you, we were a pretty proud lot in the Barberton Blues; every one of us had advanced to the semis. As Fonnie Kruger and I were both in the under-twelve division, if we got through the semis we’d be in the final together. But our hopes were soon dashed. There was a kid from Lydenburg called Kroon who was the biggest eleven-year-old I had ever seen, at least a foot higher than me and twice as wide. He wasn’t a boxer, but he polished off a kid from Nelspruit in the first round when he sat him on the canvas after about one minute. We instantly dubbed him Killer Kroon. We all got scared just looking at him and Bokkie said he was glad he wasn’t fighting in the under-twelve division.

  Fonnie Kruger got Killer Kroon in the semis and managed to go one round before he was sat on his pants, seconds after the second round had begun. I think he was glad that it was all over. Killer Kroon had closed his right eye. “It’s like boxing a blerrie gorilla,” he said when he climbed down from the ring.

  Just before lunch I entered the ring again to fight a kid from Kaapmuiden. He was a square-built sort of bloke and very strong around the shoulders but not a lot taller than me. It was the first time I had stood up to another boxer whose chin level wasn’t above my head. It was a good fight and my speed saved me from taking the weight of his blows. He hit hard and straight, but I was able to move away as the punch came so the sting had gone out of it. Nevertheless, he landed quite a lot of punches and was scoring well. Before the final round began, Lieutenant Smit wiped my face.

  “You’re not doing enough to make certain of this fight. Watch his straight left, he keeps dropping his right glove after he’s thrown the left. Get in under the blow and work him with both hands to the body. I want to make certain you got enough points.”

  We touched gloves for the final round and Lieutenant Smit was quite right. The kid, whose name was Geldenhuis, threw his left and then curiously dropped his right. I went in underneath and got five or six good blows to the body before he pushed me away. The final bell went and Meneer de Klerk announced for the second time that day, “The winner in two out of three rounds, Gentleman Peekay!” The crowd laughed and clapped and the Barberton Blues went wild.

  Doc could hardly contain himself. “Not even one scratch, black eyes not even one. Perfect. You should play Chopin as good as this, ja?” He laughed and handed me a towel. “Lieutenant Smit says you must have a shower and change into your clothes again. Tonight, six o’clock, we fight again.” He suddenly grew serious. “Peekay, in the finals is a big Boer, you must dance very goot. You must box like a Mozart piano concerto, fast and light with perfect timing, ja?”

  After lunch Doc made me lie down. Despite the heat he threw a blanket over me, and to my surprise I fell asleep. It was five o’clock when he came to fetch me and I felt a little stiff and sore. He made me have a warm shower before I changed into my boxing things again. By the time we got back into the hall it was almost six and the preliminaries were over. Bokkie de Beer said five of the Barberton Blues were through to the finals, including Gert. I went over to Gert to congratulate him.

  “Ag, it wasn’t too hard, Peekay. I think I got lucky. But like you, man, I got a Boer in the finals as big as a mountain, a superheavyweight. He won both his fights on knockouts in the first.”

  “You got the speed, speed is everything,” I quoted Geel Piet.

  “Not if he gets me in a corner,” Gert said solemnly.

  “Then stay out of corners, man!” I said flippantly, but the advice was meant as much for myself as for him.

  “You on soon, Peekay. You can do it, I’m telling you.” But I could hear him talking in his head and he was very worried about me.

  Fonnie Kruger came over and said that Lieutenant Smit wanted me.

  Lieutenant Smit and Klipkop were in earnest conversation with Meneer de Klerk.

  “The Boer kid has thirty, maybe forty pounds on yours. I don’t like it one bit,” the referee was saying.

  “You saw him in the other two fights. He hardly got touched; our kid’s a good boxer,” Klipkop said.

  “He’s the best I’ve seen in a long time. But he’s a midget compared to Kroon. Kroon dropped both his opponents in the first. That’s a bad kid. I work with young boxers every day; I’m telling you, this kid is not a sportsman.” Meneer de Klerk threw his hands open. “There’s plenty of time. Let the boy grow a bit. Wait till next year. He’s champion material, too good to spoil with a mismatch.”

  I could see a hesitant look cross
Lieutenant Smit’s face. The voices going on inside his head were confused. My heart was going boom, boom, and there was a huge aching lump in my throat. Then he squinted at the bald referee. “I make you this promise, Meneer de Klerk. If my boy even looks like being hurt we throw in the towel. You don’t know Peekay. That kid has worked three years for this fight. I can’t pull him out without giving him a chance.”

  “I’ll give him one round, Smit. If he even looks like being hit in the first round I’m giving the fight to Kroon on a TKO, you understand?”

  Lieutenant Smit nodded his head. He turned and saw me and I grinned at him. They had to give me a go. I had to fight Kroon. Kroon was no bigger to me than Jackhammer Smit was to Hoppie. I could take him, I knew it. “We got to glove up now, Peekay,” Lieutenant Smit said.

  I climbed into the ring and sat on the little stool and Killer Kroon also sat on his. He stared directly at me. Shit, he was big! He had a grin on his face and I could hear his conversation to himself, “I’m going to knock this little kid out first round.”

  With the arrival of the townspeople for the finals, the town hall was at least half full. I remembered Doc’s words, “You must box like a Mozart piano concerto.” In my head I could hear the way Doc would play a Mozart concerto, no arpeggio, fast and straight, the timing perfect. It made sense to box Killer Kroon in the same way.

  “Never mind his head, Peekay. You just keep landing them to the body. Quick punches in and out with both hands. Scoring shots. Stay out of reach and don’t let him get you against the ropes. You box him in the middle of the ring. Make him work, make him chase you all the time, you hear?”

  I listened to them carefully, but I knew the real answer came from Geel Piet. That I had to box with my feet. I had no idea what sort of a boxer Killer Kroon was. His first opponent had lasted less than a minute and Fonnie went down a few seconds into the second round but had spent all of the first backpedaling.

  As I sat there waiting, Kroon stared at me with an evil grin and the feeling of being in front of the Judge came back to me and the ring became the dormitory and the audience the jury.

  I closed my eyes and counted from ten to one. I stood on a rock just below the full moon, the roar of the falls in my ears. The river and the gorge and the African veld stretched out below me in the silver light. I was a young Zulu warrior who had killed his first lion and I could feel the lion skin skirt around my hips, the tail of the lion wrapped around my waist. I took a deep breath and jumped the first of the falls into a pool lashed with white spray, rose to the surface and was swept to the rim of the second, plunged downward and rose again to be swept to the edge of the third pool, where I fell again, rising to the surface at the bottom of the falls, where the first of the stepping-stones shone wet in the moonlight. I crossed the ten stones to the other side and opened my eyes and looked directly at Kroon. Killer Kroon saw something in my eyes that made him turn away and not look at me again.

  The referee called us up, and taking us by the wrists, he held our hands in the air. “On my left, Dames and Heere…Gentleman Peekay of the Barberton Blues.” The crowd gave me a big hand, although this was mixed with laughter as they saw my size next to Killer Kroon. “On my right, from Lydenburg, Martinus Kroon.” The crowd had already chosen sides and with the exception of the Lydenburg squad the clapping was only polite.

  The bell went for the first round and I sprang from my stool while Killer Kroon got up slowly, almost disdainfully. We moved to the center of the ring, and he threw a left at my head, which only came up to below his shoulder. I could see it coming for miles and let it pass my ear. He followed with a right and I ducked under the punch. It was almost the same opening Du Toit had used and I followed it the same way with a left and a right under Kroon’s heart. I got some body behind the two punches but he didn’t even seem to notice. I danced quickly out of the way and a clumsy uppercut with his left missed my chin by six inches.

  I stayed in the center of the ring, moving around Kroon, who threw four more punches and missed. He threw another right that parted my hair but the punch was too hard, throwing him off balance. I moved in fast and hit the same spot under the heart with a left and right combination, which I repeated. Four good short punches. But I’d been too greedy getting the extra two punches home. His huge arms locked around me and, lifting me bodily, he threw me away from him. I was sent spinning across the ring, my legs working like pistons to keep me on my feet. I bounced into the ropes, and grabbed the middle one with both arms to steady myself. I was wide open as the straight right came at me. It should have been an uppercut. I was against the ropes and would not have been able to move out of the way. To put everything he had into the punch, Killer Kroon had pulled his shoulder back just a fraction too far. It allowed me a split second to move my head to the right. The blow caught my ear and it felt like a branding iron had been pushed into the side of my head. But I’d taken worse from the Judge and I feinted left and moved off the ropes under his right arm. He turned quickly but my feet were already in position and he walked into a perfectly timed right cross, coming at him with the full weight of my body behind it. The punch landed flush on the point of his chin and his head snapped back. I knew I had hurt him. It was the best punch I had ever thrown by far. Gert said later, had I been nearer to Killer Kroon’s size, he’d have been out for a week.

  Kroon shook his head in bewilderment. He was hurt and he was mad and he came looking for me. I stayed out of his way, taking a straight left on the shoulder moving away, and managed two more good punches to the spot under his heart, which had developed a red patch. The bell went for the end of round one, and as I returned to my corner I could see a grin on Meneer de Klerk’s face.

  Doc was standing outside the ring in my corner as Lieutenant Smit and Klipkop climbed in to attend to me. He had his bandanna in both hands and was twisting it round and round.

  “You done good,” Klipkop said. Lieutenant Smit smeared Vaseline over the ear where Kroon had glanced his big hit off me. He covered my good ear with his hand.

  “Can you hear me, Peekay?” He spoke from the side I’d been hit on.

  “Ja, lieutenant, I hear you good,” I replied.

  “If a thick ear is all we get out of this fight we’ll be blerrie lucky.” He turned to Klipkop. “Give him another half-glass of water. Rinse only, don’t swallow. Now listen good, Peekay. It looks like this gorilla’s only got four punches. Straight right, straight left, right cross and left uppercut. He’s a fighter and he’s never needed any more than those; every one is a good punch and he throws them well, except the left uppercut is a bit clumsy and he tries to hit too hard with the right cross so you can see it coming. You done good to move under it and hit him under the heart. He’s very strong but if you can get in enough of those they’ll count in the end and you’ll slow him down for the third. You must keep moving, you hear? Make him work; he’s not as fit as you; and keep hitting him on that spot under the heart, okay?”

  I had never heard Lieutenant Smit talk so fast, and listening to what he wasn’t saying, I could see he now thought I had a chance. “No more attack, you hear? Only counterpunch.” I nodded and the bell went for the second round.

  Kroon came storming out of his corner and I could see from the look in his eyes that he wanted to finish the fight. For the first half of the round I ducked and weaved and backpedaled and moved him around. He must have thrown fifty punches without landing even one. The crowd was beginning to laugh as he repeatedly missed. Toward the second half of the round he slowed down a little and his right cross wasn’t coming quite so fast. He was breathing heavily. I moved up a little closer and started coming in under the right cross again, to land on the same spot under the heart time and time again. I couldn’t believe his lack of imagination. His breathing was getting heavier and heavier and he grunted as I landed a left and a right and I realized that my punches were beginning to hurt him. I was getting pretty tired myself when the bell sounded for the end of the second round.

&
nbsp; The crowd stood and clapped. As I returned to my corner I looked toward Doc. He had the bandanna in his mouth and was chewing on it.

  “He’s going to try and finish you this round, Peekay. You got both rounds, you miles ahead on points. He is going to try to put you down.” Lieutenant Smit’s usually calm voice was gone. “Stay away, man. I don’t care if you don’t land a single punch, just keep clear, you hear? Keep clear, you got this fight won. Magtig! You boxing good!” His eyes were shining.

  The bell for the final round went and we met in the center of the ring and touched gloves. Killer Kroon was still breathing hard and his chest was heaving. As we moved away he said, “I’m going to kill you, you blerrie Rooinek.”

  Geel Piet said you always had to answer back, so they know you’re not afraid. “Come and get me, you Boer bastard!” I shot back at him. He rushed at me and I stepped aside but his swinging arm caught me as he passed and knocked me off my feet. It wasn’t a punch, it was the inside of his arm, but it sat me down. I couldn’t believe it had happened. One knockdown and you lose the fight! I had opened my mouth to talk, lost my concentration and lost the fight! I couldn’t believe it was me sitting on the canvas. There was a roaring in my ears and a terrible despair in my heart.

  “No knockdown, continue to box!” I heard Meneer de Klerk shout as though in a dream. I was coming to my feet but the thought of defeat had drowned my senses. Killer Kroon rushed in and that clumsy left uppercut just missed my chin. This time he should have used the right cross as I couldn’t move upward to my feet and sideways at the same time. A right cross would have caught me flush on the chin and finished me for keeps. Instead I simply moved my head backward and the uppercut whizzed safely past the point of my chin. I was back on my toes and dancing out of reach, moving around him. He couldn’t box for toffee. No way was he going to get a second chance at me.

  I began to realize that there was something wrong with him. His breath was coming in rasps and his chest was heaving; his punches had lost their zing. I moved up and hit him as hard as I could with a two-fisted attack to the spot under his heart and his hands fell to his sides. His gloves came around my waist but there was hardly any strength left in him and he leaned heavily on me, his gloves working up and down my waist. The thumb of his glove must have caught the elastic band of my boxing shorts, for they slipped neatly over my hips and fell to my ankles. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t step backward for fear of falling; anyway his weight made it impossible to move. So I just stood there and hit him again and again, my bare arse pointed at the crowd. Then he gave me a last desperate push and I tripped over the shorts and fell down. I tried to pull my pants up with my boxing gloves but without success. The crowd was convulsed with laughter and Killer Kroon was standing over me with his hands on his knees, rasping and wheezing and trying to take in air.