Tandia

by Bryce Courtenay

  The referee called them both into the centre of the ring and neither man looked at each other as they received instructions.

  Tandia, seated directly below the ring in the front row, was overwrought before the fight began between the man she loved the most and the man she hated the most in the world. Of the two emotions, hate was the stronger and with it fear. In her mind Geldenhuis was invincible and she was terribly afraid for Gideon. She was close to tears, and by the time the bell went for the opening round she held Madam Flame Flo's hand in a fierce grip, her whole body shaking.

  The first round was torrid enough, with both fighters standing toe to toe, both boxing well and keeping the other out. Geldenhuis hit Mandoma with a beautiful right hand towards the end of the round, sending him back several paces; then he'd come in fast, hoping to put another couple of good punches in, but Gideon tied him up and the bell went. If anything it was this single punch which separated the two fighters in the first round.

  The second and third rounds were not dissimilar, both boxers trying to get on top, punching hard and accurately but seldom penetrating the other's defence. It was surprising that after three rounds no pattern seemed to be emerging. But the fans were getting their money's worth; neither man would back down and the pace of the fight was too fast to last.

  The fourth round was Geldenhuis's best. He came out early and caught Gideon again with a right to the jaw. Gideon went down, though he was up at the count of four, not staying down, as Solly had advised him for an eight count. Geldenhuis was all over him and it wasn't until halfway through the round that he began to even things out. The fourth round ended with a definite advantage for Geldenhuis, although he'd thrown an awful lot of leather trying to nail the black man and he was showing the first signs of slowing down.

  Five and six saw the fight beginning to change. Gideon was punching the more accurately of the two fighters, landing more often. Fought at a slightly slower pace, it was easier to see what was happening and the crowd began to sense that the black man was starting to get on top. It was the first time Tandia released Madam Flame Flo's hand; six rounds had ended and the seventh was the one when Geldenhuis had promised he'd put Gideon away. Now Gideon was starting to look the better boxer.

  Forecasting your opponent's demise is good for pre-fight publicity but in boxing it comes back to haunt you too often. History will tell that by the seventh round Mandoma had Geldenhuis where he wanted him. Geldenhuis came out strong, determined to keep his promise, but seemed to almost run into a hard left to his jaw. It was a dumb punch but he was badly hurt and he dropped like a stone, a bewildered look on his face. He rose at the count of eight but he was very groggy on his feet, whereupon Mandoma set about the task of working his body, working the policeman onto the ropes and ripping punches into him just below the heart. Geldenhuis seemed to have no counter for these deadly short blows and he rapidly weakened. It almost looked as though he was only staying on his feet because Mandoma wanted to keep him upright.

  The bell went and Mandoma was met at his corner by an excited Solly Goldman. 'You could have put him away, why, why? You could have put him away in the seventh, turned the books on him!'

  'I want him for one more round, this next round is for Tandia,' Gideon said. He turned to Togger, who was acting as one of the seconds. He grinned, raising his glove as Togger was about to insert his mouthguard. 'Please, Togger, you go tell her this round is for her.'

  'It's my pleasure, Gideon, a looker like that. She your girlfriend, then?'

  Gideon nodded as Solly pushed him up. 'It's not over yet, my son. You get in there and box. It's not over until the man counts ten!' He was furious at Gideon's break in concentration.

  But it was. Right at the start of the following round Mandoma hit Geldenhuis hard and put him down again. When Geldenhuis got up at eight he stumbled around the ring as Mandoma pushed him about with his left hand, though without following through with the right. The black fighter taunted the policeman, dropping his gloves and showing Geldenhuis his jaw, making the police lieutenant miss simply by bobbing and weaving around. Then, towards the end of the round he dropped him four times in quick succession. 'This one is for Shaka!' he said coming after Geldenhuis and putting him down. Geldenhuis stayed down for a count of seven, then rose. The referee examined him and let the fight continue. Ten seconds later Gideon put him down again; 'For Dingane!' he spat as he walked away to a neutral corner. The third time Geldenhuis went down, Gideon waited until he rose and let the white man pull him into a clinch. 'That was for my mother, white man!' Geldenhuis grinned and spat out his mouthguard and spoke through his broken mouth. 'You better kill me now, jong. Because if you don't, you a dead kaffir!' Then he spat, sending a spray of blood and spittle into Gideon's face.

  With fifteen seconds to go in the eighth Mandoma positioned Geldenhuis with his back to the front row of black ringside seats, working him onto the ropes. Then he hit the helpless policeman with a straight left, knocking him backwards hard into the ropes so that his shoulders and arse opened up the top and middle rung. Gideon followed with a looping right hand which caught Geldenhuis on the left underside of his jaw, knocking him completely through the ropes. 'That's for me!' he hissed.

  Then Gideon did something for which he would never be forgiven by the whites; he spat at the sprawling Geldenhuis. For a split second there was complete disbelief in the crowd, both black and white; then the roar rose on the black side of the rope. They'd witnessed the impossible; black had openly shown its contempt for white. The ants had defied the dung beetle.

  The policeman landed backwards on his arse, skidding with the momentum and coming to rest at Tandia's feet in the front row. His head jerked violently and blood from his nose arched towards her in slow motion, splashing over the skirt of her white gown, like a Japanese brush-drawing of a sprig of cherry blossom. Though unconscious, his eyes were open and he appeared to be looking directly up at her.

  Tandia screamed as a roaring panic filled her head. She didn't see Geldenhuis at her feet, instead her mind exploded into a vision of a pink room where she knelt naked, bent over the edge of a bed covered with pink satin. She fainted, slumping against Mama Tequila.

  Both Captain Smit and Gert had witnessed Gideon Mandoma's head come back and move forward again in what was unmistakably a spitting action directed at the fallen Geldenhuis. Smit had to bring his mouth up to Gert's ear and shout to be heard above the roar of the black crowd. 'That fokken kaffir has "the power". Somebody is going to have to kill him or he's going to be big trouble!' Gert nodded, hearing but not attempting to reply.

  The black crowd was on its feet, their fists raised. 'Amandlar Amandla! Power! Power!' they chanted. The white police drew their revolvers and the black constables, trained in crowd control, suddenly appeared holding riot shields, which had been resting all the while at their feet. They raised their fighting sticks in readiness to charge. 'Amandla! Amandla!' the black crowd chanted, oblivious to the danger they faced from the police. Some of the white crowd had risen, ready to move out in a hurry.

  Gideon stood in a neutral corner as the referee commenced to count Geldenhuis out, finally crossing his arms and scissoring the air with his open palms to indicate that the fight was over.

  It was the traditional moment in boxing when the winner leaps into the air and holds his hands high in victory as he circles the ring, and all hell breaks loose in the crowd. But Gideon Mandoma did no such thing. Instead he took three steps to the centre of the ring where he stood at rigid attention with his head bowed, as if in sorrow, his gloves brought together over his scrotum.

  The effect on the black crowd was instantaneous. By some sort of osmosis his will imposed itself on the crowd and they grew silent almost in the time it took to catch a breath. Then the young Zulu chief's voice rang out clear and sharp, echoing through the giant stadium, 'ukuBekezela abakowethu! Patience my brothers!'

  The crisis was over. Moments late
r, the referee from Cuba raised Gideon's right hand and the ecstatic black crowd acknowledged him with waves and waves of roared approval, their aggression of a moment before turned to a fierce and benign love for the new leader who had been revealed to them.

  General Van Breeden leaned over to Captain Smit on his left. 'Wragtig! Did you see that, hey? Tonight a new Dingane is born, you mark my words!'

  Geldenhuis was back on his feet, his arms around the necks of two of his seconds who helped him back into the ring. This brought a spontaneous cheer from the white crowd as well as steady applause from the black. He moved jerkily towards Mandoma, his legs dearly unsteady; they started to give way again just as he reached the black boxer. Gideon grabbed him, preventing him from going down. Flashlights popped everywhere as the black man held the white in a macabre embrace.

  THIRTY

  After the Mandoma win, the preliminaries to the title bout were close to magical. The black crowd, buoyed by Gideon's brilliant victory, were in the mood for more. Jackson had come out first, carrying a huge American flag and followed by his entourage. This had caused terrific excitement and the crowd had been generous in their applause. Things American were popular in the African townships and, against any other white opponent, the American would undoubtedly have been the black favourite.

  When Peekay, accompanied by Hymie, walked out onto the field from the entrance under the members' stand, the tension was almost unbearable. The huge black crowd, unwilling to wait for the opening wail of the great Gwigwi's clarinet to lead them, broke into spontaneous song. Seventeen thousand voices lifted in harmonious greeting as the Chant to the Tadpole Angel rose like thunder into the evening air.

  It was spine-chilling stuff and many of the whites would later swear they'd felt the hair standing up on the back of their necks. The Chant continued until Peekay climbed into the ring and sat on the pot in his corner.

  'Christ, Peekay, stop bawling,' Hymie said into the sudden silence as the voices rose one last time and" then suddenly cut dead. It was obvious that he too was enormously moved.

  Almost immediately the obese figure of Jam Jar rose up on the white side of the ringside audience. The opening strains of his violin carried over the loudspeakers and twenty-eight Odd Bodleians, led by the small, neat figure of Aunt Tom, stood over half-a-dozen microphones as they commenced to sing the Concerto for the Great Southland.

  The beautiful voices of the Oxford men rose in chorus and almost immediately the blacks came in. First the Xhosa; the concerto rising higher and higher under the huge stadium seemed to expand with the sound. The same was true of the Sotho, Ndebele and Swazi as they picked up the theme and the audience went with it. Finally, when the great chorus of the Zulus came, the huge stadium filled with the fulminous sound as five thousand Zulu men rose to stamp their feet as they took the great tribal song into their chests and wound it upwards into the heavens itself. The thunder rolled over the stadium and surrounded the people, lifted them up, rose high and crashed down on them as the impi of Shaka and Dingane swept down from the hills like wind in the grass.

  For one moment, all of South Africa stood together united in the storm of love, both black and white drenched until no colour or creed or worthwhile difference existed. All, for a few moments, felt the possibility, the possibility of one land and one purpose and the perfect harmony of one people.

  General Van Breeden, seated beside Captain Smit, wept openly; and directly opposite them, on the black side of the rope, Mama Tequila, Madam Flame Flo and Tandia did the same. The bitter, sad land paused from the hating and reached up and touched the face of God who, for a few moments, stayed His vengeance and stilled His wrath.

  When the opening chords of the Star-Spangled Banner played for Jackson and immediately after it, Die Stem for Peekay, they came almost as a relief to an emotion which, if it had been allowed to endure, would have burst the hearts of the huge crowd. Peekay seemed to be in a daze, even when the Mexican referee called the stats for both fighters and brought the fighters together into the centre of the ring, where Jackson, taking advantage of the ref's poor English, spat out, 'I'm gonna whup your ass, whitey'. Peekay appeared not to hear him as he returned to his corner. With a huge roar from the crowd the bell sounded for the opening round and Peekay moved almost casually to meet a fiercely advancing Jackson.

  Jackson came at him hard and Peekay prepared to snap his concentration into focus. There was a diamond-hard pin of light that seemed to move around his head as though spotlighting the next move, reading his opponent's mind. But this time all he could hear was his mother's voice, 'I am not mocked, saith the Lord'. Jackson hit him hard with a straight left, surprised that he'd made it through his opponent's defences so easily. He followed with a lightning right which connected high on Peekay's head but which nevertheless knocked him backwards. Peekay didn't seem able to focus; he was boxing blind, not reading Jackson. It was like lifting your hand and finding your fingers don't work any more. He moved frantically on the back foot, trying to stay out of trouble, his mind a blank, instinct alone defending him. The end of the round came and Jackson was clearly on top.

  'What the hell's the matter?' Hymie shouted.

  'I don't know, I'm not seeing it, it's not flowing.'

  'For Christ's sake, Peekay, you know it backwards, every rhythm, every combination, they're pre-programmed in your head, they have to happen!'

  'Stay on the back foot son, stay outta trouble till it starts to come,' Dutch said calmly, but he was worried. He'd never seen Peekay like this.

  The next two rounds were the same. Jackson was clearly starting to move in on Peekay, getting through his defences. Peekay's timing was way out and it was all he could do to stay out of trouble.

  In the fourth round the voice in his head started again. First it was Mrs Schoemann's voice speaking in tongues, the weird cacophony of words that made no sense. Jackson was beginning to hit him almost at will; it was only Peekay's instinctive skill that was minimizing the effect of the punches. He saw the right hand coming but there was nothing he could do about it; it landed on the point of his jaw and he went down, the voices reaching a crescendo. He lay there, the voices going faster and faster in his head like a tape recorder speeded up. At eight, the number was the only thing he could make out in the gabble of sound in his head. He stood. Somehow he managed to get through the round.

  Hymie was shaking him. 'Peekay! What's the matter, what's happened?' Peekay didn't answer. 'Christ, he's out on his feet we better throw in the towel,' he heard Dutch say, 'The lad's going to get hurt bad.'

  'No!' was all Peekay could manage. His head seemed to be clearing; the bell went and he went out to meet a Jackson who now wore a tight grin on his face.

  The American stalked Peekay and put him down in the fifth round. The voices were back, this time his mother's. The devil is black and has a tongue of fire and leaps to destroy the children of the lamb. His number is seven and with his hands he will destroy you, tearing at the flesh of our flesh and the bones of our bones. Jackson was going to take him in the seventh. When was that? The next round. Peekay danced, trying to stay out of trouble. Jackson's glove kept coming. Like a steam shovel, like a piston, bang, bang, bang, but it wouldn't be until seven. The Lord is not mocked…With his right hand he will smite our firstborn and with his left also. His colour is black and his tongue is the fire of hate and he will triumph over the flesh of our flesh and he will vanquish him. Jackson hit Peekay with a right, an insult; he hit him leading with a right and then followed with a left upper-cut, and as Peekay hit the floor the bell went for the end of the round. Hymie and Togger rushed to bring him back to his corner, but by the time they reached the corner Peekay's legs were beginning to return to him. He hadn't laid a decent punch on Jackson for three rounds, the fight was a fiasco. Dutch held the smelling salts under his nose and Peekay came to, shaking his head violently. There was a stillness in the crowd that was awesome; they were seeing their man
demolished, destroyed by the furious black American.

  Tandia couldn't watch any more and had her head buried in Mama Tequila's huge breasts. Peekay was Gideon's friend, Gideon idolized him and she was seeing the black American do to him what in her imagination she had seen Geldenhuis do to Gideon. Madam Flame Flo was shaking her head. 'He was so marvellous, that first time in Sophiatown, he was so marvellous!' There were tears in her eyes.

  Now Peekay waited for the bell to go for the seventh.

  Dutch had worked hard to close a small cut above his eye. 'Son, what's on your mind? We're fighting for a world title! Wake up, you're taking a hiding, you have to lift your work rate! Watch his left, it's setting you up too often for a straight right; use your feet, don't let him set you up!' He was trying to stay calm and not show the edge of panic in his voice.

  Peekay spat into the bucket Togger held out to him and handed the water bottle back to him. He was still breathing hard as he looked up at Hymie. His face, which so few boxers had ever managed to hit, was a mess, the flesh puffy and raw with the eye Dutch had worked on starting to close. 'I can't see it, I can't see the fight in my head, Hymie. I'm blacked out, just voices, my mother's voice, it's as though a light in my head has gone out.'

  The bell sounded and Peekay rose to see the bull-like Jackson coming at him, his shoulder muscles polished with sweat, hunched to get the most power from the punches he was beginning to throw almost at will. The negro's face was virtually untouched and there was kill in his eyes, like a predator certain he has his quarry cornered.

  Peekay managed to parry his left lead and move out of the way of the right which followed. He spent most of the round on the back foot trying to slip Jackson's punches and when the black boxer grew frustrated and attempted to move him onto the ropes he tied him up. Nevertheless the American managed to hurt him with two beautiful punches under the heart. Somehow, though both punches were capable of putting him down, Peekay stayed on his feet. But the voice was back. 'I am not mocked! His colour is black and his tongue is fire…flesh of our flesh…with his right hand he will smile…he will be utterly destroyed, utterly destroyed!'