opened it to stow the guarantee I noticed it contained no money.
‘Okay, Geldenhuis, twenty percent of the winnings or fifty quid now, it’s your choice,’ Hymie said.
Like me before Hymie had entered my life, Jannie Geldenhuis had probably never seen a ten-pound note in his life, much less fifty. Eight pounds a week was the average white workers’ wage, Helpmekaar was not a private school and his parents were probably battling to make ends meet.
Hymie had read his man correctly. ‘I’ll take the fifty pounds now,’ Geldenhuis said.
Jannie Geldenhuis must have believed we couldn’t win, Hymie was offering him fifty quid against a potential of seventy-five.
Hymie pulled out his wallet and opened it. ‘Just a second!’ Geldenhuis said suddenly. He withdrew his wallet again and took the guarantee from it and proffered it to Hymie. ‘I got a condition of my own, without it we got no deal, man.’
We both looked at Geldenhuis with surprise. ‘What’s the condition, Jannie?’ I asked.
‘Well, first of all, I’m only agreeing to set up the Helpmekaar side of the betting because you’re in this, Peekay.’ He jabbed his finger in Hymie’s direction. ‘I don’t do business with a Jewboy!’
‘Hey, now wait a minute!’ I was suddenly angry, ‘Hymie and I are in this together, no Hymie, no deal!’ I turned to Hymie, ‘C’mon, let’s piss off.’
Hymie put his hand up in a conciliatory manner. ‘Now hang on a sec. Take it easy. We’re a partnership, if Jannie here wants to deal with you that’s fine.’ He had moved so as to unsight Geldenhuis and gave me a knowing wink, then turned again so that Geldenhuis could see him and removed five ten-pound notes from his wallet. “Here, Peekay, you pay the man.’
Before I could take the money, Geldenhuis said, ‘That’s not the condition.’ The beginnings of a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
I was still angry. ‘So what’s the condition, Geldenhuis?’
‘Fight me!’
He must have seen the surprise in my face. ‘What here? Now?’
‘I just turned featherweight, you still easy a bantamweight, I want a last chance to get even.’
‘And if he says no?’ Hymie asked.
Still looking directly at me Geldenhuis said: ‘No deal! You can stick your fifty quid up your Jewboy arse! What do you reckon, Peekay? Box me three rounds here in the gym?’
‘Christ, and to think I liked you, Geldenhuis. You’re on! But I haven’t got any gear.’
‘I already thought of that, I got stuff for you.’ Geldenhuis paused and then shrugged his shoulders, ‘Hey, no hard feelings, man. You a Rooinek, I’m a Boer, I won’t be happy till I beat you,’ he said simply.
‘You may be a long time unhappy, man! Where do I change?’
‘Who’s going to referee?’ Hymie asked.
Jannie Geldenhuis pointed to Witwatersrand University campus which was only a couple of hundred yards from the school. ‘We got a guy from Wits just in case you said yes.’
Geldenhuis put the guarantee back into his wallet and I turned to follow him out of the toilets, but Hymie stood his ground.
‘Just a moment, Geldenhuis!’
We turned to face Hymie who held the five ten-pound notes up in his hand, just the hint of a smile played over his face.
‘I bet you fifty quid Peekay smacks your arse!’
Geldenhuis stood, his arms held stiffly as though at attention, he was rigid with anger. Hymie had outfoxed him and avenged himself at the same time.
‘You got your bet, Jew!’ he spat.
Geldenhuis took us over to the shower block and pointed to a brown paper bag on a bench. ‘Everything’s there, I’ll see you in the gym.’ He turned and walked away, presumably to change elsewhere.
‘Christ, what a turn up for the books,’ Hymie said.
The gear fitted well enough and the boxing boots were nicely worn. We left the showers and walked down a long corridor towards the gym. I entered ahead of Hymie.
Suddenly the hall resounded with clapping and whistling, it was packed to the rafters with Helpmekaar guys.
‘Holy shit!’ I exclaimed, turning to Hymie.
Hymie glanced at the grinning faces looking at us. ‘Keep calm, pretend you’re not surprised, we don’t want him to have the psychological advantage.’ Hymie, as usual, was thinking on his feet. We climbed up into the ring and Hymie gloved me up. Geldenhuis was already in his corner throwing punches into the air. As usual I sat on the pot and waited.
The referee, a chap in his mid-twenties, called us into the centre of the ring. ‘Okay, boxers, shake hands! Break when I say break. A knock down takes a compulsory count of eight, I don’t start counting until you’re in a neutral corner. Three warnings on a foul and the fight goes against you.’
Neither of us were listening to him. ‘This time I get you Rooinek,’ Jannie Geldenhuis said out of the corner of his mouth.
‘This fight comes to you with the compliments of the Jewboy, Boer bastard!’ I spat back.
‘Ready timekeeper? Seconds out of the ring!’ The bell went and we danced towards each other. I could see Geldenhuis meant business, he had five defeats to avenge and his eyes were hard. Fighting in the enemy camp in front of a hostile crowd I wasn’t about to let him have the satisfaction. He was a naturally aggressive fighter and I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity of landing a few good punches early so I spent the first half of round one on the back foot using the ring and staying clear of the ropes. Later Hymie told me the Helpmekaar kids were yelling their heads off but it was as though I was fighting in a vacuum, my concentration was complete. Geldenhuis threw a lot of leather but most of it landed on my arms and gloves, though he did score with two punches. A beautiful uppercut as he caught me briefly on the ropes and a right under the heart. Both punches hurt like hell. It was sheer luck that I hadn’t had any lunch. Sinjun had had me for a tutorial which had gone on an extra half hour and so I’d missed lunch. I was willing to bet Geldenhuis hadn’t eaten since morning.
I caught Geldenhuis a beautiful punch on the jaw which stopped him in his tracks. He had come at me with a careless left lead and I brought my right hand across his lead to hit him hard on the side of the jaw. Jannie was a sucker for repeating a mistake and later in the round he led again with a sloppy left. This time I came under the blow and caught him with everything I had under the heart. I could see his eyes boggle and he staggered back into the ropes where I hit him with a left right combination in the gut, expecting his gloves to open so that I could get an uppercut to the jaw. Instead, anticipating the uppercut, he defended his head, leaving his gut exposed. In went the Geel Piet eight-punch combination and he grabbed at the ropes just as the bell went. The first round was mine.
Hymie had noticed the same thing as I had, Geldenhuis had developed a peculiar habit, in order to set himself for a left hook, he held his right elbow high, opening up his rib cage, and I’d given him a lot of punishment in the area right under the heart. The eight-punch combo was just what I needed to soften him up for later in the fight. As Geel Piet would say, ‘If you hit them enough in between the heart and the belt the legs will soon melt.’
To my surprise, in the second round he continued to be the aggressor. I’d never seen him fight better. His punches were crisp and finding their mark disconcertingly often. In the middle of the round I changed to a southpaw stance. This confused him enough to get me through the round with no more punishment. And while I’d put a lot of hard work into his body he’d won the round, I felt sure. When a fighter gets set and is able to move his opponent into the corners, he can do a lot of harm and look very good.
I hated to lose the second round, it gives your opponent the psychological advantage, knowing he’s going into the last round with his tail up. Besides, it gives the referee a chance to call a draw if the final round isn’t convincing.
The extra weight Jannie had gained had increased his strength and he had seemed to take in his stride the punishment I’d given him.
Jannie knew he had to make the final round look good, and I knew I had to make it look great. As a fighter he had the edge over a boxer, the aggressor moving relentlessly forward is a crowd pleaser and a partisan crowd is apt to forget the winner is the guy who lands the most clean punches. I hoped the ref was good enough to call it correctly but with a home crowd like this a close decision in my favour would get us lynched.
