I had ever seen. I had never imagined a motor car could be as shiny and powerful. The man inside it revved the engine before he cut the ignition and it roared as though alive. Obviously being a Jew was a very profitable business. Maybe I could be one when I grew up.
Harry Crown was a fat man in his late fifties. He wore his trousers high so that his entire tummy and most of his chest were covered with trouser top, held up by a pair of bright red braces. His white open-neck cotton shirt seemed to extend no more than eight inches from his collar before it was swallowed by his trousers. He was almost completely bald and when he smiled he showed two gold front teeth.
‘A thousand apologies, Mevrou. Have you been waiting long?’ he said, making a fuss of unlocking the padlocked doors to the shop.
‘Ag, it was nothing. Not even a few minutes,’ Mevrou said, all smiles for the fat, bald man.
In the part boarded off for white customers, two large ceiling fans whirred softly overhead and the shop was dark and cool. Mevrou heaved herself gratefully onto a chair beside the counter and Harry Crown poured her a cup of coffee from a pot he removed from a small hotplate on a shelf behind the counter.
‘What can I do for you, Mevrou?’ he asked, then turning to me he bowed slightly. ‘And for you, Mister?’ he said solemnly.
I was not used to jocularity so, not knowing what to do, I dropped my eyes to avoid his gaze.
Observing my shyness he turned from me to a large glass jar on the counter and from it produced a raspberry sucker, its ruby head wrapped in Cellophane. He held the sucker out for me to take. I looked at Mevrou who took a polite sip from her coffee cup and then nodded. I took the delicious prize and put it into my shirt pocket.
‘Thank you, Meneer,’ I said softly.
‘Ag, eat it now, boy. When we have finished business you can have another one.’ He paused. ‘A green one maybe, huh?’ He turned to Mevrou. ‘I have had this shop for thirty years and I can tell you with God’s certainty that children like raspberry first and green second. If I know nothing for certain in this life, of this one thing I am sure.’ He snapped his braces with his thumbs and gave a loud, happy snort.
I had never met a man who laughed and carried on like this and I felt intimidated, so I left the raspberry sucker in my pocket where I hoped it was safe.
‘What is your name, boy?’ Harry Crown asked.
‘Pisskop, sir,’ I replied.
Harry Crown’s shiny bald head jerked back and he looked down at me in consternation. ‘Pisskop? Pisskop! That is a name for a nice boy?’ he asked in alarm. ‘Who calls you this name?’
Mevrou interrupted sharply. ‘Never mind his name, what have you got in tackies? The boy must have some tackies. He is going on the train alone tonight to his oupa in Barberton.’
Turning momentarily to acknowledge he had heard her, Harry Crown turned back to me and gave a low whistle. ‘Barberton eh? That is in the lowveld in the Eastern Transvaal. Easy two days away in the train, a long journey alone for a small boy.’ He moved around from behind the counter and was looking at my feet. ‘We have nothing so small, Mevrou. I don’t have much call for tackies. The Boere round here don’t play much tennis.’ He chortled loudly at his own joke, which was completely lost on Mevrou and me.
‘Show me what you got, Mr Crown. His oupa did not send enough money for boots, only tackies.’
‘It makes no difference, boots, smoots, tackies, smackies, the boy’s foot is too small.’ He moved back behind the counter where he pulled a battered cardboard box from the shelf. From it he withdrew a pair of dark brown canvas shoes.
‘Let the boy try them,’ Mevrou said.
‘It is useless, Mevrou. These tackies are four sizes too big for him. It is a miracle I have these, but they are too big already.’
‘The boy will grow,’ Mevrou said, a trifle impatiently.
‘Ja certainly, Mevrou. Maybe in five or six years they will fit him like a glove. In the meantime they will fit him like the clown in a circus.’ He slapped his stomach. ‘Very amusing,’ he said to himself in English.
‘We will try them on. With newspaper we can fix them.’
‘Mevrou, with the whole
‘He is not a Boer child. He is a Rooinek!’ Mevrou said, suddenly angry. She put the cup of coffee down on the counter, and leaning over grabbed the tackies and turned to me. ‘Put your foot up here on my lap, child,’ she ordered.
The first tackie slipped around my foot without touching the sides. With my heel on Mevrou’s lap the canvas shoe seemed to reach almost up to my chin.
Mevrou pulled the laces tightly until the eyelets overlapped. ‘Now the other one,’ she said.
I stood there, rooted to the floor, not daring to move and not knowing what to do next. The tackies seemed to extend twice the distance of my feet.
‘Walk, child,’ Mevrou commanded.
I took a tentative step forward and the left tackie stayed behind on the floor, though I managed to drag the right one forward by not lifting my foot.
‘Bring some paper.’ Mevrou cunningly fashioned two little boats from strips of newspaper. She then put the paper boats in the tackies and instructed me to insert my feet into them and tied the laces. This time they fitted snug as a bug in a rug. Though I must say they felt very strange and when I walked they made a phlifft-floft sound where the tackies bent at the end of my toes.
I had never felt as grand in all my life. ‘We will take them,’ Mevrou announced triumphantly. She reached into her handbag for her purse.
Harry Crown sighed. ‘Those tackies are no good, Mevrou.’
If Mevrou had had her sjambok she would have made fat old Harry Crown bend over the counter and she would have given him six of the best.
‘How much?’ she said curtly, her lips pursed.
‘Half a crown, for you only two shillings,’ Harry Crown said, adjusting the price automatically, his heart obviously not in the sale.
I tugged at the end of a lace and to my relief the bow collapsed. I did the same for the second tackie then slipped ever so carefully out of the newspaper boats and handed the tackies to Harry Crown.
‘You poor little bugger,’ he said in English. He slipped the tackies back into the soft brown cardboard box and when he saw Mevrou wasn’t looking, quickly put two green and two red suckers into the box and handed it to me. ‘I wish you health to wear them,’ Harry Crown said in English. Speaking out of the corner of his mouth he added, ‘Can she understand English?’
Not daring to reply, I shook my head almost imperceptibly, indicating no.
‘Inside is for the journey, green and red, the best! Believe me, I know. So long, Peekay.’ He patted me on the shoulder. His eyes widened and drawing up to his full height, his hands clasped over his belly, gold teeth flashing, he grinned. ‘Maybe the tackies don’t fit, but I think your new name fits perfect. Peekay! Ja, that is a nice name for a brave person who is travelling by himself to the lowveld to meet his granpa.’
Mevrou, who was practically snorting with rage, threw two shillings on the counter and marched out of the shop. I followed along with the precious box of loot under my arm. At the door I turned to say goodbye to Harry Crown.
‘Goodbye, sir!’ I said in English. The two English words sounded strangely out of place, like a language newly learned.
Mevrou turned furiously. Grabbing me by the ear, she hissed, ‘Do not talk to that… that dirty Jew in the accursed language. You will hear from my sjambok when we get home!’
‘Ouch! You have my sore ear, Mevrou.’ I knew immediately she’d feel guilty grabbing me by my recently damaged ear, even though it was completely healed.
Mevrou let go of my ear as though it were a red-hot poker. You’ve got to be quick on your feet in this world if you want to survive. Though, once you know the rules, it is not too hard to play the game.
Mevrou stormed ahead and I fell some five paces behind her. After I’d given her what I hoped was enough guilt for her to withdraw the promised thrashing, I dropped back another fifteen paces and took the raspberry sucker out of my pocket. Taking off the Cellophane wrapper I licked the tiny bits of crimson sugar crystal which had stuck to it before throwing it away. I then settled down to suck my way back to the hostel.
