The Power of One

older than she, old enough to be her father. The man turned to Hoppie.

‘We cannot make a change, this tackie is not the same. See here is the brand, made in China.’ He tapped the sole of the tackie with his forefinger. Then he walked over to the bundle on the counter and pulled one tackie loose from the pile. ‘See, by golly, here is altogether another brand and not from China, this time made in Japan. That is a different place you see, this is a different tackie. You did not buy this tackie from Patel & Son. You must pay me three shilling.’

Hoppie appeared not to have heard, and leaning over the counter he tapped the man on the shoulder. ‘Outside it says Patel & Son, this is your daughter but where is your son, Patel?’

Patel’s face lost its aggrieved look. ‘My son is very-very clever. A very-very clever student who is studying at University of Bombay. Every month we are sending him money and he is sending us letters. Soon he will be returning BA and we will be most overjoyed on his returnings.’

‘Sixpence and these tackies, Patel. I can’t be fairer than that, man,’ Hoppie said emphatically. Patel bent and twisted the tackie in his hand, a sour look appearing on his face.

‘One shilling,’ he said suddenly.

‘Sixpence,’ Hoppie said again. Patel shook his head.

‘Too much I am losing,’ he said.

Hoppie looked at him. ‘Patel, this is my last and final offer and only if the boy gets a bansela, I’ll give you another tickey, take it or leave it, man!’ Patel shook his head and clucked his tongue and finally nodded. Hoppie took the ninepence out of his pocket and put it on the counter. The beautiful lady held out a yellow sucker.

‘Here is your bansela,’ she said with a smile and I caught another glimpse of the diamond. I thanked her for the sucker, wondering what yellow tasted like. I still had one red one and with this one I would have two for the fight tonight.

‘Thank you, Hoppie,’ I said, looking down proudly at my new white tackies. I can tell you they looked good and I could walk in them just like that.

‘Better take them off, Peekay. If you’re going to be in my corner tonight we don’t want you wearing dirty tackies, man,’ Hoppie said with a grin. I took the tackies off and Hoppie tied the laces in a knot and hung them around my neck. I turned to thank Patel. He seemed to have become very excited and was pointing to Hoppie.

‘Meneer Kid Louis, I am very-very honoured to meet you! All week, my golly, I am hearing about you and the fisticuffs business. This morning only, the telephone from my brother in Mica and my brother in Letsitele is ringing for placing a wager. My goodness gracious, now I am meeting the person myself!’

Hoppie laughed, ‘Bet the ninepence you rooked out of me on me and it will pay for your son’s education, Patel.’

‘No, no, we are doing much, much better. Ten pounds we are wagering on Kid Louis.’

‘Holy shit! Ten pounds! That’s twice as much as I win if I win.’

Patel proffered the ninepence he had been holding. ‘Please take it back, Meneer Kid Louis, it will bring very- very bad luck if I am keeping this money.’

Hoppie shrugged and pointed to me. ‘Give it to the next welterweight contender.’

‘You are a boxer also?’

I nodded gravely, in my head it seemed almost true. Patel dug into his pocket and produced a handful of change, he dropped the ninepence amongst the coins and selected a shilling. ‘Here is for you a shilling,’ he said fearfully. Turning to Hoppie he said: ‘Please, you must be fighting very-very hard tonight.’

Hoppie grinned at him. ‘You don’t know what you just did, Patel, but it is a very good omen.’

‘Thank you, Mr Patel,’ I said, my hand closing around the silver coin. Granpa’s change was safe again and I must say it was a load off my mind.

As we left the shop Hoppie gave me a bump with his elbow. ‘You’re a funny little bugger, Peekay. You don’t call a blerrie coolie “Mister”. A coolie is not a Kaffir because he is clever and he will cheat you any time he can. But a coolie is still not a white man!’

‘That lady had a diamond in her tooth, Hoppie.’

‘Yeah, the bastards have got lots of money all right. You never see a poor charah. Behind the shop is probably a big V8 Pontiac.’

‘What if she swallows it?’

‘What?’

‘The diamond… if it comes loose or something?’

Hoppie laughed. ‘They’d be sifting through kak for days!’

We stopped at a cafe and Hoppie bought two bottles of red stuff. The old lady behind the counter took them out of an ice box, opened them, popped a sort of pipe only made of paper into the tops and handed them to us. I watched to see how Hoppie did it and then I did it too. Tiny bubbles ran up the bottle and went up my nose and it tasted wonderful. On the side were the words American Cream Soda. The stuff was like a raspberry sucker only different. It was the first bottled soft drink I had ever tasted.

We arrived at the railway club just before five o’clock. The club manager, who came onto the verandah to meet us, said the temperature was still in the high nineties, the rains were overdue and there was already severe drought in the Kruger National Park at the far end of the Murchison range.

The club was cool with polished red cement floors and large ceiling fans. The manager told us the boys from the mine had already arrived and the railway boys, including Hoppie’s seconds, were with them in the billiard room having a few beers. Hoppie took my hand and we followed the manager into the billiard room.

The room contained three large tables covered in green stuff on which were lots of pretty coloured balls. Men with long sticks were knocking the balls together all over the place. In the far corner some twenty or so men were seated at a long table covered in aeroplane cloth on which were lots of brown bottles. They all stopped talking as we walked in. Two of them put down their glasses, rose from the table and came towards us smiling. Hoppie shook them by the hand and seemed very happy to see them. He turned to me and said: ‘Peekay, this is Nels and Bokkie. Nels, Bokkie, this is Peekay, the next welterweight contender.’ Both men grinned and said hello and I said hello back. We walked over to the group of men who had remained sitting around the long table.

Bokkie cleared his throat and put his hand on Hoppie’s shoulder. He was a big man with a huge round tummy, and a very red face with a flat nose that appeared to have been broken several times. I noticed that Hoppie was staring at a man who was sitting at the table with a jug of beer in front of him. The man was looking straight back at Hoppie, and their eyes were locked together for a long time. Hoppie was still holding my hand and although his grip didn’t seem to increase I could feel the sudden tension. At last the man grinned and dropped his eyes and reached out for his glass.

‘Gentlemen,’ Bokkie said, ‘this is Kid Louis, the next welterweight champion of the South African Railways.’ The men at the side of the table nearest to us all cheered and whistled, and a man on the other side of the table stood up and pointed to the man Hoppie and I had been staring at.

‘This is Jackhammer Smit. Stand up, Jackhammer, where’s your manners, man?’ he grinned. The miners surrounding Jackhammer whistled and cheered just as the railway men had done a moment before. Jackhammer rose slowly to his feet. He was a giant of a man with his head completely shaved. Hoppie’s grip tightened around my fingers momentarily and then relaxed again. ‘This is one big gorilla, Peekay,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth. Jackhammer took a couple of steps towards us. His heavy eyebrows were like dark awnings above coal- black eyes. A growth of several days made a bluish stubble over his chin and gave him a permanently angry look. His nose was almost as flat as Bokkie’s and one ear looked mashed.

Hoppie stuck his hand out but the big man didn’t take it. The men all fell silent. Jackhammer Smit put his hands on his hips, and tilting his head back slightly he looked down at Hoppie and me with eyes of anthracite and doom. Then he turned back to the miners. ‘Which of the two midgets do I fight?’ The miners broke up and beat the surface of the table and whistled. Jackhammer Smit turned back to face us. ‘Kid Louis, huh? Tell me, man, what’s a Boer fighter doing with a Kaffir name? Shit man, you should be ashamed of yourself. Kid Louis? I don’t usually fight kids and I don’t fight Kaffirboeties, but tonight I’m going to make an exception.’ He laughed. ‘You the exception, railway man. Every time I hit you you’re going to think a bloody train shunted into you!’ He turned and grinned at the seated miners who shouted and cheered again, then he walked the two steps back to his chair where he slumped down and took a deep drink from the jug of beer.

Hoppie was breathing hard beside me but quickly calmed down as the men turned to see his reaction to