The Power of One

‘She is a goot woman, not so stupid either. You and she, Peekay, eleven out of ten for brains. Absolute. Also Mr Andrews. I do not think they would listen to a poor old German professor of music on his own. German measles was in the air and only you and Mrs Boxall don’t catch a big dose, ja?’ He chuckled at his sad little joke.

‘I can come and visit you as much as I like,’ I said happily.

Doc looked bemused. ‘Without the hills it will not be the same, what can I teach you here, my friend?’

‘Lots of things, like out of books and things. And I could go into the mountains and find things and bring them here and then we could talk about them.’

Doc gave me one of his proper grins. ‘You are right, Peekay. A man is only free when he is free in his heart. We will be friends like always. Absoloodle. But also one more thing, they are going to let me have the Steinway here. You can continue your lessons. You must tell your mother this, I think she will be happy. On Monday they are letting me come with them to get it. If they move it wrong it can be damaged. I will see my cactus garden one last time. Maybe also you can be there, Peekay?’

Dr Simpson had said that another week’s recuperation was in order. My granpa had given me a big wink and said, ‘Who are we to argue?’

‘I’ll be waiting for you, I’ve already planted the Senecio serpens, just like you said, facing east.’

Doc looked pleased, but then a worried expression crossed his face. ‘Peekay, on Monday is happening a stupid thing. It is not my decision, but please you must trust me, that is why I want you to be there. I think Kommandant Van Zyl wants to be a schmarty pantz with some people in this town. I am too old for such silly games, you will help me, please?’

‘Kommandant Van Zyl said I was to tell Mrs Boxall everyone has to be in the market square at one o’clock, but he didn’t say what it was all about.’

Just then Klipkop emerged from the door leading to the kitchen carrying a small plate of roast potatoes. ‘Here, have some,’ he said offering me the plate. I pointed to my wired mouth and he laughed, ‘Sorry, man, I clean forgot.’ He offered the plate to Doc who shook his head.

‘Monday, Peekay. Be so kind as to be at the cactus garden at twelve o’clock, then I will explain. Also, tomorrow maybe find for me Beethoven Symphony Number Five, you will see on the cover is printed my name and Berlin 1925. Inside I have marked the score. That is the one I want.’ I knew where to look, for the music Doc played only to himself was kept under the seat of his own piano stool. I found it strange that he would ask me to find it. After all he knew perfectly well where it was. ‘Peekay, put what’s above the score in my water flask, the key for the piano stool lid you will find under the pot on the stoep where grows the Aloe saponarie.’ He said all this in a perfectly straight voice in English. Klipkop appeared either not to understand or to be disinterested. I looked quizzically at Doc but he put his forefinger to his lips and indicated the warder with his eyes.

A hooter sounded somewhere in the prison. ‘Lunchtime, Peekay, we must get back to the lieutenant and the professor must go to lunch.’ Klipkop pushed the last potato into his mouth. ‘You can stay if you want and have lunch with the prison warders.’

‘I have to get home for lunch, thank you, Mr Oudendaal. What is the time, please?’

‘That was the twelve o’clock hooter. Just call me Klipkop, okay?’ I nodded, I was becoming accustomed to calling adults by their Christian names. I would have to run all the way home as my mother would expect me back from the library by now. I wasn’t at all sure how she would take the news of my potential comings and goings to the Barberton prison, nor how I would break the news to her. This more immediate preoccupation made me forget Doc’s curious instructions.

After Sunday school the next day I went to the cactus garden. Dum and Dee had the afternoon off on Sundays and had excitedly agreed to come with me to clean things up a bit for Doc’s return the following day. They took brooms and feather dusters and other cleaning things in two galvanised iron buckets which they carried on their heads, chatting away happily about how they would clean my friend’s house like it had never been cleaned before. There wasn’t much they could do on their half-day off as they hadn’t yet learned to speak Swazi. While I didn’t think of it at the time, they must have felt isolated from their own kind. On the farm they had been at the centre of things. Quite important really, by comparison with the farm workers, certainly a notch up the social ladder. Here they were two lonely little girls who, outside our home, could make no contact and who knew no other people. We were their family and they were as cloistered as nuns in a convent.

When we arrived at the cactus garden they set to, delighted that they owned every inch of the task without supervision from anyone. I went straight to the large terracotta pot on the stoep of Doc’s cottage where Aloe saponarie, also known as Soap Aloe, was growing. It has spots of lighter green and rust on its thick leaves.

It was with some difficulty that I pushed the large terracotta pot aside to reveal the key to Doc’s piano stool. I hurried to the stool and opened it. The recess was almost a foot deep and it was packed with sheets of music and handwritten music manuscript. There was also a bunch of programmes tied with tape, though at the time I didn’t know what they were. The top one had Doc’s name on it and the rest was written in German. I dug down quite deeply into the manuscripts and sheet music without finding Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Then, lifting another batch of paper, I revealed a bottle of Johnnie Walker Scotch. I lifted the bottle and directly under it was the piece of music for which Doc had asked.

On Friday afternoon after lunch I had gone to see Mrs Boxall in the library to give her the Kommandant’s message.

‘Whatever do you think they’re up to, Peekay?’ she had said, a worried look on her face. ‘Do you think it has anything to do with the professor?’

‘I don’t think so. At twelve o’clock they are going to fetch the Steinway and take it to the prison. Doc asked me to be there to help him.’

‘My God!’ He’s going to give a concert! The professor is going to give a concert in the market square. How thrilling, how perfectly thrilling!’ I had never seen her so excited.

It was suddenly also clear to me. ‘I don’t think he’s very happy about it. He said Mr Van Zyl was trying to be a smarty pants with the people of the town. That he would need my help.’

Mrs Boxall, in her excitement, appeared not to have heard me. ‘I once checked up on our professor, he turned out to be terribly famous.’ Her eyes shone. ‘There’s something dark and very mysterious about it all, if you ask me. Why would a famous European pianist give it all up and bury himself in a tiny dorp in Africa where he lives on the smell of an oil rag giving lessons to little girls?’

‘I think he just likes collecting things like cactus and aloes and climbing in the mountains,’ I said, though she didn’t appear to be listening. She had her elbow on the desk, chin cupped in her hand, and was obviously deep in thought.

‘Peekay, did he ask you to do anything? I mean when he said he needed your help?’

‘He asked me to get out Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony with his name on it and Berlin on the cover.’

‘Hip hip hooray! Jolly good show! Beethoven, eh? What a treat we’re in for. I heard the Fifth for the first time when I was a gal and we’d travelled up to London to hear the brilliant young Artur Rubinstein play at the Albert Hall.’ Mrs Boxall clasped her hands and looked up at the ceiling fan turning fitfully above her head. ‘Oh bliss! Oh blissful bliss!’

‘He also said I must put what is above the sheet music into his water flask.’

‘Whatever can he mean?’ she said absently. It was obvious her mind was on Doc’s concert in the market square and her duty as the town’s cultural representative was clear. This was no time to attempt to solve one of Doc’s conundrums. ‘Peekay, you’ll have to excuse me, my dear. I think we’re going to have to close early today. I have such a lot of phoning to do. One o’clock, are you sure that’s the time Mr Van Zyl said?’ I nodded and prepared to leave. ‘You will thank your dear mother for my lovely roses. I shall write her a nice note next week.’ She had already started her telephoning and as I went out of the door of the library I heard her say, ‘Barbara, you’ll never guess!’

Now I stood holding Doc’s music, staring down at the bottle of Johnnie Walker. Doc only ever drank in his room, why would he keep a bottle in his piano stool? If Klipkop hadn’t walked in at the moment he was about to tell me, everything would have been clear. I reached into my pocket for Doc’s note and read it again, maybe there was a clue I’d missed. I kept coming back to the last words… and whisky is getting easier not to have. Had I been older it wouldn’t have been a puzzle at all, but seven-year-olds are not very good at