bewildered. The feeling of being in front of the Judge came back to me and the ring became the dormitory and the audience the jury.
I closed my eyes and counted from ten to one. I stood on a rock just below the full moon, the roar of the falls in my ears. The river and the gorge and the African veld stretched out below me in the silver light. I was a young Zulu warrior who had killed his first lion and I could feel the lion skin skirt around my hips, the tail of the lion wrapped around my waist. I took a deep breath and jumped the first of the falls into a pool lashed with white spray and thunder, rose to the surface and was swept to the rim of the second, plunged downwards and rose again to be swept to the edge of the third pool where I fell again, rising to the surface at the bottom of the falls where the water danced with silver and the first of the stepping stones shone wet in the moonlight. I crossed the ten stones to the other side and opened my eyes and looked directly at Kroon. Killer Kroon saw something in my eyes which made him turn away and not look at me again.
The referee called us up, and taking us by the wrists he held our hands in the air, introducing me first. ‘On my left, Dames and Here… Gentleman Peekay of the Barberton Blues.’ The crowd gave me a big hand, although this was mixed with laughter as they saw my size next to Killer Kroon. ‘On my right, from Lydenburg Martinus Kroon.’ The crowd had already chosen sides and with the exception of the Lydenburg squad the clapping was only polite. I went back and sat on my stool. It was the first fight of the finals and anticipation made the crowd enthusiastic even though it was the most junior fight of the night.
The bell went for the first round and I sprang from my stool while Killer Kroon got up slowly, almost disdainfully. We moved to the centre of the ring, and he threw a left at my head which only came up to below his shoulder. I could see it coming for miles and let it pass my ear. He followed with a right and I ducked under the punch. It was almost the same opening Du Toit had used and I followed it the same way with a left and a right under Kroon’s heart. I got some body behind the two punches which I drove in hard but he didn’t even seem to notice. I danced quickly out of the way and a clumsy uppercut with his left missed my chin by six inches. The crowd winced at the ferocity of the punch even though it was all show and no blow.
I stayed in the centre of the ring, moving around Kroon who threw four more punches and missed. He threw another right which parted my hair but the punch was too hard, throwing him off balance. I moved in fast and hit the same spot under the heart with a left and right combination which I repeated. Four good punches with plenty of shoulder behind them. But I’d been too greedy getting the extra two punches home, his huge arms locked around me and, lifting me bodily, he threw me away from him. I was sent spinning across the ring, my legs working like pistons to keep me on my feet. I bounced into the ropes, and grabbed the middle one with both arms to steady myself. I was wide open as the straight right came at me. It should have been an uppercut, I was against the ropes and would not have been able to move out of the way of a punch coming up at me. To put everything he had into the punch, Killer Kroon had pulled his shoulder back just a fraction too far. It allowed me a split second to move my head to the right. Instead of sending me bye-bye-birdie, the blow caught my ear and it felt like a branding iron had been pushed into the side of my head. But I’d taken worse from the Judge and I feinted left and moved off the ropes under his right arm. He turned quickly but my feet were already in position and he walked into a perfectly timed right cross, coming at him with the full weight of my body behind it. The punch had landed flush on the point of his chin and his head snapped back. I knew I had hurt him. It was the best punch I had ever thrown by far. Gert said later, had I been nearer to Killer Kroon’s size, he’d have been out for a week.
Kroon shook his head in bewilderment. He was hurt and he was mad and he came looking for me. I stayed out of his way, taking a straight left on the shoulder moving away, and managed two more good punches to the spot under his heart when he telegraphed another right cross. The spot under his heart had developed a red patch. The bell went for the end of round one, and as I returned to my corner I could see a grin on Meneer de Klerk’s face.
Doc was standing outside the ring in my corner as Lieutenant Smit and Klipkop climbed in to attend to me. He had his bandanna in both hands and was twisting it round and round with the tears falling down his cheeks.
‘You done good,’ Klipkop said with a huge grin. Lieutenant Smit said nothing at first but smeared Vaseline over the ear where Kroon had glanced his big hit off me. He covered my good ear with his hand.
‘Can you hear me, Peekay?’ He spoke from the side I’d been hit.
‘Ja, Lieutenant, I hear you good,’ I replied.
‘If a thick ear is all we get out of this fight we’ll be blerrie lucky.’ He turned to Klipkop. ‘Give him another half-glass of water. Rinse only, don’t swallow.’ He looked directly at me. ‘Now listen good, Peekay. It looks like this gorilla’s only got four punches. Straight right, straight left, right cross and left uppercut. He’s a fighter and he’s never needed any more than those, every one is a good punch and he throws them well except the left uppercut is a bit clumsy and he tries to hit too hard with the right cross so you can see it coming. You done good to move under it and hit him under the heart. That’s a damn good punch. He’s very strong but if you can get in enough of those they’re going to count in the end and you’ll slow him down for the third. Keep moving, you must keep moving, you hear? Make him work, he’s not as fit as you, make him work and keep hitting him on that spot under the heart, okay?’
I had never heard Lieutenant Smit talk so fast, and listening to what he wasn’t saying I could see he now thought I had a chance. ‘No more attack, counter punch, you hear? Only counter punch.’ I nodded and the bell went for the second round.
Kroon came storming out of his corner and I could see from the look in his eyes that he wanted to finish the fight. For the first half of the round I ducked and weaved and back-pedalled and moved him around. He must have thrown fifty punches without landing even one. The crowd was beginning to laugh as he repeatedly missed and he was becoming frustrated. Towards the second half of the round he slowed down just a little and his right cross wasn’t coming quite so fast. He was breathing heavily and to my surprise I could smell his sweat. A kid’s sweat doesn’t smell until he’s about Bokkie de Beer’s size, but I could smell Killer Kroon’s sweat all right, plain as anything. I moved up a little closer and started coming in under the right cross again, to land on the same spot under the heart time and time again. I couldn’t believe his lack of imagination. The right cross came at me regular as clockwork and I moved under it and landed two and sometimes four punches to the spot under his heart. His breathing was getting heavier and heavier and he grunted as I landed a left and a right and I realised that my punches to the heart were beginning to hurt him. I was getting pretty tired myself when the bell sounded for the end of the second round.
The crowd stood and clapped. As I returned to my corner I looked towards Doc. He had the bandanna in his mouth and was chewing on it.
‘He’s going to try and finish you this round, Peekay. You got both rounds, you miles ahead on points. He is going to try to put you down.’ Lieutenant Smit’s usually calm voice was gone and he was breathing hard. ‘Stay away, man. I don’t care if you don’t land a blerrie punch, just run away, keep clear, you hear? Keep clear, you got this fight won. Magtig! You boxing good!’ His eyes were shining as he spoke.
The bell for the final round went and we met in the centre of the ring and touched gloves. Killer Kroon was still breathing hard and his chest was heaving. As we moved away he said, ‘I’m going to kill you, you blerrie Rooinek.’
Geel Piet said you always had to answer back, so they know you’re not afraid. ‘Come and get me, you Boer bastard!’ I shot back at him. He rushed at me and I stepped aside but his swinging arm caught me as he passed and knocked me off my feet. It wasn’t a punch, it was the inside of his arm, but it sat me down. I couldn’t believe it had happened. One knockdown and you lose the fight! I had lost the fight! I had opened my mouth to talk, lost my concentration and lost the fight! I couldn’t believe it was me sitting on the canvas. There was a roaring in my ears and a terrible despair in my heart.
‘No knockdown, continue to box!’ I heard Meneer de Klerk shout as though in a dream. I was coming to my feet but it felt as though I was underwater. The thought of defeat had drowned my senses. Killer Kroon rushed in and that clumsy left uppercut just missed my chin. This time he should have used the right cross as I couldn’t move upwards to my feet and sideways at the same time. A right cross would have caught me flush on the chin and finished me for keeps. Instead I simply moved my head backwards and the uppercut whizzed safely past the point of my chin. I was back on my toes and dancing out of reach, moving around him. The stupid bastard couldn’t box for toffee. No way was he going to get a second chance at me.
I was making him miss pretty easily and began to realise that there was something wrong with him. His breath was coming in rasps and his chest was heaving, his punches had lost their zing. I moved up and hit him as hard as I could with a two-fisted attack to the spot under his heart and his hands fell to his sides. His gloves came
