Peekay's first professional fight took place at the end of April. There had been a last-minute cancellation by an English boxer named Terry Cousins who was scheduled to fight Jacques Habib, a French Algerian welterweight, in a non-title major preliminary bout at Earl's Court. Cousins's trainer, Charlie Perkins, had called Dutch Holland to say that his fighter had come down with the' flu and had asked him if he had a welter in his stable who could fill the bill. Dutch had seen the French Algerian fight on four previous occasions and felt that Peekay, despite his lack of experience in the professional ring, could take him - or at least make a damn good fight of it.
Holland was of the school who believed it wasn't such a bad thing if a boxer lost his first professional fight, providing always that he wasn't badly hurt in a mis-match. He wanted to see Peekay blooded; he'd never had a boxer near as good, but he needed to know just how good Peekay really was.
'A young boxer can have everything in the book, dance like Fred Astaire, fast as a bleedin' rat up a drainpipe, punch like Joe Louis, Einstein's flippin' brains, but it's what he does when he's too tired for fancy footwork, too buggered to lift his arms and he's got one round to go with his opponent ahead on points. That's when you know if you've got a champ or a chump.'
Dutch had taken Peekay into the professional ranks immediately after the abortive Oxford/Cambridge bout. Now he needed someone to put real pressure on the young South African and he felt that Jacques Habib, a tough and experienced professional once ranked number one in Europe and now a little past his prime, might be just the man to sort his lad out. If Peekay looked like taking a bad hiding he would throw in the towel. The press would lambast him for creating a mis-match and the British Boxing Commission would probably hold an inquiry. But if Peekay survived it would be worth it. Even if he took a bad hiding from the Arab, provided he showed he had heart, he would still be good enough to get a crack at the British Empire title in a couple of years.
Hymie was concerned, but he trusted Holland's judgement and, as Peekay pointed out, by going higher up the ladder so early it would be that much quicker to get a shot at the world title.
Peekay had resolved to tell Hymie about Harriet and him after the fight. Apart from telling Harriet that he would confess to Hymie almost immediately, they hadn't discussed it. Peekay was anxious to avoid another blast from Harriet on the subject of her emotional independence. The mere use of the word 'confess' had raised her ire. 'You have nothing to confess! I don't belong to Hymie. You haven't stolen me. I belong to myself!' She'd stormed off in a huff, leaving Peekay scratching his head.
Harriet had called him a pompous ass and he supposed he was in a way. But he couldn't help feeling guilty and he knew he had to tell his friend. His reason for waiting until the fight was over was based on his knowledge of Hymie. Hymie would be anxious not to upset him before his first professional fight and so might too easily dismiss the affair. This would allow Peekay to get off lightly and perhaps, as a consequence, allow the issue to remain dormant and unresolved between them.
While Peekay hated the idea of hurting his friend, he felt himself morally obliged to take whatever scorn Hymie cared to dish out. He'd pinched his girl, and he was expecting Hymie to fire both barrels at him simultaneously.
Peekay knew he'd been a bit of a prick over the Odd-Bodleian affair. After all, what Hymie had done wasn't so bad. He'd merely tried to make a point by using Peekay's childhood rather cleverly in an attempt to knit a hopelessly disparate bunch of chaps into a group of boxing supporters. It was a tall order even for Hymie, but by challenging him, Peekay had completely destroyed any chances he'd had of pulling it off.
Peekay was also aware that some people saw him as too perfect, too good at everything; now with Harriet, he'd be seen as the guy who got the girl. But he didn't see himself the way others did. Rather he knew he was the one person amongst them who had been soiled, who had been corrupted. Since he'd been a small child he'd spent his life trying to get the taste of shit out of his mouth.
Peekay was beginning to understand how powerful sex was as a weapon and how, if he wasn't terribly careful, it could come between him and his beloved friend, even if Hymie accepted his affair with Harriet. He loved Harriet with a passion, but a fair part of the passion began with his loins, whereas his feelings for Hymie were born out of a steadfast friendship which had lasted longer than anything else in his life except his relationship with Doc. Not to have Hymie as his closest friend was unthinkable.
Peekay's final preliminary was at seven, an hour before the main event, a ten round light-heavyweight contest which, by coincidence, featured Peter Best's brother and a Nigerian boxer. Both were unbeaten and it promised to be a good fight, although Best, the British Empire title holder was expected to win.
Peekay's opponent, Habib, with thirty-two fights to his name, was a tough and respected welterweight who had won twenty-five of his fights, lost six and drawn one, though eighteen of his wins had been by knock-out. In his last fight he'd been narrowly beated by an American negro stationed in Germany with the US Occupation Forces. The French Algerian, who at twenty-nine was a little past his prime as a fighter, was nevertheless still rated third in Europe and had to be considered very much the favourite against the unknown student 'from Oxford.
Such was Dutch Holland's reputation in the fight game, that Frank Mitchell, the boxing writer for the
Daily Express,
cautioned his readers to watch the young South African carefully. He commented:
Normally I'd be asking myself why the British Boxing Commission was allowing a match-up between the experienced and still highly rated welterweight French Algerian Jacques Habib and an unknown young South African boxer who goes by the unlikely name of the Tadpole Angel. But with over twenty years' experience of the fight game, I have learned to respect the judgement of the incomparable Dutch Holland, who is handling the South African boy. Holland would not have brought the young fighter who, by the way, is reading law at Oxford, against the vastly more experienced French Algerian if he wasn't expecting big things from him. Holland is a trainer known for his caution and has the reputation for bringing his fighters along carefully.
Make no mistake, my money remains firmly on the Frenchman from Algiers, who may be a little past his prime but still carries the best left hook in Europe - when it connects. But I'll be watching the Tadpole Angel very carefully too, and I suggest fight fans do the same. You may find it worthwhile catching an earlier tube to Earl's Court to witness this six-rounder.
Hymie and Peekay arrived at Earl's Court just after six to find Dutch Holland and Togger waiting for them. Harriet and E. W. were there to meet them too.
'Dutch, we haven't mis-matched Peekay this time, have we?' Hymie voiced the fears they all felt.
Dutch shrugged. 'I hope not, my son. I got a reputation to keep as well, you know.' He turned to Peekay, speaking quietly. 'You and your manager better be off to the dressing room. The fight's on in half an hour. Togger wants to handle the bucket and sponge. That orright with you?'
Peekay nodded and smiled at Togger who, with Harriet and E.W., had moved closer, conscious of the tension between the three men and relieved by Hymie's sudden laughter. Togger looked gratified. 'You won't regret the decision, Peekay. I learned me spongin' technique in a bleedin' Turkish Bath in a Soho club. I can bring a dead member to life with a soapy sponge.'
Peekay laughed at Togger's crudeness. He knew, though, that Togger was worried for him. Habib was a big name to be fighting first off. Peekay could feel the familiar tightening of his stomach, but this time the tension was worse than usual. He wasn't kidding himself, he was scared and suddenly he wasn't at all sure they hadn't made a terrible mistake going in at Habib's level.
After Peekay had changed into his boxing gear, Hymie bandaged his hands and slipped on his gloves, leaving them unlaced. They were waiting for a fight steward to call them to the ring. Then Hymie fished into the pocket of his sports jacket. 'Here, I've got something for you.' Peekay looked up as Hymie continued. 'A friend of yours gave it to me with specific instructions. I saw him last Christmas in Johannesburg.' Hymie imitated the soft tones of an African speaking English. 'Tell for my brother, always when he sits on the pot, he is so still, at this time when he waiting for the fight, he must wear for this, it will make him strong. It will make him the grandson of Shaka Zulu and the son of Dingane.'
Peekay, despite his pre-fight tension, laughed. 'Gideon!
How is the cheeky bugger?'
Hymie handed him a single lion's tooth on a gold chain. 'It's one of the two he wears around his neck. He's given you half his own talisman.'
Peekay looked at Hymie, his eyes wide. 'It's an incisor tooth from the lion he killed as his initiation into manhood,' he said astonished. Then Peekay frowned, suddenly dismayed. 'He's put himself in terrible danger, breaking the spell of his own protection by halving it.'
Hymie looked sharply up at Peekay. Christ, Peekay believes it, he thought to himself.
Peekay slipped the chain with the lion's tooth over his head. He was very dose to tears. 'Hymie, what a wonderful thing to do!'
'Mandoma loves you, Peekay, he's your Zulu brother.'
'And the chain? It's heavy, it's gold isn't it?'
'It's from your Polish brother,' Hymie said, attempting to sound flippant. 'Your Zulu brother's also got one.' He laughed suddenly. 'We're all linked you see. I'm the big mouth and you two are the teeth!'
Just then a ring steward entered to tell them that the previous fight had one round to go. Then Togger appeared. 'Oi, I just seen the Arab! Mean-looking geezer, he's bouncin' up and down, frowin' punches like he's trying to get out the dressin' room by punchin' down the bleedin' wall!'
Hymie draped the electric-blue silk dressing gown, with the words 'The Tadpole Angel' embroidered on the back, over Peekay's shoulders. He also draped a small white hand towel around Peekay's neck as they left.
The lightweight contest before Peekay's fight was coming to an end and the crowd were excited. The two boxers, a young Irishman named Terry O'Grady, whose nose was bleeding badly, and a Cuban who called himself Sugar Boy Romero were going at each other hammer and tongs, each hoping the final round would give them the decision. The bell went and the referee, taking the judges' cards, announced the Cuban the winner. It was a result half the crowd agreed with, the other half, most of them seemingly Irish, booed loudly and stamped their feet.
Peekay could feel the tension in his stomach building further. He felt slightly nauseous and the voices around him were beginning to blur as he started to concentrate, turning inwards, his ears tuned into Hymie and Dutch, as though they were on a special frequency band in his head. He climbed into the ring. He was an unknown and not an Englishman, but as a colonial the crowd gave him a good cheer. You could sense they expected the outcome in favour of the tough and seasoned Habib. Peekay raised his right hand briefly in acknowledgement and, moving over to his corner stool, sat on the pot.
Habib had fought four times in England before and was known to the crowd as a fighter who went hard all the way. Many of them had seen him knock out his four British opponents and he'd earned their respect. A big cheer went up as he entered the ring. He raised his gloves, touching them above his head, and walked around the ring acknowledging their support. As he passed the seated Peekay he lowered a glove and clubbed him harmlessly, though somewhat arrogantly, over the ear, hoping to intimidate the young fighter. Almost without thinking Peekay stuck his leg out so the French Algerian tripped, stumbling clumsily, regaining his balance only by grabbing onto the ropes.
A roar went up from the crowd as Habib turned angrily, squaring up to Peekay and urging him to get up and fight.
Except for his foot, Peekay hadn't moved and his eyes remained downcast. A buzz of excitement ran through the crowd as Habib reached his corner and stood with his back to Peekay, talking excitedly to his seconds and gesticulating towards his opponent's corner. 'Nice one,' Hymie grinned.
'You've got him angry, my son. That can't do no 'arm.' Dutch Holland walked over to the Algerian's corner to inspect his gloves, making his second take his gloves off and feeling the bandages. Then he kneaded both gloves carefully, examining them closely so that the excitable Habib became infuriated, waving his arms about indignantly.
Habib's manager had walked over to Peekay's corner to examine his gloves. He had his back to his own corner and was unaware of his fighter's pique. 'You are a very brave man,' he said to Peekay in a heavy French accent as he massaged his gloves. 'Perhaps too brave and too young, no?'
Just then there was a murmur from the crowd as fifty or so young men, dressed immaculately in starched bib and dinner suits arrived at the ringside. Hymie had observed earlier that a block of ringside seats were unoccupied and had assumed they were a group booking for fight fans who chose to arrive in time for the main light-heavyweight event. The Odd Bodleians had gathered from all over England, interrupting the university vacation to be at the fight. Peekay's concentration was so complete that he was barely conscious of their arrival until Hymie whispered, 'The Odd Bods have arrived! It's absolutely fantastic, almost all of them are here. They're waving!' Hymie said excitedly.