Geldenhuis, apart from the brief glance, ignored Gideon's presence. He carried several sheets of paper which he now placed carefully on the table, squaring the sides of the paper until they made a single block positioned precisely in front of the chair. Then he pulled back the chair and sat down, removing his cap. He sighed and looked up at Gideon, nodding his head slightly. 'So Mandoma? We meet again. This time in my ring.'
Gideon wasn't sure how to reply. As a black man it would have been smart to call Geldenhuis 'baas' but as a boxer of equal merit this was difficult for him to do; however, simply to reply without acknowledging the policeman's superior status was asking for trouble. 'Yes, sir,' he murmured.
The beginning of a smile appeared on the police officer's face. 'Ag, man, you don't have to call me "sir" just "officer," that's okay by me. We boxers, hey.' Geldenhuis popped the bright brass button through the flap of the top pocket of his tunic and withdrew from it a gold Parker fountain pen. The gesture was meant to seem casual but was rather too studied and Gideon realized that the young police lieutenant was also nervous. They'd met as equals in the ring but hadn't ever met outside of it. Neither of them was sure which rules applied.
'Yes, sir,' Gideon said.
'Officer!' Geldenhuis looked up sharply.
'Yes, officer!' Gideon shot back quickly.
'See, even for a boxer, you learn quick if you try.' It was meant to be a joke and Geldenhuis smiled, but Gideon noted his eyes; those curious white man's blue eyes remained cold. Gideon smiled back at him, and to Mandoma's annoyance he felt the slightest tremble, no more than a tic at one corner of his mouth. He hoped the light was too poor for Geldenhuis to have noted it. He admonished himself silently: 'I am the loin-child of three kings; Shaka, Dingane and Cetewayo, I must show courage.' His hand throbbed painfully and he placed it behind his back so Geldenhuis wouldn't notice the swelling.
'Do you know why you here, man?' Geldenhuis suddenly asked. He hadn't raised his voice and the question seemed mildly put.
'No, sirâ¦officer.'
'Well, I'm telling you it's serious, very serious, the most serious crime there is.'
Mandoma looked puzzled, 'I am not for making crime, sir?' He was having trouble remembering to say officer when he addressed Geldenhuis.
The police lieutenant let it pass. He had a dreamy, unfocused look in his eyes and his voice was soft. 'You black people, you funny you know? You do things, bad things and then you look all innocent, like you are at a Sunday school picnic or something and all of a sudden got arrested by the police.' His eyes focussed suddenly. 'You ANC, Mandoma. I know that's not a crime, but you also a Communist, isn't that enough, man?'
'I am ANC, this is true, sir. But I am not Communist, sir!' Geldenhuis threw back his head. 'Ha! Jus' because Communism is banned in this country
of course
you are not a Communist, but a member of the ANC is the same thing, you all Communists, everyone of you, you hear?'
'No, sir. It is not same thing.'
Geldenhuis seemed to lose interest and resumed his former unblinking look which seemed to be concentrated on a point somewhere on the wall about Gideon's head. Finally he spoke, his eyes still focussed on the same spot. You know something, Mandoma? You the luckiest kaffir in the world!' The policeman leaned forward. Resting his elbow on the table and cupping his chin in his left hand, he looked directly at him. 'Tonight we arrested one hundred and fifty-seven terrorists. All the big names; also amongst them twenty-three of the white
kaffir boeties.
The white rats from the COD who run with the blacks. Also some coloureds and Indians, the leaders from the SACPO and SAle. You all finished, you hear? The ANC is finish, finish and klaar, we got you all on a charge of high treason!'
Gideon was deeply shocked. If what Geldenhuis said was true, it was totally unexpected. There had been some police harassment following the Congress of the People, but it had been no more than was expected, a few token arrests and a fair amount of government posturing in the press.
'I am not important, sir. I think to arrest me you have missed many, many others. The ANC can live, I think.'
'Ja, perhaps! Maybe you think you not important, but we not fools, man. If we arrest only the big- names then "their places will quickly be filled with you people from the Youth League.' Geldenhuis stabbed the table top with his finger. 'So we also arrested the radicals in the Youth League. We weren't born yesterday, jong!'
Gideon was one of the few people in the ANC Youth League who constantly warned that the police were to be taken seriously. A misplaced convention existed in the ANC and in particular in the more militant Congress Youth League that the Afrikaner was basically a fool, a knotheaded farmer, and that his native stupidity was best exampled by the average white Afrikaner policeman. Its members were mostly in their twenties, the product of secondary schools and the University College of Fort Hare, the black university. They were, for the most part, teachers, trade union officials, journalists and clerks, the black educated elite. Almost as a matter of necessity, these young men fed their egos by minimizing their opposition. The Afrikaner government and the police became the constant butt of their jokes. Tragically they were naive enough to believe this invention of the dull-witted Afrikaner. They didn't seem to be able to grasp that, while bigotry and racism may well be stupid, it is not an automatic sign of ineptitude or incompetence. For an organization with its back constantly to the wall the ANC's planning was haphazard and open and the police had little trouble infiltrating its ranks with informers and bringing its schemes undone. Anyone examining both sides for culpable stupidity would have been forced to conclude that the balance weighed heavily in favour of the ANC.
It was Gideon's lack of education and his cautionary attitude that kept the young radicals from allowing him a more assertive role in the Congress Youth League. They thought of him as a village African, a natural Jonah and an arch conservative. Because he had started his life as a rural African, to many of them he was a herd boy, a bush African who'd already been cowed by the white farmer's sjambok. They believed themselves street-smart urban Africans with more intelligence and sagacity than their white Afrikaner opposition. Now it was too late. The raid which had just taken place would bring the organization to its knees. It could effectively destroy it for years to come. In the name of Communism, the Nationalist government had found a way effectively to eliminate all its enemies. 'I do not think I am lucky, sir.'
Geldenhuis grinned. 'Ja, man, the luckiest kaffir alive! You want to know why?' He smiled at Gideon, suddenly in excellent spirits. 'Simple! When they allocated the raid details I got Meadowlands and Alexandra and what's left of Sophiatown. There were twenty-three names on my list, names for my squad to apprehend and remove to the Fort.' He paused. 'Yours was there also!'
Geldenhuis seemed to expect some sort of reaction. For want of anything more appropriate to say, Gideon replied, 'Thank you, sir.'
'Ja, I think you
should
say that!' The young police lieutenant inhaled, throwing out his chest.
'Dankie, Jannie Geldenhuisâ¦Lieutenant Geldenhuis!
I think you will owe me that
forever!'
He seemed impressed with his own magnanimity. 'You see, I have taken your name off the arrest list!'
Gideon Mandoma, shaking his head in disbelief, looked up at the police lieutenant. 'Haya, haya, haya! Why you are doing this for me, sir?'
'Ag, man, it's nothing. A small favour, among friends, just one good turn deserving another!'
Gideon didn't recognize the English expression but he guessed what it meant. He kept his face blank, playing dumb. 'We are not friends, you are not my brother, sir?'
Geldenhuis was somewhat taken aback by this denial that any friendship existed between them. While he knew this to be true, the white man, who takes the sycophancy of the black man for granted, doesn't expect this kind of courageous honesty. 'Boxing! We are friends in boxing. We help each other. You know? You scratch my back and I scratch yours!'
Gideon didn't have to know this expression either. His own intelligence told him that Geldenhuis would expect something in return for his release. He braced himself for the worst. 'What must I do for you, sir?'
Geldenhuis gave a visible sigh of relief. In truth, he found himself in a tremendously awkward position. If he treated Mandoma like the kaffir he was, he might pOSSibly convey the idea that he was afraid to meet him in the ring, that he'd arrested him as a ploy to eliminate his challenge for the right to fight Peekay. Whereas the opposite was true. He was convinced he could beat Mandoma but realized that Peekay had no obligation to fight him if Mandoma was imprisoned on a charge of treason. If it became known he'd been the one to arrest Mandoma, Peekay and the Jew would almost certainly withdraw the challenge. The idea of not getting a crack at Peekay in the ring was almost more than he could bear to think about. There was no two ways about it. He had to let Mandoma go free, it was his only chance. But the black bastard didn't know this; it was the ace up his sleeve. He could undermine the fucker and make him bleed a little first while he reeled him in.
Geldenhuis picked up the gold pen in front of him and tapped the table, fidgeting with it. When he finally spoke his voice was casual. 'Look, it's simple. You go back as if nothing happened, just a misunderstanding with your pass.' He looked at his watch. 'It's five o'clock, we can drop you in an unmarked van near Meadowlands in about an hour and a half, by then it's only half past six. You can say you couldn't sleep so you went for a training run. What do you think of that idea?'
Gideon nodded, agreeing that this action would be possible without arousing suspicion. Geldenhuis, encouraged, went on. 'Nothing changes, you hear? Only now, when you go back, because of tonight's arrests, you more senior in the Congress Youth league, higher up. Maybe a year goes by, maybe ten years, you don't have to do nothing. We even arrest you a couple of times, but you too clever for us, we just stupid
japies;
the dumb police, always you get off, you the clever one, the clever black ANC leader who the police can never prosecute.' Geldenhuis without thinking about it was being patronizing. 'One day, who knows?' He shrugged as though the matter was of small consequence, 'In ten years, maybe I need something, then you can help?' He paused, looking up directly at Gideon, his blue eyes ingenuous. 'This is a personal thing, two boxers who got respect for each other. Tonight I got a chance to help you; maybe some other time in the future, you'll get the same chance to pay me back?' He shrugged. 'That's all, it's simple, man.'
'Help the police?'
'No, man!' Geldenhuis hissed urgently. 'Not the police, jus' me, you hear? Only you and me know this! It's our secret.'
Gideon knew that Geldenhuis wanted to fight Peekay. He knew that he'd been beaten five times by him. Tandia had mentioned his determination to have another go at Peekay in the professional ring. What he didn't know was the true extent of the police captain's obsession.
But Mandoma realized that Geldenhuis was relying on him to show the usual ANC arrogance towards policemen. He was expecting him to agree to the conditions of his release confident that when the time came and Geldenhuis attempted to use the so-called police statement against him, Mandoma would outsmart the policeman. Geldenhuis wanted the fight so he could get a crack at Peekay. He also wanted the opportunity to compromise Mandoma. What Gideon didn't know was which of these two things he wanted the most. Somehow he had to find a way to expose Geldenhuis, to show him he knew the game he was playing, but do so in such a way that the white man didn't take retribution.
He recalled how bitterly Tandia had spoken about Geldenhuis, a man who thought everything out to the exact detail, never allowing his opposition to surprise him, always ahead of the game. Geldenhuis played with a marked set of cards; he was clever and as long as he controlled the game he was almost impossible to beat. The only way to confound such a planner was to introduce a hitherto unknown element into his careful preparation, something entirely unforeseen and unexpected.
Gideon held up his swollen hand. 'There will be no fight, I think, sir. That policeman who arrest me, I think he has break my hand, also two fingers.'
Geldenhuis grew suddenly pale. His mouth worked wordlessly as his anger grew. He rose suddenly and, dropping the pen, slammed his fist hard down on the table. 'You got to fight me, you black bastard! You got to fight me, you hear?' His eyes were darting wildly about the tiny cell. 'I must fight the fucking
engelsman!
I fucking must!' He looked at Gideon again, his eyes hard. 'You fucking black bastard! You did this on purpose, you did this to stop me fighting
die verdoemde rooinek!'
He was shaking as he shouted at Gideon, white flecks of spittle at the corners of his mouth. Gideon backed away from the onslaught until his back touched the wall behind him. He could feel the narrow bench he'd been seated at touching the back of his knees. 'No, sir, it was your policeman, he break my hand.'
It was all over in a matter of a few seconds. As suddenly as Geldenhuis had erupted he appeared to calm down somewhat. He picked up the pen and, leaning forward, looked down at the square of paper in front of him. He gripped either side of the small table to stop himself shaking. 'Shit! Shit! Shit!' The expletives coming from him sounded like sneezing. But when it was over, he was back in control. He drew himself up straight and looked up at Gideon. His eyes grew wide in surprise. Gideon was seated on the bench against the back wall grinning broadly at him. 'What you laughing at, kaffir!' Geldenhuis screamed, losing control again. He moved from behind the chair, knocking it over as he came towards Mandoma.