Whitethorn (13 page)

Ten o'clock came and everyone was there, even old Mevrou Pienaar, the cook, and Mevrou herself and also, a big surprise, the superintendent's wife, Mevrou Prinsloo. The three women sat in chairs ringside and everyone else stood, including the rest of the staff. The six kitchen boys were also there because Meneer Prinsloo said it was only fair that somebody was on the pig boy's side. Although, you never know, they were Shangaan and they weren't supposed to like the Zulus, but you'd expect, just this time, they'd put the tribal thing aside and be on the side of another black man. Anyway, they wouldn't be allowed to cheer for Mattress because then they'd be cheeky
kaffirs
and get into trouble. Maybe in their hearts they'd be on his side.

In the meantime Frikkie Botha was walking around outside the ring, blowing out air in big sudden puffs every few seconds and smashing his twelve-ouncers together while looking fierce with his teeth out. Mattress stood with the kitchen boys, his arms at his side and looking down at his big cracked platform feet. He still wore the dirty cut-off-below-the-knees khaki pants with holes, because he only had one other pair, a good pair that he used for going home once a year to see his wife and Joe Louis, his son. I tried to catch his eye but he just kept looking down.

Meneer Prinsloo with his fat stomach and braces holding up his trousers that only went down to the top of his polished brown boots had to be helped into the ring and was already puffing and red in the face when he got in to make the announcement. Not that he said a lot. For a start he didn't say why the fight was on. But, of course, everybody knew it was about the cow and how a
kaffir
has to be taught a lesson when he is careless. That Frikkie Botha was going to teach him a lesson he'd never forget . . . anyway, you know all that.

Meneer Prinsloo, breathing heavily, said, ‘In the eyes of God all men are equal, even
kaffirs
.' He then said that there was a special place in God's heaven for
kaffirs
to go. This was because God was a merciful and compassionate God and if a
kaffir
decided to be a Christian he was saved from everlasting damnation and wasn't a heathen any more so he wouldn't go to hell. ‘ “In my Father's house are many mansions and I go to prepare a place for you” the Bible says. So you see,
kaffirs
can have houses in heaven as well. That is, as long as it isn't with white people, but you must understand, what they've got is also very nice.'

I was busy wondering what all this had to do with Frikkie Botha fighting Mattress when he very cleverly came around to the subject. ‘There are only two places where a
kaffir
and a white man can be equal,' he claimed. ‘Those two places are in heaven and in the boxing ring. You see, in a boxing ring there are two separate places for the opponents, one corner for the white man and another for the black man. In the middle they come together and God is the referee to see everything is fair.' He stood back and paused expectantly and everyone knew they must suddenly clap. He smiled an acknowledgement for this clever speech. ‘What we going to now have is a fair fight where the
kaffir
boy is allowed to fight back and may the best man win.' You could see everybody was very impressed. ‘Now, I must ask the two opponents to step into the ring,' the superintendent said. ‘I will personally see as a Christian that this is a fair fight,' he concluded. You could see he was well satisfied with his introductory speech and we all clapped again.

Frikkie Botha climbed through the ropes, walked around the ring and held his gloves above his head. Everyone cheered like mad. He went to his corner and stood leaning back against the corner post with the top boxing ring rope under both his outstretched arms. Mattress slowly approached, parted the ropes and climbed in. Nobody said anything, it was just mumbles all around. The kitchen boys stayed silent. I don't know whether it was because they were Shangaan or just afraid. I admit I was afraid to do anything, to be seen to be on the side of Mattress. He stood in the centre of the ring holding his gloved hands clasped across one of his wrists and in front of him like he was protecting his balls.

Meneer Prinsloo pointed to the opposite corner of the ring and indicated Mattress should stand there. He didn't call them together like you're supposed to in a boxing match so that they could hear the rules. He just stood in the centre of the ring and everyone said
shhhush!
When it was quiet the superintendent said to both boxers, ‘Hit clean, you hear? No dirty tactics, hey? Below the waist is not allowed.' He took a whistle out of his pocket and this big gold watch that had a chain that draped across his fat stomach. ‘Three-minute rounds, I will blow the whistle at the end of every round and then you must stop fighting.' I was not sure Mattress understood any of this. He just stood there looking at his platform feet.

Meneer Prinsloo blew the whistle and Frikkie Botha came charging out of his corner while Mattress just stood. Mattress hadn't ever seen a boxing match and he hadn't been to the bioscope where sometimes they showed a big world championship in the newsreel, so he didn't know what to do. But he could see Frikkie Botha coming at him and before you could say ‘Watch out!', which I did without thinking, Frikkie had landed a big swinging right to the side of Mattress's head. Mattress hadn't even stepped out of his corner and already he was in big trouble. He brought his gloves up to protect his head, and next came a left hook under the jaw. Mattress's head went back and he sank to the canvas on his knees.

Meneer Prinsloo seemed to have been taken by surprise but after a few seconds he started to count. ‘One . . . two . . . three!'

Frikkie Botha shouted at Meneer Prinsloo, ‘The
kaffir
is bluffing, don't count some more!'

The superintendent was taken aback. You have to remember he wasn't an experienced referee, he didn't do the boxing for The Boys Farm; that was under Frikkie Botha's control. So he did what he was told and stopped counting.

Mattress rose slowly and you could see he wasn't at all sure where he was. Frikkie Botha said to the superintendent, ‘Make him fight.'

‘C'mon,
kaffir
, you got to fight,' Meneer Prinsloo ordered.

By this time maybe you could have counted to thirty and I could see Mattress was again steady on his feet.

‘C'mon,
kaffir
, fight!' Frikkie Botha called. ‘Come out and fight, you black bastard!' He was beckoning with his right glove for Mattress to come forward. He pretended to spit on the canvas and said in Zulu, ‘You are
igwal
! You are a coward!'

Mattress let out a roar and ran at Frikkie Botha, his arm raised to strike him down. Frikkie sidestepped and smashed Mattress in the jaw. Mattress took three steps backwards, lost his balance and landed on his back with his legs in the air. But this time he got up right away, before even the superintendent could start to count. Frikkie waited for him and popped Mattress with a hard right hand in the eye and then drove a left into his stomach. The whistle blew and it was the end of the round. Mattress hadn't landed a single blow and already his eye was closing up big-time. All the guys were screaming and yelling and I saw the old black man who was the head cook when old Mevrou Pienaar was sick with her asthma shake his head and walk away. He didn't want to see the humiliation of the pig boy.

There was no water and no seconds so the two boxers just stood there in what was turning out to be a very hot autumn morning. The whistle went and this time Mattress left his corner. Frikkie Botha started to stalk him and Mattress tried to stay away. But a boxing ring is only a small space and there's no place to hide. Soon he had Mattress in a corner protecting his head with the gloves and Frikkie was landing dozens of blows to his stomach, hard as he could. Mattress managed to get out of the corner and Frikkie came for him in the centre of the ring, rushing at him, throwing all caution to the wind, hands open, determined to finish the
kaffir
off. Mattress threw a haymaker and it landed right under Frikkie Botha's jaw and practically lifted the big Boer off the ground. Frikkie sank to his knees and lay still.

There was silence from the crowd. Then Meneer Prinsloo said, ‘We gave the
kaffir
a long count, now Frikkie has one.' I don't know exactly how long they waited but eventually Frikkie Botha got to his feet and for the rest of the round he sort of shadow-boxed around Mattress until the whistle blew.

The last round came and Frikkie Botha came out hard, he realised that Mattress had landed a lucky blow and all he had to do was box him and the time would come to knock him out. But Frikkie Botha was running out of puff, he'd thrown too many punches and his oversized stomach was heaving as he started to blow like a whale. With Frikkie slowed down to a crawl Mattress was learning fast and back-pedalling and moving around the ring, staying out of the way. You could see Frikkie's frustration as he tried to nail Mattress with the one big punch. He was throwing punches that didn't land, and at one stage had to stop and bend over, resting his boxing gloves on his knees. Mattress was a bloody mess, with both eyes closed and scarlet blood dripping from his nose, over his chin and onto his dark chest. Instead of going for Frikkie Botha he too took the opportunity to recover.

Halfway through the third round, when Frikkie had knocked him down on two more occasions, and you could feel the crowd grow silent. ‘Lie down, you black bastard,' Frikkie called out, but the black man refused and kept getting up. Frikkie Botha was totally spent and he dropped his gloves to his side, trying to summon up enough strength to hit the defenceless
kaffir
with one big punch, one last time. But Mattress was trying to do the same thing while he could still see his opponent through the slits that had become his eyes. The Mattress punch came first. It was an uppercut and it hit Frikkie on the chin with a force like a runaway steam engine crashing into a solid wall and again Frikkie's feet lifted off the canvas.

He tried to regain his balance as he frantically back-pedalled, hitting the ropes and then spinning sideways before crashing to the canvas where he lay on his back with both arms stretched out. Mattress had landed only two punches in the whole fight. But when you have to polish a dairy floor your arms are strong. Frikkie Botha lay completely still and it was apparent to everyone that he'd be a long time getting up. Meneer Prinsloo stooped over him and evidently didn't like what he saw because he turned and called out for Mevrou to come and help without first counting Frikkie out. Everyone had gone very quiet. There was some blood running out of Frikkie Botha's nose. Mattress just stood there, not knowing what to do next.

‘Go back! Go back to a neutral corner, you hear,
kaffir
,' Meneer Prinsloo cried out in a panic-stricken voice, his arms waving. Once again he stooped over Frikkie Botha, but obviously didn't know what to do about anything.

Mattress walked towards the nearest corner but then changed his mind and walked back to Frikkie Botha's prostrate form and said, ‘I am very, very sorry for what I am doing in the boxing,
Baas
Botha.'

I don't suppose Frikkie Botha heard him because he'd really and truly had the daylights knocked out of him and he hadn't moved.

‘Go away,
kaffir
! Can't you see he's hurt?' Mevrou shouted, arriving in the ring, immediately taking control. She stooped over Frikkie and you could see her huge bosoms, one with the dead fly, rising and falling as she bent over. ‘Take him to the sick room,' she yelled at nobody, then turned and pointed to several of the bigger boys crowding around the edge of the ring. ‘Fetch the stretcher, you hear!' They nodded and went running off.

Frikkie Botha started to stir. I reckon by this time four minutes had passed. With help from Mevrou he sat up and locked his arms about his knees and dropped his head between them. Blood dripped from his nose onto the canvas while Mevrou massaged the back of his neck.

Mattress stood for a moment at the far end of the ring with his back turned to Frikkie Botha. In the mid-morning sun his sweat-burnished black skin shone, showing all the muscles. Turned away like that you couldn't see the damage to his face and, for a moment, he stood tall and proud, a great and awesome warrior. He stepped down from the ring, then onto the grass and began walking away with his boxing gloves still tied at his wrists, the white tape stained red from trying to wipe the blood from his nose. The gloves, the same colour as his skin, looked as if they were a natural extension of his long powerful arms. No one shouted at him to take off his gloves.

Nobody knew what to do because this wasn't what was supposed to happen. I ran after Mattress and caught up with him as he passed the punishment water tank where the other servants, the Shangaan kitchen boys, were standing. Their eyes were shining with pride, but they didn't say anything, instead they reached out and touched him as he passed. In their heads they must have said something because their lips moved silently.

‘You are a Zulu warrior!' I cried out.

At the sound of my voice Mattress stopped and turned around slowly. I observed that both eyes now seemed completely closed. Blood covered his chin and chest. His left ear was twice its normal size and his bottom lip was badly swollen and split, one side hanging down in a fold of raw pink flesh and ragged black skin, exposing bloody gums and several bottom teeth.

‘You didn't forget to hit back,' I said.

‘I am Zulu,' he replied.