Tandia (70 page)

Peekay returned to Johannesburg at the end of January to prepare for the world title. He set up a training camp which he could share with Mandoma, each acting as sparring partner for the other while Gideon worked with Solly Goldman as his trainer and Peekay with Dutch Holland. Several local black, coloured and white sparring partners were selected on an ad hoc basis, though Togger was brought out from London to act as a principle sparring partner. Hymie had selected a small farm in Elandsfontein, some fifteen miles outside Johannesburg, as the training camp and Peekay, Gideon and Togger shared the same bunkhouse which caused some comment in the newspapers. Peekay when asked about this by a visiting reporter had replied, 'The closest you can get to a man is in a boxing ring. You share his sweat and his breath and his arms and his chest. You don't get much closer when you make love to a woman. He doesn't snore so why would I be concerned about sharing a room with him?'

The South African papers made much of this, the most blatant headline being: PEEKAY SAYS OKAY TO SLEEP WITH BLACK MAN! which appeared in a Bloemfontein paper. But the ongoing quarrel was more the fact that Peekay had elected to train with Mandoma. Almost to a man, the sports pages cried foul! The Peekay camp, they maintained, was giving the Bantu fighter an unfair advantage over Geldenhuis, in that he came under the eye of the world-famous trainer, Dutch Holland, and also enjoyed the services of Solly Goldman, South Africa's foremost trainer. It was even mooted in parliament that a law should be passed preventing people of mixed race sparring together. In fact, five years later, just such a law was passed.

Peekay was asked about this in an interview he'd given with the press just prior to going into training camp. 'It's perfectly true that Mandoma will benefit from working with Dutch Holland, though he's been under the training of the great Solly Goldman for several years already and Solly remains his trainer. It seems to me that a black fighter of Mandoma's class has none of the infrastructure and training facilities the South African Police College have made available to Jannie Geldenhuis. Mandoma has to work for a living and when he's in training camp he isn't earning. Working out with us means he'll be eating the right food and getting the right sort of rest and I get the best sparring partner I could possibly hope for. I'm delighted with the arrangement, wouldn't you be?'

Baasie Pienaar, South Africa's foremost sportswriter stood up. 'Good morning, Baasie,' said Peekay. 'I believe you attended the New York fight? I'm sorry I didn't see you to say hello.'

Baasie Pienaar grinned. 'You did better than that, Peekay, you gave me the best fight I will probably ever see.' He cleared his throat. 'I happen to think, like you in New York, Mandoma got a bum steer last time he fought Geldenhuis. There's been a lot in the paper about it being unfair that he's sharing your camp; I just want to say, personally I'm glad.' There was a murmur of surprise in the room.
Die Vaderland
was the leading Afrikaans newspaper and, politically speaking, the mouthpiece for the government. 'Because I'm a reporter, I also have a question,' Pienaar went on. 'Geldenhuis says he'll take Mandoma in the seventh. Do you have any comment?'

Peekay laughed. 'He's a brave man, Mandoma is the most under-rated welterweight in the world. But why don't you ask Mandoma yourself…He pointed to the back of the room where Gideon was standing with Togger.

Gideon took a couple of steps towards the front of the room. Mr Pienaar for two years already we have been wanting for dis fight. Always Mr Nguni he asks, "Please Mr Geldenhuis, why you not want to fight the black champion of Africa?" But always he say, "No!"'

Peekay saw the look in Mandoma's eyes when-he talked about Geldenhuis. It was the same thing he'd seen in Gert's. His eyes had gone blank, turned inward, focussed on his
hate;
even his voice seemed to take on a menacing tone, giving a fierceness to his words which was not actually contained in what he said. 'I am very, very hungry for dis fight. I do not think I will lay down in round seven.' Gideon gave the white reporters a huge smile, but behind its humour Peekay could hear the snarl of the lion, his talisman. 'I am a Zulu, I am chief, I do not think in the ring I have to lay down for dis policeman. In the ring he has only got gloves on his hands same like me, there is no sjambok and there is no revolver.'

The room broke up in uproar and Peekay terminated the interview. The reporters left, they all had their afternoon headline. Pienaar walked over to Gideon. 'Nice one, Mandoma,' he said quietly.

The
Johannesburg Star
was first on the streets. MANDOMA ACCUSES GELDENHUIS OF POLICE BRUTALITY! Baasie Pienaar's paper,
Die Vaderland,
ran the headline, PEEKAY RATES MANDOMA WORLD BEATER. Hymie was delighted; things were hotting up, in terms of promoting the fight. Nothing they could have dreamed up as a publicity stunt could have had anywhere near the same impact on boxing fans. Geldenhuis had obligingly come back with a comment which, paraphrased, said that in or out of the ring, his hands, with or without gloves, were enough to give the black man a hiding.

Tickets for the fight had gone on sale the day before and in two days the thirty thousand reserved seats for the fight had been sold out. Hymie was assured of sufficient profit to pay Jackson the huge win-or-lose purse he'd promised him to fight in South Africa and sufficient to pay Mandoma and Geldenhuis the biggest purse either had ever earned.

On the morning of 26 April, an English-speaking announcer on Springbok breakfast radio called the thirty-thousand crowd expected at Ellis Park the largest gathering of blacks and whites in one place since the British fought the Zulu at the battle of Isandhlwana in 1879.

The remark had been intended flippantly, but, inasmuch as it was a fight which brought both sides together, the symbolism was there for all who wished to see it; and in South Africa that was just about everyone. The old fears were working overtime; the flames fanned by an eager media who imbued the event with the drama of a high-noon shoot-out. Make no mistake, this was no less a battle for race superiority than any other fought against the kaffirs.

At Ellis Park a white rope ran like a snake down the bleachers and cut across the rugby field to end in the centre of either side of the ring and, by doing so, dividing the entire park in half. This was dubbed 'the wall' by the press and was designed to separate the black fans from the white - no less a wall than one made of granite blocks.

The crowd control designed for the fight seemed to be the usual overkill. A black policeman would stand every ten feet on the African side of the white rope with his back to the white spectators looking directly into the black crowd for troublemakers and a white one would stand between him and the next black policeman with his back to the black fight fans. The white police officers all carried revolvers and police batons which hung from their Sam Browne belts, while the black constables were armed with riot sticks.

The fight had been sold out for nearly three months. Nevertheless African ticket-holders started to arrive at dawn and seemed content to sit on the pavement outside the grounds where there was much singing of the Chant as the good-humoured crowd waited for the gates to open at I o'clock.

The Mandoma versus Geldenhuis fight was scheduled for four o'clock in the afternoon, a ten-rounder followed at a quarter past six by the world-title fight.

It was late autumn in Johannesburg, a glorious time of crisp mornings and bright, cloudless days when it remains reasonably light until almost seven in the evening. Johannesburg, with its high altitude, grows quite chilly soon after sunset, and a great many of the Africans had brought blankets with them. Red is a favourite colour and by five o'clock the African side of the field was splashed with scarlet.

Closer to the time of the first major fight the African cognoscenti began to appear, most of them in evening suits and some even in tails. There were few women amongst them; even the gangsters and gamblers had decided to leave their molls behind, the importance of the fight and the prestige of owning a ringside ticket being too great to waste on a woman. Although some white women appeared on the opposite side of the ring, this too was made up largely of white men.

It was a surprise therefore when, half an hour before the first fight, three women appeared on their own and started to make their way across the short strip of no-man's land leading from one of the entrances under the stands to the ringside seats.

The excited black crowd, anxious to applaud anything on their side which seemed in the least bit worthy of attention, started to cheer at the perfectly splendid sight which appeared below them.

Thin as a rake in a glittering red diamante fishtail gown, and wearing a short mink jacket to which was pinned an enormous corsage of purple orchids, was Madam Flame Flo, the famous shebeen queen from Sophiatown. Beside her, big as a circus tent, dressed in a pink satin dress with plunging neckline and wearing a pink fur stole as big as a small blanket, was Mama Tequila. On her head rested a satin turban shaped like a beehive and embroidered with a thousand tiny mirrors. From the centre of the turban, clipped down under a huge circular diamante broach, were three pink ostrich feathers. It was a sight to make the seventeen thousand African men in the stadium positively drool with admiration.

Walking behind both women in a simple white crepe evening dress and a satin stole came Tandia Patel. It was immediately apparent to the black crowd that she was extraordinarily beautiful.

The Bantu crowd began to clap, drumming their feet on the wooden floor of the stands so that the sound had the resonance of a hundred drum rolls. The white side rose to their feet, anxious to see what was happening, and thirty thousand eyes trained on the three women crossing towards the ringside seats.

'Jesus,
ousis!
We got the spotlight!' Madam Flame said in alarm.

Mama Tequila chuckled, her giant breasts rolling like twin mountains in an earthquake. 'Honey, jes keep yoh head high, what
we
got now we came here to get! She stopped and turned, waiting for Tandia to catch up to her: 'You walk tall now, sugar, this your fight too, baby!' Mama Tequila was in her full American mode and loving every moment.

Tandia was quite certain she was about to die. She was terrified that Gideon Mandoma might be somewhere looking out at her and that he would not approve. Her fear of disobeying Mama Tequila fought with her natural modesty. She was Mandoma's woman now and a law student, but the huge old whore still completely dominated her. Though Gideon and she were an item, she saw almost nothing of him; during the university vacations she was expected to work at Bluey Jay and it was only when the brothel closed down after Christmas and she came with Mama Tequila up to the Rand to stay with Madam Flame Flo that they could be together. Madam Flame Flo had moved from Sophiatown to Meadowlands and Tandia had to rely on Juicey Fruit Mambo to drive her to see Gideon.

Their relationship was still very tentative and mostly based on politics. She hadn't even slept with him. Once when he'd brought up the subject she'd been terrified but had agreed, though there hadn't been a place they could do it. She knew she must, that to consolidate the relationship it was necessary, but she told herself they'd do it after she graduated at law, when she came to live in Johannesburg.

For the black crowd the three glittering women had added a dimension of class to the day's proceedings. They could savour in advance the pleasure they'd get from relating, perhaps twenty years hence, the story of how they'd been present at the two greatest fights in history. Now they could include in the long preliminary the two
abaFazi
who shone like the sun on water and the beautiful young one.

Hymie and Peekay, unseen by the crowd, were seated in the enclosed members' stand watching the crowd. Jackson had made a great fuss of being photographed entering through the gate for blacks only, pointing to the sign with one hand and pinching his nose in disgust with the other, the whites of his eyes showing in mock horror.

'Christ, Peekay, look at that!' Hymie exclaimed suddenly. He passed his binoculars to Peekay. 'Get a deck of the two women coming towards us on the black side!'

Peekay, looking through the glasses, started to grin immediately. 'She's wonderful! Oh, Hymie, they're sensational. I wonder who they are? You don't suppose they're Jackson supporters do you?'

Peekay suddenly let out a gasp followed by the short, sharp expletive. 'Shit!'

Hymie's grin changed to sudden alarm. 'What is it? Here, let me see,' he said, reaching for the glasses. He now saw the third woman who had caught Peekay's attention.

He focused on Tandia. She was absolutely ravishing. Her green eyes set into a classically proportioned honey-coloured face seemed to be looking directly at him through thick black lashes. Her slightly parted lips gave her a rather bewildered, totally ingenuous expression.

Hymie lowered the binoculars and turned to look at Peekay, who sat with his chin cupped in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He wore a slightly stunned expression. 'Shit no, Peekay!' he whispered. 'Not now, not ever! For Christ's sake, she's coloured!'

Peekay gave Hymie a wry grin. 'Maybe she's American? I could go and live in America?'

Hymie laughed. 'Forget it Peekay, we've got a fight on our hands. If she's Jackson's girl you're going to have to knock him over first. Come on, it's time to see Gideon. You promised him and I promised Mr Nguni, no matter how busy I was, I'd personally make sure you'd be there to wish Gideon good luck.'

In fact, Hymie had been as busy as a one-armed wallpaper hanger and had found himself doing just about everything leading up to the title fight. From the beginning when they'd had the kerfuffle about segregating Ellis Park and the debacle over the toilets, seating had been the major problem. Right up to the end, even though half the ringside seats had been sold to black people, the trustees of Ellis Park were still demanding that they be reserved exclusively for whites. When this wouldn't wash, they'd demanded an extra sixty seats for white patrons.

In a gesture of appeasement, Hymie had managed to get a travelling theatrical company to hire him a dozen wooden stage units, designed to build an outdoor stage. The trustee seats were placed on these, affording them a grand, if not intimate, ringside viewing platform. Hymie's gesture was lost on the furious trustees who, to a man, hated him for sticking up for the rights of the 'coons'.

One more seating problem occurred on the morning of the fight. O'Rourke, Jackson's manager, had approached Hymie, pointing out that his party hadn't been allocated seats together and demanding that something be done about it.

Jake 'Spoonbill' Jackson's entourage consisted of twelve people. Three of them would be in his corner but the remainder, five black Americans and four white, were not prepared to be separated along racial lines. Hymie pointed out that he had no choice, that the law required the separation, but that he'd placed them in the front row on the side of the ring divided by the rope. In effect, they were all in the same row with only a two-inch rope dividing the five blacks from the four white Americans.

'It's the principle, me boy!' O'Rourke demanded in a sanctimonious voice. 'It may be a bit of a rope to you, but it's a wall as high as Everest itself to me and the boys. We do come from the land of the free you know!' O'Rourke had gone to some pains to avoid Hymie during the week the Jackson party had been in town. The snub had started at the airport where Hymie, caught up in an emergency, sent Solly Goldman to welcome him and transport the entourage from Jan Smuts airport to a magnificent old mansion set on fifteen acres of land which he'd staffed and provisioned fully as their training camp.

O'Rourke had refused to take Hymie's call when later he'd phoned to welcome him to South Africa. 'Tell him, if he can't come to the airport to welcome us, I can't come to the telephone to talk to him,' was the message carried back to Hymie by one of Jackson's people. Hymie grinned, recalling the non-existent welcome they'd received when they'd arrived in New York for the first title fight.

O'Rourke and Jackson had made themselves freely available to the press. Jackson, concentrating on Peekay, claiming there were no more surprises in the white man's limited attack, prophesied that the fight would end in a knock-out in the seventh, the same round Geldenhuis had forecast for Mandoma. He was unaware of the special relationship Peekay enjoyed with black fight fans and it was clear that most of his name calling was predictably meant to win the sympathy of South Africa's black people.

On the other hand, O'Rourke took every opportunity to be critical of just about everything. His first act had been to fire the entire black staff working at the training camp, claiming they were spies placed by Hymie. Now, on the final morning, he was making a fuss about the seating arrangements and, in the process, hugely enjoying Hymie's discomfort.

Hymie phoned General Van Breeden and requested permission for the Americans to be seated in any order they wished on either side of the rope. Van Breeden chuckled into the phone. 'You know something, Hymie? Sometimes I think we're all going crazy! Ja man, no problems. Wait, I'll get Captain McClymont to fix it with the senior police officer in charge of ringside crowd control.'

Hymie waited as the general summoned McClymont on his office intercom and then came back on the phone. 'You can put a negro on either side of me if you like.' He chuckled again. 'Pretoria already think I've sold out to the kaffirs by allowing them to see the fight in the first place.'

Half an hour before the Geldenhuis versus Mandoma fight the ringside seats were full. The huge ground was packed to the heavens and though it was still light, the ring lights had been turned on, casting a phosphorescent glow some twenty feet beyond the ring.

Mr Nguni's concern to have Peekay visit Gideon Mandoma before the fight was a very real one. Two days before the fight, Gideon had suddenly insisted he must go to Zululand, to his home in one of the many hills behind the Tugela River. He wished to go alone, accompanied only by a driver from his own clan.

When Mr Nguni informed Solly Goldman of Gideon's departure he wasn't at all happy. He didn't like to have any fighter he was training out of his sight for the final fortyeight hours, a time which he regarded as psychologically the most important. Nguni had persuaded him that the visit was essential, but privately he was also worried. He knew that, surrounded by his extended family, Gideon might easily lose the razor-edge concentration he required as a fighter. He had offered to have Gideon's particular
umNgoma,
witchdoctor, driven up to Johannesburg to personally attend to him, or even to obtain the services of any of the famous sangoma who operated in Soweto.

Gideon's reply had been simple. 'He is too old to leave his fireplace, but he is the one who can see me with his heart.'