Tandia

by Bryce Courtenay

  'Ja, but only from my father, I never heard it told by anybody else. I want to hear it from you, Aunty Flo. My father, he said the Tadpole Angel and Gideon Mandoma, they were the best amateur prospects he ever saw in his whole life. He was also training Geldenhuis for the fight with Mandoma when he died.'

  It was Madam Flame Flo's turn to be amazed. 'Jesus, Mary and Joseph! It's a small world, hey? No wonder you want to meet Gideon Mandoma, it like he a part of your family and everything! Your daddy was training Geldenhuis?'

  'Ja, but he thought Mandoma would win. He said, "Geldenhuis is a bladdy good welterweight, world class, if it wasn't for-the Tadpole Angel and Mandoma he'd be South African champion, maybe even more, the champion of the British Empire. But the other two, they better!" He said that only a few days before he died.'

  'Wragtig! He said that?' She turned to Mama Tequila.

  'Jesus! What a small world, hey, ousie? Tandy who is now with you was Patel's daughter!' Her eyes shone with genuine excitement.

  Tandia repeated her previous plea. 'Please, Aunty Flo, tell us about the first fight.'

  'Ja, okay.' Madam Flame Flo smoothed her dress with the flat of her hands, stroking the top of her legs. 'Who knows how a kaffir's mind works? Don't ask me! The black people, they followed this white kid from when he was very young and then all of a sudden this witch doctor throws the bones and reads the smoke and she says, okay now the Onoshobishobi Ingelosi is a man. You know, fifteen years old, now he must prove to the people he is still the Tadpole Angel. Crazy kaffir stuff like that. So they choose Gideon Mandoma, who is a real Zulu chief and also a boxer. If the white boy wins, fair enough, he still the Tadpole Angel. If Gideon Mandoma wins he the new one and he has the power to lead the black people.'

  'Gideon Mandoma.' Mama Tequila asked, 'did he also believe all this stuff?'

  'Ja, of course! But not just him, everyone. Even me, a little bit. They had the fight over at the school, in the soccer field.

  Ten thousand people came. God's truth, two kids…the white one was still at school and Gideon was only sixteen years old and ten thousand people turned up for that fight.' Madam Flame Flo smiled at the memory. 'That night we sold one hundred and fifty gallons of Barberton! But only afterwards. The black people didn't drink at the fight. I'm telling you, man, it was deadly serious.'

  'Maybe Gideon Mandoma will get this fight with the white guy. When you say he is coming back?' Mama Tequila asked.

  'They say first he's going to fight for the world title in America, then he's coming home. August, September maybe.'

  'I don't think Geldenhuis will be ready to fight by then,' she winked at Tandia. 'He had a bad car accident.' Tandia was grateful that Madam Flame Flo's concentration was on her sister so that the shrewd little woman wouldn't note her anxiety at the mention of the policeman's name.

  'Ja, it was a great shame, why couldn't the bastard have died,' Madam Flame Flo rejoined. 'They say he'll be better by the end of the year. That's when he would fight the Tadpole Angel for the British Empire Welterweight title. It would be Gideon's fight if he hadn't been rooked. I admit it was a dose fight, but everyone, even the Rand Daily Mail said it, everyone knew Mandoma won except two of the judges. Those two Boers gave it to Geldenhuis by one lousy point.'

  Mama Tequila sighed. 'Ja, my little sister, if what should have been had happened, it would be a different world. The best way to win, no arguments, is to put your opponent down for a ten count. That the only way for the black man and the coloured. If it's going to be a "maybe" then it going to be the white man's maybe not the black man's maybe, that for blerrie sure!'

  Saturday night on Good Street was something else, a magic six or eight hours when the people of Sophiatown forgot the trauma and the struggle of the past week, bottled and corked their tiredness and set out to celebrate the business of being alive. The Mandoma fight was on at the Odin; afterwards there would be a short political rally; and then the dance halls and the streets would fill with the jazz and jive of people having a good time. Saturday night in Sophiatown was get drunk, get laid and get dancin' time! Sunday, repenting time, was a long, long way away as the rhythm thumped into Good Street from the shacks and shebeens and good-time places.

  Madam Flame Flo's house was no more than a hundred and fifty yards from the Odin, but, naturally, the Packard, which shone to within an inch of its life, was used to deliver the three women to the cinema entrance. Juicey Fruit Mambo, in his tuxedo and red bow tie, hurried round first to open the nearside door facing the cinema for Madam Flame Flo. Then he opened the door facing the street for Mama Tequila to be rocked out of the rear seat of the big car as inconspicuously as possible.

  Tandia was dressed in the brilliant green cheongsam which Sonny Vindoo had made for her. With it she wore the matching high heels Hettie and Sarah had given her for Christmas. Her dark springy hair, no more than an inch long, was cut evenly over her scalp so that it looked like a sophisticated cap. From her ears two large gold hoops hung, borrowed from Madam Flame Flo. Her lips were painted a shiny, Rita-Hayworth red, and her magnificent green eyes were heightened with a touch of eyeshadow which started quite dark in the corners of her eyes and went to the palest green over the broad arch of her eyelids.

  Tandia was stunningly, ravishingly beautiful, caught at the precise moment when she had become a woman. No awkward gesture or even faint trace of childhood remained. A sudden silence fell on the crowd as she stepped from the car. Then there was a gasp of appreciation as the men entering the cinema for the fight whistled and cheered loudly.

  Tandia had learned a great deal about men working the bar at Bluey Jay and now she instinctively reacted to please them, dropping her gaze in a gesture suggesting a hint of shyness and tilting her head slightly as she smiled. The crowd was delighted by the glamour she added to the occasion. There were several young women in the crowd, all dressed up to the nines, but Tandia outshone them all.

  The crowd parted as Mama Tequila, dressed in a peacock-blue satin evening dress and turban with matching everything and Madam Flame Flo in a halter-neck, red organza dress with matching red satin high heels, walking on either side of Tandia, entered the building.

  'It's showtime ladies, we all ritz, glitz and tits tonight!' Mama Tequila said happily as they were ushered by a pretty young Indian girl to the ringside seats that Madam Flame Flo had obtained from her friend and Gideon Mandoma's manager, Mr Nguni. The Indian leaned over Tandia as she was seated.

  'My little brother,' she giggled, 'the one they call Dog Poep, he said you were pretty, but I didn't believe him, little brats has got some funny ideas. But I was wrong, you the most beautiful woman I ever seen in my whole life even on the movies.'

  Tandia loved the compliment but was quick to repay it.

  'You too, you a very pretty girl, what's your name?' The little usherette smiled. 'Esmeralda,' she replied. 'Esmeralda Ismali, it sounds like a song, like a love song,' Tandia said smiling. The Indian girl's eyes were wide with pleasure as she left.

  Tandia found herself enjoying the atmosphere enormously as the crowd shouted, whistled and catcalled instructions and insults at the two fighters in the ring. With the main bout approaching they were impatient for the preliminary bout to end.

  Johnny Tambourine, wearing a clean white cotton jacket several sizes too big for him and with a large tray of peanuts and chocolate bars held by a strap around his neck, appeared suddenly at her side. 'Hi, Tandy, everybody is saying you the most beautiful person they ever seen. I think they hundred per cent right!' he announced, and at the same time unloaded a packet of peanuts and a chocolate bar into her lap. 'It's for you, for nothing, because you our nooi and in the gang an' all,' he explained.

  'Thank you, Johnny Tambourine, but you can't do this, you'll have to pay!'

  Johnny Tambourine looked shocked at the suggestion. 'No man, never! I pinched it off another kid's tray, he'll have to pay.' Johnny Tambourine must
have seen the look on Tandia's face and now he frowned, slightly annoyed. 'It's orright, Tandy, he isn't a member of our gang or anything like that! They done it to me lots of times when I was little.' Then he grinned, deciding to forgive her stupidity as a gang member. 'So long, I got to go now, see ya later, you hear?'

  'No wait a minute! Johnny Tambourine, come back here, give me your arm.' He returned and stuck the sleeve of his white coat at her. 'Hold your arm stiff,' Tandia instructed and began to roll the sleeve neatly to just above his wrist. 'Now the other one.' She repeated the performance on the other sleeve. 'Okay, that's better now, hey?'

  Johnny Tambourine grinned. 'How am I supposed to pinch stuff off other guys' trays if my hands showing?' But he was obviously pleased at the attention and aware that men from all over couldn't take their eyes off Tandia. 'Thanks, Tandy, see you after the fight. if I can pinch an eskimo pie I'll bring it!'

  Tandia raised her hands in alarm. 'No! No ice cream, Johnny Tambourine!' But the small boy was already several rows away shouting, 'Peeee-nuts! Chocooo-litz! Peeeenuts!', his oversized white jacket reaching to well below his knees.

  The final preliminary came to an end in a flurry of exhausted ineffectual blows and the crowd booed both fighters good-naturedly out of the ring.

  A young black man with a big smile and a beautifully fitted black evening suit with a white carnation leapt into the ring. He seemed to vibrate, several parts of his body moving at the same time as though he was headed in several directions at once. He moved over to lift the microphone up into the ring, giving Tandia a pearly-white smile as he did so.

  'Good evening my brothers and sisters, majietas and girls! Please give a warm welcome to the sensational Dorothy "Dotty" Masuka, the sizzling hepcat, Africa's own soul lady, the one and only yippy-woo-biddy-hi-de-ho lady, the singing sensation from Bulawayo! To accompany the first African lady of song I give you the Harlem Swingsters with the immortal clarinet of Mister Funny-face himself, the great Gwigwi!'

  The crowd started to stomp and whistle and yell their heads off as half-a-dozen musicians climbed into the ring. A small, smiling man moved to the microphone as the compere hopped out of the ring. He held a clarinet in his hands, putting it to his lips as the bass started to beat out the rhythm and the alto sax pumped out a blues number slow and mournfully. He appeared to blow, but no sound came from the clarinet. He withdrew it, looked at it, tapped -it with his finger as though remonstrating with it, all the while pulling funny faces. He tried and failed again as the rhythm in the background increased and the alto wailed plaintively. Finally, he moved over to the edge of the ring and, using the clarinet, pointed at Tandia, beckoning to her with his index finger to come to the edge of the stage.

  Tandia was almost paralysed with fear but Mama Tequila, nudging her, whispered, 'Tandy, this your big chance, baby, go-go!' Shaking, Tandia rose and walked to the edge of the stage, to the thunderous applause and whistles of the crowd. Gwigwi brought the clarinet sideways to his lips and kissed it and then pointed to Tandia and kissed it again, whereupon he handed the instrument to her. Tandia, smiling despite her terror, brought the clarinet to her lips and kissed it lightly, handing it back to the little man. Gwigwi, smiling and miming his ecstasy, walked backwards towards the mic and, bringing the clarinet up to his lips, he blew a long, sweet, absolutely pure note that reached up, cutting through the smoke and the hubbub of the crowd, holding its distance and clarity until the cinema was completely hushed and the lone clarinet became the spirit of them all, and then fading down, slowly, perfectly controlled until it warped into a whisper hardly heard at all.

  The cinema broke into wild applause and the band picked up the beat, quickened the pace and swung into Dixieland. The lights came down low until a single spot held onto the musicians in the ring; then they brightened again to show a smiling black woman in a red satin evening dress, who walked over to the microphone and began to sing with only Gwigwi's clarinet and the bass to accompany her.

  I love my thing

  'cause my man's my thing

  Call him drink, drank, drunk…

  he's still my thing!

  He jobs for me...

  that you wouldn't have thunk.

  So I love my thing…

  Eee… Ma…Ye…Mo…Wunk!

  I love my thing

  'cause my man's my thing…

  He wins for me,

  and he makes me drunk,

  drunk with the love

  I've fallen in!

  So I love my thing…

  Eee…Ma…Ye…Mo…Wunk!

  The crowd waited half a beat after the song had ended before going wild. Tandia found her pulse racing and she could, hear her heart pounding in her breast. Stop it! You don't even know him! she admonished herself. She knew Dorothy Masuka had been singing about Mandoma. Her voice was smooth and hot and suggestive and her eyes told a story of sinuous, slow, beautiful lovemaking. Tandia felt a warm stirring in her thighs and breasts that she'd never experienced before. 'Stop it! Stop it!' she demanded to herself. She brought her arms up and hugged herself and discovered she was trembling. The lights went down and in the dimness she could see the singer and the musicians climb down from the ring, but the heat within her remained, curled up inside of her like a dangerous, illicit, delicious thing.

  Slowly the lights returned and the applause died down and then there was a stirring in the crowd and some spasmodic whistling and clapping as Terence 'Iron Jaw' McGraw, a pale, red-headed Irishman climbed into the ring followed by his manager and one of his seconds.

  The Irish fighter wore a green silk dressing gown on the back of which was embroidered a shamrock and the initials T. McG. He walked to each side of the ring, bowing at the crowd and putting his gloves together and raising them above his head. He caught sight of Tandia in her brilliant green dress, and mistaking the colour as the sign of a fan he blew her several kisses, much to the delight of Mama Tequila and Madam Flame Flo.

  'That Irish should be so lucky!' Mama Tequila boomed.

  'Iron Jaw' McGraw's manager walked over and slipped the boxer's satin gown from his shoulders, whereupon the Irishman began to shadow box, throwing short left and right jabs, bobbing and weaving from an imaginary opponent and hooking into the air, grunting as each punch was thrown. He was nicely built for a welter and his pale pink shoulders were covered with fat ginger freckles, a strangely incongruous sight in the cinema filled mostly with blacks and coloureds - although there were a few white faces in the ringside seats.

  Tandia could see a coloured man, a black man and a white come to sit at the judges' table. The timekeeper and referee were having an earnest conversation at the timekeeper's table. There was a sudden roar from the crowd and Tandia turned to see a huge man in evening dress coming down the aisle on her left. Behind him was Gideon Mandoma in a white satin gown down to his ankles, the satin hood almost completely covering his face.

  Mandoma was looking down at his feet so that it was impossible to see him. He seemed to be oblivious of the crowd as he walked behind the huge black man whom Tandia guessed must be Mr Nguni, Madam Flame Flo's friend and Gideon Mandoma's manager. Her heart beat wildly. She had heard so much for so long about the Zulu welterweight and she could hardly believe that she was going to see him fight, see the man whom Patel had called maybe the best raw talent he had ever seen in the ring.

  Mandoma had his back to her as he climbed into the ring, and as she was seated almost directly behind his corner the white satin hood continued to obscure his face from her view. The crowd had begun to chant, 'Mandoma! Mandoma! Mandoma!'

  'Iron Jaw' McGraw finally went to his corner and sat down as Mr Nguni walked over, watching as his seconds taped his hands and fitted the gloves. His own manager was over in Mandoma's corner checking the same ritual on the black man.

  To Tandia's surprise it was Mr Nguni who walked over to the microphone and introduced the two fighter
s. Madam Flame Flo leaned over and explained, 'He not just Mandoma's manager, he also the promoter.'

  Mr Nguni tapped the, microphone with the tips of his fingers to see whether it was alive and then, satisfied, leaned over it. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said in carefully enunciated English, 'tonight is an international non-title fight between the welterweight champion of Ireland, Terry "Iron Jaw" McGraw - thirty-eight professional fights, twenty-two knockouts, thirty wins, one draw, seven losses - and Sophiatown's very own black welterweight champion of Africa, Gideon Mandoma!' He paused for the applause to die down. 'Twenty-seven professional fights, twenty-six wins, twenty knockouts, no draws.' The big man paused long enough for it to have the desired effect, 'one loss.'

  At the mention of Mandoma's recent defeat the crowd booed and stamped their feet. Mr Nguni was first and foremost a promoter and he was beginning to build towards the second Mandoma vs Geldenhuis fight which he knew would be a big attraction. He also felt that the better man had lost, but consoled himself with the fact that the return fight was going to be a big earner for all and sundry. Which, the way he had black boxing tied up, meant that the 'all' was him and the 'sundry' was everyone else. He passed the microphone through the ropes and climbed down from the ring without glancing back at Gideon Mandoma.

  The referee stepped from the neutral corner, signalling the seconds out of the ring and the two boxers to the centre.

  Mandoma rose from his corner stool and his white satin gown was removed. Tandia gasped involuntarily. The black boxer was beautiful. His body shone like well-tooled leather and his muscle definition was perfect. Strong shoulders tapered to a slim, superbly muscled abdomen and waist. He had the light, well-developed legs of a true welterweight: strong in the quadriceps, lean, almost thin calves and slim ankles. Tandia was well used to the round, flattish face that distinguishes the Zulu tribe and she was surprised therefore to see that Mandoma's nose was straight and narrow and his brow and jawline were clearly pronounced in an open, handsome face. Tandia saw a flash of perfect teeth as he fitted the mouth guard into his mouth. Gideon Mandoma looked like a young chief. There was a quiet authority about the way he stood beside the referee while the Irishman danced up and down on his toes smacking one glove into the other, eyeing the black man as the two boxers listened to the pre-fight instructions.