Power Of The Sword Part 41

I love you, he cried so many times during that night, each time in a different voice of wonder and awe and ecstasy, for the things she did with him and for him, surpa.s.sed all s imaginings.

For the first day of the finals of the track and field events, Shasa had managed to finagle team tickets for the girls, but the seats were high in the north stand. Mathilda Janine had borrowed Shasa's binoculars and was anxiously scanning the great arena far below them.

I can't see him, she waited.

He's not out yet, Shasa rea.s.sured her. They are running the hundred metres first, I But he was as strung out as she was. in the semifinal heat of the 200-metre dash, David Abrahams had run second to the great American athlete Jesse Owens, the Ebony Antelope, and so had secured his place in the final event.

I'm so nervous I think I am going to have a fit of the vapours. Mathilda Janine gasped without lowering the binoculars, on Shasa's other side Tara was as agitated, but for different reasons.

It's outrageous, she said, so vehemently that Shasa turned to her surprised.

What is? Haven't you been listening to a word? You know David will be coming out at any moment. I'm sorry,, He was drowned out by a deafening thunder of applause and the banks of spectators rose to their feet as the finalists in the hundred-metre dash sprang from the blocks and sped down their lanes; as they crossed the finish line, the quality of the sound changed, groans mixed with the ovation for the winner.

There! Tara caught Shasa's arm. Listen to them. Near them in the crowd a voice called, Another American negro wins. And closer still, The Americans should be ashamed to let the black animals wear their colours. These bigots are disgusting. Tara glared around her, trying to identify the speakers in the sea of faces that surrounded them and when she failed turned back to Shasa. The Germans are threatening to disallow all medals won by what they call the inferior races, the blacks and the Jews, she said in a loud voice. They are disgusting. Cool down, Shasa whispered.

Don't you care? Tara challenged him. David is a Jew. Of course I care, he said quietly, glancing around in embarra.s.sment. But do shut up, Tara, there's a brick., I think, Tara's voice rose in direct response to Shasa's appeal, but Mathilda Janine screamed even more piercingly.

There he is, there's David! With relief Shasa spran& to his feet. There he is, go it, Davie boy. Run like a hairy springbok! The finalists for the 200-metre dash had cl.u.s.tered at the far end of the arena and were jogging on the spot, windmilling their arms and going through their warm-up routines.

Isn't David just indescribable? Mathilda Janine demanded.

think that describes him perfectly, Shasa agreed, and she punched his arm.

You know what I mean. Then the group of athletes spread out to their blocks and the starter stepped forward. once more silence descended on the vast arena, and the runners were crouched down, frozen in a rigour of concentration.

The pistol fired, at this distance a pop of sound, and the athletes hurled themselves forward in a perfect line, long legs flashing, arms pumping high, they sped away on a rising wave of sound, and the line lost its perfection, bulged in the centre; a lean dark panther of a man pulled out ahead and the roar of the crowd became articulate.

JesSe Owens! repeated in a soaring chant, while the dark man flashed over the finish line pulling a bunch of other runners behind him.

What happened? Mathilda Janine screamed.

Jesse Owens won, Shasa shouted to make himself heard in the uproar.

I know that, but David, what happened to David? I don't know. I couldn't see. It was all so close. They waited in a fever until the loudspeakers boomed their stentorian command.

Achtung! Achtung! and they heard the names in the jumble of German.

Jesse Owens, Carter Brown, David Abrahams. Mathilda Janine shrieked. Catch me, I'm going to faint.

David got the bronze! She was still shrieking, and hopping up and down on the spot, tears of wild joy running unheeded down her cheeks and dripping off her chin, while on the green field below a thin gangling figure in shorts and running vest climbed up onto the inferior step of the victors pyramid and bowed his head as the ribbon with the bronze medal dangling from it was draped around his neck.

The four of them began their celebration that evening in the salon of Centaines suite at the Bristol. Blaine made a short speech of congratulation while David stood in the middle of the floor looking bashful and self-conscious as they toasted him in champagne. Because it was for David, Shasa drank the whole gla.s.s of the magnificent 1929 Bollinger that Centaine provided for the occasion.

He drank another full gla.s.s of Sekt at the Caf& am Kudamm, on the corner of the Kurfarstendamm, just down the street from the hotel and then the four of them linked arms and set off down Berlin's notorious fun street. All the signs of decadence that the n.a.z.is had banned, the Coca-Cola bottles on the sidewalk tables, and the strains of jazz from the cafe bands, the movie posters of Clark Gable and Myma Loy, were once more in evidence, allowed back under special dispensation for the duration of the Olympics only.

They stopped at another cafe, and this time Shasa ordered a schnapps.

Slow down,David whispered to him, he knew that Shasa seldom drank alcohol, and then never more than a single gla.s.s of wine or beer.

Davie my boy, it's not every day that an old mate of mine wins an Olympic medal. He was flushed under his tan and his eyes had a feverish glitter.

Well, I for one refuse to carry you home, David warned.

They went on down the Ku-damm. and Shasa had the girls in fits of giggles at his nonsense humour.

and then, stunningly, Ach so, meine lieblings, dis is de famousa Kranzlers coffee house, no? We will enter and drink a leetle champagne, yes? That's Italian, not German,Tara pointed out. And I think you are sloshed. 'Sloshed is a foul word on fair lips,, Shasa told her, and marched her into the elegant coffee shop.

Not more champagne, Shasa, David protested.

My dear boy, you don't suggest I should drink everlasting life to you in beer, now do you? Shasa snapped his fingers to summon the waitress and she poured four tulip gla.s.ses of the seething yellow wine.

They were all four laughing and chattering so that for some seconds none of them was aware of the sudden tense silence that had descended on the crowded coffee shop.

Oh dear, Tara murmured. Here come the cavalry., Six brown-uniformed storm troopers had entered the room. They had obviously been to some ceremony or function of their regiment, for two of them carried furled banners. It was just as obvious that they had already been drinking; their att.i.tude was bellicose and swaggering and some of the other customers of the coffee shop hurriedly gathered their hats and coats, paid their bills and left the room.

The six troopers came strutting across to the vacant table next to where the four of them were sitting, and ordered tankards of beer from the waitress. The owner of the coffee shop, anxious to avoid trouble, came to their table, and greeted them obsequiously. They talked for a short while.

Then the proprietor took his leave of them by standing at attention and giving the n.a.z.i salute. Immediately the six storm troopers jumped to their feet and returned the salute, cracking the heels of their jackboots together and shouting, Heil Hitler! Mathilda Janine, who had drunk at least one full gla.s.s of champagne, let out a shriek of laughter and dissolved into helpless giggles, and the full attention of all the troopers was instantly focused upon her.

Shut up, Matty, David implored, but that only made it Mathilda Janine rolled her eyes and went scarlet in the face with the effort of trying to contain her giggles, but in the end they exploded out of her with a wild snorting whoop and the storm troopers exchanged glances and then moved across in a bunch and stood shoulder to shoulder surrounding their table.

The leader, a hefty middle-aged sergeant, said something and Tara answered in school-girl German.

Ah, said the sergeant in heavily accented English, you are English! My sister is very young and silly. Tara glared at Mathilda Janine who let out another m.u.f.fled snort through her handkerchief. i They are English, said the sergeant, an explanation of all madness, and would have turned away, but one of the younger troopers had been staring at David.

Now he asked in pa.s.sable English, You are the runner? You are the winner of the bronze medal. David Abrahams. David looked bashful and nodded.

You are David Abrahams, the Jew runner. The trooper enlarged on the theme, and David's face went pale and set.

The two English-speaking storm troopers explained to the others, the word juden was repeated, and then they all stared at David with hostile faces and fists clenched on their hips as the sergeant asked loudly, Are not the English and Americans ashamed to let the Jews and the negroes win their medals for them? Before they could answer Shasa had risen to his feet, smiling politely.

I say, you chaps are barking up the wrong tree. He isn't a Jew at all, he's a Zulu.

How is this possible? The sergeant looked puzzled.

Zulus are black. Wrong again, old chap. Zulus are born white. They only go black when they've been left out in the sun. We've always kept this one in the shade. You are joking, accused the sergeant.

Of course I am choking! Shasa imitated his p.r.o.nunciation. 'Wouldn't you be, looking at what I'm looking at? Shasa, for goodness sake sit down, David told him. There is going to be trouble. But Shasa was inebriated with champagne and his own wit and he tapped the sergeant on the chest.

Actually, my dear fellow, if you are looking for Jews, I am the only Jew here. You are both Jews? the sergeant demanded, narrowing his eyes threateningly.

Don't be a clot. I've explained already, he's the Zulu and I'm the Jew. That is a lie, said the sergeant.

By this time the entire clientele of the coffee shop was listening to this exchange with full attention, and for those who did not understand English their companions were translating.

Shasa was encouraged by all this attention, and reckless with champagne. I see I shall have to prove my case to you.

Therefore to convince you that I am privy to all the age-old secrets of Judaism, I will reveal one of our best-kept secrets to you. Have you ever wondered what we do with that little piece the rabbi snips off the end of us? Shut up, Shasa, said David, What is he talking about? Mathilda Janine asked with interest.

Shasa Courtney, don't be disgusting, said Tara.

Bitte? said the storm trooper, looking uneasy, but the other customers of the coffee house were grinning with antic.i.p.ation. Bawdy hurnour was common currency on the Ku-damm and they were revelling in the unaccustomed discomfiture of the storm troopers.

Very well, I shall tell you. Shasa ignored David and Tara.

We pack them in salt, like kippers, and send them off to Jerusalem. There in the sacred grove on the Mount of Olives on the day of the Pa.s.sover, the chief rabbi plants them in rows and makes a magic sign over them and a miracle takes place, a miracle! They begin to grow., Shasa made a gesture to describe the growing, Higher and higher, they grow# The storm troopers watched his hand rise with mystified expressions. Then do you know what happens? Shasa asked and the sergeant shook his head involuntarily.

When they have grown into really big thick schmucks, we send them to Berlin where they join the n.a.z.i storm troopers. They gaped at him, not believing what they had heard and Shasa ended his recital, And they teach them to say, he raised his right hand, Heil, what is sprang to attention an that fellow's name again? The sergeant let out a bellow and swung a wild righthanded punch. Shasa ducked, but unsteady with champagne he lost his balance and went down with a crash pulling the tablecloth with him, and the gla.s.ses shattered. The champagne bottle rolled across the floor, spurting wine, and two storm troopers jumped on top of Shasa and rained punches on his head and upper body.

David leaped up to go to his a.s.sistance, and a storm trooper grabbed his arms from behind. David wrenched his right arm free, swung round and belted a beautiful righthander into the trooper's nose. The man howled and released David to clutch his injured organ, but instantly two other troopers seized David from behind and twisted his arms up behind his back.

Leave him alone! screamed Mathilda Janine and with a flying leap landed on the shoulders of one of the troopers.

She knocked his cap over his eyes and grabbed a double handful of his hair. Leave David, you pig! She tugged at his hair with all her strength and the trooper spun in a circle trying to dislodge her.

Women were screaming, and furniture was shattering. The proprietor stood in the doorway of his kitchen, wringing his hands, his face working pitifully.

Shasa Courtney, Tara yelled furiously. You are behaving like a hooligan. Stop this immediately. Shasa was half buried under a pile of brown uniforms and swinging fists and made no audible reply. The storm troopers had been taken by surprise, but now they rallied swiftly.

Street fighting was their game.

Mathilda was dislodged with a heave of broad brown-shirted shoulders and sent flying into the corner. Three troopers jerked Shasa to his feet, arms twisted up behind his back, and hustled him towards the kitchen door. David received the same treatment, a trooper on each of his arms. The one with the injured nose following close behind, bleeding down his shirt front and cursing bitterly.

The proprietor stood aside hurriedly, and they ran Shasa and David through the kitchens, scattering chefs and serving maids, and out into the alley behind the coffee house, knocking over the garbage cans as Shasa struggled ineffectually.

None of the storm troopers spoke, There was no need to give orders. They were professionals engaged in the sport they loved. Expertly they pinned the two victims to the brick wall of the alley, while a trooper went to work on each of them, switching punches from face to body and back to the face, granting like pigs at the trough in time to the rhythm of their blows.

Mathilda Janine had followed them out and again she tried to rush to David's defence, but a casual shove sent her reeling back, tripping and falling amongst the garbage cans, and the trooper returned to his task.

Tara in the kitchen was shouting angrily at the cafe proprieter call the police, this instant. Do you hear, They are killing two innocent people out there. But the proprietor made a helpless gesture. No use, Fraulein. The police will not come. Shasa doubled over and they let him fall. Then all three of them started in with the boot. The steel-shod jackboots crashed into his belly and back and flanks.

The storm trooper working on David was sweating and panting with exertion. Now he stepped back, measured the shot carefully, and sent a final upper cut smashing into David's dangling head. It took David full in the mouth and his head jerked backwards, cracking against the brickwork and they let him collapse, face down onto the paving stones.

David lay slack and unmoving, making no effort to avoid the boots that smashed into his inert body, and the storm troopers tired of the sport. It was no fun to kick somebody who was not writhing and doubling up and screaming for mercy. Swiftly they gathered up their caps and banners and in a group trotted away, past the two police constables who were standing at the mouth of the alley trying to look disinterested.

Mathilda Janine dropped on her knees beside David and lifted his battered head into her lap.

Speak to me, Davie, she wailed, and Tara came out of the kitchen with a wet dishcloth and stooped over Shasa, trying not to show her anxiety.

It was some minutes before there were signs of life from the victims. Then Shasa sat up and put his head between his knees, shaking it groggily. David pulled himself up on one elbow, and spat out a tooth in a drool of blood-stained spittle.

Are you all right, Davie my boy? Shasa asked through crushed lips.

Shasa, don't ever come to My rescue again, David croaked. Next time you'll get me killed. Mathilda Janine helped them to their feet, but now that Shasa had revived, Tara was bleak and disapproving.

That was the most despicable display I have ever seen, Shasa Courtney. You were obscene and rowdy, and you asked for everything that you got. That's a bit hard, old girl, Shasa protested, and he and David leaned heavily on each other as they limped down the alley. One of the constables waiting at the corner snarled at them as they pa.s.sed What did he say? Shasa asked Tara.

He says, quite rightly, she translated frostily, that next time you will be arrested for public violence. As the two of them made their painful way back down the Ku-damm, bloodied and battered, Mathilda Janine hovering close at hand and Tara marching a dozen paces ahead of them, trying to disa.s.sociate herself, they drew the quick horrified glances of pa.s.sersby who looked away immediately and then hurried on.

As the four of them rode up in the elevator of the Bristol, Mathilda Janine asked thoughtfully, That story of yours, Shasa, you know about growing things on the Mount of Olives. I didn't understand it. Tell me, what is a schmuck? David and Shasa doubled over with agonized mirth, clutching their injuries. Please, Matty, don't say anything more, David pleaded. It hurts so when I laugh. Tara turned on her sternly. You just wait until I tell Daddy about your part in all this, young lady. He is going to be livid. She was right, he was, but not as furious as Centaine Courtney.

It turned out that Shasa had broken four ribs and a collar bone and ever afterwards he maintained that his absence from the team accounted directly for the Argentinian victory over them by ten goals to four in the polo quarter-finals two days later. Apart from two missing teeth, David's injuries were superficial contusions, sprains and lacerations.

Not too much harm done, Centaine conceded at last. At least there will be no publicity,, one of those horrid little newspaper men writing gloating spiteful articles. She was wrong. Amongst the clientele at the Kranzler coffee house had been the South African correspondent for Reuters, and his article was picked up by the South African Jewish Times.

It played heavily upon Shasa Courtney's part in defending his Jewish friend, the bronze medalist sprinter, and when they finally got back to Cape Town, Shasa found himself a minor celebrity. Both Shasa and David were asked to speak at a luncheon of the Friends of Zion.

The law of unforeseen consequence, Blaine pointed out to Centaine.

How many Jewish voters do you suppose there are on the rolls? Centaine squinted slightly as she calculated, and Blaine chuckled.

You truly are incorrigible, my sweeting!

The boxing hall in the great complex of the Reichssportfeld was filled to capacity for the final bout in the light heavyweight division, and there were ranks of brown-uniformed storm-troopers lining each side of the aisle from the dressingrooms, forming an honour guard for the contenders as they came down to the ring.

We thought it might be necessary to have them, Colonel Boldt explained to Heidi Kramer as they sat in their ringside seats, and he glanced significantly at the four judges. All of them were Germans, all members of the party, and it had taken some delicate negotiation and trading on Colonel Boldt's part to arrange it so.

Manfred De La Rey was the first contender to enter the ring. He wore green silk shorts and a green vest with the springbok emblem on his chest and his hair was freshly cropped into a golden stubble. He swept a quick glance around the ringside seats as he clasped both gloved fists over his head to acknowledge the tremendous burst of applause that greeted him. The German sporting public had accepted him as one of their heroes; this evening he was the champion of white racial supremacy.

He picked out Heidi Kramer almost immediately, for he knew where to expect her, but he did not smile. She looked back at him as seriously, but he felt the strength flow into his body, absorbed from her presence. Then suddenly his gaze switched away from her, and he scowled, rage mingling with the strength of his love.

That woman was here. He always thought of Centaine Courtney as 'that woman'. She sat only three seats away from his beloved Heidi. Her dense dark plume of hair was unmistakable, and she wore yellow silk and diamonds, elegant and poised; he hated her so strongly that he could taste it in his mouth, like gall and alum.

Why does she always come to hound me? he wondered.

She had been there in the crowd more than once during the other matches he had fought, and always that tall arrogant man, with large nose and ears, sat beside her.

Centaine was watching him with that disconcerting enigmatic expression in her dark eyes that he had come to recognize so well. He turned his back on her deliberately, trying to convey the full force of his contempt and hatred, and watched Cyrus Lomax climb into the ring across from where he stood.

The American had a well-muscled body the colour of milk chocolate, but his magnificent head was all African, like one of those antique bronze castings of an Ashanti Prince, with deep-domed brow and wide-s.p.a.ced eyes, thick lips sculpted into the shape of an a.s.syrian war bow, and a broad flat nose.

He wore the red, white and blue stars and stripes on his chest and there was an air of menace about him.

This one is the worst you will ever meet, Uncle Tromp had warned Manfred. If you can beat him, you can beat them all. The referee called them to the centre of the ring and announced them and the crowd roared at Manfred's name.

He felt strong and indomitable as he went back to his corner.

Uncle Tromp smeared Vaseline on his cheeks and eyebrows and slipped the red gumshield into his mouth.

He slapped Manfred's shoulder, an open-handed stinging blow that was like the goad to the bull and he hissed in his ear.

Fast as a mamba! Brave as a ratel! Manfred nodded, mouthing the bulky rubber shield, and went out to the chime of the gong, into the hot white glare of lights. The American came to meet him, stalking him like a dark panther.

They fought matched and equal, they fought close and hard, blows with the power to maim and stun slipping by just a shade wide, sensing each other's intention with almost supernatural concentration and shifting the head, pulling back, ducking, using the spring of the ropes, blocking with forearm and glove and elbows, neither ever quite connecting but both of them hostile and quick and dangerous.

The gong tolled the rounds, five, six and seven, Manfred had never been forced to fight this long. Always his victories had come swiftly, ending in that sudden barrage of blows that smashed his opponent into the canvas. However, the hard training that Uncle Tromp had imposed upon him had given him long wind, and toughened his legs and arms. He felt strong and invulnerable still, and he knew it had to come soon. He had only to wait it out. The American was tiring. His punches no longer snapped with quite the same velocity. The mistake must come and Manfred waited for it, containing his pa.s.sionate hunger to see the American's blood.

it came halfway through the seventh round.