The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay Page A

awake, Pisskop?” she asked, not unkindly.
    â€œJa, Mevrou.” I was back in the real world and I quickly gathered my mental camouflage about me. My head was swathed in a thick crepe bandage and I was wearing my pajamas. My head didn’t hurt a bit, but my shoulder ached where I’d landed against the wall.
    â€œNow listen to me, Pisskop.” There was a note of urgency in Mevrou’s voice. “When the doctor comes you must tell him you fell out of a tree, you hear?”
    â€œJa, Mevrou.”
    â€œWhat tree did you fall out of, Pisskop?” she asked.
    â€œThere was no tree, Mevrou.” I had fallen at once for the trick.
    â€œDomkop!” she shouted. “Wash out your ears. What did I just tell you, man?”
    â€œIt was the mango tree, the big one next to the playground,” I corrected.
    â€œJa, that’s good, the mango tree.” She rose from the chair beside my bed. “You have a good memory when you try, Pisskop. Remember to tell the doctor when he comes.”
    No sooner had she left than I leaped from the bed and ran to the window where I whistled for Granpa Chook. In a few moments he appeared, clucking and beady eyed as ever as he came to rest on the window sill beside me.
    â€œGranpa Chook, we’re in a lot of trouble,” I told him and explained about the arrival any day now of Adolf Hitler, who was coming to march us into the sea. “Can you swim?” I asked him. Granpa Chook was so amazing that it wouldn’t have surprised me if he turned out to be the only chicken in the world who could swim.
    â€œSquawk!” he replied, which could have meant he could or he couldn’t, who’s to say? Granpa Chook wasn’t always easy to understand.
    We could hear voices coming toward the dormitory, so I quickly pushed Granpa Chook back into the orchard and jumped into bed.
    To my joy Mevrou entered with Dr. Henny. He sat on my bed and unwound the bandage around my head. “What’s the matter, son? You look pretty done in.”
    Even if Dr. Henny wasn’t a rooinek, I knew he was on my side, and I longed to burst into tears and tell him all my troubles. But I had already blown my camouflage once that day with near-disastrous results. A bandaged ear and a sore shoulder weren’t too bad as a result for having been unforgivably stupid. Next time I might not be so lucky. Choking back the tears, I told him how I had fallen from the big old mango tree next to the playground.
    I must have laid it on a bit thick because he turned to Mevrou and in Afrikaans he said, “Hmm, except for the cut between the ear and the skull there are no contusions or abrasions. Are you quite sure this child fell from a tree?”
    â€œThe other children saw it happen, Doctor. There is no doubt.” Mevrou said this with such conviction that I began to wonder myself. I realized that Dr. Henny’s line of questioning could only mean trouble for me.
    â€œIt’s true, sir. That’s what happened, I fell out of the tree and hurt my shoulder against the wall.”
    Dr. Henny didn’t seem to notice that I’d replied in Afrikaans. “The wall? What wall?”
    Fear showed for a moment in Mevrou’s eyes, but she quickly recovered. “The child doesn’t speak Afrikaans very well. He means the ground.”
    â€œJa, the ground,” I added, my camouflage damn nearly blown sky high.
    Dr. Henny looked puzzled. “Okay, let’s look at your shoulder, then.” He rotated my shoulder clockwise. “That hurt? Tell me when it hurts.” I shook my head. He moved it the opposite way with the same result. Then he lifted it upward and I winced. “That’s sore, hey?” I nodded. “Well it’s not dislocated anyway.” He checked my heart and chest and my back with his stethoscope, which was cold against my skin. “Seems fine. We’ll just put in a couple of little stitches and you’ll