The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay

child.”
    â€œHe is not a Boer child. He is a rooinek !” Mevrou said, suddenly angry. She put the cup of coffee down on the counter and, leaning over, grabbed the tackies and turned to me. “Put your foot up here on my lap, child,” she ordered.
    The first tackie slipped around my foot without touching the sides. With my heel on Mevrou’s lap the canvas shoe seemed to reach almost up to my chin.
    Mevrou pulled the laces tightly until the eyelets overlapped. “Now the other one,” she said.
    I stood there, rooted to the floor, not daring to move and not knowing what to do next. The tackies seemed to extend twice the distance of my feet.
    â€œWalk, child,” Mevrou commanded.
    I took a tentative step forward and the left tackie stayed behind on the floor, though I managed to drag the right one forward by not lifting my foot.
    â€œBring some paper.” Mevrou cunningly fashioned two little boats from strips of newspaper. She then put the paper boats in the tackies and instructed me to insert my feet into them, and then she tied the laces. This time they fitted snugly. Though I must say, they felt very strange, and when I walked they made a phlijft-floft sound where the tackies bent at the end of my toes. I had never felt as grand in all my life. “We will take them,” Mevrou announced triumphantly. She reached into her handbag for her purse.
    Harry Crown sighed. “Those tackies are no good, Mevrou.”
    If Mevrou had had her sjambok she would have made fat old Harry Crown bend over the counter and she would have given him six of the best.
    â€œHow much?” she said curtly, her lips pursed.
    â€œHalf a crown, for you only two shillings,” Harry Crown said, adjusting the price automatically, his heart obviously not in the sale.
    I tugged at the end of a lace and to my relief the bow collapsed. I did the same for the second tackie, then slipped ever so carefully out of the newspaper boats and handed the tackies to Harry Crown.
    â€œYou poor little bugger,” he said in English. He slipped the tackies back into the soft brown cardboard box and, when he saw Mevrou wasn’t looking, quickly put two green and two red
    suckers into the box and handed it to me. “I wish you health to wear them,” Harry Crown said in English. Speaking out of the corner of his mouth he added, “Can she understand English?”
    Not daring to reply, I shook my head almost imperceptibly, indicating “no.”
    â€œInside is for the journey, green and red, the best! Believe me, I know. So long, Peekay.” He patted me on the shoulder. His eyes widened and, drawing himself up to his full height, his hands clasped over his belly, gold teeth flashing, he grinned. “Maybe the tackies don’t fit, but I think your new name fits perfect. Peekay! Ja, that is a nice name for a brave person who is traveling by himself to the lowveld to meet his granpa.”
    Mevrou, who was practically snorting with rage, threw two shillings on the counter and marched out of the shop. I followed along with the precious box of loot under my arm. At the door I turned to say good-bye to Harry Crown.
    â€œGood-bye, sir!” I said in English. The two English words sounded strangely out of place, like a language newly learned.
    Mevrou turned furiously. Grabbing me by the ear, she hissed, “Do not talk to that—that dirty Jew in the accursed language. You will hear from my sjambok when we get home!”
    â€œOuch! You have my sore ear, Mevrou.” I knew immediately she’d feel guilty grabbing me by my recently damaged ear, even though it was completely healed.
    Mevrou let go of my ear as though it were a red-hot poker. You’ve got to be quick on your feet in this world if you want to survive. Though once you know the rules, it is not too hard to play the game.
    Mevrou stormed ahead and I fell some five paces behind her. After I’d given her what I hoped was