Evelyn Waugh - A Handful Of Dust

Meanwhile other faces were appearing at the doors of the huts. Only one woman ventured out. She was very stout and she smiled confidently at the visitors.

“Good morning,” she said. “How do you do? I am Rosa. I speak English good. I live bottom-side two years with Mr. Forbes. You give me cigarette.”

“Why doesn't this woman answer?”

“She no speak English.”

“But I was speaking Wapishiana.”

“She Macushi woman. All these people Macushi people.”

“Oh. I didn't know. Where are the men?”

“Men all go hunting three days.”

“When will they be back?”

“They go after bush pig.”

“When will they be back?”

“No, bush pig. Plenty bush pig. Men all go hunting. You give me cigarette.”

“Listen, Rosa, I want to go to the Pie-wie country.”

“No, this Macushi. All the people Macushi.”

“But we want to go Pie-wie.”

“No, all Macushi. You give me cigarette.”

“It's hopeless.” said Dr. Messinger. “We shall have to wait till the men come back.” He took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. “Look,” he said, “cigarettes.”

“Give me.”

“When men come back from hunting you come to river and tell me. Understand?”

“No, men hunting bush pig. You give me cigarettes.” Dr. Messinger gave her the cigarettes.

“What else you got?” she said.

Dr. Messinger pointed to the load which the second nigger had laid on the ground.

“Give me,” she said.

“When men come back, I give you plenty things if men come with me to Pie-vies.”

“No, all Macushi here.”

“We aren't doing any good,” said Dr. Messinger. “We'd better go back to camp and wait. The men have been away three days. It's not likely they will be much longer … I wish I could speak Macushi.”

They turned about, the four of them, and left the village. It was ten o'clock by Tony's wrist watch when they reached their camp.

Ten o'clock on the river Waurupang was question time at Westminster. For a long time now Jock had had a question which his constituents wanted him to ask. It came up that afternoon.

I should like to ask the Minister of Agriculture whether in view of the dumping in this country of Japanese pork pies, the right honourable member is prepared to consider a modification of the eight and a half score basic pig from two and a half inches of thickness round the belly as originally specified, to two inches.”

Replying for the Minister, the under-secretary said: “The matter is receiving the closest attention. As the honourable member is no doubt aware the question of the importation of pork pies is a matter for the Board of Trade, not for the Board of Agriculture. With regard to the specifications of the basic pig, I must remind the honourable member that, as he is doubtless aware, the eight and a half score pig is modelled on the requirements of the bacon curers and has no direct relation to pig meat for sale in pies. That is being dealt with by a separate committee who have not yet made their report.”

“Would the honourable member consider an increase of the specified maximum of fatness on the shoulders?”

“I must have notice of that question.”

Jock left the House that afternoon with the comfortable feeling that he had at last done something tangible in the interest of his constituents.

Two days later the Indians returned from hunting. It was tedious waiting. Dr. Messinger put in some hours daily in checking the stores. Tony went into the bush with his gun but the game had all migrated from that part of the river bank. One of the black boys was badly injured in the foot and calf by a sting-ray; after that they stopped bathing and washed in a zinc pail. When the news of the Indians' return reached camp, Tony and Dr. Messinger went to the village to see them but a feast had already started and everyone in the place was drunk. The men lay in their hammocks and the women trotted between them carrying calabashes of cassiri. Everything reeked of roast pork.

“It will take them a week to get sober,” said Dr. Messinger.

All that week the black boys lounged in camp; sometimes they washed their clothes and hung them out on the bulwarks of the boat to dry in the sun; sometimes they went fishing and came back with a massive catch, speared on a stick (the flesh was tasteless and rubbery); usually in the evenings they sang songs round the fire. The fellow who had been stung kept to his hammock, groaning loudly and constantly asking for medicine.

On the sixth day the Indians began to appear. They shook hands all round and then retired to the margin of the bush where they stood gazing at the camp equipment. Tony tried to photograph them but they ran away giggling like schoolgirls. Dr. Messinger spread out on the ground the goods he had brought for barter.

They retired at sundown but on the seventh day they came again, greatly reinforced. The entire population of the village was there. Rosa sat down on Tony's hammock under the thatch roof.

“Give me cigarettes,” she said.

“You tell them I want men to go Pie-wie country,” said Dr. Messinger.

“Pie-wie bad people. Macushi people no go with Pie-wie people.”

“You say I want the men. I give them guns.”

“You give me cigarettes …”

Negotiations lasted for two days. Eventually twelve men agreed to come; seven of them insisted on bringing their wives with them. One of these was Rosa. When everything was arranged there was a party in the village and all the Indians got drunk again. This time, however, it was a shorter business as the women had not had time to prepare much cassiri. In three days the caravan was able to set out.

One of the men had a long, single-barrelled, muzzle-loading gun; several others carried bows and arrows; they were naked except for red cotton cloths round their loins. The women wore grubby calico dresses — they had been issued to them years back by an itinerant preacher and kept for occasions of this kind; they had wicker panniers on their shoulders, supported by a band across the forehead. All the heaviest luggage was carried by the women in these panniers, including the rations for themselves and their men. Rosa had, in addition, an umbrella with a dented, silver crook, a relic of her association with Mr. Forbes.

The Negroes returned down-stream to the coast. A dump of provisions, in substancial tin casing, was left in the ruinous shelter by the bank.

“There's no one to touch it. We can send back for it in case of emergency from the Pie-wie country,” said Dr. Messinger.

Tony and Dr. Messinger walked immediately behind the man with the gun who was acting as guide; behind them the file straggled out for half a mile or more through the forest.

“From now onwards the map is valueless to us,” said Dr. Messinger with relish.

(Roll up the map — you will not need it again for how many years, said William Pitt … memories of Tony's private school came back to him at Dr. Messinger's words, of inky little desks and a coloured picture of a Viking raid, of Mr. Trotter who had taught him history and wore very vivid ties.)

“Mumsey, Brenda wants a job.”

“Why?”

“Just like everybody else, short of money and nothing to do. She wondered if she could be any use to you at the shop.”

“Well … It's hard to say. At any other time she is exactly the kind of saleswoman I am always looking for … but I don't know. As things are I'm not sure it would be wise.”

“I said I'd ask you, that's all.”

“John, you never tell me anything and I don't like to seem interfering; but what is going to happen between you and Brenda.”

“I don't know.”