V. Naipaul - The nightwatchman's occurrence book - and other comic inventions

It was Henry in the end who spoke to me. He said that I was making him nervous and that I was making the girls nervous. The girls were like racehorses, he said, very nervous and sensitive. Then, as though explaining everything, he said, ‘The place is what you see it is.’

‘It’s very nice,’ I said.

‘You don’t have to flatter me; if you want to stay here, fine; if you don’t want to stay here, that’s fine too.’

Henry wasn’t yet a character. He was still only working up to it. I don’t like characters. They worry me, and perhaps it was because Henry wasn’t yet a character — a public performer, jolly but excluding — that I fell in so easily with him. Later, when he became a character, I was one of the characters with him; it was we that did the excluding.

I clung to him that first afternoon for the sake of dignity, as I say. Also, I felt a little resentful of the others, so very gay and integrated, and did not wish to be alone.

‘We went out,’ Henry said. ‘A little excursion, you know. That bay over the hills, the only one you people leave us. I don’t know, you people say you come here to fight a war, and the first thing you do you take away our beaches. You take all the white sand beaches; you leave us only black sand.’

‘You know these bureaucrats. They like things tidy.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘They like it tidy here too. I can’t tell you the number of people who would like to run me out of town.’

‘Like that man across the road?’

‘Oh, you meet old Blackwhite?’

‘He is going to type out a letter about me to the newspapers. And about you, too, I imagine. And your colleagues and companions.’

‘They don’t print all Blackwhite’s letters. Good relations and all that, you know. He believe he stand a better chance with the typewriter. Tell me what you do to provoke him. I never see a man look as quiet as you.’

‘I asked one of his boys whether he had a sister who screwed.’

Amusement went strangely on Henry’s sour face. He looked the ascetic sort. His hair was combed straight back and his narrow-waisted trousers were belted with a tie. This was the one raffish, startling thing about his dress.

Henry went on: ‘The trouble with the natives—’

I started at the word.

‘Yes, natives. The troubles with the natives is that they don’t like me. I don’t belong here, you know. I am like you. I come from another place. A pretty island, if I tell you. I build up all this from scratch.’ He waved at his yard. ‘These people here lazy and they damn jealous with it too. They always trying to get me deported. Illegal immigrant and so on. But they can’t touch me. I have all the shots in the palm of my hand. You hear people talk about Gordon? Black man; but the best lawyer we have. Gordon was always coming here until that divorce business. Big thing. You probably hear about that on the base.’

‘Sure, we heard about it.’

‘And whenever I have any little trouble about this illegal immigrant business, I just go straight, like man, to Gordon office. The clerks — you know, those fellows with ties — try to be rude, and I just telling them, “You tell Alfred”—his name is Alfred Gordon—“you tell Alfred that Henry here.” And everybody falling back in amazement when Mr Gordon come out heself and shaking me by the hand and muching me up in front of everybody. “All you wait,” he say, “I got to see my old friend Henry.” And teeth.’

‘Teeth?’

‘Teeth. Whenever I want to have any teeth pull out, I just run up to old Ling-Wing — Chinee, but the best dentist we have in the place — and he pulling out the teeth straight way. You got to have a philosophy of life. Look, I go tell you,’ he said, ‘my father was a good-for-nothing. Always gambling, a game called wappee and all-fours. And whenever my mother complain and start bawling out, “Hezekiah, what you going to leave for your children?” my father he only saying, “I ain’t got land. I ain’t got money. But I going to leave my children a wonderful set of friends.” ’

‘That’s a fine philosophy,’ I said.

‘We all have to corporate in some way. Some people corporate in one way, some corporate another way. I think that you and me going to get on good. Mavis, pour this man a drink. He is a wonderful talker.’

Henry, sipping at rum-and-cokes all the time, was maudlin. I was a little high myself.

One of the Americans who had been on the excursion to the bay came up to us. He tottered a little. He said he had to leave.

‘I know,’ Henry said. ‘The war etcetera.’

‘How much do I owe you, Henry?’

‘You know what you owe me. I don’t keep no check.’

‘Let me see. I think I had a chicken pilau. Three or four rum-and-cokes.’

‘Good,’ Henry said. ‘You just pay for that.’

The man paid. Henry took his money without any comment. When the man left he said, ‘Drink is never any excuse. I don’t believe people ever not knowing what they do. He not coming back in here. He had two chicken pilaus, six rum-and-coke, five bottles soda water and two whiskies. That’s what I call vice.’

‘It is vice, and I am ashamed of him.’

‘I will tell you, you know.’ Henry said. ‘When the old queen pass on—’

‘The old queen?’

‘My mother. I was in a sort of daze. Then I had this little dream. The old man, he appear to me.’

‘Your father Hezekiah?’

‘No. God. He say, “Henry, surround yourself with love, but avoid vice.” On this island I was telling you about, pretty if I tell you, they had this woman, pretty but malevolent. She make two-three children for me, and bam, you know what, she want to rush me into marriage.’

The sun was going down. From the base, the bit of the tropics we had created, the bugle sounded Retreat. Henry snapped his fingers, urging us all to stand. We stood up and saluted to the end.

‘I like these little customs,’ he said. ‘Is a nice little custom you boys bring with you.’

‘About this woman on the pretty island with two or three children?’

Henry said, ‘I avoided vice. I ran like hell. I get the rumour spread that I dead. I suppose I am dead in a way. Can’t go back to my pretty little island. Oh, prettier than this. Pretty, pretty. But she waiting for me.’

We heard hymns from the street.

‘Money,’ Henry said, ‘all you girls got your money ready?’

They all got out little coins and we went out to the pavement. A tall bearded man, white-robed and sandalled, was leading a little group of hymn-singers, six small black girls in white gowns. They were sweet hymns; we listened in silence.

Then the bearded man said, ‘Brothers and sisters, it is customary on such occasions to say that there is still time to repent.’ He was like a man in love with his own fluency. His accent was very English. ‘It is, however, my belief that this, at this time, is one of the optimistic assertions of fraudulent evangelists more concerned with the counting of money than what I might call the count-down of our imminent destruction.’ Suddenly his manner changed. He paused, closed his eyes, swayed a little, lifted up his arms and shouted, in an entirely different voice: ‘The word of the Bible is coming to pass.’

Some of Henry’s girls chanted back: ‘What word?’ And others. ‘What part?’

The white-robed man said, ‘The part where it say young people going to behave bad, and evil and violence going to stalk the land. That part.’

His little chorus began to sing; and he went round collecting from us, saying, ‘It is nothing personal, you understand, nothing personal. I know you boys have to be here defending us and so on, but the truth is the truth.’

He collected his money, slipped it into a pocket of his robe, patted the pocket; then he seemed to go on patting. He patted each of his singers, either out of a great love, or to make sure that they had not hidden any of the coins they had received. Then: ‘Right-wheel!’ he called above their singing; and, patting them on the shoulder as they passed him, followed them to the grocery at the corner. His hymn meeting continued there, under the rusty corrugated-iron eaves.