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

‘Three. Baksh done calculate everything ready.’

‘The old people was old-fashion, but they was right about a lot of things. My father, when he was deading, tell me never to trust a Muslim.’

‘Muslim, Negro. You can’t trust none of them.’

They told tales of the ingratitude and treachery of these races. When Chittaranjan left, he and Ramlogan were good friends.

After that, every morning when Ramlogan got up he went out into his yard and called, ‘How you is, brothers?’ And Chittaranjan came to his veranda and said, ‘All right, brothers. And how you is?’

Soon they started calling each other ‘bruds’.

*

Then Ramlogan had an unfortunate idea. He wanted among other things to make some gesture that would seal his friendship with Chittaranjan. One day he announced that he was going to give a case of whisky to the committee of the winning candidate. He didn’t make it more specific than that because he wished to preserve his impartiality, but he had no doubt that Harbans would win. Chittaranjan understood and was grateful. And the rest of Elvira was astonished by this act of the laxest generosity from someone who was not even a candidate. Which was one of Ramlogan’s subsidiary intentions.

He talked a lot about his offer. This was to have disastrous consequences.

*

It was not until the week before nomination day that Baksh showed his hand. Two indirect messages came from him.

First, Foam announced: ‘Pa say he thinking of going up for the elections hisself.’

‘Damn traitor!’ Harbans said, and added calmly, ‘But he ain’t got a chance. He only control the thousand Muslim votes.’

‘Is that he say hisself,’ Foam said. ‘He say is the only thing that keeping him back.’

And then Ramlogan hurried across to Chittaranjan one lunch-time and said in a whisper, although there was no need to whisper: ‘Bruds, Baksh was in the shop today. He ask me whether I would vote for him if he went up for the elections.’

Chittaranjan said, ‘He ask you to tell me?’

Ramlogan said in a softer whisper, ‘He particularly ask me not to tell you, bruds.’

‘But he ask you about three four times not to tell me?’

Ramlogan looked surprised at Chittaranjan’s sagacity. ‘He did keep on asking me not to tell you. Is the reason why I come over to tell you.’

Chittaranjan said simply, ‘Well, Baksh just got to get bribe number two now, that is all.’

And when Harbans came to Elvira Chittaranjan told him, ‘Mr Harbans, you could take it from Chittaranjan that you win the elections.’

Harbans preferred not to show any excitement.

Chittaranjan said, ‘Baksh send a message.’

‘Another message again?’

‘He want to go up.’

‘Ooh.’

‘You have to go and see him and make it appear that you begging him to go up for the elections hisself. Once the Muslims don’t vote for Preacher, we all right.’

Harbans smiled and wagged a finger at Chittaranjan. ‘Ooh, but you is a smart man, Goldsmith. Ooh, ooh. Split the opposition vote, eh?’

Chittaranjan nodded. ‘But when you go to see him, don’t just dip your hand in your pocket. Don’t do nothing until you see everything in black and white.’

Harbans went to see Baksh.

He was sitting at his sewing-machine near the door, to get the light, and working with honest concentration.

Harbans cooed. ‘Aah, Baksh. How you is? I hear that you thinking of going up for this election stupidness yourself.’

Baksh bit off a piece of loose thread from the shirt he was making. Thread between his teeth, he gave a dry laugh. ‘Ho! Me? Me go up for election, a poor poor man like me? Whoever give you that message give it to you wrong. I ain’t got no money to go up for no election. Election ain’t make for poor people like me.’

Harbans cooed again. ‘Still, the fact that you was even thinking of going up show, Baksh, that you is a ambitious man. I like people with ambition.’

‘Is very nice of you to say those few kind words, Mr Harbans. But the fact is, and as the saying goes, I just ain’t got the money. Two hundred and fifty dollars deposit alone. Posters. Canvassers. Agents. Is a lot of money, Mr Harbans.’

‘Ooh, not more than five hundred dollars.’ Harbans paused. ‘For a fust try.’

‘Don’t forget the two hundred and fifty dollars deposit.’

‘No, man. Two hundred and fifty and five hundred. All right?’

The machine hummed again. Baksh sewed thoughtfully, shaking his head. ‘Elections is a lot more expensive than that, Mr Harbans. You know that yourself.’ He took up the shirt and bit off another piece of thread. ‘I would say three thousand dollars, plus the deposit money.’

Harbans laughed nervously and almost put his hand on Baksh’s bowed shoulder. ‘Ooh, ooh, Baksh. You making joke, man. Three thousand for your fust little try? A thousand.’

‘Two thousand five hundred, plus the deposit money.’

‘Two five. Ooh, Baksh. Come, man. One five.’

Baksh was sewing again. ‘In the old days, as you know, Mr Harbans, before the war, you coulda take up six cents and go in a shop and buy a bread and some butter and a tin of sardine, and even a pack of cigarettes into the bargain. Today all you could buy with six cents is a Coca-Cola. I is a man with a big family. I can’t fight elections with one thousand five hundred dollars.’

‘You don’t want more than two thousand dollars, Baksh,’ Harbans said, the coo gone from his voice. ‘And if you ain’t careful you damn well have to find the deposit money out of that same two thousand.’ He cooed again: ‘Two thousand, eh, Baksh?’

‘Plus the deposit money.’

‘Plus the deposit money.’

‘It not going to be much of a fight for two thousand dollars, Mr Harbans. I warning you. I is a man with a big big family.’

‘Is a fust try,’ Harbans said. ‘You could always try again. This democracy not going to get up and run away.’

Baksh sewed and bit thread, sewed and bit thread. ‘It would be nice if I could start off my campaign right away.’

Harbans remembered Chittaranjan’s warning. ‘Ooh, but you is impatient, man. Right away? Give it a little time, man, Baksh. We never know what could happen between now and nomination day, eh?’

Baksh was surprisingly complaisant. ‘Fair is fair. Nothing until after nomination day. Two thousand, plus the deposit money.’

‘Plus the deposit money.’

Mrs Baksh came into the shop, combing out her long hair with a large gap-toothed comb.

Harbans went absent-minded.

Mrs Baksh held her hair in front of her bodice and combed. Particles of water sped about the room. She cleared the comb of loose hair, rolled the hair into a ball, spat on it a few times and flung it among the dusty scraps in a corner.

The sewing-machine hummed.

Mrs Baksh said, ‘I was wondering who was doing all the talking.’

Harbans looked up. ‘Ah. Ooh. How you is, Mrs Baksh?’

‘Half and half. How the campaign?’

‘Ooh, so-so. We trying to get your husband to go up hisself.’

Mrs Baksh stopped combing and tossed her hair over her shoulders.

Baksh sewed, not stopping to bite thread.

‘Baksh, what the hell I hearing?’

‘Hearing, man? Mr Harbans here come and beg me to go up for elections, that is all.’

‘Mr Harbans beg you? Baksh, you know you talking arseness?’

‘It go be a good experience for him.’ Harbans smiled at Mrs Baksh. He got no response. ‘Ooh. Two thousand dollars.’

‘Plus the deposit money.’ Baksh said to Mrs Baksh.

‘It look as if your brains drop to your bottom, Baksh. This election riding you like a fever.’

‘Is for your sake I doing it, man. For your sake and the children sake. And I doing it to help out Mr Harbans here.’