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

This was too much for Mrs Baksh.

‘Oh God, Baksh! You go land me in court before this election over. Oh God! Sweetness! Sourness!’

*

And that was not all. When Harbans went back to his committee he found Harichand the printer with them.

‘If Baksh going up, you go want new posters,’ Harichand said. ‘In all your present posters your symbol is the star and your slogan is “Hitch your wagon to the star”. But they does give out the symbols in alphabetical order. Your name was fust and your symbol was the star. Now Baksh name going to be fust and his symbol going to be the star. Yours going to be the heart. Preacher going to be the shoes.’

Chittaranjan said, ‘We want a new slogan.’

But Harbans had gone absent-minded.

‘Do your part and vote the heart,’ Foam said.

‘Fust-class,’ Harichand said.

Harbans was talking to the back of his hands. ‘New symbol eh? New slogan. New posters. What sin I do to get myself in this big big mess in my old old age?’

Chittaranjan saw the danger sign of approaching tears. ‘Is nothing, Mr Harbans. Nothing at all if it make you win the election. And Foam here give you a much nicer slogan. Do your part and vote the heart. Is much nicer.’

‘He should take up poetry,’ Harichand said.

Harbans looked up from his hands to Harichand. ‘I know why you so damn glad, Harichand. I ain’t got to go to a university to know why you glad.’

‘Glad? Me? Me glad? I ain’t glad, Mr Harbans.’

‘You sorry?’

‘Mr Harbans, it have no reason why you should start getting suckastic and insultive in my pussonal. Is only help I want to help you out.’

When Harbans was leaving Elvira he was stopped by Mahadeo, and lacked spirit even to make his little joke: ‘How much Hindu sick today? And what-and-what is the various entrance fee?’ Mahadeo offered his list sadly and received the entrance fees a little more sadly.

When Harbans had left Elvira and was in County Caroni, he stopped the lorry and shook his small fist at the dark countryside behind him.

‘Elvira!’ he shouted. ‘You is a bitch! A bitch! A bitch!’

EVERYONE IN ELVIRA now knew about Tiger and almost everyone accepted him as a mascot against future evil and obeah. Tiger thrived. His coat became thicker; not that he was a hairy, fluffy puppy, for after all he was only a common mongrel; but his coat became thick enough. His strength increased. He could sit and get up and walk and run and jump without pain and with increasing zest. But no amount of feeding and care could make him put on flesh to hide his ribs. No amount of feeding could make him lose his rangy figure. He looked the sort of puppy who would grow up into the perfect street dog, noisy but discreet, game for anything, from chasing a chicken to nosing about a dustbin at night. Still, he was Tiger and he was healthy and he was friendly. Herbert was pleased. So was Foam. Mrs Baksh was relieved. The growing health of the dog she interpreted as the weakening of any obeah and magic against her family.

Tiger still lived in the cocoa-house. In the early days of his recovery he had been anxious to leave it for the wider world; but stern talkings-to, some slaps and finally a length of rope had taught him that the cocoa-house was home. In time he appreciated his position. He had all the freedom of the freelance with none of the anxieties. But he never tired of reproaching Herbert and Foam. When they were leaving him for the night he would look at them and whine, softly, almost apologetically; and when they came to him in the morning he would wag his tail at first, then lie down and whine, loudly this time, looking away from them.

And now Tiger had to have his first bath. It couldn’t be hidden from anyone, not even Herbert, that Tiger was full of fleas. You had only to pass a finger down Tiger’s back to see whole platoons of fleas dispersing and taking cover.

Bathing Tiger was no easy business. First Foam and Herbert had to steal a block of Mrs Baksh’s strong blue soap. Then they changed into old trousers and shirts because they were going to bath Tiger at the stand-pipe in the main road.

They went to the cocoa-house.

Outside the cocoa-house they saw Lorkhoor’s van parked on the wide verge. The grass went up to the hubs of the wheels.

‘Hope he not interfering with Tiger,’ Herbert said.

On a signal from Foam Herbert fell silent and both boys made their way through the intricate bush to the cocoa-house. They heard Tiger bark. A little snap of a sound, high-pitched but ambitious. They heard someone muttering and then they saw Lorkhoor and the girl. Apparently they had been there some time because Tiger had grown used to their presence and had barked, not at them, but at Foam and Herbert.

The girl said, ‘Oh God!’ pulled her veil over her face and ran out of sight, through the bush, behind the cocoa-house and then, as Foam imagined, to the road.

Lorkhoor remained behind to brazen it out.

In his excitement he dropped his educated tone and vocabulary and slipped into the dialect. ‘Eh, Foreman! You take up maquereauing now?’

‘You ain’t got no shame, Lorkhoor. Using words like that in front of a little boy.’

Herbert pretended he hadn’t heard anything.

Lorkhoor turned vicious. ‘You tell anything, and see if I don’t cripple you.’

‘I is not a tell-tale. And at the same time I is not a hide-and-seek man.’

‘Go ahead. Open your mouth once, and I’ll have the police on your tail, you hear.’

‘Police?’

‘Yes, police. You drive a van. You have a driving licence? If I lay one report against you, I would cripple you for life, you hear.’

Foam laughed. ‘Eh, but this is a funny world, man. Whenever people wrong, they start playing strong.’

Lorkhoor didn’t stay to reply.

‘Eh!’ Herbert shouted after him. ‘But he too bold.’

Tiger, wagging his tail at Foam’s feet, barked continually at Lorkhoor. Every now and then he made abortive rushes at him, but he never seriously courted danger.

Foam pursued Lorkhoor with his words. ‘You disappoint me, Lorkhoor. For all the educated you say you educated, you ain’t got no mind at all. You disappoint me, man.’

They heard Lorkhoor drive off.

Foam said, ‘You see the girl who was with him, Herbert?’

‘Didn’t exactly see she. But …’

‘All right. You ain’t see nothing, remember. We don’t want to start another bacchanal in Elvira now. Catch this dog.’

But Tiger wasn’t going to be caught without making a game of it. He seemed to sense too that something disagreeable was in store for him. He ran off and barked. Herbert chased. Tiger ran off a little further and barked again.

‘Stop, Herbert. Let him come to we.’

Foam put his hands in his pockets. Herbert whistled. Tiger advanced cautiously. When he was a little distance away — a safe distance — he gave his snapping little bark, stood still, cocked his head to one side and waited. Herbert and Foam were not interested. Tiger pressed down his forepaws and began to bark again.

‘Don’t do nothing, Herbert.’

Hearing Foam, Tiger stopped barking and listened. He ran off a little, stopped and looked back, perplexed by their indifference. He ran up to Herbert, barking around his ankles. Herbert bent down and caught him. Tiger squirmed and used an affectionate tongue as a means of attack. Herbert leaned backwards, closing his eyes and frowning. Tiger almost wriggled out of his hands and ran up his sloping chest.

‘Take him quick, Foam.’

Foam took Tiger. Tiger recognized the stronger grasp and resigned himself.

They took him to the stand-pipe in the main road. To get a running flow from it you had to press down all the time on the brass knob at the top. Herbert was to do the pressing down. Foam the bathing and soaping of Tiger.