V. Naipaul - Miguel Street

Hat said, ‘How you selling this thing you have in the glass and them?’

The woman said, ‘Six cents a glass.’

Hat said, ‘I want the wholesale price. I want thirteen.’

The woman said, ‘These children is all yours?’

Hat said, ‘What wrong with that? ’

The woman sold the drinks at five cents a glass.

When Len Harbin was 89, he was out lbw, and Trinidad declared.

Hat was angry. ‘Lbw? Lbw? How he lbw? Is only a lot of robbery. And is a Trinidad umpire, too. God, even umpires taking bribe now.’

Hat taught me many things that afternoon. From the way he pronounced them, I learned about the beauty of cricketers’ names, and he gave me all his own excitement at watching a cricket match.

I asked him to explain the scoreboard.

He said, ‘On the left-hand side they have the names of the batsman who finish batting.’

I remember that because I thought it such a nice way of saying that a batsman was out: to say that he had finished batting.

All during the tea interval Hat was as excited as ever. He tried to get all sorts of people to take all sorts of crazy bets. He ran about waving a dollar-note and shouting, ‘A dollar to a shilling, Headley don’t reach double figures.’ Or, ‘A dollar, Stollmeyer field the first ball.’

The umpires were walking out when one of the boys began crying.

Hat said, ‘What you crying for? ’

The boy cried and mumbled.

Hat said, ‘But what you crying for?’

A man shouted, ‘He want a bottle.’

Hat turned to the man and said, ‘Two dollars, five Jamaican wickets fall this afternoon.’

The man said, ‘Is all right by me, if is hurry you is to lose your money.’

A third man held the stakes.

The boy was still crying.

Hat said, ‘But you see how you shaming me in front of all these people? Tell me quick what you want.’

The boy only cried. Another boy came up to Hat and whispered in his ear.

Hat said, ‘Oh, God! How? Just when they coming out.’

He made us all stand. He marched us away from the grounds and made us line up against the galvanized-iron paling of the Oval.

He said, ‘All right now, pee. Pee quick, all of all — you.’

The cricket that afternoon was fantastic. The Jamaican team, which included the great Headley, lost six wickets for thirty-one runs. In the fading light the Trinidad fast bowler, Tyrell Johnson, was unplayable, and his success seemed to increase his speed.

A fat old woman on our left began screaming at Tyrell Johnson, and whenever she stopped screaming she turned to us and said very quietly, ‘I know Tyrell since he was a boy so high. We use to pitch marble together.’ Then she turned away and began screaming again.

Hat collected his bet.

This, I discovered presently, was one of Hat’s weaknesses — his passion for impossible bets. At the races particularly, he lost a lot of money, but sometimes he won, and then he made so much he could afford to treat all of us in Miguel Street.

I never knew a man who enjoyed life as much as Hat did. He did nothing new or spectacular-in fact, he did practically the same things every day-but he always enjoyed what he did. And every now and then he managed to give a fantastic twist to some very ordinary thing.

He was a bit like his dog. This was the tamest Alsatian I have ever known. One of the things I noticed in Miguel Street was the way dogs resembled their owners. George had a surly, mean mongrel. Toni’s dog was a terrible savage. Hat’s dog was the only Alsatian I knew with a sense of humour.

In the first place it behaved oddly, for an Alsatian. You could make it the happiest dog on earth if you flung things for it to retrieve. One day, in the Savannah, I flung a guava into some thick bushes. He couldn’t get at the guava, and he whined and complained. He suddenly turned and ran back past me, barking loudly. While I turned to see what was wrong, he ran back to the bushes. I saw nothing strange, and when I looked back I was just in time to see him taking another guava behind the bushes.

I called him and he rushed up whining and barking.

I said, ‘Go on, boy. Go on and get the guava.’

He ran back to the bushes and poked and sniffed a bit and then dashed behind the bushes to get the guava he had himself placed there.

I only wish the beautiful birds Hat collected were as tame as the Alsatian. The macaws and the parrots looked like angry and quarrelsome old women and they attacked anybody. Sometimes Hat’shouse became a dangerous place with all these birds around. You would be talking quietly when you would suddenly feel a prick and a tug on your calf. The macaw or the parrot. Hat tried to make us believe they didn’t bite him, but I know that they did.

Strange that both Hat and Edward became dangerous when they tried meddling with beauty. There was Edward with his painting, and Hat with his sharp-beaked macaws.

Hat was always getting into trouble with the police. Nothing serious, though. A little cockfighting here, some gambling there, a little drinking somewhere else, and so on.

But it never soured him against the law. In fact, every Christmas Sergeant Charles, with the postman and the sanitary inspector, came to Hat’s place for a drink.

Sergeant Charles would say, ‘Is only a living I have to make, you know, Hat. Nobody ain’t have to tell me. I know I ain’t going to get any more promotion, but still.’

Hat would say, ‘Is all right, Sergeant. None of we don’t mind. How your children these days? How Elijah?’

Elijah was a bright boy.

‘Elijah? Oh, I think he go get a exhibition this year. Is all we could do, eh, Hat? All we could do is try. We can’t do no more.’

And they always separated as good friends.

But once Hat got into serious trouble for watering his milk.

He said, ‘The police and them come round asking me how the water get in the milk. As if I know. I ain’t know how the water get there. You know I does put the pan in water to keep the milk cool arid prevent it from turning. I suppose the pan did have a hole, that’s all. A tiny little hole.’

Edward said, ‘It better to be frank and tell the magistrate that.’

Hat said, ‘Edward, you talking as if Trinidad is England. You ever hear that people tell the truth in Trinidad and get away? In Trinidad the more you innocent, the more they throw you in jail, and the more bribe you got to hand out. You got to bribe the magistrate. You got to give them fowl, big big Leghorn hen, and you got to give them money. You got to bribe the inspectors. By the time you finish bribing it would be better if you did take your jail quiet quiet.’

Edward said, ‘It is the truth. But you can’t plead guilty. You have to make up some new story.’

Hat was fined two hundred dollars and the magistrate preached a long sermon at him.

He was in a real temper when he came back from court. He tore off his tie and coat and said, ‘Is a damn funny world. You bathe, you put on a clean shirt, you put on tie and you put on jacket, you shine up your shoe. And all for what? Is only to go in front of some stupid magistrate for him to abuse you.’

It rankled for days.

Hat said, ‘Hitler was right, man. Burn all the law books. Burn all of them up. Make a big pile and set fire to the whole damn thing. Burn them up and watch them burn. Hitler was right, man. I don’t know why we fighting him for.’

Eddoes said, ‘You talking a lot of nonsense, you know, Hat.’

Hat said, ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to talk about it. Hitler was right. Burn the law books. Burn all of them up. Don’t want to talk about it.’

For three months Hat and Sergeant Charles were not on speaking terms. Sergeant Charles was hurt, and he was always sending messages of goodwill to Hat.