Peter Carey - The Tax Inspector

‘What’s that?’

‘Wigwam for a goose’s bridle.’ Benny pushed him towards the striped couch which stood against the end wall.

The melted surfboard had straps on it like safety belts.

‘Sit down, come on.’

Vish looked at the couch he was being offered. ‘I came to iron for you,’ he said, stepping gingerly away from the couch and looking for a clean flat surface to place the iron on.

‘What’s the matter?’ Pride and blame jostled each other in Benny’s voice. He jutted his round smooth chin a little and checked his tie. ‘You don’t want to look at me? Am I ugly?’

‘Benny, you can’t stay here. You deserve better than this.’

‘You’re my brother, right? You’re the guy who came up on the train to see me because I was in the shit? That’s you?’

‘I won’t let you stay here.’

‘We’re family, right?’

‘Yes, we’re family. That’s what we’re going to talk about.’

‘Then don’t patronize me, O.K.? I know I deserve better than this. I’m not going to live here for ever. I’m going to buy a double block at Franklin Heights. There’s some great places up there now. They got tennis courts and everything. Vish, we could do so fucking well.’

Vish put the steam-iron down on the work bench. ‘I won’t let you live like this …’

‘You’re scared of money. I understand. Don’t worry. I’ll look after the money.’ Benny smoothed a green garbage bag on the regency couch and sat on it. ‘I’ve changed, just like you changed once. I’ve made a tranformation.’

Vish looked up at Benny and was about to say something before he changed his mind.

‘What?’ Benny prompted.

‘It’s not the time.’

‘Say it – it’s O.K. You think I can’t handle money?’

‘No one can change.’

‘You can fucking see I changed. You’re not the only one who’s spiritual.’

‘You dyed your hair.’

‘Is that all you can fucking see …’

‘You cleaned your face. You got a suit. You know what that makes me feel? It just makes me feel depressed. Even if you had plastic surgery, you couldn’t change. I couldn’t either. We’re both going to be the same thing for all eternity. Even when we die and get born again, even if we get reborn a dog … we’re the same thing. Everything has a Sanatana Dharma,’ Vish said. ‘It means Eternal Occupation. It doesn’t matter what form we take, this is like our essence – it stays the same.’

Benny sighed and crossed his legs. ‘The way I see it,’ he said at last, ‘is that there are white ants breeding underneath their feet, but they can’t see it.’

Vish nodded, waiting to see how this connected.

‘They think they’re on a rock,’ Benny said. ‘Howie, Cathy, Mort. They think they’re on a rock, but they’re on ice. They don’t know what’s beneath them. Down here,’ he gestured at the walls – blue, red, green, words written over each other so they looked like ancient blotting paper. ‘Down here I make the future, our future. I’ve prepared myself for a completely new life. For you too. We can do this thing together.’

‘What about Mort?’

‘No, no, I won’t hurt him. I’ll look after him. I’ll look after all of them. Go ahead,’ Benny said, seeing Vish trying to read the writing on the wall. ‘Please … you’re my brother, partner … It’s not a secret from you.’

Vish could read: ‘Let a virgin girl weave a white wool carpet …’ Some foreign names: ‘Kushiel, Lahatiel, Zagzagel …’

‘There’s nothing to be frightened of. I’m going to run this business effectively, that’s all. I’m transforming myself,’ Benny said. ‘By various methods, not just that.’

‘Into what?’

Benny grinned. He nodded his head and looked self-conscious. ‘I can show you a new layout for the whole place. A proper workshop, a modern showroom. If we put all the insurance work through British Union, we can finance it all through them.’

‘Into what?’ Vish insisted with his forehead all creased and his eyes squinting at his brother. ‘Into what are you transforming yourself?’

‘Many things.’

‘For instance.’

‘Angel.’

‘Angel?’

‘I have changed myself into an angel.’

Vish was suddenly back in that odd dreamy world you enter when you hear someone has died, or you see someone shot in the street in front of you. He heard himself say: ‘What sort of angel?’

Benny hesitated. ‘There’s angels for all of us,’ he said, standing up and brushing at his trousers. ‘Like you found out at the temple, right? Angels they never told us about in Sunday School.’ He smiled and folded his hands behind his back like a salesman on the lot and Vish, seeing the clear confidence in his eyes, thought, once again, that his brother was mentally unwell.

‘Benny,’ Vish said, ‘you’ve got to get out of here. Whatever’s bad, this place only makes it worse.’

‘You ask me, then you don’t want to listen to my answers. I already told you. I’m going to buy a block at Franklin Heights.’

‘It stinks in here. I won’t let you live like this.’

‘Let’s be honest. It’s because of you I’m here. You put me here, Vish. And that’s why you’re here now.’

‘Oh no. Let’s be clear about this. I took you to the ashram. I would have got you in.’

‘I was a runaway minor. They shat themselves when they knew that.’

‘I would have got you in. You ran away before they had a chance.’

‘Bullshit, Vish, you kissed their arses. Where else could I come except down here? You think I was going to stay with Old Kissy Lips alone? Is that how you were looking after me?’

Vish bowed his head.

‘Hey,’ Benny said.

Vish had his eyes squinched up tight.

‘Come on,’ Benny said.

Vish felt his brother’s arm around his shoulder.

‘I’m not mad at you,’ Benny said. ‘I was never mad at you. We each got out of home, in different ways. All I want is you fucking listen to me, eh?’ He paused, and smiled. ‘O.K.?’

‘O.K.’ said Vish, also smiling, ‘Fair enough.’

‘Ask me what angel I am.’ He pushed his brother in the ribs, ‘Go on.’

‘What angel are you?’

‘Fallen angel,’ Benny said, ‘Angel of Plagues, Angel of Ice, Angel of Lightning.’

Vish shook his head.

‘Hey, it’s not for you to say yes or no. You think I made this up?’ Benny held up a book – A Dictionary of Angels . ‘This is not bullshit. Look up Krishna. He’s there, and all his atvars.’

‘Avatars.’

‘Atavars, yes. If I’m wrong, you’re wrong too.’ He opened the front of the book and let Vish read the inscription: ‘I cannot be what I am – A.V.’

‘Who is A.V.?’ Vish asked. ‘You’ve become an angel? Is that it? You’ve become an angel from this book?’

The truth was that Benny did not know. He had made himself into an angel, and he came out looking like his mother. But he was not his mother, he was an angel. The angels were his creation. By writing their names he made them come true.

He made Saboeth with a dragon’s face and the power of destruction. He made Adonein, a mischievous angel with the face of a monkey. They were his masters. They were his victims. He smoked dope and took their power. He broke their spines and crushed them as he tore them out of books. He played Judas Priest with the volume turned up full. He had a real blue tattoo wing which ran from his right shoulder blade to his round, white, muscled buttock. The angels had feet with five toes and toenails and heavy white callouses round their heels.

‘You’ve become an angel?’ Vish asked.

‘Hey,’ said Benny, ‘relax … I was just kidding you.’