Zadie Smith - White Teeth

Half-heartedly, with no expectation of an answer, Irie asked, ‘What?’

‘Oh, nuttin’, Irie, dear. Nuttin’, nuttin’. Let me start fryin’. I can hear bellies rumblin’. You remember Clara, don’t you Mr Topps? You and she were quite good… friends. Mr Topps?’

For two minutes now Ryan had been fixing Irie with an unwavering stare, his body held absolutely straight, his mouth slightly open. At the question, he seemed to compose himself, closed his mouth and took his seat at the unlaid table.

‘Clara’s daughter, is it? Erhummmm …’ He removed what looked like a small policeman’s pad from his breast pocket and poised a pen upon it as if this would kickstart his memory.

‘You see, many of the episodes, people and events from my earlier life have been, as it were, severed from myself by the almighty sword that cut me from my past when the Lord Jehovah saw fit to enlighten me with the Truth, and as he has chosen me for a new role I must, as Paul so wisely recommended in his epistle to the Corinfians, put away childish things, allowing earlier incarnations of myself to be enveloped into a great smog in which,’ said Ryan Topps, taking only the smallest breath and his cutlery from Hortense, ‘it appears that your mother, and any memory I might ’ave of her, ’ave disappeared. Erhummmm .’

‘She never mentioned you either,’ said Irie.

‘Well, it was all a long time ago now,’ said Hortense with forced joviality. ‘But you did try your best wid ’er, Mr Topps. She was my miracle child, Clara. I was forty-eight! I taut she was God’s child. But Clara was bound for evil… she never was a godly girl an’ in de end dere was nuttin’ to be done.’

‘He will send down His vengeance, Mrs B.,’ said Ryan, with more cheerful animation than Irie had yet seen him display. ‘He will send terrible torture to those who ’ave earned it. Three plantain for me, if you please.’

Hortense set all three plates down and Irie, realizing she hadn’t eaten since the previous morning, scraped a mountain of plantain on to her plate.

‘Ah! It’s hot!’

‘Better hot dan lukewarm,’ said Hortense grimly, with a meaningful shudder. ‘Ever so, hamen.’

‘Amen,’ echoed Ryan, braving the red-hot plantain. ‘Amen. So. What exactly is it that you are studyin’?’ he asked, looking so intently past Irie that it took a moment before she realized he was addressing her.

‘Chemistry, biology and religious studies.’ Irie blew on a hot piece of plantain. ‘I want to be a dentist.’

Ryan perked up. ‘Religious studies? And do they acquaint you with the only true church?’

Irie shifted in her seat. ‘Er… I guess it’s more the big three. Jews, Christians, Muslims. We did a month on Catholicism.’

Ryan grimaced. ‘And do you have any uvver in-ter-rests?’

Irie considered. ‘Music. I like music. Concerts, clubs, that kind of thing.’

‘Yes, erhummmm . I used to go in for all that myself at one time. Until the Good News was delivered unto me. Large gatherings of yoof, of the kind that frequent popular concerts, are commonly breeding grounds for devil worship. A girl of your physical… assets might find herself lured into the lascivious arms of a sexualist,’ said Ryan, standing up from the table and looking at his watch. ‘Now that I fink about it, in a certain light you look a lot like your mother. Similar… cheekbones.’

Ryan wiped a pearly line of sweat from his forehead. There was a silence in which Hortense stood motionless, clinging nervously to a dishcloth, and Irie had to physically cross the room for a glass of water to remove herself from Mr Topps’s stare.

‘Well. That’s twenty minutes and counting, Mrs B. I’ll get the gear, shall I?’

‘Oh yes , Mr Topps,’ said Hortense beaming. But the moment Ryan left the room the beam turned to a scowl.

‘Why must you go an’ say tings like dat, hmm? You wan’ ’im to tink you some devilish heathen gal? Why kyan you say stamp-collecting or some ting? Come on, I gat to clean deez plates – finish up.’

Irie looked at the pile of food left on her plate and guiltily tapped her stomach.

‘Cho! Just as I suspeck. Your eyes see more dan your belly can hol’! Give it ’ere.’

Hortense leant against the sink and began popping bits of plantain into her mouth. ‘Now, you don’ backchat Mr Topps while you here. You gat study to do an’ he gat study too,’ said Hortense, lowering her voice. ‘He’s in consultation with the Brooklyn gentlemen at de moment… fixing de final date ; no mistakes dis time. You jus’ ’ave to look at de trouble goin’ on in de world to know we nat far from de appointed day.’

‘I won’t be any trouble,’ said Irie, approaching the washing-up as a gesture of goodwill. ‘He just seems a little… weird.’

‘De ones who are chosen by the Lord always seem peculiar to de heathen. Mr Topps is jus’ misunderstood. ’Im mean a lot to me. Me never have nobody before. Your mudder don’ like to tell you since she got all hitey-titey, but de Bowden family have had it hard long time. I was barn during an eart-quake. Almost kill fore I was barn. An’ den when me a fully grown woman, my own darter run from me. Me never see my only grandpickney. I only have de Lord, all dem years. Mr Topps de first human man who look pon me and take pity an’ care. Your mudder was a fool to let ’im go, true sir!’

Irie gave it one last try. ‘What? What does that mean?’

‘Oh, nuttin, nuttin, dear Lord… I and I talking all over de place dis marnin… Oh Mr Topps, dere you are. We not going to be late now, are we?’

Mr Topps, who had just re-entered the room, was fully adorned in leather from head to toe, a huge motorcycle helmet on his head, a small red light attached to his left ankle and a small white light strapped to his right. He flipped up the visor.

‘No, we’re all right, by the grace of God. Where’s your helmet, Mrs B.?’

‘Oh, I’ve started keepin’ it in the oven. Keeps it warm and toasty on de col’ marnins. Irie Ambrosia, fetch it for me please.’

Sure enough, on the middle shelf preheated to gas mark 2 sat Hortense’s helmet. Irie scooped it out and carefully fitted it over her grandmother’s plasticated carnations.

‘You ride a motorbike,’ said Irie, by way of conversation.

But Mr Topps seemed defensive. ‘A GS Vespa. Nuffink fancy. I did fink about givin’ it away at one point. It represented a life I’d raaver forget, if you get my meaning. A motorbike is a sexual magnet, an’ God forgive me, but I misused it in that fashion. I was all set on gettin’ rid of it. But then Mrs B. convinced me that what wiv all my public speaking, I need somefing quick to get around on. An’ Mrs B. don’t want to be messin’ about with buses and trains at her age, do you Mrs B.?’

‘No, indeed. He got me dis little buggy-’

‘ Side car,’ corrected Ryan tetchily. ‘It’s called a sidecar. Minetto Motorcycle-combination, 1973 model.’

‘Yes, of course, a sidecar , an’ it is comfortable as a bed. We go everywhere in it, Mr Topps an’ I.’

Hortense took down her overcoat from a hook on the door, and reached in the pockets for two Velcro reflector bands which she strapped round each arm.

‘Now, Irie, I’ve got a great deal of bizness to be gettin’ on with today, so you’re going to have to cook for yourself, because I kyan tell what time we’ll be home. But don’ worry. Me soon come.’

‘No problem.’

Hortense sucked her teeth. ‘ No problem . Dat’s what her name mean in patois: Irie , no problem. Now, what kind of a name is datto…?’

Mr Topps didn’t answer. He was already out on the pavement, revving up the Vespa.