by Sam Selvon
Listen to Harry Banjo, as he and Bat going to the off-licence: ‘How them fellars have white girls, boy?’ Is the sort of question you get regularly from the islanders who fresh in Londontown, like ‘How you get to Piccadilly,’ or ‘Which part I could get a room to rent.’
‘Is the attraction of opposites,’ Bat say. ‘You want one? Just let me know and I will put you on to a nice thing living by Clapham Junction.’
‘I like Jean,’ Harry say.
‘Jean is fire,’ Bat say.
Meanwhile back at the basement, the boys getting restless. Poor light up a weed and start to smoke.
Alfy say, ‘You better stop smoking that cigarette here. You know Bat don’t like it.’
‘You want a quick drag?’ Poor ask him, and pass the weed. Everybody in the room had a drag before it get back to Poor.
Jean and Matilda come down from upstairs. Jean had a tape recorder under she arm. As soon as Poor see Jean he nip the cigarette and push the butt in his pocket.
Jean sniff. ‘Who smoking weed?’
Everybody keep quiet.
‘Which one of you it is?’ she say, looking at Poor. ‘I tired warning you all this thing is serious trouble.’
Poor say, maliciously, ‘some people get kicks one way, and others another way.’
‘Is nobody else but you, Poor.’ Jean put the tape recorder on the table and face him arms akimbo. ‘You better don’t smoke any more in this room.’
‘Just because you know the difference between “long time” and “short time” you don’t have to get on so,’ Poor say.
‘What I do is my business,’ Jean say.
‘And what I do is mine,’ Poor say.
It looks like the two of them was going to start a big quarrel but lucky thing same time Bat and Harry come back. Bat open up Harry bottle of rum and pass around some drinks. Harry play generous with one of the last packs of cigarettes he had remaining from what he bring off the ship, and pass it around. By the time it reach back it almost empty.
Jean say, ‘It have ash trays all about, don’t flick no ashes on the ground, eh, is I who have to clean this room out.’
Well everybody find a place to sit down—some of the girls on the fellars laps—and they start up on this bottle of rum. It didn’t matter to any of them why Battersby call for this meeting as long as the rum was flowing. In fact the bottle get down in short pants before Poor say, ‘Let we hear about this plan you have, man, me and Lily want to go to the pictures.’
‘Yes yes, is time to get serious,’ Bat say. ‘Now listen. I ain’t want to make no big speeches. Everybody know what hell it is to get a place to live, and the idea is to start saving up some money, and we put it together and buy a house.’
‘That is a highly original idea,’ Fitz say, ‘you think of it all by yourself?’
‘I want the basement,’ Gallows say, as if the house buy already.
‘I want the ground floor,’ de Nobriga say, ‘I tired climbing stairs.’
‘You see the same thing?’ Bat raise his hands complaining to everybody. ‘Everything is a joke, laugh kiff-kiff. That is why we could never progress.’
‘I ain’t laughing,’ Sylvester say.
* * *
* * *
Now, I will have to digress with a ballad about Syl, which will help to explain why Syl ain’t laughing. In the first place, you mightn’t think that Syl is an Indian, because he ain’t have a Indian name, and a lot of people don’t know it have true-true Indians living in the West Indies. Not Carib Indians or Red Indians, but Indians from India, wearing sari and thing. But some of them get so westernise that they don’t even know where the Ganges is, and they pick up all sort of fancy name instead of the usual Singh or Ram. That’s how Syl name Sylvester. He had a habit of knocking wood for luck, and kissing the Cross, but I will tell you more about that later.
One time Syl was catching real hell to get a room. He walking all over town reading the notice boards in the sweet shops and tobacconists, but all he could see is ‘No Kolors’ or ‘Sorry, Uropean only.’ Syl was thinking how is a hell of a thing these people don’t want him, when they can’t even spell.
Well while he stand up there, the old Bat stroll along.
‘What happening?’ Bat say.
‘I was looking for a place to live, man,’ Syl say.
‘You won’t find nothing on them boards,’ Bat say. ‘But seeing that both of we is Trinidadians together, I will tell you of a place. Right up there by the next block, it have a house with a English landlord who taking Indians. He don’t want any West Indians, mark you, but he taking real Indians. You could go there and try.’
‘But I am from the West Indies,’ Syl say.
‘Nevertheless,’ Bat say, ‘You are an Indian. Why you don’t go and try?’
‘I don’t too like living with a set of Indian people,’ Syl grumble. ‘So much of curry and dhal and kia-san-hai.’
‘Well, is up to you,’ Bat say.
In the end, after looking at some more notices, Syl decide to go to this house Bat tell him about. He knock at the door and stand up waiting for the landlord.
The landlord come and look at Syl suspiciously. ‘Yes?’ he say, as if Syl ask him a question and he answering ‘yes.’
‘I am straight from the banks of the Ganges,’ Syl say. ‘I am a student from the Orient seeking a roof over my head.’
‘You are not wearing your national garments,’ the landlord say.
‘When you are in Rome,’ Syl shrug.
‘What part of India do you come from?’
‘West India.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Ram Singh Ali Mohommed—Esquire,’ Syl say.
‘I don’t know,’ the Englisher hedging. ‘What are you a student of?’
‘I am a student of life,’ Syl say stoutly, and add, for good measure, ‘Are we not all?’
Same time, as the two of them stand there talking, a Indian tenant come to go inside. This test have a big beard and he wearing turban.
‘Acha, bhai,’ he say gravely to Syl, and at the same time he clasp his hands together across his chest.
‘Er—acha, acha,’ Syl say, and then remembering some of them Indian dishes he see in a restuarant, ‘aloo, vindallo, dansak, and chutney.’
The fellar give Syl a funny look and went inside.
Well this English landlord give Syl a room, but Syl like he living on hot coals, having to hide from this other Indian fellar (who also say his name is Ram) every time he see him, in case he start up with some kia-san-hai talk. In fact, this Ram looking at Syl so supicious that Syl feel he had to do something about it.
One evening Syl went down to the landlord and say, ‘This chap Ram, I don’t believe he is from Indian at all.’
‘What do you mean,’ the landlord say. ‘He is a good tenant, he has been with me some months now.’
‘I am from the Orient,’ Syl say, ‘and I can tell a pretender when I see one. In the first place he does not sleep with his head to the East. And another thing he is always chanting in his room and creating a nuisance to the other tenants.’
‘I will have to do something then,’ the Englisher say.
‘You don’t want to cause discomfort to all the others because of one man,’ Syl say.
‘Quite so,’ the landlord say, ‘thank you for telling me.’
‘Not at all,’ Syl say, ‘I like it here.’
And with that Syl relax, because he had no doubt the landlord would cant this Ram out of the house, and he would be able to settle down in peace.
But bam! a few evenings later, as Syl sitting down on the bed, he hear a knocking at the door.
‘Just a minute,’ Syl say, and he run in the corner and stand up on his head. ‘You can come in now,’ he say.
The landlord come in. ‘What ar
e you doing?’ he ask.
‘I am practising my yoghourt,’ Syl say.
‘I have had a word with Mr Ram,’ the Englisher say, ‘and it is now obvious that you are the one who is not from India.’
Syl come off his head and stand on his feet. ‘Are you talking about Mother India?’ he say.
‘No,’ the landlord say, ‘I am talking about you having a week’s notice. You are flying under false colours, you are from the West Indies. I cannot stand those immigrants, I am sorry to say.’
‘You are looking at me,’ Syl say, ‘a born Indian who grew up on the banks of the Ganges and worked on the rice and tea plantations, and calling me a West Indian?’
‘Yes,’ the landlord say. ‘You look like an Indian, but you are from the same islands as those immigrants. You will have to go.’
‘Oh God, places so hard to get.’ Syl revert back to West Indian talk. ‘You can’t give me a chance?’
‘I am sorry,’ the landlord say. ‘Mr Ram has confirmed that you are not from the East.’
‘I used to live in the East End,’ Syl say hopefully.
‘That is not far enough East,’ the Englisher say. ‘Take a week’s notice as from today.’
Well a week later Syl chance to meet Battersby and give him the story. ‘If it wasn’t for that damn Ram,’ he say, ‘a man would of still had a place to live.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Bat say, ‘is a fellar with a big beard, and he always wearing a turban?’
‘That is the scamp,’ Syl say.
‘Man,’ Bat say, ‘that is a fellar from Jamaica what I send to the same house for a room!’
* * *
* * *
So to come back to the basement in Brix, that is one of the reasons why Syl wasn’t laughing when Bat talk about buying this house.
And although it look like the boys making joke, in fact all of them thinking serious about the idea.
‘We have to give up a lot of things,’ Bat say, ‘because I know it ain’t easy to save. For one thing, I feel everybody should give up smoking. Another, no drinking. Another, no spending money on women.’
The fellars silent as they contemplate this lark.
‘Them is some big request,’ Nobby say. ‘Who going to know if somebody smoke and drink?’
‘I go watch out for them!’ Gallows say. ‘And if I catch anybody smoking or drinking or going theatre I report to you, Battersby!’
Old Gallows feel he had to say something, because he ain’t have no work and he living catch-as-catch-can. Otherwise they might leave him out.
‘You could always trust old Gallows,’ Fitz say sarcastic.
‘Anybody you catch, charge them two and six!’ Gallows went on, as if the idea have him excited.
‘We have to trust one another,’ Bat say. ‘We have to treat this thing serious, else it won’t work at all, and if anybody feel they can’t manage they best hads drop out now.’
Bat look around. Poor raise his hand and say, ‘You always up to some scheme, Bat. Tell me, who going to hold the money?’
‘Well is I who organising everything,’ Bat say. ‘Who you expect?’
‘I don’t like this idea,’ Poor say, ‘you better count me out.’
‘I will be the treasurer,’ Jean cut in, ‘if you all don’t trust Battersby with the money.’
‘Anybody else want to drop out?’ Bat ask.
Alfy, Nobby, Fitz and Sylvester look at one another.
‘Harry Banjo in this thing too?’ Nobby ask.
‘Is I who bring up the idea,’ Harry say. ‘All you Trinidadians can’t think for yourself.’
‘Trust these Jamaicans,’ Fitz mutter.
‘Well I for one agree with the idea, if you all serious,’ Syl say.
‘You Alfy?’ Bat ask.
‘Yes.’
‘You Nobby?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fitz?’
‘All right, we give it a try. But if everything turn old mask I want my money back right away.’
‘That make six of we,’ Bat say. ‘Should be enough.’
‘Aye man, what about me?’ Gallows ask anxiously, ‘ain’t you counting me in? Seven is a lucky number.’
‘All right,’ Bat say, more to avoid argument than anything else, because he sure Gallows won’t be able to contribute anything.
Poor get up and turn to Lily. ‘Come girl, let we go, I not interested in this deal at all. And if I was all you fellars,’ he say to the boys, ‘I think twice before parting with any money. Them people who have house to sell don’t want to sell to black man.’
‘A lot of fellars have houses,’ Harry say.
‘Yes, but which part?’ Poor say. ‘In all them back streets where the sun don’t shine, in some tumbledown old house what only have a year to stand again.’
‘Don’t bother with Poor,’ Bat say, ‘he only beginning to feel jealous how he drop out. Just wait until we get a mansion and he would wish he was in it.’
When Poor and Lily left, Harry go to the tape recorder and open it.
‘Take care with that,’ Jean say, ‘it ain’t mine.’
‘You going to record something?’ Nobby ask.
‘Yes,’ Harry say. ‘I going to do some calypsoes and sell. I bet in the end I put more money than any of you in that house!’
By this time, with the rum and the talking, all of them feeling good, and imagining some big house that they could have a flat in, and ain’t have no landlord or landlady ready to throw you out. Gallows come and start to fiddle around the tape recorder, but Jean give his hand ONE slap.
Alfy and Syl finish off the bottle of rum, putting a little bit in each of the glasses.
‘This is the last drink you fellars having,’ Gallows warn them. ‘After tonight, any man I catch smoking or drinking will have to pay two and six. Not so Bat?’
‘If you catch them,’ Bat say.
Fitz blow smoke in Gallows face and say, ‘As for you, you will be so busy looking for your lost fiver, you won’t have time to notice anything else.’
And hear old Bat with Matilda, ‘You know you could always come and live with me—and Jean—when we get the new house.’
‘The day I live with you is when we get married—if we get married,’ Matilda tell him.
‘That could happen too,’ Bat say, his brain sweeten up with the rum.
Fitz happen to hear Bat say that, and he say, ‘Boy, don’t get in no married business you hear!’
Bat laugh at Fitz. ‘I will take your advice, Fitz,’ he say, ‘because if it ever have a man who should know, is you.’
In a little while I will give the ballad about Fitz, what make Bat tell him that, because right now Harry Banjo shaping up with his instrument to sing calypso, as Jean have the tape ready, and Nobby push the plug in a socket by the wall. As soon as Jean switch on bam! the fuse blow and the lights went out.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Bat say, ‘fix the fuse quick Harry before somebody start to make noise.’
No sooner said than a shrill voice come pelting down from upstairs: ‘Mr. Battersby! Are you tampering with the electricity again?’
Battersby start to swear. ‘Go on Harry, the fuse box in the passageway. Jean, go with him and show him.’
A lot of tittering and giggling going on in the dark, nobody thinking of striking a match, least of all Bat, who make a wild grab for Matilda in the dark and had she on his lap.
Outside Jean strike a match and Harry follow she out in the passageway. Deciding to make hay while the match was shining, Harry say: ‘I can’t get a chance with you alone at all, Jean. It look like you avoiding me.’
‘I ain’t have no time with you, man,’ Jean say. ‘Make haste and fix the fuse.’
She pick up a piece of newspaper and light it to save matches as Harry open the fusebox.
&
nbsp; ‘Come and go for a walk afterwards,’ Harry urge.
‘I have my work to do.’
‘I don’t understand this night work that you have,’ Harry say, as he change the fuse wire. ‘Which part it is? Where you working, in a factory.’
Jean laugh. ‘You could call it a kind of open-air factory.’
‘And what you have to do?’
Jean laugh again. ‘You could say I is a kind of receptionist. I have to entertain the customers, and make sure they satisfy.’
Harry frown. ‘I don’t know why you getting on so cagey with me,’ he grumble. ‘You know I like you, from that first morning when you come in the basement. You know my uncle wanted me to married a girl in Kingston before I come?’
‘In truth?’
‘Yes.’
‘And why you didn’t?’
‘Maybe because I was waiting for somebody like you.’
‘Do tell. Go on, you will soon meet white girls.’
‘I won’t marry none of them, though.’
All this talk sweetening up Jean, because it was a lonely life in London, and many times she feel to go back home and get some man who would married she. Now she was thinking, why not Harry? But she didn’t want to sound encouraging.
‘Come and go back,’ she say, as Harry finish the fuse.
‘One of these days you will come out with me, eh Jean?’ he ask.
‘Yes, when cock have teeth.’
But she allow Harry to put his hand on her shoulder as they going back in: after all, she shouldn’t play too hard to get, it might put him off completely.
Back in the room, a big contention going on, because when the lights come back on suddenly Bat find Gallows on the other side of Matilda, and he want to know what the arse he doing there, if he expect to find the lost fiver stick up underneath Matilda arm?
Anyway, order get restored, and everybody waiting to hear Harry Banjo who tuning and tuning as if he looking for the lost chord to make a start.
Hear Nobby: ‘That guitar had its days.’
And Syl: ‘Is not a guitar, stupid, is a mandolin.’
And Alfy: ‘Don’t express your ignorances, it is a ukulele.’