The Housing Lark

by Sam Selvon

  Teena turn to Jean and Matilda, who stand up waiting for a sort of general dispersal.

  ‘Girl,’ she tell them, ‘these men! You see how all of them drunk already? That’s what I don’t like about OUR PEOPLE. We not civilise.’

  ‘I for one hardly touch the rum,’ Fitz say, grumbling. ‘You stick behind me like a leech!’

  ‘Otherwise you just like them!’ she say, pointing to the boys, who was straggling back from the Gents. ‘And let me tell you something, I didn’t come down here to look after the children. You best hads hold on to them. I am going with Jean and Matilda.’

  ‘Oh God, at least take Willemeena with you,’ Fitz beg.

  ‘All right,’ Teena concede. ‘But you look after Henry, and don’t let me catch you behaving like Gallows and them other fellars.’

  Gallows was sporting a beer right there on the pavement, after taking off the crown cork with his jaw teeth.

  Fitz wait until Teena walk off a little way ahead with Jean and Matilda. Then he give Henry a slap on his bottom and tell him, ‘Go on, run after your sister and mother, and cry and say you want to go with them.’

  ‘Ma say to stay with you.’

  ‘Here.’ Fitz give him a shilling. ‘That’s for you and Willy to buy lollipop or ice cream or something. Go on, scoot!’

  And Fitz begin to look around desperately for a drink or three or four to catch up with the boys. Alfy haul a flask from his back pocket and give him.

  ‘Well now,’ Poor stroll over as the excursionists going in twos and threes and sevens, ‘what’s happening boys? All you look like if all you mow down about six bottles already.’

  Poor dress to kill, as if he trying to make up in some way for the treatment he expect. He have on a brown shirt with black stripes and gold stars, and a sharkskin trousers in light blue, and a pair of two-tone shoes. But all that didn’t help, because nobody answer him as they begin to stroll in the grounds of the palace. Sylvester who was keeping his rum in reserve, produce a flask and pass it around as they walking. Everybody had a swig. They skip Poor.

  Hear him: ‘You all not getting on catholic. What happen, I is a leper or something?’

  To see him straggling along, is as if he take the place of Gallows, who was always the one trying hard to buttards. (That’s a good word, but you won’t find it in the dictionary. It mean like if you out of a game, for instance, and you want to come in, you have to buttards, that is, you pay a small fee and if the other players agree, they allow you to join. It ain’t have no word in the English language to mean that, so OUR PEOPLE make it up.)

  ‘What happen Alfy? Nobby? Syl, that is a sharp shirt you wearing boy—you cut it from a sari length? Anybody want a cigarette?’ And Poor pull out a pack of twenty and rip off the cellophane as if is an emergency. He pass it over to Syl. Syl take it intact and pass it over to Alfy, Alfy to Nobby, Nobby to Fitz, and so the pack of cigarettes make a rounds with all the boys and escape and reach back to Poor safe and sound.

  That incident commemorate the excursion.

  ‘Not even you, Gallows?’ Poor ask desperately.

  But this time so, old Gallows in glory now that the boys have somebody else to lambast and give tone to. He like a kingpin in the middle of the crowd and only casting some looks of disdain at Poor, and the boys giving him kicks by playing up and treating him as if he win a pools or something.

  ‘All right, all right,’ Poor say, and light up one himself. ‘Keep to your blasted selves. I have my own rum here.’ And he open up a little zipper bag he had with some sandwiches and a bottle of rum. He put the bottle to his head and drink off a quarter without stopping. He cork back the bottle and put it in the bag, and wipe his hand across his mouth.

  He did know it was so they would behave. Ever since Harry Banjo went on vacation everybody begin to treat him like if he was a criminal, as if it was his fault. What the arse they expect him to do, they expect him to go to the police and say that the cigarettes don’t belong to Harry, that he was just holding them for him? Even Gallows, one day by the market, passing him straight! True he had his head bend down as usual, but still. And Poor pull Gallows up and say, ‘What happening Gallows?’ And Gallows say, ‘I don’t want to have anything to do with you, Poor. You send Harry Banjo to jail. Harry was a nice fellar, nicer than you, don’t mind he was a Jamaican. The man only in the country a short time and you get him in trouble and save yourself. I low, but you so low you crawling.’ Poor pretend he didn’t know what the ostracisement was about. ‘Oh ho, so that is it! All of you blaming me for what happen to Harry? I must be Harry father! Harry ain’t have tongue in he mouth? What you expect me to do?’ But Gallows just walk off and leave him. ‘A bloody old arse-catcher like you,’ Poor call after him. ‘The whole set of you is only reformed criminals. Any one of you bastards would of done the same thing.’ And when he hear about the excursion, he went and borrow the char-a-banc from a fellar, and only come to try and make ta-la-la and mess up things.

  The way he feel now, he wish he did bring a bird with him, at least to keep company. He look around to see if he couldn’t spot a thing. Sure enough, birds pelting all about the place in some tight-fitting summer frocks. By and by he drift away from the boys, hoping he could inveigle a thing to walk about the grounds with him at least, if he can’t raise a sleeper.

  Syl, too, as if he suddenly realise that the palace grounds is a happy hunting ground stop strolling along suddenly and begin to swivel his head. Suddenly he kiss the cross on the chain around his neck and take off, his eyes staring on some distant object.

  ‘Wait Syl!’ Alfy call out, and run after him, being as Syl was the only one with rum at the moment. Alfy take the flask from Syl pocket while he was still walking, Syl didn’t even look at him, he just keep his eyes on the horizon lest he lose sight of his selection in all them bevies.

  ‘Once he start eye-gaming,’ Nobby say, ‘we ain’t going to see him for a while.’

  ‘The man come all this way to look for women,’ Bat say. ‘He would strain his eyes one of these good days.’

  ‘We ain’t had a drink for a long time,’ Gallows say, as Alfy come back with the flask.

  As they stand up to have a drink, they was just by one of the palace bedroom. You could imagine the old Henry standing up there by the window in the morning scratching his belly and looking out, after a night at the banqueting board and a tussle in bed with some fair English damsel. You could imagine the old bastard watching his chicks as they stroll about the gardens, studying which one to behead and which one to make a stroke with. If to say he had all of them there at the same time, you have to wonder how he would call out to them, because he had about three Catherines, two Annes, one Jane, and a lot of other small fry on the side. Hear him to Jane: ‘Jane, call Catherine for me.’ And Jane: ‘Which one you want, a, b, or c?’ Or imagine him hailing out himself: ‘Catherine!’ And three of them looking up wondering which one he going to send to the Tower for a beheading. And suppose old Henry was still alive and he look out the window and see all these swarthy characters walking about in his gardens!

  In reality it was Teena who look out the window, just in time to catch Fitz putting the flask to his head, and she shout out in a loud voice: ‘All right Mr Fitz! That is what you all doing, eh? Wait till I catch up with you!’

  And when Fitz look up startled he see Teena looking out of King Henry window.

  ‘What you doing up there?’ he shout.

  ‘I didn’t come to Hamdon Court to drink rum and idle,’ Teena say, ‘I am teaching the children some history. But you just wait until I get down there!’

  Of course I don’t have to tell you that by this time all them Englishers looking on as if they never see two people talking in their lives.

  And hear Fitz, high with rum: ‘Don’t teach the children no wicked things! Henry Eight was a evil character living with ten-twelve women!’

  ‘
It don’t say so in this book,’ Teena say, waving a brochure.

  ‘Never mind the book,’ Fitz say, ‘he uses to behead them one after the other in the Tower. And in truth this palace ain’t even belong to him, was a test name Wosley who build it, and give him as a present—’

  ‘Here here, what’s all this?’ a attendant come up. ‘You can’t be shouting like that. Move along now.’

  And upstairs in the palace, one of the seven hundred servants what used to hustle for Henry tell Teena she best hads don’t shout like that through the window, because Anne of Cleves was catching up on some sleep after a heavy night.

  We will catch up on some more historical data in a while, but right now my boy Charlie Victor dying for a drink, wishing he could join the boys, because he know that whatever they doing, is not looking at old armour and furniture and walking from room to room looking at all the paraphanalia that was in vogue in the days of yore. Charlie with the genteel folk admiring the past, but he feeling hungry and thirsty. As for Maisie, she would of prefer to be sky larking with the boys. Funny thing with women, you always feel you want to act as decent as possible, to be on your ps and qs: if people drinking rum and whisky you would get a sherry for she, because that is a lady’s drink: if bacchanal and jumping up and revelry going on, you want to keep she aside from all that rough play. And you worrying about the thing, if you should catch a taxi instead of a bus, if you should go to theatre in the West End instead of sporting a coffee in a cafe near the station, if you should take a room in a hotel instead of taking she to some smelly two-be-four room that you sharing with a mate. And all the time, all the woman waiting for is a chance to break away and let her hair down. They want to shake and twist and fire hard liquor, and if you only realise it, they ready to make a stroke at the blink of an eye.

  So Maisie trudging along with old Charlie, but all the time she studying that if she was with the boys she would be getting high kicks instead of walking about as if she in the cemetery, because them Englishers, from the time they get in a palace or a tower or a art gallery or any kind of exhibition, they behave as if they on holy ground, and you can’t even raise a cough. Another thing is, you wouldn’t mind breezing in for a half hour on such occasions, but them places and events, you could spend a day and a night and you wouldn’t see half the things.

  Charlie start to get restless. ‘Let’s go and see the gardens,’ he suggest. ‘It’s getting near to lunch, anyway.’

  ‘Come on,’ Maisie say, as if she was just waiting for the cue, ‘let’s find the others.’

  * * *

  * * *

  On the green banks of old father Thames most of the excursionists was scattered, getting ready for lunch.

  ‘What did you bring?’ Charlie ask Maisie.

  ‘Well, I have some cucumber and cheese sandwiches, four currant buns, and a Thermos of tea,’ Maisie say.

  Charlie groan. All around him pot cover flying off and some heavy yam and sweet potato putting in appearance. Leg of ham, leg of lamb, chicken leg and chicken wing and chicken breast. One woman have a big wooden spoon dishing out peas and rice from the biggest pot Maisie ever seen in her life, except for a few she see in the palace, when they visit the kitchen, and she selling a plate for two and six. A lot of people queuing up with paper plates.

  ‘I think I’ll have a plate of that,’ Charlie say, throwing decorum to the winds. ‘You could have all the sandwiches, and the currant buns, and the Thermos of tea.’

  ‘Come over here with we,’ Matilda call them, where the usual gang was sitting. ‘We have plenty food, man.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlie say, and take out his handkerchief to spread for Maisie to sit down.

  ‘Fire two,’ Bat say, throwing over a bottle.

  All this time the boys attacking chicken legs and some thick slice of beef and ham, and a bottle of pepper sauce passing from hand to hand.

  ‘Nobody ain’t bring any curry?’ Syl looking around from group to group.

  ‘You best hads tackle a pig foot and say the Lord is good,’ Jean tell him.

  Everybody sharing what they have with the others, because at times like these the spirit of generosity flow.

  ‘Would anybody like a cup of tea?’ Maisie ask, feeling guilty with so much food about the place.

  ‘Go on Henry,’ Teena say, ‘you and Willy have a cup. And don’t spill it. Sit down quiet on the grass and drink it, don’t go running all over the place like a blue-arse fly. Fitz, you not to drink any more, rum coming out of your ears.’

  ‘I just had a little to wash down some chicken stew,’ Fitz say.

  ‘I know. You been washing down after every mouthful.’

  One of the highlights of an excursion is eating out in the open, and Alfy busy with his Zeiss, going around taking a photo at a dollar a time. As he look by the river he spot a fellar rowing a boat.

  ‘Who is that Nobby?’ he ask. ‘Ain’t is Gallows?’

  ‘How it could be Gallows?’ Nobby ask.

  ‘We left Gallows in the maze,’ Bat say. ‘How he get in the river?’

  This time Gallows see them and row up close. ‘Aye, keep food for me!’ he yell.

  ‘Plenty food here,’ Jean shout, ‘but what you doing in the river?’

  ‘Maybe fish biting,’ Matilda say.

  ‘Those bitches left me in the Maze,’ Gallows say, coming ashore and handing the boat over to some other excursionists. ‘They thought I couldn’t get out. I ask as Englisher if he see a party of desperate West Indians anywhere, and he say he see some having a banquet by the river, that it look like if you all slaughter a few animals for the feast. So I say, “Ta mate, if you hungry we will give you a baron of beef.” What you have there to eat?’

  ‘Only caveeah and smoke salmon remaining,’ Teena say, ‘and some patty-the-four-grass.’

  ‘Don’t make them kind of joke with me, man,’ Gallows say, helping himself to pots all around, ‘I am a creole of the first degree.’

  Half an hour later, men lay down on the grass rolling. Some pull out their shirts, some belging, some picking their teeth, and a few old fellars catching a snooze. Bat put his head in Matilda lap and looking up at blue skies. If you ever want to hear old-talk no other time better than one like this when men belly full, four crates of beer and eight bottle of rum finish, and a summer sun blazing in the sky. Out of the blue, old-talk does start up. You couldn’t, or shouldn’t, differentiate between the voices, because men only talking, throwing in a few words here, butting in there, making a comment, arguing a point, stating a view. Nobody care who listen or who talk. Is as if a fire going, and everybody throwing in a piece of fuel now and then to keep it going. It don’t matter what you throw in, as long as the fire keep going—wood, coal, peat, horse-shit, kerosene, gasoline, the lot.

  ‘Boy, we should of gone and see the palace. I mean, that’s what we come for.’

  ‘I don’t mind visiting the cellars. You think we could broach a cask of rum?’

  ‘Not rum man, wines. Wines and hocks and meads and ports and ciders of various vintages. They used to live high in them days.’

  ‘And don’t talk about the food. Beef, mutton, veal, lamb, kid, pork, cony, capon, pig.’

  ‘What about deer?’

  ‘You mean venison. Yes; that too, red and fallow deer, not to mention dishes of sea fish and river fish, and all kinds of salads and vegetables and fruits.’

  ‘Boy, they really used to live high in them days in truth. And pheasants and quail, and suchlike delicacies. They used to kill about twelve cow and ten sheep, and roast them whole.’

  ‘Yes, them was great days, with nights of the round table and Richard with the lion heart and them fellars.’

  ‘Don’t forget Robin Hood and the Merry Men. And what about the fellar who was watching a spider and make the cakes burn?’

  ‘And a one-eye test, I think was the Battle
of Hastings, when he look up in the air and a arrow fall and chook out his eye.’

  ‘That was William the Conqueror.’

  ‘Nelson had one eye too.’

  ‘That was the Battle of Trafalgar.’

  ‘Boy, I feeling sleepy.’

  ‘Ain’t it had a film with Charles Laughton as the king, with a big turkey leg in his hand?’

  ‘Charles Laughton was great. That is actor.’

  ‘You know, old Henry just used to lick stroke, and when he tired, throw them in the Tower and say, “Off with the head!”’

  ‘That remind me, none of we studying poor Harry Banjo. Anybody went to see him?’

  ‘I think Gallows went.’

  ‘How he looking Gallows?’

  ‘He say he will kill Poor when he come out.’

  ‘It would be good if we could get that house before he get out, and give him a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘What house.’

  ‘The house. That remind me, Battersby—’

  ‘Look at that thing in the blue dress. Watch how she sitting down in the boat with she legs cock up, you could see right up.’

  ‘I must say you boys surprise me with your historical knowledge. It’s a bit mixed up, I think, but it’s English history.’

  ‘We don’t know any other kind. That’s all they used to teach we in school.’

  ‘That’s because OUR PEOPLE ain’t have no history. But what I wonder is, when we have, you think they going to learn the children that in the English schools?’

  ‘Who say we ain’t have history? What about the Carib Indians and Abercomby and Sir Walter Raleigh?’

  ‘Stop fugging around with that camera Alfy. Relax man, relax. Take it easy and enjoy the summer.’