Moses Ascending

by Sam Selvon

  All the girls look different when they put on their wigs, standing up in front a big mirror and turning this way and that as the white salesgirl fuss over them. One try on a blonde wig for kicks and they all had a good laugh.

  When they come out of the shop, all of them was sporting a head of Afro-hair and they wiggle their backsides as they walk off when they see me standing there.

  All this is not to say that the comely Nordic damsels are relegated to the limbo of forgotten things. I mean, with them six-inch platforms they wearing, it lift the mini-skirt that much higher, and you do not have to bend down to tie up your shoelace to get a pin-t of thigh and panties. It is no wonder to me that that poor Oriental in the newspapers had was to shove his hand up one of them crotch as she was getting off a train; every lusty-blooded Englishman must of wish to do the same thing some time or other.

  But for me, personally, I have come to my senses and realize that black pussy is just as sweet as the white one, if not sweeter, and henceforth I shall only hit a white stroke for variety.

  What made me change my mind was this little thing that Galahad send round by me to collect money for the cause. One evening Bob and me was looking at some white girls dancing on the television kicking up their legs so high we was just waiting to see them split something, when this black chick appear.

  ‘Galahad sent me,’ she say. ‘I’ve come from the Party to explain to you what we’re trying to do.’

  If I did shut my eyes, I would of thought it was a nordic talking, the accent was so high. She didn’t sound like some of them women what try to put on English and it don’t fit them properly. She sound like the real thing, and I know without asking that she was a Black Briton. About eighteen or thereabouts, with Afro hair, Afro blouse, and Afro gleam in the eye. Any second I thought she going to try that same intimidation trick that Galahad had, of raising the fist.

  ‘Peace, sister,’ I say quickly, to forestall any such intent. ‘Have a seat.’

  Maybe she didn’t go through with it because she was holding a folder with papers. She sit down by the table, and Bob give a quick look to see what he could see, but she had on one of them maxi-skirts. None the less, when she cross the legs sedately the skirt tighten to show that there was pleasant terrain underneath.

  ‘My name is Brenda,’ she say. ‘I do most of the paper work for the Party. Galahad said you wanted to find out more about what we do, and what we stand for.’

  All this time, from the moment the girl appear, Bob, as if he mesmerize, just looking at she and licking his lips. I have to tell you that Bob had this great ambition to make a stroke with a black woman, and he was always harassing me to get one for him. Now that one was on the doorstep, so to speak, he couldn’t keep still. He jump up and say, ‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’

  She look at him for the first time. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she say.

  ‘Or maybe something stronger?’ Bob was so thirsty that he was ready to jump on the girl right there and then, like a cock on a hen.

  ‘All right,’ she say, ‘anything will do.’

  Bob went to my cocktail cabinet and haul out a bottle of whisky.

  ‘Not that!’ I tell him. ‘Use the gin.’

  I should mention that though I smoke, I refrain from strong drink, and only have an occasional beer. But I had the cabinet stock up as becomes my new station. Only thing Bob drink so much that I had to teach him a lesson, and that particular bottle of whisky, I did wait until it was halfway empty, and piss and full it up again, telling him he could have that but leave the other bottles alone.

  Bob pour a heavy slug of gin and top it up with some lime cordial.

  ‘Ice?’ he ask, like mine host.

  ‘Please,’ Brenda say. She was fumbling around with some papers from the folder. She take out a list with names, and next to the names have various sums of money.

  ‘I don’t think Galahad explained things properly to you,’ she say. ‘He is full of enthusiasm, and allows it to run away with him sometimes.’

  ‘He did not have to explain,’ I say. ‘Allow me to put it to you frankly. It is money you are after, is it not?’

  ‘Without funds we cannot survive,’ she say. ‘We only ask a donation you can afford.’

  ‘Funds, donations, contribution – those are only words for money. You are as diplomatic as the English.’

  ‘Well, cheers,’ Bob say, pushing the glass in her hand.

  ‘Cheers,’ Brenda say, taking a sip. ‘This is very strong.’

  ‘We only keep the best gin here,’ Bob say.

  In fact it was some cheap unknown brand that Galahad knock off from somewhere and was flogging, and I empty it into a Gordon’s bottle. The more you drink, the better it taste, though, according to Bob when he tested it out.

  ‘As you know,’ Brenda say, going into her spiel as if the gin crank her up, ‘this is one of the areas of London with a heavy population of blacks. Things have never settled here. You and I know that not a day passes without trouble of some sort between black and white in this neighbourhood. How long are we going to be disorganized? We cannot resist and protest against the wrongs that are inflicted upon us unless we unite and reinforce the Party. And the Party has to be supported.’

  ‘That sounds very reasonable to me,’ Bob say. ‘I am always encouraging Moses to take an active part in what is happening.’

  ‘We have to rely on ourselves, or we will continue to be persecuted,’ Brenda consult her papers. ‘We have more than a hundred registered members. We are affiliated with several groups in other parts of the country.’

  ‘If I were black, I’d join up tomorrow,’ Bob say fervently.

  ‘Oh, white members are welcome,’ Brenda say. ‘We are broad-minded. What we are after is justice and fair play for all.’

  ‘Have you got any application forms?’ Bob look around for a Biro. ‘I will sign up immediately.’ He move closer to Brenda, jamming up against her shoulder and bending down to look at the papers.

  ‘You don’t have to sign anything. Just come along to our meetings and give us your support.’

  ‘Give me the venue and the time and date of the next meeting,’ Bob say.

  I was proud of myself at that moment, let me say, for having done such a brilliant job of converting him to the Black man’s way, though mayhap he was more interested in getting under Brenda’s maxi.

  ‘We meet every other Friday at the Youth Centre in Ladbroke Grove. You know where it is?’

  ‘Sure. Or I’ll find out.’

  All this time I was just looking at my man Bob and smiling. He was ready to join the army and be shipped off to Singapore tomorrow if he had to do it to make a stroke with Brenda.

  ‘How long have you been living in England?’ she ask me, changing her tactics, and swilling some more gin.

  ‘Before you were born,’ I say.

  ‘My parents came from Jamaica,’ she say. ‘I was born and educated in this country, but I know where I stand. Have you ever been to any of our meetings?’

  ‘Not yet,’ I say.

  ‘That’s what they all say.’ She wag her finger at me like a teacher. ‘You must find the time. Apathy will get us nowhere.’

  As she say that, she must of realized that all this talk was also getting we nowhere, that it was like trying to squeeze blood out of a stone. ‘Well, I have some other things to do.’ She start to put all the papers back in the folder. ‘I hope you’ll come to our meeting next Friday. It’s better to see for yourself than for me to try and persuade you.’

  ‘Wait!’ Bob say. ‘We can’t let you go like that.’ He turn to me. ‘Come on Moses, give a donation.’

  ‘I will think about it,’ I say.

  ‘We don’t force anyone to join our ranks,’ Brenda say.

  ‘Here.’ Bob push his hand in his pocket and start feeling about inside, as if his fingers have eyes and would know what denomination of decimal currency to produce. I thought he was going to come out with a fifty pee for the most, but
he haul out a whole pound.

  ‘I believe in justice for all,’ he say solemnly, ‘and let me say that you are one of the most beautiful girls I have ever met.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Brenda say, whether for the pound or the compliment is a toss-up.

  ‘You not giving him a receipt?’ I ask.

  ‘Certainly, if he wants one.’ She open the folder.

  ‘What nonsense!’ Bob exclaim, as if he give away pound notes every day. ‘Don’t listen to Moses. He doesn’t trust a soul.’

  ‘I should give you one, though,’ she say.

  ‘Don’t bother. Finish your drink, and have another,’ Bob say.

  Brenda give Bob a little smile, and he start to have high dreams. I could imagine him magnifying that smile into a laugh, and the laugh into a giggle, and the giggle changing to a sigh, and the sigh changing to a mild protest, and then – action stations!

  He was full of action all right. He full up Brenda glass again, and dash out to the fridge in the kitchen for more ice.

  ‘I really should be moving on,’ Brenda say, making no move to go on, ‘I’ve work to do.’

  ‘Forget the work,’ Bob say. ‘Relax and let us get to know you better.’ He pick up the folder and toss it among his comic books. ‘Would you like to look at television? Or maybe some music?’

  He switch back on the television, and put a Sparrow record on the record player at the same time. ‘You want a cup of coffee? You want to use the Ladies? It’s just through that door.’ He start to look around the penthouse to see what he could suggest again, and I wouldn’t of been surprised to hear him tell she she could take the table and the mahogany furniture or anything else she wanted when she was going, having delivered, of course.

  Well, though I did not have intentions originally myself, all this franticness and hither-and-thithering get me to start thinking about how I hadn’t raised a black pussy since I was in England, being that the white ones were more available and desirable. Mark you, I would never of dreamed of it if Brenda wasn’t sitting down right here in my yard. It may have been that subconsciously the image of that new crop of children dancing in the city had a hand in it. But all the same, I was not at a stage of thirst like Bob, and I didn’t want to call him to heel nor pull my rank at the moment, thinking that the more leeway I gave him, the more liable, and pliable, Miss Brenda would be as the night wore on.

  And he was restless. The television going, the radio-player playing, the drinks pouring, and my boy only bobbing and weaving, sitting down one moment and jumping up the next, standing one moment and then walking around the room, ending up by Brenda and jamming up close with his thighs against her shoulder.

  ‘I can’t look at television and listen to the music at the same time,’ Brenda magnify the smile in truth into a laugh now.

  ‘Which one would you like?’ Bob stand poised to leap and switch off one or t’other. Either way he was anticipating kicks. If she want the TV, he could get she to sit on the sofa, dim the lights, and start a feel-up. If she wanted the Sparrow record, he could ask she to dance and start a rub-up. Is not often men have it so good.

  ‘What do you want, Moses?’ she ask me.

  ‘Suit yourselves,’ I say, playing it cool, watching how the scene would develop, and only thinking if I would include the episode in my Memoirs. I was still on my first can of beer but the both of them was knocking back gin like it flowing from a tap.

  ‘I’d like to listen to that calypso record,’ Brenda say.

  Bob instantly switch off the TV. You know how those genii does appear in Arabian Nights and say I hear and obey and flash about performing various jobs? Well, is so Brenda had my boy that evening.

  Now, I know, though Bob don’t know that I know, that white men feel they only have to wag their fingers and a black woman would come a-running and spread sheself wide any time, any place, any old how, and deliver the goodies. And I could see that he was puzzled that so far Brenda was not conforming to the routine, though there were signs that something might come of the evening’s caper. But Bob was getting impatient. Maybe he thought all this preliminary was unnecessary (though it wasn’t costing him nil, except if you count the pound he did give for the cause). Whenever Brenda wasn’t looking, he giving me a desperate and baffled glance, as much as if to say, ‘What holding up the works, Moses?’

  ‘You wouldn’t like to powder your nose or anything?’ he ask Brenda.

  ‘I guess so.’ She get up. ‘It’s through there, is it?’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ Bob say, starting to lead the way, ‘just down the passage, on your left.’

  As she leave the room I call Bob back. ‘Come back here Bob,’ I say, ‘and leave the girl to piss in peace. And the toilet is on the right, and the bedroom on the left.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s ready?’ Being from the North, maybe he thought it was a mare in foal, or something. These whites, North, South, East or West, have this thing inherent in them –that a bit of the you-know-what-old-boy would have them dancing to your tune. ‘All that gin,’ he continue to say. ‘I don’t understand, Moses.’

  ‘Let Fate take its course,’ I say.

  Bob take a swig of drink. ‘What’s the delay, man? She fancies me. Let’s have some action.’

  ‘Don’t rush the situation,’ I say.

  Bob begin to sulk. ‘If you don’t want to knock it, give me a chance. When she returns leave us alone.’

  He charge up his glass again. The Sparrow record finish and he put on the other side.

  ‘It looks like she’s having a crap,’ he grumble.

  ‘I hope not,’ I say. I hoped not because it didn’t have soft toilet paper, only the hard shiny kind that you get in the public convenience which I kept there for Bob, having a soft roll hidden away for myself.

  Brenda come back. I do not know what was going on in Bob mind, but from the moment she come into the room, Bob pounce on she, and the both of them start to grapple. Bob didn’t have any finesse, he just grab hold of her and start to drag she to the sofa.

  ‘Let go of me!’ Brenda say. She was so taken with surprise that Bob had she on the sofa before she realize what was happening. It may have been that if she was wearing a mini he might have had better luck. As things were, the maxi was crippling his style.

  Brenda say, ‘Wait a minute, give me a chance to take it off.’

  It look then as if my boy was in business. I even get up from the table and stand to get a better view of the proceedings.

  Bob was bending down over she, and hauling down his trousers. He had on one of them fancy stripe three-quarter drawers what white men like to wear. Brenda lift up the maxi as if she going to take it off. Then suddenly Bob disappear from view.

  You remember how in the old days when they taking photo how the photographer used to go under a big piece of black cloth what cover him and the camera, as if a mystery was happening to get the photo? Well Brenda had Bob wrap up in the maxi like that, and she was cuffing him. You remember the Black Power signal of the fist in the air? Well Brenda fist wasn’t just hovering. It was coming down and going up like a piston. She cuff up Bob with one hand while the other keep the maxi tight around him like a straitjacket so he couldn’t move.

  ‘You beast,’ she say as she cuffing him. ‘Next time you want something, have the manners to ask for it. Learn to respect womanhood. I am not one of your white flossies ready to jump into bed at a moment’s notice. There are ways of going about it. You think just because I am black I am easy to get.’

  What I really had to admire was the way that Brenda was doing and saying all this. It wasn’t as if she was panicky and struggling to get out of a rape, and beating hell out of him. She was talking in a calm voice, like a teacher scolding a naughty schoolboy, but walloping him with some hefty ones at the same time, if you see what I mean. She had method.

  I was just waiting to see how the photo would turn out after all that.

  Bob emerge from under the maxi with his nose bleeding, his eyes bound
-up, his lips bust-up, and he stagger back like a drunk and fall down on the floor.

  ‘You should teach your friend how to behave,’ she tell me.

  ‘I’ve tried,’ I say. ‘Maybe his lust ran away with him. It could happen to any man with a girl like you.’

  ‘Look at my bloody skirt,’ she say, not meaning to be literal, but was. It had stains all over it.

  ‘When men are thirsty they become evil,’ I say. ‘Bob is not really like that. When you get to know him he’s different.’

  Bob stagger up from the floor, and stand up swaying like a coconut tree on the beach in a strong wind.

  ‘I didn’t mean anything,’ he say, rubbing blood off his face.

  ‘You’d better go and clean up,’ I say, ‘you are bleeding bloody blood all over my carpet.’

  All the steam was gone from Bob. Whereas he was like a lion, he went out like a lamb.

  ‘Have you got anything I can take off these stains with?’ Brenda ask me. She was lifting up the maxi to show me. The steam that did go from Bob was coming in me, but I know that if I didn’t play it cool, I would end up in a corner playing with Miss Palmer, as Bob was probably doing now. I talk breezily. I say, ‘Take it off, and let’s see what we can do.’

  So Brenda haul the maxi off, and stand up there in a black panties. I then knew what Galahad meant when he said black is beautiful. I only got a fleeting glimpse, because she fling the maxi like one of them Mayaro fishermen casting his net, and cover me over. Like we was really having ye olde photography night. I haul it off quick, in case she wanted to play the same trick on me and thump me a few. But she just sit down on the sofa watching me as I pour some gin on the stains.

  ‘You sure that will work?’ she ask dubiously. ‘I’ve never heard of gin removing bloodstains.’

  ‘Nor me,’ I say, ‘but let’s see. You want another drink?’

  ‘I’ve had enough,’ she say, holding her head and groaning.

  ‘I must apologize for my friend,’ I say, making a pretence of rubbing the stains off, and sitting down next to she and edging up close. ‘But I see you can take care of youself.’