by Sam Selvon
It would be catholic if I could say that at the meeting chaps was smoking weed or making too much noise or any reason you can think of to explain the sudden appearance of a battalion of Babylon. But I would swear to God, and kiss the Bible, that I witness no misdemeanour or untowardliness going on in the hall, and that when the blood-thirsty Alsatians were let loose, and when I see defenders of the law charging in to attack, I was completely flabbergasted. Suddenly Last Summer pandemonium break out and take over from the Party anthem which everybody was singing at the time. The cowards invade from the rear. First there was the Alsatians, and before any of the audience could give them a pat on the head and say ‘Good boy, Rover,’ the dogs was at their throats, ready for the kill.
I tell you, the whole thing was so unexpected, that I thought it was some gimmick that the Party organize, to show that even animals was on we side. But pigs follow the dogs and people start to jump up and run and kick down chair and flee all over.
I leap on to the platform like a bat out of hell hoping to make an escape in the wings. Sir Galahad was standing bravely there, waving his arms like a tick-tack bookie and shouting, ‘Don’t panic! Don’t panic!’
Don’t panic indeed. Everybody was dashing about to get at a safe distance before stopping to ask questions or prove their innocences. I manage to get outside only to see a convoy of police cars park up in the road with them blue lights on the roof going round in circles like a lighthouse, and a pig with a walkie-talkie like he giving a running commentary of proceedings to police headquarters.
I start to walk away from the spectators gathering on the pavement, like a scornful pedestrian who deigns not to exhibit any morbid curiosity.
And at the first crossroads I come to, I start to run.
I run and run, like if the devil was behind me. I run until I couldn’t run no more. I try to beat a traffic lights I see at amber ahead of me, but it change to red as soon as I got there, and I stand up panting and breathing like a blacksmith bellows, pressing the pedestrian button frantically. Those of you who perambulate like myself know the frustration and impatience that one suffers under normal circumstances as the traffics flow to and fro while you wait for the little green man to light up and start walking, and like he fall asleep or something. You can imagine my feelings with the added terror of what I left behind me, and as I see a London Weekend Television van speeding to the scene of the crime.
It was only after I cross the zebra, and notice people strolling casually around me, that I slow down and begin to catch my breath and my thoughts.
The latters was in a mess, and numerous. I try to rationalize the situation. Okay. So it must of had some wanted criminals in the hall, in spite of the respectable aspects of the meeting. Right? So the police make a raid and bust up the gathering. Right? That was it, simple and plain. Right?
I catch a bus 52 in Ladbroke Grove and went to Notting Hill Gate and catch a 88 and went home, but I still couldn’t convince myself that it was as simple as all that. I was beginning to get vex now; my dignity was affronted as I imagine myself pelting down the road terror-stricken when I didn’t do nothing at all, not even spit on the pavement or smoke in a non-smoking compartment. Was all of we in the hall criminals that we had to jump up and flee for our very lives? There we was, sitting down, and I was just writing down the words of the Party anthem, when we was so rudely interrupted. My blood begin to boil. I had half a mind to get back there and ask the Inspector himself what was the meaning of this outrage? ‘How dare you intrude on this peaceful gathering,’ I would say, ‘and strike terror into the hearts of these innocent people?’ And I would ask him for his name, number and rank, and report him to the Chief of Scotland Yard.
Whilst I was thus working myself up into a towering rage Bob come home.
‘How did the battle fare?’ I ask. ‘How many dead or wounded?’
‘There were many casualties,’ Bob say. ‘How did you escape?’
‘I fled. Ignobly, like a dog with tail ’twixt its legs.’
Bob went to the fridge and get a can of beer and open it and put it to his mouth quick to catch the froth and don’t waste any.
‘What was it all about?’ I ask him. ‘Did you find out anything?’
‘It appears they were after drugs,’ he say. ‘They arrested Galahad, Brenda and BP.’
‘What for?’
‘I don’t know, ringleaders, I suppose. I only saw them being bundled into a van and whisked off.’
‘I don’t understand this, Bob,’ I say. ‘Why should they do such a thing?’
Bob had a swig, look thoughtful, then say, ‘Much against my will, I gravely suspect it is only because they are black. No whites were captured.’
I was thunderstruck. ‘God’s blood,’ I cried, ‘they have gone too far this time. To arms!’
‘Hold your water,’ Bob say. ‘Cool it.’
‘Cool it?’ I mock him. ‘Egad, man, they have really irked my ire now. Come, let us away.’
‘Away where?’
‘To the police station, of course.’
‘I don’t see what good that will do.’
‘They bound to give them bail. We will stand security and get them out.’
‘My dear fellow,’ Bob began.
‘Don’t hem and haw, matey,’ I say.
‘I mean, we have barely got shot of the smell of curry and joss sticks, and you want to dabble in black tragic?’
Were the moment different, I might of doffed my hat at that one and make a note to use it.
‘These are My People,’ I say grimly. ‘No Englishman with black blood in his veins can stand aside and see innocent victims hang. We were party to that meeting, Bob. We seen what happen with our own eyes.’
‘Aye,’ he say, and give a little shudder. ‘I saw an Alsatian leap upon a helpless woman and maul her. And Brenda was roughly handled in spite of her womanhood. Two pigs literally hoisted her out of the hall.’
‘What are we waiting for?’ I cried. ‘We should have enough cash in the house. Get it all together and let’s make haste.’
It was thus that I became involved in spite of my misgivings and philosophy of neutrality. One would not be worth one’s salt to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the injustice of that night. I know all the failings and shortcomings of My People, their foibles and chicanery, their apathy and disunity, but I were less than a Pharisee to leave them by the wayside. Such was my righteous indignation that I did not even consider the recoverability of the three hundred pounds, plus twenty-five new pee for stamp duty, that I had to fork out for the brothers and sister. I told Galahad, after their release, that the money could be used for their defence when they bust a case in the police arse for wrongful arrests.
BP promised that when he returned to the States he would get the Panthers to send me a cheque, but I brushed it aside.
‘Man,’ he say, ‘you cats got a great herd of pigs over here. They go around breaking up peaceful meetings as if they were making Custer’s Last Stand. I got to watch out for these London bobbies.’
‘Inform the brothers over there,’ Galahad say. ‘Perhaps they do not appreciate that we suffer such atrocities regularly.’
Brenda say, looking at me significantly, ‘I hope Brother Moses will honour us with his membership now that he has seen for himself.’
Galahad say, giving me a clap on the shoulder, ‘I knew Moses would come round, it was just a question of time. In his heart he was always an honorary member.’
‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,’ I say cautiously. ‘I remember when I was incarcerated you left me to my doom.’
‘We’ve got thousands of cats like Moses back in the States,’ BP say. ‘You’ve got to let them taste the fire for themselves. And man, when they do, they want more fire and blood than we got to give.’
‘I am a peaceful man by nature,’ I say, now that my ardour was cooling. ‘I don’t want my participation tonight to be misconstrued. It only came about through researching for my Memoirs
.’
‘Moses fancy himself as the British Baldwin,’ Galahad nudge BP.
‘Enough,’ I stay sternly, ‘don’t make no pappyshow of my ambitions. Being from America, BP would know that some of us can contribute even more than big-mouths like you.’
‘You said a mouthful, babe,’ BP reply. ‘I love you, man. I dig you, you know? Cats back home know how important that is –ain’t you seen our programmes on the box? We gotta get the kids to read, man, and somebody gotta produce the right books.’ He didn’t have a cigar in his mouth, but I envisaged him with it. ‘How’s about me giving you cats a lift in my Mercedes, huh? I got it parked somewhere outside that hall. Unless your pigs towed it away?’
But the pigs did leave it; I guess they couldn’t of dreamed that a black man would be driving around in a Mercedes. Maybe a old beat-up Ford, or a 1920 Vauxhall, but a Mercedes, no.
I never drive in such a car before; I was afraid to breathe when we was in it, and it was a pity that it had to be in such distressing circumstances, and not attending the Queen’s Garden Party or something.
Him and Galahad went off, ostensibly to plan a campaign with the party committee, a sort of counter-attack against the swines. I say ostensibly because knowing Galahad as I do, I could not see him missing the opportunity of cruising around the West End in BP’s Mercedes looking for pussy, pretending to show the American the sights. I’ve heard it said that when you are mobile you stand a better chance of a pick up. I would not know about that; in my heyday I earned my piece of cunt by the sweat of my brow, plodding the streets of Londontown, and building up courage to tackle a thing, thickening my skin in case you get a nasty rebuff like a colour reference. Galahad would know the routes to drive along, and no doubt there are no flies on these brothers from the States when it come to hustling a fair English rose.
Life is a funny thing, oui. One minute you are lock up in jail, the next you are floating in a big Mercedes looking for a stroke. Some chaps really have it lucky.
But what make life funnier still is that me, Moses, who responsible for the metamorphosis is getting nothing out of the deal, not even a ta for bailing them out, and must needs just stand up there on the pavement while BP step on the x and drive off in this big motor car with brother Galahad.
Bob invite Brenda to come up for a cup of tea. ‘Nothing like a strong cup of tea to unwind you after that ordeal,’ was the way he put it. Maybe that’s how his old lady and old man feel, because whenever he himself was ruffled his thing was to knock back a few strong cups of alcohol.
Anyway, tea it was, to begin with, and while Bob was brewing up Brenda lick her wounds and pour invectives on the Metropolitan Police Force. She say that when they got to the station they were separated, and she did not know what happen to Galahad and BP, but she was stripped and searched, and grilled relentlessly.
‘What is it they wanted to find out?’ I ask.
‘Man,’ she say, ‘they wanted to find out every goddamn thing you can think of. Who were the dope peddlers in the district; if I did any prostitution; how long BP has been in the country; how often we hold these clandestine meetings; what was the history of the Party, and a host of other irrelevancies. You name it.’
‘They must of given a reason for arresting you,’ I say reasonably.
‘In the end, they said we would be charged with inciting a racial riot. I laugh in their faces.’
Being a loyal subject of Her Majesty, I was still not satisfy that there wasn’t a purpose for the swoop.
‘What about BP?’ I ask. ‘Do you think they were after him? Maybe he commit a mayhem in the States and they wanted to extradite him.’
‘Yeah, maybe he park the Mercedes on a yellow line,’ she sneer.
‘Could be,’ I say.
‘Maybe he doesn’t have a television licence,’ she sneer broader still.
I was so earnest in my quest for justifying the raid that her sarcasm slip me for a moment. ‘That’s only a minor matter,’ I began to object then I realize she was having me on. ‘Don’t be facetious,’ I say coldly. ‘It takes two to tango, and I only want to see the other side of the coin.’
‘Sometime I wonder if you make all this idle chatter to cover up your brilliance?’ she ask innocent now.
‘I am not a moron,’ I say. ‘If I appear persistent to the point of ridicule, it is merely a sign of my honesty. My senses are shocked by tonight’s events, and were I assured that the police always behave so irrationally and dictatorial, I would invest my life’s saving in the Party.’
It was a rash statement, but Brenda really get on my wick, making me feel like a clot. Lucky thing Bob interrupt just then with the tea so she couldn’t take me up on it.
‘What you think about tonight?’ she ask him as he pour her a cup.
Bob, ever willing to knock one, thought she meant what about making beddy-byes together, and he say eagerly, ‘Sure, in my room, or you want to go down to the basement?’
Brenda get very angry and jump up. ‘What am I doing here in the presence of philistines? One is preoccupied with sex, the other is puerile and dotish.’
‘You are overwrought,’ Bob say. ‘You know better than to call me puerile and dotish. You’ll feel better after your tea.’
But Brenda flounce out without another word.
It would appear that Fate intervene every time I am in the clear and put me back in a mooch and give monkey a go at my pipe. Things was at a stage where I was like a sad billionaire who long for the good old days when he only had a few million or so, for it seem to me that ever since I became a landlord my troubles have multiplied tenfold, and instead of the life of ease and plenty I anticipated, I am beset left right and centre with fresh contention. What touch my soft spot most of all, of course, is that my work was suffering, and it didn’t look as if I was writing my Memoirs so much as prognostications and a diary of current events. I longed to get back to my philosophizing and my analysing and my rhapsodizing, decorating my thoughts with little grace-notes and showing the white people that we, too, could write book. But all that come like a dream the way how circumstances continue to pester me and keep me away from my ambition.
The fact that I put up bail for Brenda and Galahad and BP must of sweeten them up and make them believe that I was the blackest philanthropist in Brit’n, for I was hailed and feted, garlanded with pretty flowers like a tourist in Honolulu, and even received a letter from the chairman of the Party, expressing great joy that I had joined the brotherhood in such style as to make up for all my minginess and contrariness in the past, ‘and we look forward to a fierce and bloody future with your support.’
But I was keeping a wary eye on these pats on the back. I would gladly have given Bob the honour, for his attitude started to change as rose petals were strewn at my feet.
‘What’s up with you?’ I ask.
‘Well you might ask,’ he say sulkily. ‘Everyone appears to have forgotten that I took a part in all that happened, but you alone get all the glory. I suspect a spot of discrimination.’
‘Come come Bob,’ I say, ‘it’s not like you to harbour petty jealousy.’
‘I have stood by you through thick and thin,’ he say, ‘even when it went against the grain. I even supported the movement before you did. And half of that bail money was mine. To what avail?’
‘You are acting like a child,’ I reprove. ‘You know that I don’t give one arse for all this laudation.’
‘At least they could have mentioned my name in that letter. Perhaps it is because of my colour.’
‘Balderdash,’ I snort, ‘since when does a white man complain of his colour? You should be proud of it, as becomes any staunch Englishman. You want to create a precedence?’
But he was not consoled. ‘I am beginning to believe that you black people are planning a great mutiny,’ he say. ‘It seems I was mistaken in thinking that racial harmony and equality were the Party’s objectives.’
‘Look Bob,’ I say exasperated, ‘you want them to strike
a medal for you for what you done out of the goodness of your heart?’
I knew that in Bob the Party had a genuine supporter, and it hurt me to hear him express such bitterness. Of more importance, I did not want our personal relationships to be damaged. It is not easy to get a man Friday – even importing au pairs and domestics from the Continent is becoming ticklish, as we in the upper echelons know so well. Bob had served me faithfully, and I wished there was something I could do to mollify his ruffled feelings.
‘Listen,’ I say, getting an idea, ‘you know the Party is bringing out the first issue of their newspaper shortly?’
‘I am not interested,’ he say listlessly, quaffing his beer.
‘How would you like to get your photo on the Front Page?’ I ask. It got a lot of white people in this country who live in the abysmal backwoods of society and pine to see their faces in the TV or get their names in the newspapers.
Sure enough he lost his peevishness and perked up at the prospect.
‘At least it would be some recognition,’ he say. ‘It won’t satisfy me, but it’s better than nothing. Though I doubt you have the influence.’
I had doubts too, so to make sure I went down to the basement right away to see Brenda. It was evening, but she was doing some overtime, preparing copy for the first edition.
‘Well Moses,’ she say, ‘are you enjoying your adulation?’
‘That’s a lot of shit,’ I say. ‘Give you-all an inch, and you want a mile.’
‘It was Galahad’s idea,’ she say. ‘Left to me, I would not have been so lavish, as I know you still have reservations.’
‘All this flattery and praise doesn’t go to my head. You should remember Bob instead. His name wasn’t even mention once.’
‘We’re not interested in Bob,’ she say. ‘However, I am preparing the story of that night and I could bring him in to add colour.’ She thought about it, and seem pleased with the idea. ‘Yes, it’s not a bad idea to use him.’
‘A photo on the front page would look good,’ I cajole.
‘H’mm,’ she say.
‘Imagine how democratic it would look. The very first issue of a black paper, and a white face dominating the front page. It would put the opposition off their guard.’