Moses Ascending

by Sam Selvon

  In the midst of all these afflicted thoughts, the door knock and Paki come in. The very sight of him on top of everything else was enough to make me choke.

  ‘What the arse you want,’ I snarl.

  ‘There’s some trouble,’ he say.

  I shuddered. ‘Please,’ I plead.

  ‘Nothing to do with immigrants,’ he say quickly. ‘It’s something personal.’

  ‘Even so,’ I begged.

  ‘It’s my wives in Southall,’ he say. ‘I want one of them to come and live with me.’

  ‘You’d better see Bob about these domestic details,’ I say.

  ‘I haven’t seen him around.’

  ‘He’s on long vacation.’

  ‘When is he coming back?’

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t bother me.’

  ‘This is urgent. My wives don’t get on with each other, and Fatima is threatening to leave the harem unless I get her away.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I say. ‘How come you live here if you’ve got wives in Southall?’

  ‘They think I am in Pakistan.’

  ‘I retract that question,’ I say swiftly, ‘I don’t want to hear another word.’

  ‘Then it’t okay for Fatima to come?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, don’t bother me.’ I wasn’t going to get involved in all that shit again, especially when I was feeling moody.

  ‘What about the rent?’

  ‘Discuss all that with Bob when he returns. Please leave, Paki.’

  ‘There is no god but the god,’ he began.

  ‘Get lost,’ I interrupt.

  ‘I just wanted to say that there’s a queue of tenants waiting outside.’

  ‘What for?’

  He shrug. ‘Bob’s away. I guess you’ll have to take his place.’

  He barely went out of the door before Flo, the Barbados woman come in. Like with Galahad, there was no preliminary, only aggression.

  ‘Way Bob?’ she demanded.

  ‘He’s away,’ I say.

  ‘He promise to fix the bloody ascot in my room. I pays a high rent and the least you can do is give me some hot water.’

  ‘I’ll have it attended to.’

  ‘When? More than a week now and it ain’t working.’

  ‘Tomorrow. I’ll get the plumber in.’

  ‘You better. I been thinking of going to the Rent Tribunal, you know. That high rent and no blooming hot water.’

  ‘Tomorrow, Flo. Please. My nerves are frayed.’

  ‘Maybe you should of gone on holiday instead of him.’

  ‘Tomorrow, Flo. Tomorrow-please-God.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she say as she go.

  ‘Next!’ I called, thinking I might as well get into the fun of the thing before worry kill me.

  Ojo, the African, come in in his conductor uniform, as if he just hop off his bus.

  ‘Hello bo, how you go, oh?’ he say.

  ‘I go so-so, bo,’ I say. ‘How you go, Ojo?’

  ‘I do not see much of you, Mr Moses.’

  ‘I’m busy. What do you want?’

  ‘I look for Bob many days now.’

  ‘He’s away. On holiday.’

  ‘Oh. So.’ He study that. ‘He owe me some change.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Two pounds.’

  I gave him the money. ‘Send in the next one, will you,’ I say.

  Alfonso, the Cypriot, come.

  ‘When’s Bob coming back home?’ he query.

  ‘I’m not sure. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I wanted to see him on a personal matter.’ He start to leave then turn back. ‘I got rats in my room. You better get rid of them before they spread.’

  Macpherson, the Australian, followed.

  ‘What can I do for you, cobber?’ I ask.

  ‘Did Bob leave a parcel for me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s funny. He promised to. Maybe it’s in his room?’

  ‘I’ll have a look later.’

  ‘I’m going out now. If you find it, keep it for me, will you?’

  ‘Okay.’

  When he left I open a can of beer with trembling hands. My nerves were screaming. I hear a step and without turning say, ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘You having problems with your tenants?’ Galahad come in.

  When I see him the beer was foaming out of the can, and I, too, was almost foaming at the mouth. I burst into a kind of manic laughter, a wild riotous mirth that over-spilled out of me so that I shook, shaking the can, and the beer and I bubble over.

  ‘Galahad,’ I gasp, barely able to control myself – but some innate sense of preservation making my thumb plug the hole in the can – ‘Galahad, please tell me the world is coming to an end, that the house is on fire, and that I have two seconds to live.’

  ‘Nothing fortuitous as all that,’ he say, ‘but grave enough. BP has absconded.’

  ‘He won’t be here for the trial?’

  ‘It isn’t only that. He has absconded with the Party’s funds.’

  ‘Come now.’ I tried to sound natural, but the words came out in a hoarse, throaty whisper. ‘This isn’t a music-hall farce, man, or a television comedy.’

  ‘If I lie I die,’ Galahad say. ‘Where’s Bob, I’d like him to fetch me a beer.’

  ‘You’ll have to get it yourself, I’m afraid. Bob’s away.’

  He went out to the fridge in the kitchen.

  Strange, I mused, I feel as if I could cope with the Spanish Armada or the Boston Tea Party, but a simple thing like Galahad’s disclosure make me feel incapacitated. I tried to put everything in perspective and pull myself together. Perhaps we can all manage our affairs reasonably well if adversities came in some regulated order, so that we could deal with them one by one. One might even disciple the days and have it all tidy: Monday – Income Tax; Tuesday – Galahad; Wednesday –Brenda; Thursday – Paki; Friday – Income Tax; Saturday – Bob; Sunday – Black Power. It’s a short week, but what can you do? It’s when there is a spate of adverse events that we weaken, and the continuous battering at your senses make you come like a punch-drunk boxer who can’t even raise his gloves to ward off his opponent. But there is a further stage even, when, like in drunkenness, your defensive mechanism takes an enforced respite, and you get that feeling of euphoria, and ready to laugh kiff-kiff at anything, even the news that a crash is imminent and you should fasten your seat-belt.

  ‘Give me the ballad,’ I say merrily, relaxing on the sofa as Galahad come back. ‘Spare me no gruesome detail.’

  ‘What can I say?’ Galahad shrug. He was worried too, but he wasn’t even miles near my stage. ‘We trusted BP – you saw and heard for yourself. He has just disappeared off the scene.’

  ‘How did he get at the Party’s coffers?’ I chuckle.

  ‘A simple matter for a man of his importance in the black world. We don’t know all the details yet, but it seems he wanted to examine the books. And of course we can’t allow the police to investigate.’

  ‘How much did he get away with?’ I was really relaxed and enjoying all this.

  ‘About five hundred pounds. There isn’t a half-pee left in the kitty. However, we may be able to pass the hat’ – here he give me a wink, but I didn’t bat an eye; I might of been in euphoria but my feet were on the ground – ‘and that’s only a material loss. It is the theft itself by a trusted brother that is the shattering blow. It might have grave repercussions throughout the Third World. We are trying to hush up the whole sordid affair. You got any whisky to chase this beer?’

  ‘Why not?’ I say headily, waving to the decanter and glasses on the dumbwaiter. ‘I’m sorry Bob isn’t here to serve you –you can pour some for me too.’

  ‘Where is he, out chasing pussy?’

  ‘Yeah, up in Leicestershire.’

  Galahad whistle. ‘He must have a great thirst.’

  ‘He’s gone to look up old friends. I hope the bastard doesn’t return.’

  ‘Go on, what’ll you
do without your Man Friday? By the way, we’ve decided to use his picture in the paper.’

  ‘Oh? In view of developments I thought all Party plans would be held in abeyance?’

  ‘We can’t allow ourselves to stagnate. We’ve had drawbacks before. I don’t know what’s going to happen about the case, though.’ He rattle the ice in his whisky, just like Bob. ‘We were expecting an impassioned oration from BP in the courtroom. Now it’s all left to me.’

  ‘What about Madame Brenda?’ I sneer. ‘She is full of eloquence and presumes a superlative knowledge of language.’

  ‘Of course. A woman will invoke great public sympathy. Is Bob any good at addressing a crowd?’

  ‘Why worry if nothing’s decided,’ I say easily. ‘You’re only extending your troubles unduly.’

  ‘We’ve got to be prepared, anyway. When is he coming back? I’ll have to brief him. Evidence from a white man will carry enormous weight.’

  I was beginning to feel a reaction to my euphoria, getting fed up with every bloody thing. In this life you barely happy for a minute, even if it’s false, before the apple cart get upset.

  ‘You look tired,’ Galahad say.

  ‘Who, me? I’m as fresh as a daisy.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I could stay the night,’ he say, as if to himself, ‘I could sleep in Bob’s room.’

  I left it like that without replying; the very thought of his presence in the house would depress me further.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘I was only testing you. I do not have to catch any lousy bus. BP left the Mercedes behind. Every cloud has a silver lining.’ He sigh at my continued silence. ‘I don’t know what’s coming over you, Moses. You are really going round the bend.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘and you’re pushing.’

  ‘I’ve always been your friend. I hate to see you go to pieces this way.’

  ‘Not to worry. I will remember you in my will.’

  ‘At the rate you’re going, better hurry and draw it up,’ he fire this pleasantry at me as a parting shot before he departed.

  Left alone, I sunk into even lower spirits. I pondered this new blow to my Memoirs. I refer to BP’s last exit to Brooklyn, for I had an eye on the possibilities of selling my American rights. Without a Yank at Oxford my goose was cook. Look how, in all them television scripts, the writers bound to have an American character, no matter how incongruous he fit, otherwise the US mongols blow cigar smoke in your face when you try to peddle your work in the States. As you know, I didn’t have to dream up BP or invent him, he just naturally appear on the scene of his own accord and bam! before I could get a chance to exploit him as a character, he ups and clear off, leaving me high and dry. What did I have to comfort me? Whose shoulder was available to cry on? I thought of phoning the Good Samaritans and having a heart-to-heart chat; I even thought of dialling nine nine nine and ask them to send the booby wagon. And then, I tried to pull myself together. There must be other people in this world worse off than me. Think of Oxfam, Moses, I told myself, think of Dr Barnardo’s Home and the Benevolent Fund for those in show business who can no longer bring a smile to our lips nor earn them millions of pounds no more; think of the blind and the maimed, the destitute and the desolate, the wretched hippies and drop-outs spending their lives at the foot of little Eros in Piccadilly Circus. A tear came to my eye as I thought of Les Miserables, and the water cleared my vision so I saw how selfish I was, wallowing in self-pity instead of commiserating with those who really know the tragedy of total misery. And not only sympathizing, but trying to do something practical to better their lot. What pleasure was I getting out of my landlordship or out of the blood money earned from the traffic of illegal immigrants? Where was the high life and the champagne and the invitation to the Garden Party in Buckingham Palace, driving up in my Rolls with the number plate BLACK i, and batman Bob chauffeuring? And even if all these things were added onto me, what were they but evanescent, hollow delights that could never still the poignant pangs of conscience? I flagellated myself. I thought how I had just turned a countryman out in the cold night. I thought how I did connive to get rid of my best white friend Bob (and what for, but vanity?) whose absence I was already ruing. I thought with what grudgedity I did pay bail for Galahad and Brenda and BP when they was trying to help my Own People, and how tightfisted I had become. I thought of all those poor orientals who would become an added burden on the innocent British taxpayer purely because of my selfishness.

  I suppose, really, this is what is meant when one sees the light, like how Saul become Paul. I try out Moses – Roses, and it come to me in a flash, like a revelation.

  Without further ado, dear R, let me say that after these sober reflections, I resolve to turn over a new leaf.

  Now, as the days went by, I missed Bob more and more, but I busy myself attending to the needs of my tenants, so that things would be shipshape when he come back. I did stop to think, as I was putting rat poison in the Cypriot room and bounce my head hard under the mantelpiece, that in fact Crusoe was swapping roles with Friday, but it didn’t weaken my new resolution. Rather strengthen it, for humility is a virtue too few of we have.

  In these domestic chores Brenda lend me a generous hand, going down on she hands and knees to scrub the floor, and spending all her spare time dashing about the house. I stilled thoughts of ulterior motives.

  Bob telephone after a fortnight of freedom. He sound chirpy. I was glad to hear his voice. Honest.

  ‘Moses! How are things in London?’

  ‘Fine. How are things in Ashby-de-la-Zouch.’

  ‘Groovy man. Swinging.’

  ‘You’d better hurry back. The Party photographer wants to take your picture for the paper.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. I’m returning tomorrow evening.’

  ‘That’s cool.’

  ‘I’m bringing Jeannie with me. She’s never been to London before.’

  ‘That’s cool too.’

  Jeannie must of been in the telephone booth with him for I hear him make an aside.

  ‘Oh.’ He sound disappointed at my ready reply. ‘I expected you to raise objections?’

  ‘Come off it. Your friends are my friends.’

  ‘You sound a lot better than when I left,’ he say uneasily. ‘You haven’t got another fag in, have you?’

  ‘Tommyrot. It’s just that I’ve been thinking things over. You’ll find me a different man.’

  I could envisage him puzzling over my warm-heartedness, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Well, we’ll see you tomorrow then.’

  ‘Right on. Give Jeannie my love.’

  ‘Will do.’

  I went into the kitchen where Brenda was preparing côtelettes de veau papillotes for our supper.

  ‘Bob’s coming back tomorrow,’ I say gaily.

  ‘Good show,’ she say. ‘I’ll get the photographer to come around.’

  ‘He’s bringing Jeannie with him.’

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘Oh, some bluefoot tart he’s hooked with.’

  ‘I’ll clean up his room after we’ve had supper.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, then thoughtful, ‘Do you think I ought to put a double bed in his room?’

  ‘He and me manage okay on the one he has,’ she say.

  ‘That’s you,’ I say, ‘but we don’t want to give Jeannie the wrong impression on her first visit to the city.’

  Brenda snort. ‘Or is it because she’s white?’

  ‘You berate me when I have bad intentions,’ I say, ‘now you berate me when I have good ones. Please don’t. I won’t have anything left.’

  ‘Okay,’ Brenda say. ‘You’re too useful to make an enemy of.’

  ‘It’s just that I dig Bob,’ I say. ‘Perhaps we can spring a little surprise party for them?’ It sounded like gilding the lily, but what the hell. Man cannot live by bread alone. ‘Nothing elaborate. A case of champagne, and some snacks like Dublin prawns and smoked salmon. You could bring up your reco
rd player and we’ll have some music.’

  ‘H’mm,’ Brenda say. I could see she was warming to the idea. Nothing like a freeness to get black people to shake off dull sloth. ‘I’ll do the snacks,’ she offer. ‘How about invitees?’

  ‘I don’t know any of Bob’s friends,’ I say, a little surprised at the fact. ‘I suppose we could have Galahad, and Paki, if you stretch the meaning of friendship. It doesn’t sound crowdish enough to polish off a case of bubbly, though.’

  ‘Bob’s got lots of friends,’ Brenda say. ‘Leave everything to me. We will have a ball.’

  ‘Why not?’ I say recklessly. ‘I didn’t even give a house-warming when I acquired the property. It’s time I let my hair down a little and have some fun.’

  The next day I went to a record shop and buy Jeannie With The Light Brown Hair, which I thought I would put on first when the party start, as a sort of welcoming gesture. I try to get the double bed but the store say they can’t deliver before 1984, and my lease would expire before that.

  Brenda went to town on the penthouse and put up balloons and Chinese lanterns and other decorations, and she brought up some Black Power propaganda from the basement and tack them about on the walls with drawing pins. I was a little dubious about this, but she was doing all the work so I keep quiet. I open a bottle of champagne and she and me had a few drinks, so that by the time guests start to arrive we was both a little high.

  I did not know that Bob had so many black friends. They trickled in, but little drops of water make the mighty ocean, and before long the room was full up. Bob and Jeannie didn’t turn up yet and I was getting a little anxious, as black people do not dilly-dally when they are at a party, and already raggae music was blasting, and they had started an incursion into the case of champagne.

  I haul Brenda aside from amidst a group of agitators who was rapping loudly about the future of the Party.

  ‘I didn’t know Bob had so many dark friends,’ I say.