Moses Ascending

by Sam Selvon

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she sneer. ‘Changed your mind already about your good intentions?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I say. ‘But this is a rather riff-raff lot. Couldn’t you of asked Lamming and Salkey and some of their English contemporaries?’

  ‘All these people here have paid to come in,’ Brenda say.

  ‘You’ve stolen my thunder,’ I accuse. ‘I wanted to give them a freeness.’

  ‘You are,’ she say. ‘You’re not getting anything out of it. The takings will go to swell the Party’s swindled funds.’

  I went over to Paki who was sitting with a small harem of three, dressed in their national costume. He was drinking, but the women was silent and just looking on with expressionless miens.

  ‘Hello,’ I say, ‘which one is Fatima?’

  He nod his head at a buxom one.

  ‘Are they all living here with you?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ he say, ‘they take turns.’

  ‘There is no god but Allah,’ I say, riding my champagne wave, refusing to allow any alarming thoughts to spoil my evening.

  ‘And Mohammed is his prophet,’ Paki agree. ‘You should bring the drinks out of the kitchen so we can help ourselves.’

  I mingled with my guests. The crowd was so thick that I spill champagne against a gentleman’s jacket who was dancing.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.

  He look at me coldly. ‘Did you pay to get in?’ he say.

  ‘I am the host,’ I say stiffly.

  ‘Oh. I thought you was a gate-crasher. There’s a few here.’

  I shrugged and moved to Galahad, escorting a Bayswater blonde. (Like how an intrepid mountaineer still have a safety rope lest he bust his arse scaling the heights, so those who cry Black Power loudest usually have a white woman in tow, whether as lifeline or whipping-boy I leave to you.)

  ‘What’s the time, Galahad?’ I ask. ‘Bob should be here by now?’

  He glance at his watch. ‘You know what transport is like these days. If I knew I’d have met them at the station in the Mercedes.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Say, that chap in the corner with them fancy birds – is that Faizull?’

  ‘No, it’s Paki.’

  ‘H’mm. You think he’ll know if that caretaker’s job in the country is still vacant?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

  ‘Does he understand English?’

  ‘Better than you and me.’

  ‘Good. I’ll have a chat with him later.’ Galahad grin. ‘No harm in having a second string to my bow, the cost of living being what it is.’

  Brenda come up to us. ‘Bob’s arrived,’ she say. ‘He’s coming up the stairs now.’

  ‘Quick!’ I cried. ‘Take off that raggae and put on Jeannie With The Light Brown Hair.’

  ‘Why don’t you get everybody to sing For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,’ she sneer.

  I didn’t wait but went to the record player myself and take off the raggae. Everybody who was dancing start to boo but I didn’t mind them. I put on my greetings record, and as Bob and Jeannie come in, the strains of J W T L B H filled the room, played by the London Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra, in your rarse!

  ‘What’s going on?’ Bobbie ask, bemused, as I meet him at the door.

  ‘Just a little welcoming party for you and Jeannie,’ I say.

  ‘Damned white of you, old boy.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ I blush pink, but neither of them notice.

  ‘Allow me to introduce Moses,’ Bobbie say to Jeannie. ‘He’s our landlord.’

  ‘Come come,’ I say. ‘Don’t be so formal. I’m more of a friend.’ Jeannie shake hands.

  You might of noticed that I have been refraining from too much descriptive prose, but you might forgive me if I say briefly that if Ashby-de-la-Zouch produce such fair creatures, I would turn my back on Londontown like Dick Whittington and head for them thar parts as straight as the crow flies – and I am not inexperienced in these assessments, as you have no doubt gathered.

  ‘Jeannie,’ I say, gushing, ‘Well come and welcome. Make yourself completely at home. What I have is yours.’

  ‘How gallant,’ she give me a coy smile; if she had a fan she would of hide her face behind it. I thought if I did make a prettier speech I might of got more than a smile. But there was no hurry.

  ‘Hark to the music,’ I say. ‘It is especially for you.’

  ‘What is it?’ she ask, harking.

  But at the same moment, some bloody cunt went and put back on the raggae record.

  ‘Never mind,’ I say, ‘we will listen to it together another day when it is not so noisy and crowded.’

  Galahad and Brenda come up and get introduce; Brenda bring them champagne. I could see that cattish look in Brenda eye.

  ‘What’s that place you’re from, Irma de la Douce?’ she ask Jeannie sweetly.

  ‘Brenda is a bit of a wit,’ I laugh it off. ‘Show Jeannie where she can powder her nose, dear.’

  Bobbie and me left them and went into the kitchen. Bobbie start to take off his jacket.

  ‘What’s the matter, you hot?’ I ask.

  ‘No. But there are all these guests to be attended to. I wish you’d told me, I would have caught an earlier train.’ And he start to distribute patties in the paper plates.

  ‘Leave all that, man,’ I protest, ‘you have the night off. It’s your party.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes. Brenda and her helpers will do all that.’

  ‘Okay.’ He relax. ‘What’s new, then?’

  ‘I am,’ I say, and I tell him how I did see the light after some lucubrations, and that henceforth I would try to do good unto others rather than think of myself alone.

  Instead of applauding my conversion Bobbie get vex. ‘I only leave you alone for a couple of weeks and you become completely disorganized,’ he say. ‘You’re even drinking champagne.’

  ‘I’ve made up my mind,’ I say stubbornly. ‘Let’s eat, drink, and be merry. You have cause for celebration.’

  ‘What cause?’ he argue. ‘We had a good relationship before.’

  ‘But not on equal terms. From now on we live like friends, not master and servant.’

  ‘You mean I’ll have to start paying rent, don’t you?’ he ask suspiciously, looking my gift horse in the mouth.

  Alas, that men always think the worst of their fellows. ‘Don’t be an ingrate,’ I say. ‘It isn’t going to cost you anything. Consider it as reward for good service, if you like. Come, let’s change the subject.’

  But it was Brenda who change it, coming into the kitchen. ‘The photographer is here for Bobbie,’ she announce.

  That perked him up. ‘Good,’ he say.

  ‘Better bring him in here, away from that crowd,’ I say.

  Bobbie put back on his jacket and take a comb from his pocket and pass it through his hair. He rub his fingers on the edges of his teeth like Burt Lancaster when he looking in the mirror.

  The photographer come with a big camera strap around his shoulders like a American tourist.

  ‘Where’s Jeannie?’ Bobbie ask Brenda.

  ‘She’s still in the loo,’ Brenda say.

  ‘I’d like her to see this,’ Bobbie say.

  ‘Oh come on,’ Brenda say impatiently, ‘we haven’t got all day.’ She put him to sit down on the kitchen stool, twisting his head this way and that like she was going to give him a trim.

  Whilst this was going on I went to look for Jeannie. As I pass the toilet I hear a banging and when I look I see where Brenda bolt the door from the outside. I opened it and rescued Jeannie.

  ‘Where’s Bobbie?’ she ask, recovering her composure.

  ‘He’s being photographed,’ I say. ‘Shall we dance?’

  We squeezed on to the floor, barely able to move, which I thought was all the better as Jeannie had to jam up against me as we dance. I would of like to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, but the bloody music was playing so
loud. In fact, as the night progress it become louder, as if to match the heights of pleasure which I was proudly responsible for for all these people. But pride goeth before a fall.

  We were felled by two officers of the law. Brenda came to tell me, seething.

  ‘Bleeding Babylon,’ she snarl. ‘Not unexpected, but certainly unwelcomed. Better go and talk to them. I will get the photographer to take some shots.’

  I went to the door.

  ‘Break it up,’ the senior say without preliminary. ‘Too much noise.’

  ‘This is a private party, officer,’ I say.

  ‘Break it up.’ It didn’t sound as if he hear me. He peep over my shoulder as if he and his mate want to implement the order themselves, but change his mind when he see the mob behind me.

  ‘Just break it up,’ he say for the third time, ‘or there’ll be trouble,’ and they start to go without another word.

  A primitive went and turn up the volume louder.

  ‘We got a couple of shots,’ Brenda say with satisfaction. ‘Now we’ll just stick around and wait for them to return with reinforcements. It will make good copy for the paper.’

  ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Enough’s enough. It was good while it lasted.’

  But Sister Brenda had her hackles up. ‘If you want us to leave, we’ll continue in the basement,’ and she begin to direct the traffic downstairs, and take up the record player and records and went.

  Suddenly the penthouse was quiet. Not back to normal, by any means, with the debris left behind (‘I will take care of all that,’ Bobbie tell Brenda before she left) but only Bobbie and Jeannie and me remain.

  ‘Tired?’ I ask her.

  ‘Yes,’ she say, ‘it was a nice party, though.’

  The three of we was sitting on the sofa, but Bobbie had himself between she and me, as if to stake his claim from the beginning.

  ‘Shall we tell him?’ Bobbie ask Jeannie.

  She giggle. ‘If you like.’

  ‘Jeannie and I are getting married,’ Bobbie say.

  ‘Sure,’ I say, waving it away. I always used to tell everybody, when they see me with a bird, that we going to get married. It not only clear up misunderstanding, but it suppose to keep marauders away, like a chastity belt. Also, I didn’t put it past Bobbie to make rash promises in order to get Jeannie into his clutches – I done the same many times. I decide the friendly thing would be to augment his honourable intentions.

  ‘Bobbie spoke of you constantly,’ I say, ‘I feel as if we were old friends. I hope you like it here.’

  She giggle again. ‘Depends on Bobbie,’ she say.

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’ Bobbie ask me.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ I say.

  ‘Show him the ring,’ Bobbie say, taking her hand and performing the action himself. ‘What d’you think of that?’

  It was a cheap sparkler from Woolworths but I say loyally, ‘That must of set you back a few quid.’

  ‘It’s real diamonds,’ Jeannie say, as if she expected a more awesome reaction.

  ‘I have no doubt,’ I say. ‘Bobbie would get you nothing but the best. He’s that sort of fellow.’

  ‘Does it convince you?’ Bobbie ask.

  I wanted to say that Jeannie was the one he had to convince, but I say, ‘Yes. Now I see you are in deadly earnest. Congratulations.’

  ‘I want you to know, so you wouldn’t get any wrong ideas.’

  And Jeannie come up with, ‘I’m not that kind of girl.’

  ‘Now that we’ve cleared that up,’ I say, ‘is there anything left to eat? I’m famished.’

  Habits die hard. Bobbie leapt to his feet. ‘I’ll get you something,’ he say.

  ‘Sit down with your fiancée,’ I say. ‘I’ll get it myself.’

  I went into the kitchen. I was feeling mellow, in spite of the fuzz. It had been a nice party, and it was good to rub shoulders with My People, who had all behaved with the greatest circumspect. And having Jeannie with us was filled with pregnancy, in a manner of speaking.

  It was an auspicious start to my new philanthropy. I feel like a boy scout who done his good turn for the day.

  The very next morning Bobbie say he was going to the Registry for them to put up the banns.

  ‘You don’t have to carry on the charade with me, old thing. I understand,’ I say.

  ‘You find it incomprehensible that I am marrying Jeannie?’ he raised his eyebrows. ‘You have made certain adjustments to your way of life. During the holiday I made some decisions too.’

  ‘Oh come off it,’ I scoff. ‘What d’you want to get married for? Is Jeannie on the way?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s the panic then?’

  ‘I want to get it over and done with.’

  ‘Marriage carries grave responsibilities,’ I wag a finger at him jovially.

  ‘You’re wasting your breath this time, Moses.’

  ‘Look,’ I say, ‘if you are scared that I fancy Jeannie, you’re right. But you do not have to take such drastic measures. I am not a sex maniac. We could come to some gentleman’s agreement, like we did with Brenda.’

  ‘Don’t drag Jeannie down to your level,’ he cried heatedly. ‘I am telling you – we’re getting married.’

  It look as if he was serious in truth. ‘This is sudden, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe for you. We’ve known each other a long time.’

  I could not stand aside and watch my friend put his head in the noose without some show of remonstration, even if he was white.

  ‘Look Bobbie,’ I say, ‘do you realize what you are putting yourself in for? Be sensible, old bean.’

  ‘I would like you to be best man,’ he say.

  ‘Oh well.’ I shrug. You can lead a horse to the water, but you cannot make him drink. ‘It’s your funeral.’

  Thus did Bobbie entrap himself and decide to tie the nuptial knot round his own neck, in spite of all the well-meaning advice I could give him.

  A couple of days later, while the banns was up, Brenda come upstairs with a proof copy of the front page hot off the press.

  ‘There you are Bobbie,’ she say, throwing it at him.

  He was looking at a comic at the time whilst me and Jeannie was watching television. I switch off the set and all of we crowd round the table, looking down at the front page. POLICE RAID INNOCENT BLACK MEETING, the headline went.

  I glanced at Brenda. ‘That’s pretty tame, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s what the editorial board selected,’ she say.

  It had a three-column picture of an Alsatian dog baring its teeth in a nasty snarl at Bobbie, who was in a half-column picture at the side.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Jeannie say.

  ‘Don’t like what?’ Brenda ask coldly.

  ‘That picture of my Bobbie. It doesn’t look like him.’

  ‘You mean you don’t like it appearing in a black paper, don’t you?’ Brenda taunt.

  ‘Pack it up girls,’ I say.

  ‘Can I have a dozen copies?’ Bobbie ask.

  ‘What for?’ Jeannie ask. ‘You’re not sending that horrible thing to Ashby-de-la-Zouch, are you?’

  ‘And why not pray?’ Brenda answer for him. ‘It will educate those country bumpkins who think all’s quiet on the western front.’

  ‘I thought I could just tear out the front pages and send those,’ Bobbie tell Jeannie.

  ‘It’s an awful picture, Bobbie.’Jeannie was close to tears.

  ‘What d’you expect, Marlon Brando?’ Brenda sneer. ‘Take a good look at your dear Bobbie.’

  ‘Let’s be amicable,’ I say. ‘Look at all the wide publicity Bobbie will get for his part in the affair.’

  ‘You should never have got mixed up with those blacks,’ Jeannie was crying for real now.

  ‘Just as I always thought,’ Brenda sniff. ‘She’s colour-prejudiced.’

  ‘I’m not!’Jeannie say. ‘I like Moses, don’t I?’

  ‘There there,’ I say, ‘don’t distress your
self.’

  ‘Leave Jeannie alone Brenda,’ Bobbie say. ‘Don’t forget we’re going to be married soon.’

  ‘Better she than me,’ Brenda say, laughing as if is a big joke.

  ‘Enough of all this bickering,’ I say sternly, ‘remember I no longer tolerate discord and dissension.’

  ‘Can I keep this proof?’ Bobbie ask. ‘I want to study the story.’

  ‘Sure,’ she say, ‘Moses or your betrothed can read it for you.’

  ‘Don’t carry your insults to the point of absurdity, Brenda,’ I rebuff.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ she ask with wide eyes. ‘Bobbie cannot read or write. He is illiterate, but being as he’s white we say he is suffering from dyslexia.’

  There was a deadly silence. Then Jeannie cried, ‘Oh!’ and fled to the kitchen.

  I was thunderstruck. ‘Is this true, Bobbie?’

  ‘I thought you knew,’ he say quietly.

  ‘Like I’ve always said, Moses,’ Brenda smirk, ‘your pretence at intelligence never fooled me. Bobbie has been living with you all this time, and you don’t know the first thing about him. Why do you think he’s always looking at those trashy comic books like a juvenile?’

  ‘How did you find out?’ I ask weakly.

  ‘The night he brought me that crap you’re writing. I had to read it for him.’

  I winced. Bobbie glance at me, as if ill-at-ease about the revival of this unhappy memory, wondering how I would take the re-opening of the old wound.

  ‘Truth will out,’ I splutter, clutching at the first homily that come to my head to save my face. ‘I’d have found out sooner or later.’

  ‘Sooner for me, later for you,’ Brenda crow, and went away, shaking with diabolical laughter.

  I tried hard to control my shame. Not shame for Bobbie’s illiteracy, but for my own dull-wittedness. I remember now, how, on a Sunday morning when we was reading the papers, Bobbie would go through them quickly, refraining from comment, waiting for me to take the lead in discussing the news. And that time when Jeannie wrote, how I read the letter for him. And other times, becoming significant now in retrospective. Galahad was right. Brenda was right. Faizull was right. Paki was right. Even F-and-C, and BP, if they did come to know me better, would of all agree that I was a wet cunt of the first water.

  I dried that image with some difficulty, and turned my thoughts to this poor white man who could not read nor write. I could understand the ignorance of black, backwards people, but I have a soft spot for whites. It was beyond my ken that Bobbie didn’t know that c-a-t make cat. I was sure that it was Brenda’s idea of a hideous joke.