by Sam Selvon
‘A-for-apple?’ I say coaxingly.
Bobbie look at me blankly.
‘B-for-bat?’ I try again.
‘What’s up with you?’ he ask.
‘Don’t look so bloody pleased with yourself,’ I say, ‘you don’t have to bask in your darkness.’
‘I get by okay,’ he shrug.
‘I’ll have to send you to one of them ESN schools,’ I say thoughtfully, ‘with all them little piccaninnies and Pakis. You should of told me when I first interviewed you to be my aide. Now so, you would have passed your First Primer at least.’
‘Oh come off it, Moses. It doesn’t bother me. Why should you worry?’
‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ I say sarcastically, ‘it is the first time that I have come across a fully-fledged white man in this day and age who does not know that A is for apple and B is for bat.’
‘Fiddlesticks. What difference does it make? I’ve managed to conduct my own business, and yours.’
‘That is probably why we are up shit-creek,’ I say. ‘It is not only shattering news. It is nerve-racking. For one thing, how are you going to sign the Registry when you marry Jeannie? Have you thought about that?’
‘Of course. I have cleared that up with the Registrar. Look, Moses, you’re not going to let a little thing like that come between us?’
‘Your ignorance reflects on me,’ I say gloomily. ‘It’s no wonder I am a laughing-stock.’
‘Brenda is a bitch. She promised to keep mum.’
‘Never mind,’ I say kindly. ‘I won’t tell a soul. But surely it can’t be as bad as all that! Come,’ I say, getting the little telephone book what we had, with a tiny pencil strap alongside, for writing messages. ‘Watch carefully.’ I make letter A. ‘That’s A-for-apple. You must of seen it when you reading all them comic books.’
‘Are you being sarky with me?’ Bobbie say.
‘Try to make A, Bobbie,’ I urge. ‘It is the first letter of the alphabet. If you learn one, you will soon learn the whole alphabet down to Z. Then we will proceed to simple words and sentences, like Dan-is-the-man-in-the-van.’
But instead of taking my sympathetic concern in the spirit in which it was meant, Bobbie begin to get vex.
‘Enough of this child’s play, Moses,’ he say, ‘you are starting to annoy me.’
‘Okay,’ I sigh, giving up reluctantly. ‘But remember it is never too late to learn. You are going to be a married man shortly. Think what pleasure it will give Jeannie when you write your first letter.’
‘I’ll leave all the writing to you,’ he jeered, getting back at me, ‘at least I do not hang my hat beyond my reach.’
Jeannie come back from the kitchen bringing cans of cold beer.
‘Has that abominable creature gone?’ she ask.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You must not allow Brenda to upset you. She has her good points.’
‘I hope you’re not inviting her to our wedding,’ she tell Bobbie.
‘Talking about that,’ I say, glad to get away from the brain-blowing shock of Bobbie’s illiteracy, ‘what are your plans?’
‘We’re not having anything big,’ Bobbie say.
‘You’re inviting Jeannie’s folk, though? And your own relatives?’
‘No Moses,’ Jeannie say. ‘We want a quiet wedding. We’re not having any reception. And we’ve decided to postpone the honeymoon.’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘to each his own. I do not know the correct procedures when it comes to that.’
Suffice it to say, then, that it was a white wedding; that Galahad come in BP’s Mercedes and drive me and Brenda and the prospective bride and groom to the Registry office; (‘Listen Brenda,’ I say, ‘keep your claws out of Jeannie today. It is the happiest day of her life, and you are only present because we could not rustle up another witness’); that Bobbie had been practising and was able to record his name in the Registry; that I take advantage of my perogative as best man to give Jeannie a French kiss; that on the way back we meet up in a accident with a bus 88 and had was to leave Galahad behind literally weeping at the big dent in the front left-hand fender of the Mercedes and make the rest of our way afoot; that Brenda went straight down to the basement when we reach home; that Brenda give them a year’s free subscription to the paper as a present, and I give them an electric steam iron, and Galahad forgot to bring his present and promise to pass around some time and drop it.
The three of we what remain make a toast with sherry.
‘To you and Jeannie,’ I say to Bobbie. ‘I deeply regret that it is not a more celebrative gathering, but this is the way you wanted it. However, may all your Christmases be white.’
‘Hear hear,’ Bobbie say.
‘You have been so good to us, Moses,’ Jeannie say.
‘I have done nothing,’ I say modestly.
After a few sherries Bobbie advance to whisky and begin to feel thirsty.
‘Let’s go down to our room,’ he tell Jeannie.
‘We can’t leave poor Moses all alone,’Jeannie protest.
‘In any case,’ I clear my throat, ‘you are not leaving me. I am leaving you.’
‘What do you mean?’ she cry.
‘I mean I am giving you the penthouse as a honeymoon suite for the night,’ I say magnaminously. ‘I will sleep in your room.’
‘Are you sure, old boy?’ Bobbie say, ever anxious for my welfare. ‘Will you be comfortable enough?’
‘This is too much,’ Jeannie say.
‘Too much is not enough for you, Jeannie,’ I say.
‘Oh Moses,’ she say.
Thus I maintained my resolve to do good unto others, and bring a little sunshine into the lives of those less fortunate than I.
As the days went by it look like we was in for a halcyon spell. Bobbie and Jeannie shared the domestic chores, and if he was busy he send Jeannie up to attend to my needs. The three of us live in perfect harmony, watching the television together, sharing our meals, and she and me had great fun teaching Bobbie the alphabet, though he still look at his comic books avidly.
The only fly in the ointment was that Jeannie was discontent with the accommodation they had. Not that she complained to me, but Bobbie said how she was wishing they had a flat like mines, so she could feel they was living in a real home instead of one room.
‘You know you’re welcome to come up any time you like,’ I remind him.
‘I know that,’ he sigh, ‘but it isn’t the same as if it were ours. Poor Jeannie. Sometimes I think she is too good for me, and that you are right about my being uneducated.’
‘Take courage,’ I say. ‘You are making excellent progress. You are down to V now, and Z is just around the corner. When you get there we might try one of those rapid English courses.’
‘You know Moses,’ he say, ‘you are one in a million. Were it not for your friendship, I don’t know what would have become of me. Have you heard any news from Galahad?’
‘I think the Party is waiting for a delegation of Black Panthers from the States, headed by BP. It appears that he went back for reinforcements, and is returning to make some drastic changes in the administration of the Establishment. Heads will roll, they say, and BP wants to convert Enoch Powell and make him President of the Black Power movement in Brit’n. The trial palls by comparison with such a gigantic undertaking.’
‘I’m glad they’ll have that on their minds,’ Bobbie say. ‘Jeannie was afraid I might be called upon to give evidence. Not for any racial reasons, but she just wants to live a quiet happy life, like we do here.’
‘Amen to that,’ I say, ‘see how I have divorced myself from squabble and fray, and am all the better for it.’
Indeed, I had never had it so good. Jeannie’s presence was like having a young fairy godmother in the house. Not only was she a good and conscientious char, but she was such a charming girl, ready to bestow favours, and even used to go down to the basement and chat with Brenda to show that she had no ill feelings.
In return for h
er generous nature, I was ever willing to offer my services, no matter how menial the task. One of these was the scrubbing of her back whenever she had a bath. Like most people she found it difficult to get at that part of her anatomy, even with a brush, and it gave me great pleasure to assist her whenever Bobbie was not available; it seemed such a little thing for the countless jobs she did.
I was preoccupied with this one day when Bobbie come in unexpectedly.
‘Hello hello,’ he say, ‘what’s all this then?’
Shit couldn’t fly off a shovel as fast as I thought in that moment, dear R.
‘You’re in the nick of time,’ I say, ‘I have just come. To a momentous decision.’
‘Fine words won’t save you Moses,’ he say, brandishing his fist aloft like he seen the Power boys do. ‘This is the end.’
‘Wait until you hear what I have to say,’ I entreated.
‘I’ll give you five seconds,’ he say, looking at his watch.
‘The penthouse is yours,’ I say.
‘Fine words,’ he begin, then stop. ‘Come again?’ he query.
I suppose I could be facetious and say that I said joyfully, ‘If you insist,’ but it wasn’t like that at all. I do not know if you have ever been caught with your trousers down, in flagrento delicto or whatever it is lords and ladies call it, but I can tell you that I was trimbling with shock and fear. What I blathered was, ‘The-penthouse-is-yours’ again, and continue, as I see him consider this, ‘Doesn’t that put a different complexion on things?’
‘You have behaved like a despicable cad,’ Bobbie say. ‘You realize your paltry offer can never make amends for your loathesome behaviour?’
I nodded silently, hanging my head.
‘If I do decide to accept, it will have to be on my own terms,’ he say.
‘You’re the boss,’ I say.
‘How could you, how could you?’ he burst out now.
‘It was a weak moment,’ I say. ‘To err is human.’
‘Things can never be the same with us,’ he say sadly. ‘You had better go and pack your things.’
Thus are the mighty fallen, empires totter, monarchs dethrone and the walls of Pompeii bite the dust. Humiliated and degraded, I took up abode in Bobbie’s erstwhile room, while he and Jeannie move in to the penthouse. Bobbie did set down some ironclad conditions and would not budge or display the slightest inclination for compromise or compassion, but instead fortified his position by stipulating penalties for defaulting.
‘Can’t I even come up to look at Upstairs and Downstairs in colour?’ I plead. ‘We used to enjoy that programme so much together.’
‘You’ve got a television in the room,’ he say.
‘It won’t be the same, Bobbie.’
He made a harsh laugh. ‘Nothing will ever be the same. And for one thing, “Bobbie” is for my friends. You’d better begin to call me Robert.’
‘All right,’ I say, summoning a little dignity. ‘I won’t belittle myself any further. It’s a great price you ask for a slight indiscretion, though.’
I suppose I should be grateful that he did not confiscate my Memoirs. Perhaps he felt that would be the unkindest cut of all, and some grudging modicum of pity must have moved him to concede it.
But it was small consolation, cooped up in that small enclosure. The first night I wake up screaming from claustrophobia. Small consolation, too, that Messrs Robert and Jeannie were paying rent for the penthouse – it was one of his cunning moves to secure tenancy, for these days, with them new rent laws, you have to wonder who is the potter, pray, and who the pot. I was reduced to living as a tenant in my own house, with Robert holding the reins and cracking the whip.
You might wonder what Ashby-de-la-Zouch had to say for herself while I was doing penance. She was not without sympathy and understanding. Indeed, she saw no reason why I could not continue to scrub her back as opportunity knocked, but I was incapacitated by the stringent punishment for any infringements of the Master’s regulations. It was lusting for white pussy that brought bad blood ‘tween Robert and I, and all I could hope for was that the tables would turn and I would be returned to my rightful position as head of the house. Perhaps I may be allowed one comment here, how it is a pity that Adam had that spare rib what God make Eve with, for from the moment woman came into this world it was as if a Pandora Box open and let loose evils in Paradise. All this talk about woman’s lib, left to me, I would chain the whole lot of them to the railings in Downing Street, and left them there to attract foreign currency from the tourists.
Things was so bad that even the unsavoury Paki was taking a turn in my arse, presuming on my company whenever he like, without even knocking on the door.
‘How long are you going to be slumming?’ he ask, pushing aside my papers and hoisting a leg up on the table. He even blow cigarette smoke in my face.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I say, ‘can’t you see I am getting more rent by letting out the penthouse and living here?’
‘You really had it cushy up there, though,’ he say.
‘This is just a temporary measure,’ I say. ‘Sometimes you have to tighten your belt.’
‘You look as if you’re strangling, though.’
I suppose I must of seemed a little gaunt and hollow-eyed.
‘I haven’t been sleeping well,’ I say.
‘You ought to do some Yoga,’ he say. ‘Look at me, fit as a fiddle. Try this for sleeplessness.’ And he went in the corner and stand on his head, and cross his legs and make an X.
‘That’s cool,’ I say. ‘Does it work?’
‘Try it,’ he urge, upsided down, ‘your worries will disappear and you’ll feel a new man.’
‘Okay,’ I say, to get rid of him, ‘I’ll give it a whirl when I have the odd moment.’
He come upright. ‘There are some other postures, for different complaints,’ he say, hawking Yoga like a salesman. ‘For instance, if you are depressed, try this.’ He wrap himself in a knot, hands and feet going every which way. ‘You see?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I’ll try that one after I become proficient.’
‘Just help me to get up,’ he say struggling, ‘I seem to be in a bit of a tangle.’
But I leave the bastard right there until he unravel himself and went away.
Paki’s visits were innocent, but I can’t say the same for Brenda when she heard I had shifted. There were no flies on her.
‘There’s more in the mortar than the pestle, Moses,’ she say, hitting on the truth right away. ‘Bob must of caught you with Jeannie. I knew there would be trouble when that bitch came.’
‘Ha,’ I make a half-laugh. ‘Even were it so, why should I come here? I tell you it’s an economic necessity. They’re paying rent, you know.’
‘More fool you,’ she say, ‘you’ll never get them out now. However, I’m glad in a way that you are making changes. I want to extend the basement.’
‘Pardon?’ I say.
‘Party business is getting brisk and back on its feet now that BP is coming back. The pressure of work is so great, that I have had to encroach on my living quarters. You ought to see the small room I live in behind the office. It’s so crowded I might as well move into the Pakis’ abbatoir in the back garden.’
‘Why don’t you just clear out and shift the whole caboodle from my house?’ I snarl.
‘Don’t be facetious,’ she say coldly. ‘We’re entrenched here. For keeps.’
‘Maybe I could sell the house to the Party and clear out myself,’ I say seriously.
‘You’ll be lucky to sell this white elephant,’ she smirk.
‘Well, I don’t give two fucks about your problems,’ I say. ‘I’ve got enough of my own.’
‘You could try to get that Aussie out, cut off his water and gas or something.’
‘I’m not that sort of landlord,’ I say.
‘No?’ she sneer. ‘You’ll plumb the lowest depths if needs be. Don’t think I have been blind to the going-ons in this house.�
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‘What do you mean?’ I say, taking umbrage. ‘You have the effrontery to stand there and suggest all is not above board? The only disrespectability in this house is in the basement.’
‘Bah,’ she say. ‘I got enough on you to cook your goose.’
I laugh uneasily. ‘Would you like a drink?’ I say. ‘I’ve only got sherry, ’twas all I was able to bring down with me, what remain after the toasting when Robert get married.’
‘Fetch it, then.’
I started to call my footman, and had to laugh ruefully, and get up and fetch it myself.
After a few sherries, she begin to be flattering and complimentary. ‘You know, Moses,’ she say, ‘I might have been a bit premature in assessing your memoirs.’
‘Hump,’ I say, waiting breathless for her next word.
‘There are possibilities,’ she say. ‘Of course, it will never see the light of day through any reputable English publisher, but I may be able to edit and use extracts in our paper.’
I stiffened. ‘I haven’t written for the hoi-polloi,’ I say loftily. ‘It does not matter if I get a limited edition, as I know it will only appeal to highbrows and eggheads.’
‘This is the only chance you’ll get,’ she say.
‘No thank you,’ I say, ‘I would rather die than cast pearls before swine.’
‘You refuse my offer?’
‘Point-blank,’ I say unhesitatingly.
‘Then,’ she say, ‘instead of cajolement, I will have to employ threat. You have driven me to it.’
‘You’ve got nothing on me,’ I say uneasily.
‘What about the trafficking of illegal Paki immigrants,’ she say, showing her true colours.
‘That’s a thing of the past,’ I wave it aside.
‘You can get two or three years for a thing like that if I testify to your criminality.’
I laugh hollowly. ‘You must be joking.’
‘There are other things,’ she hinted darkly, ‘such as, for instance, cuckolding with dear Jeannie? Imagine your status if such knowledge came to the attention of the public!’