House for Mister Biswas Part 25

Shama, Savi and Myna slept on bedding on the floor. Anand slept with Mr Biswas on the fourposter. Dreading the boy's touch, Mr Biswas built a bank of pillows between Anand and himself.

His fatigue deepened. The next day, Sunday, he scarcely got out of bed. Whereas before he felt he had to be out of the room, now he didn't wish to leave it. He said he was sick and found it easy to simulate the symptoms of malaria.

When Seth came Mr Biswas told him, 'Is ague, I think.'

After a week his fatigue hadn't left him. Sitting up in bed he made kites and toy-carts for Anand and built a chest-of-drawers with matchboxes for Savi. The longer he stayed in the room the less he wanted to leave it. He became constipated. Yet from time to time he had to go outside; then he came back hurriedly, anxiously, relaxing only when he was on the bed again.

He continued to observe Shama closely, with suspicion, hatred and nausea. He never spoke to her directly, but through one of the children; and it was some time before Shama realized this.

As he was lying in bed one morning she came and placed her palm, then the back of her hand, on his forehead. The action offended him, flattered him, and made him uneasy. She had been cutting vegetables and he couldn't bear their smell on her hand.

'No fever,' she said.

She undid his s.h.i.+rt and put her hand, large and dark and foreign, on his pale, soft chest.

He wanted to scream.

He said, 'No, I not fat enough yet. You got to put me back and feed me some more. Here, why don't you just feel my finger?'

She took her hand away. 'Something on your mind, man?'

'Something on your mind?' he mimicked. 'Something in my mind and you know what it is.' He was violently angry; never before had he been so disgusted by her. Yet he wished her to remain there. Half hoping she would take him seriously, half hoping only to amuse and bewilder her, he said in his quick, high-pitched voice, 'Something in my mind all right. Clouds. Lots of little black clouds.'

'What you say?'

'Is a funny thing. You ever notice that when you insult people or tell them the truth they always pretend not to hear you the first time?'

'Is my own fault for meddling in what is not my business. I don't know why I come here for. If it wasn't for the children '

'So all-you send Hari with his little black box, eh? All-you must think I look like a real fool.'

'Black box?'

'You see what I mean? You didn't hear the first time.'

'Look, I just don't have the time to stand up here talking to you like this, you hear. I wish you had a real fever. That would stop your mouth.'

He was beginning to enjoy the argument. 'I know know you want me to get a real fever. I know all-you want to see me dead. And then see the old she-fox crying, the little G.o.ds laughing, you crying dressed up like h.e.l.l to boot. Nice, eh? I you want me to get a real fever. I know all-you want to see me dead. And then see the old she-fox crying, the little G.o.ds laughing, you crying dressed up like h.e.l.l to boot. Nice, eh? I know know that is what all-you want.' that is what all-you want.'

'Dress-up and powder-up? Me? On what you give me?'

Abruptly Mr Biswas went cold with fear.

Seth and the land and the corrugated iron; Hari and the black box; the blessing; and now, since Shama had come, this fatigue.

He was dying.

They were killing him. He would just remain in this room and die.

She was in the kitchen area, cooing to the baby in the hammock.

'Get out!'

Shama looked up.

He jumped out of bed and grabbed the walking-stick. He was cold all over. His heart beat fast and painfully.

Shama climbed up the step to the room. 'Get out!

Don't come inside. Don't touch me!'

Myna was crying.

'Man,' Shama said.

'Don't come into this room. Don't set foot in it again.' He waved the stick. He moved to the window and, looking at her, waving the stick, began to draw the bolt. 'Don't touch me,' he bawled, and there were sobs mixed with his words.

She blocked the door.

But he had thought of the window. He pushed it open. It swung out shakily. Light came into the room and fresh air mingled with the musty smell of old boards and newspapers he had forgotten how musty they smelled. Beyond the flat barrackyard he saw the trees that lined the road and screened his house.

Shama walked towards him.

He began screaming and crying. He pressed his palms on the window-sill and tried to hoist himself up, looking back at her, the stick now useless as a weapon of defence since his hands were occupied.

'What are you doing?' she said in Hindi. 'Look, you will damage yourself.'

He was aware of Tarzan, Savi and Anand below the window. Tarzan was wagging his tail, barking and leaping up against the wall.

Shama came closer.

He was on the sill.

'O G.o.d!' he cried, winding his head up and down. 'Go away.'

She was near enough to touch him.

He kicked at her.

She gave a yelp of pain.

He saw, too late, that he had kicked her on the belly.

The women from the barracks rushed up when they heard Shama cry out, and helped her from the room.

Savi and Anand came round to the kitchen area in front. Tarzan ran in puzzlement between them and the women and Mr Biswas.

'Pack up your clothes and go home,' Dookhnee, one of the barrack-women, said. She had often been beaten and had witnessed many wife-beatings; they made all women sisters.

Savi went into the room fearfully and, not looking at her father, started to pack clothes into a suitcase.

Mr Biswas stared and shouted, 'Take your children and go away. Go away!'

Shama, surrounded by the barrack-women, called, 'Anand, pack up your clothes quick.'

Mr Biswas jumped down from the sill.

'No!' he said. 'Anand is not going with you. Take your girl children and go.' He didn't know why he had said that. Savi was the only child he knew, yet he had gone out of his way to hurt her; and he didn't know whether he wanted Anand to stay. Perhaps he had spoken only because Shama had mentioned the name. he said. 'Anand is not going with you. Take your girl children and go.' He didn't know why he had said that. Savi was the only child he knew, yet he had gone out of his way to hurt her; and he didn't know whether he wanted Anand to stay. Perhaps he had spoken only because Shama had mentioned the name.

'Anand,' Shama said, 'Go and pack your clothes.'

Dookhnee said, 'Yes, go and pack your clothes.'

And many of the women said, 'Go, boy.'

'He is not going with you to that house,' Mr Biswas said.

Anand remained where he was, in the kitchen area, stroking Tarzan, not looking at Mr Biswas or the women.

Savi came out of the room with a suitcase and a pair of shoes. She dusted her feet and buckled on a shoe.

Shama, only now beginning to cry, said in Hindi, 'Savi, I have told you many times to wash your feet before putting on your shoes.'

'All right, Ma. I will go and wash them.'

'Don't bother this time,' Dookhnee said.

The women said, 'No, don't bother.'

Savi buckled on the other shoe.

Shama said, 'Anand, do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay with your father?'

Mr Biswas, the stick in his hand, looked at Anand.

Anand continued to stroke Tarzan, whose head was now upturned, his eyes partly closed.

Mr Biswas ran to the green table and awkwardly pulled out the drawer. He took the long box of crayons he used for his placards and held it to Anand. He shook the box; the crayons rattled.

Savi said, 'Come, Anand boy. Go and get your clothes.'

Still stroking Tarzan, Anand said, 'I staying with Pa.' His voice was low and irritable.

'Anand!' Savi said.

'Don't beg him,' Shama said, in control of herself again. 'He is a man and knows what he is doing.'

'Boy,' Dookhnee said. 'Your mother.'

Anand said nothing.

Shama got up and the circle of women around her widened. She took Myna, Savi took the suitcase, and they walked along the path, muddy between spa.r.s.e and stubborn gra.s.s, to the road, scattering the hens and chickens before them. Tarzan followed, and was diverted by the chickens. When he was pecked by an angry hen he looked for Shama and Savi and Myna. They had disappeared. He trotted back to the barracks and Anand.

Mr Biswas opened the box and showed Anand the sharpened crayons. 'Take them. They are yours. You can do what you like with them.'

Anand shook his head.

'You don't want them?'

Tarzan, between Anand's legs, held up his head to be stroked, closing his eyes in antic.i.p.ation.

'What do you want then?'

Anand shook his head. Tarzan shook his.

'Why did you stay then?'

Anand looked exasperated.

'Why?'

'Because ' The word came out thin, explosive, charged with anger, at himself and his father. 'Because they was going to leave you alone.'

For the rest of that day they hardly spoke.

His instinct had been right. As soon as Shama had gone his fatigue left him. He became restless again, and almost welcomed the familiar constricted turmoil in his mind. He returned to the fields, taking Anand with him on the first day. Anand, dusty, itching, scorched by the sun and cut by sharp gra.s.s, refused to go again, and thereafter remained at the barracks with Tarzan.

He made more toys for Anand. A round tin-lid loosely nailed to a rod provided something that rolled when pushed and gave Anand a deep satisfaction. At night they drew imaginary scenes: snow-covered mountains and fir trees, red-hulled yachts in a blue sea below a clear sky, roads winding between well-kept forests to green mountains in the distance. They also talked.

'Who is your father?'

'You.'

'Wrong. I am not not your father. G.o.d is your father.' your father. G.o.d is your father.'

'Oh. And what about you?'

'I am just somebody. n.o.body at all. I am just a man you know.'

He showed Anand how to mix colours. He taught him that red and yellow made orange, blue and yellow green.

'Oh. That is why the leaves turn yellow?'

'Not exactly.'

'Well, look then. Suppose I take a leaf and wash it and wash it and wash it, it will turn yellow or blue?'

'Not really. The leaf is G.o.d's work. You see?'