have done better than your father, Muriel, if it hadn’t been for that.’
‘Mother!’
‘And your sister Dorothy’s going the same way.’
‘Oh, Mother!’
‘I was a pretty girl when I was young … I could have been rich and happy …’
And here – as I could see must happen – the lady broke down into her tears. I understood the way she felt, indeed I did, yet why do these women always blame the man? I’m sure Dad didn’t rape her, and however young she was, she must have known a number of the facts of life …
Little Muriel was easing her off into a bedroom. When she came out again, I said to her, ‘Well, perhaps I should go away just now, Muriel. I’ll write to my dad much as your mum requests …’
‘Stay and drink up your tea, Johnny.’
We sat there sipping on the dregs, till I said, ‘What do you do for a living, Muriel?’
‘I work in a tailor’s, Johnny. East End, they’re Jews. Cutting up shirts …’
‘You like that occupation?’
‘No … But it helps out.’
‘Don’t you have fun sometimes? Go dancing?’
‘Not often …’
And here I saw she looked down at her hand.
‘You hurt yourself?’ I said.
She looked up and shook her head.
‘We must go out together one day, if you like to come with me,’ I said to her.
She smiled.
‘Next Saturday, say? Before I start out on my studies?’
She shook her head once more.
‘Now listen, Muriel. You’ve got no colour prejudice, I hope …’
‘No, no, Johnny. Not at all. But you’d be dull with me. I don’t dance, you see.’
‘Don’t dance? Is there any little girl don’t dance? Well, I will teach you.’
‘Yes?’
‘Of course I will, Muriel. I’ll teach you the basic foundations in one evening. Real bop steps, and jive, and all.’
Here she surprised me, this shy, rather skinny little chick, by reaching out quite easily and giving me a full kiss on the cheek.
‘Johnny,’ she said. ‘There’s one thing you could do for me … Which is to get me news of my sister Dorothy. Because she hasn’t been here or written for over a month, and I don’t like to go out and see her south side of the Thames in Brixton, on account of that Billy Whispers.’
‘Just give me the address, and I’ll go see.’
‘It’s a house full of coloured men and English girls.’
‘Just give me the address, will you, Muriel, and I’ll go out that way immediately. I want to get to know the various areas of this city, if it’s going to be my own.’
5
Encounter with Billy Whispers
This Brixton house stood all by itself among ruins of what I suppose was wartime damages, much like one tooth left sticking in an old man’s jaw.
Now what was curious to me was this. As I approached it, I could clearly see persons standing by the upper windows, and even hear voices and the sound of a radiogram. But when I knocked on the front door of it, no one came down however long I continued on. So I walked all round this building and looked over the very broken garden wall.
There I saw a quite surprising sight: which was a tall Spade – very tall – standing in a broken greenhouse, watering plants. Now Spades do garden – it wasn’t that – but not ones dressed up like he was, fit to kill: pink slacks, tartan silk outside-hanging shirt, all freshly pressed and laundered.
‘What say, man?’ I called out to him. ‘Do you know Billy Whispers?’
Here he spun round.
‘Who you?’
‘Fortune from Lagos, mister. A friend of Mr Whispers’ lady’s family.’
As this man came out of the greenhouse, wiping his hands, I saw by the weaving, sliding way he walked towards me that he was a boxer. Round about his neck he wore a silver chain, another on each wrist, and his face had a ‘better be careful or I slap you down’ expression.
I waited smiling for him.
‘Mr Whispers,’ he said, ‘is not at home to strangers.’
‘His lady is?’
‘What’s she mean to you?’
‘I have a message for her.’
At this I vaulted, like in gymnasium, over the wall, and went leisurely across to meet him.
‘Haven’t I seen,’ I said to him, ‘your photo in the newspapers?’
Now he looked proud and pleased, and said to me, ‘I’m Jimmy Cannibal.’
‘I thought you was. Light-heavy champion till they stole your legitimate title just a year ago?’ (But as is well known, this Jimmy Cannibal lost it on a foul.)
‘That’s me.’
‘You growing tomatoes?’ I asked him, pointing to his greenhouse.