The nightwatchman's occurrence book_ and other comic inventions - By V. S. Naipaul Page 0,18

didn’t care for cool tea. Only Harbans, taking small, noisy sips, seemed indifferent.

Dhaniram’s wife called querulously from her room. The doolahin sucked her teeth and went.

Foam said, ‘If Lorkhoor getting Hindus to vote for Preacher, I don’t see why we can’t get Negroes to vote for we.’

They sipped their tea and thought.

*

Dhaniram pulled hard at his cigarette and slapped his dhoti-clad thigh. ‘Aha! Idea!’

They looked at him in surprise.

‘It go take some money …’ Dhaniram said apologetically.

Harbans took a long sip of cool tea.

‘It go take some money. But not much. Here in Elvira the campaign committee must be a sort of social welfare committee. Supposing one of those Negroes fall sick. We go go to them. We go take them to doctor in we taxi. We go pay for their medicine.’

Chittaranjan sucked his teeth and became like the formidable Chittaranjan Foam had seen rocking and smiling in his tiled veranda. ‘Dhaniram, you talking like if you ain’t know how hard these Negroes is in Elvira. You ever see any Negro fall sick? They just does drop down and dead. And that does only happen when they about eighty or ninety.’

‘All right. They don’t get sick. But even you say they does dead sometimes. Well, two three bound to dead before elections.’

‘You going to kill some of them?’ Baksh asked.

‘Well, if even one dead, we go bury him. We go hold the wake. We go take we coffee and we biscuits.’

Baksh said, ‘And you think that go make the Negroes vote for you?’

‘It go make them feel shame if they ain’t vote for we,’ Dhaniram said. ‘And if they ain’t vote, well, the next time they start bawling for help, they better not come round here.’

Mahadeo lifted his right hand as a warning that he was about to speak again. ‘Old Sebastian is one Negro who look as though he might dead before elections.’

‘Is a good idea,’ Foam said. ‘And every one of we could buy just one sweet drink for some Negro child every day until elections. Different child every day. And the parents. We mustn’t only help them if they fall sick or if they dead. If they can’t get a work or something. If they going to have a wedding or something. Take the goldsmith here. He could make a little present for Negroes getting married.’

Chittaranjan said animatedly, ‘Foam, you talking as if I does make jewellery with my own gold. I ain’t have no gold of my own. When people want things make, they does bring their own gold.’

And Chittaranjan destroyed an illusion which Foam had had since he was a boy; he had always believed that the gold dust and silver shavings the children collected from Chittaranjan’s workshop belonged to Chittaranjan.

Harbans said, ‘Foam, take the pencil and paper and write down all those who sick in Elvira.’

Dhaniram said, ‘Mungal sick like anything.’

Mahadeo lifted his hand. ‘It have a whole week now that Basdai and Rampiari ain’t come out to work. They must be sick too.’

Harbans said, ‘Mahadeo, you know you is a damn fool. You think is Hindu sick I want Foam to write down?’

Chittaranjan said, ‘Like I say, it ain’t have no Negro sick in Elvira.’

‘All right.’ Harbans was getting annoyed again. ‘Who getting married?’

Chittaranjan said, ‘Only Hindu and Muslim getting married. Is the wedding season now. The Negro people don’t get married so often. Most of them just living with woman. Just like that, you know.’

Harbans said, ‘And you can’t damn well start taking round wedding-ring to those people as wedding present. So, all we could do is to keep a sharp look-out for any Negro who fall sick or who fall dead. That may you talk about, Mahadeo.’

‘Sebastian?’

‘Keep a eye on him.’

Foam said, ‘I believe Mahadeo should handle the whole of that job. He could make a list of all Negro who sick or going to dead.’

‘Yes.’ And Harbans added sarcastically, ‘You sure that job ain’t too big for you, Mahadeo?’

Mahadeo stared at the floor, his big eyes filling with determination. ‘I could manage, Mr Harbans. Old Sebastian is one Negro who bound to dead.’

They finished their tea and had some more. Then Harbans sent Foam to get the new posters he had brought in the lorry.

The posters said: HITCH YOUR WAGON TO THE STAR VOTE SURUJPAT (‘PAT’) HARBANS CHOOSE THE BEST AND LEAVE THE REST. And there was a photograph of Harbans; below that, his name and the star, his symbol.

Mahadeo said, ‘It must make a man feel really big sticking