The nightwatchman's occurrence book_ and other comic inventions - By V. S. Naipaul Page 0,71

only saving two gallons of gas. If he ain’t careful he saving hisself the trouble of going up to Port of Spain every Friday afternoon to sit down in that Legislative Council.’

Not even Chittaranjan’s authority could quell the unrest.

‘Mahadeo,’ Chittaranjan called. ‘Go down and tell them that they going to get their ten gallons. Those that get six tell them to come up for another voucher.’

Harbans didn’t stop to think.

Chittaranjan just whispered to him, ‘Ten gallons. Driver name Rapooch. He taxi number is HT 3217.’

And Harbans wrote, and wrote. If he stopped to think he felt he would break down and cry. His wrinkled hand perspired and shook; it had never done so much writing at one time.

Mahadeo went downstairs and spread the healing word.

*

Elvira was stirring before dawn. A fine low mist lay over the hills, promising a hot, thundery day. As the darkness waned the mist lifted, copying the contours of the land, and thinned, layer by layer. Every tree was distinct. Soon the sun would be out, the mist would go, the trees would become an opaque green tangle, and polling would begin.

Polling was to begin at seven; but the fun began before that. The Elvira Estate had given its workers the day off; so had the Public Works Department. Chittaranjan gave his two workmen the day off and put on a clean shirt. Baksh gave himself the day off. He rose early and went straight off to start celebrating with Rampiari’s husband and the others. As soon as he was up Foam went over to Chittaranjan’s. Harbans was there already. Harbans had wanted to spend the night in Elvira, but Chittaranjan had advised him not to, considering the irreverent mood of the taxi-drivers.

Mahadeo, according to Chittaranjan, was behaving even at that early hour in an entirely shameless way. He was drunk and, what was worse, drinking with the enemy.

Chittaranjan, his hat on, his shirt hanging nice and clean on him, said, ‘I did feel like lifting up my hand and giving Mahadeo one good clout with my elbow. I meet him drinking with some good-for-nothing and I say, “Why for you drinking with these good-for-nothing, Mahadeo?” I did expect a straight answer. But the man drunk too bad, man. He tell me he drinking with them because he want to find out which way the wind blowing.’

*

At seven, or thereabouts, the polling stations opened. Presently there were queues. Agents sat on the roots of trees still cool with dew, ticking off names on duplicated electoral lists, giving cards to voters, instructing the forgetful in the art of making an X. ‘No, old man, they ain’t want two X.’ ‘Ah, maharajin, it ain’t a scorpion they want you to draw. Is a X. Look …’ ‘No, man. They ain’t want you to vote for everybody. You just put your little X by the heart. Do your part, man.’ ‘You want to kill him or what? Not inside the heart, man.’

*

Foam’s job was to see that the organization worked smoothly. He had to see that the food van made regular rounds; officially, this was to feed agents and other accredited representatives, but many other people were to benefit. He had to make periodic tours of the polling stations to see that no one played the fool.

At ten o’clock Foam reported: ‘They staggering the voting at the school.’

‘Staggering?’

‘Taking six seven minutes over one vote.’

Chittaranjan said, ‘I did always feel that man was going to make trouble. You better go and see him, Mr Harbans.’

Harbans knew what that meant.

He went to the school, Teacher Francis’s domain, but now in the holidays without Teacher Francis, who was in Port of Spain.

There was a long complaining queue.

Foam said, ‘A lot of people leave because they didn’t want to stand up all this time.’

The clerk, a cheerful young Negro, greeted Harbans with unabashed warmth. ‘Is a big big day for you today, Mr Harbans.’

‘Ooh, I hear you having a little trouble here.’

‘People ain’t even know their own name, Mr Harbans.’

‘But ain’t they got a number?’

The clerk didn’t stop smiling. ‘I ain’t want to know their number. Want to know their name.’

‘Ooh. And when they tell you their name, you spend a long long time finding out whether they on the list, and then sometimes you does ask them to spell out their name? Let we look at the election regulations together.’

The clerk brightened.

From his hip pocket Harbans pulled out an orange pamphlet folded in two. He opened it so that only he and