A Bend in the River - V.S. Naipaul [143]
“The Liberation Army isn’t just those boys in the bush, Salim. Everybody’s in it. Everybody you see. How am I going to make out alone?”
“You have to take your chance. That’s what we’ve always done. Everybody has done that here. And I don’t think they’ll trouble you—you don’t frighten them. Hide the car, though. Don’t tempt them with it. Whatever they say about going back to the beginning, they’ll be interested in the car. If they remember and ask you about it, tell them to ask Prosper. And always remember that the place is going to start up again.”
“How am I going to live then? When there is no shop, and I have no money? You gave me no money. You gave it away to other people, even when I was asking you.”
I said, “Ali! I gave it away. You’re right. I don’t know why I did that. I could have given some of it to you. I don’t know why I didn’t. I never thought of it. I never thought of you in that way. You’ve just made me think of it. It must have driven you crazy. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew what you were doing, Salim.”
“I didn’t. I don’t know now. But after this is over you’ll have the car and you’ll have the flat. The car will be worth quite a lot, if you keep it. And I’ll send you money through Mahesh. That will be very easy to arrange.”
He wasn’t comforted. But it was all I could do now. He recognized that and didn’t press me any further. Then he left to go to his family.
In the end I didn’t telephone Mahesh; I thought I would write him later. Security at the docks the next morning wasn’t extraordinary. But the officials were tense. They were like people with a job to do; and that was to my advantage. They were less interested in a foreigner who was leaving than in the African strangers in the market encampment around the monument and the dock gates. Still, I was constantly stopped.
A woman official said, when she gave me back my papers, “Why are you leaving today? The President is coming this afternoon. Wouldn’t you like to see him?” She was a local woman. Was there irony in her voice? I was careful to take all irony out of mine. I said, “I would like to, citizen. But I have to go.” She smiled and waved me on.
At last I went aboard the steamer. It was hot in my cabine de luxe. The door faced the river, which dazzled; and the sun fell on the deck. I went around to the shaded side, which overlooked the quay. That wasn’t a good idea.
A soldier on the quay began to gesture at me. Our eyes met, and he began to scramble up the gangway. I thought: I mustn’t be alone with him. I must have witnesses.
I went down to the bar. The barman was standing in front of his empty shelves. A fat man with big, smooth arms, a steamer official of some sort, was drinking at a table.
I sat at a table in the centre, and the soldier soon appeared in the doorway. He remained there for a while, nervous of the fat man. But then, overcoming his nervousness, he came to my table, leaned over and whispered, “C’est moi qui a réglé votre affaire. I fixed it for you.”
It was a smiling request for money, from a man who might soon have to fight a battle. I did nothing; the fat man stared. The soldier felt the fat man’s stare and began to back away, smiling, saying with his gestures that I was to forget his request. But I took care after that not to show myself.
We left at about midday. The passenger barge was not towed behind these days—that was now considered a colonial practice. Instead, the barge was lashed to the forward part of the steamer. The town was soon past. But for some miles that bank, though overgrown, still showed where in colonial days people had laid out estates and built great houses.
After the morning heat it had turned stormy, and in the silver storm light the overgrown, bushy bank was brilliant green against the black sky. Below this brilliant green the earth was bright red. The wind blew, and ruffled away reflections from the river surface near the bank. But the rain that followed didn’t last long; we sailed out of it. Soon we were moving through real