A House for Mr. Biswas - V.S. Naipaul [187]
Mr Biswas scarcely saw his children, and they became separated from one another. Anand felt disgraced by his sisters. They were all among the weak. Myna had developed a bad bladder; every journey with her involved shame. Sometimes the car stopped, sometimes it didn’t. Kamla walked in her sleep; but this was a novelty and was thought endearing, especially in one so young. Savi was unnoticed until she had been chosen to sing at a school concert organized by the distributors of a face lotion called Limacol. She had never used Limacol but agreed with the master of ceremonies that the slogan, ‘The Freshness of a Breeze in a Bottle’, was just. Then in a high voice and with many quaverings she sang ‘Some Sunday Morning’ and was given a miniature Limacol bottle. The Tulsi sisters were shocked. They spoke of Savi almost as of a public entertainer, and lectured their children. Thereafter Savi was mocked and ridiculed. She drew maps with minutely indented coastlines, on the basis of her observations at beaches. She had attempted to propagate this method and had some disciples; but now one of Govind’s daughters said that these indentations were as stupid and conceited as the quavers with which Savi had sung ‘Some Sunday Morning’, and Savi’s disciples recanted. When one evening she was put off the bus because she had lost her fare, and had to walk all the way to Shorthills, arriving after nightfall, ill with fright and fatigue, and having to be massaged by Shama, it was felt that justice had been done. The news of the massage in the room on the upper floor, Savi’s tears, Mr Biswas’s rage when he returned, quickly went round the house. Kamla, the petted sleep-walker, was pumped for details, and Kamla gave them, pleased to excite so much interest and amusement.
Though no one recognized his strength, Anand was among the strong. His satirical sense kept him aloof. At first this was only a pose, and imitation of his father. But satire led to contempt, and at Shorthills contempt, quick, deep, inclusive, became part of his nature. It led to inadequacies, to self-awareness and a lasting loneliness. But it made him unassailable.
The children were ready to go to school one morning. Their lunches, wrapped in brown paper, were stuffed in their bags, and the car was waiting on the road. Quickly the children filled the car. They squashed in. They wedged themselves in. They screwed themselves in. A door was slammed. Anand, somewhere in the dicky seat, heard a shriek and a groan. They came from Savi. The children, always breathless and bad-tempered when the car was stationary, shouted for the car to drive off. But someone cried, ‘Quick! Open the door. Her hand.’
Anand laughed. No one joined him. The car emptied and he saw Savi sitting on the wet rabbit-grass of the verge. He could not bear to look at her hand.
Shama and Mr Biswas and some of the sisters came out to the road.
Myna said, ‘Anand laugh, Pa.’
Mr Biswas slapped Anand hard.
And Mr Biswas decided that the time had come for him to withdraw from the Shorthills adventure. A return to Port of Spain was impossible. When he went for walks about the estate he kept his eye open for a suitable site.
Then, in quick succession, a number of deaths occurred.
Sharma, the son-in-law who collected oranges and drove the children to school, slipped off a mossy orange branch one rainy morning and broke his neck. He died almost at once. The children did not go to school that day. Sharma’s widow tried to turn the holiday into a day of mourning. She sobbed and wailed and embraced everyone who went near her and asked for messages to be sent. Messages were