A House for Mr. Biswas - V.S. Naipaul [56]
‘Man!’ Shama said.
The elder god was crying.
The younger god said, ‘You don’t care, Ma.’
‘Biswas!’ Seth said. ‘You want to feel my hand?’
Shama pulled at Mr Biswas’s shirt and he struggled as though he were being pulled away from a physical fight which he was winning and wanted to continue. But he had noted Seth’s threat and allowed himself to be pushed slowly up the stairs.
Halfway up they heard Seth calling for his wife. ‘Padma! Come quickly and look after your sister. She is going to faint.’
Someone raced up the steps. It was Chinta. She ignored Mr Biswas and said accusingly to Shama, ‘Mai faint.’
Shama looked hard at Mr Biswas.
‘Faint, eh?’ Mr Biswas said.
Chinta didn’t say any more. She hurried on to the concrete house to prepare Mrs Tulsi’s bedroom, the Rose Room.
As soon as Shama had seen Mr Biswas safely to their room she left him, and he heard her running across the Book Room and down the stairs.
Mrs Tulsi often fainted. Whenever this happened a complex ritual was at once set in motion. One daughter was despatched to get the Rose Room ready, and Mrs Tulsi was taken there by other daughters working under the direction of Padma, Seth’s wife. If, as often happened, Padma was ill herself, Sushila took her place. Sushila’s position in the family was unique. She was a widowed daughter whose only child had died. Because of her suffering she was respected, but though she gave herself the airs of authority her status was undefined, at times appearing as high as Mrs Tulsi’s, at times lower than Miss Blackie’s. It was only during Mrs Tulsi’s illnesses that anyone could be sure of Sushila’s power.
In the Rose Room, then, after a faint, one daughter fanned Mrs Tulsi; two massaged her smooth, shining and surprisingly firm legs; one soaked bay rum into her loosened hair and massaged her forehead. The other daughters stood by, ready to carry out the instructions of Padma or Sushila. The gods were often there as well, looking grimly on. When the massage and the bay rum-soaking was over Mrs Tulsi turned on her stomach and asked the younger god to walk on her, from the soles of her feet to her shoulders. The elder god had done this duty in the past but had grown too heavy.
The sons-in-law found themselves alone in the wooden house with the children, who knew without being told that they had to be silent. All activity was suspended; the house became dead. One of the sons-in-law was invariably responsible for precipitating Mrs Tulsi’s faint. He was now hounded by silence and hostility. If he attempted to make friendly talk many glances instantly reproved him for his frivolity. If he moped in a corner or went up to his room he was condemned for his callousness and ingratitude. He was expected to stay in the hall and show all the signs of contrition and unease. He waited for the sounds of footsteps coming from the Rose Room; he accosted a busy, offended sister and, ignoring snubs, made whispered inquiries about Mrs Tulsi’s condition. Next morning he came down, shy and sheepish. Mrs Tulsi would be better. She would ignore him. But that evening forgiveness would be in the air. The offender would be spoken to as if nothing had happened, and he would respond with eagerness.
Mr Biswas didn’t go to the hall. He remained on his blanket in the long room, doodling and thinking out subjects for the articles he had promised to write for the New Aryan, a magazine Misir was planning. He couldn’t concentrate, and soon the paper was covered with repetitions, in various styles, of the letters RES, a combination he had found challenging and beautiful ever since he had done a sign for a restaurant.
The room smelled of hartshorn.
‘You happy, eh, now that you make Mai faint?’
It was Shama. Her hands were still oily.
‘Which foot you rub?’ Mr Biswas asked. ‘You should be glad they allow you to touch a foot. You know, it does beat me why all you sisters so anxious to look after the old hen. She did look after you? She just pick you up and marry you off to any old coconut-seller and crab-catcher.