A House for Mr. Biswas - V.S. Naipaul [80]
The day had arrived. Mungroo was holding a sheet of paper in one hand and slapping at it with the other.
‘Biswas!’
A crowd was beginning to gather. Many held papers.
‘Paper,’ Mungroo said. ‘He has sent me a paper. I am going to make him eat this piece of paper. Biswas!’
Unhurriedly Mr Biswas lifted the counter-flap, pulled the little door open and passed to the front of the shop. The law was on his side – he had, indeed, brought it into play – and he felt this gave him complete protection. He leaned against the doorpost, felt the wall quiver, stifled his fear about the wall tumbling down, and crossed his legs.
‘Biswas! I am going to make you eat this paper.’
Women screamed from the road.
‘Touch me,’ Mr Biswas said.
‘Paper,’ Mungroo said, stepping into the yard.
‘Touch me and I bring you up.’
Still Mungroo advanced.
‘I bring you up and you spend Carnival in jail.’
The effect was startling. Carnival was less than a month away. Mungroo halted. His followers, seeing themselves leaderless during the two most important days of the stick-fighting year, at once ran to Mungroo and held him back.
‘I call all of all-you as witnesses,’ Mr Biswas said, unaware of the reasons for his deliverance. ‘Let him touch me. And all of all-you have to come to court to be my witnesses.’ He believed that by being the first to ask them he had bound them legally. ‘Can’t ask my wife,’ he went on. ‘They don’t take wife as witness. But I asking all of all-you here.’
‘Paper. The man has sent me a paper,’ Mungroo muttered, while he allowed himself, without loss of prestige, to be pushed slowly back to the road by his followers.
‘Well,’ Mr Biswas said. ‘One man get his paper. He had it coming to him a long time. Let me tell you, eh. Don’t let Tom, Dick or Harry think he can play with me, you hear. One man get his paper. A lot more going to get their paper before I finish. And don’t come to talk to me. Go and talk to Seebaran.’
When he came to the shop, a week later, Moti was businesslike. As soon as he greeted Mr Biswas he took out a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, spread it on the counter and began ticking off names with his fountain pen. ‘Well, Ratni pay up,’ he said. ‘Dookhni pay. Sohun pay. Godberdhan pay. Rattan pay.’
‘We frighten them, eh? So, no legal proceedings against them, then?’
‘Jankie ask for time. Pritam too. But they going to pay, especially as they see the others paying up.’
‘Good, good,’ Mr Biswas said. ‘I could do with their money right now.’
Moti folded the sheet of paper.
‘So?’ Mr Biswas said.
Moti put the paper in his pocket.
Mr Biswas pretended he hadn’t been waiting for anything. ‘And Mungroo?’
‘I glad you ask about him. As a matter of fact, he giving us a little trouble.’ Moti took out a long envelope from his trouser pocket and handed it to Mr Biswas. ‘This is for you.’
It was a communication, on stiff paper, from the Attorney-General.
Mr Biswas read with disbelief, annoyance and distress.
‘Who is this damn Muslim Mahmoud who stamp his dirty name down here? He is a solicitor and conveyancer too, eh? I thought Seebaran was handling all the work in the Petty Civil’
‘No, no,’ Moti said soothingly. ‘This is Assize Court business.’
‘Assize. Assize! So this is what Seebaran land me up in!’
‘Seebaran ain’t land you up in nothing. You land yourself. Read the schedule.’
‘O God! Look, look. Mungroo bringing me up for damaging his credit!’
‘And he have a good case too. You shouldn’t go around telling people he owe you money. Over and over I hear Seebaran telling clients, “Leave everything to me and keep your mouth shut. Keep your mouth shut. Keep your mouth shut and leave everything to me.” Over and over. But clients don’t listen. I know clients who talk their way straight to the gallows.’
‘Seebaran didn’t tell me a damn thing. I ain’t even see the blasted man yet.’
‘He want to see you now.’
‘Just let me get this straight. Mungroo owe me money. I say so and I damage his credit. So now he can’t go around taking goods on trust and not paying. So he bring me up. Exactly what the hell this