The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [360]
The first lot to be put up was a tin of sugar biscuits and a jar of “mendy”, a pomade of native origin for dyeing the hair black. Rayne started the bidding at a guinea and after some brisk competition among the gentlemen at the foot of the stairs it was knocked down to one of them for five guineas. Faces in the hall registered distress at this price as it became clear to many of those present that they would be unable to win anything with their limited resources. More tins of biscuits followed, then other foodstuffs. Then came a battle over a fine tooth-comb among the ladies who had lice in their hair; this ended at forty-five shillings amid tears and despair. A ham came next; after some frenzied bidding at the lower prices it climbed to thirteen guineas, then to fourteen where it seemed likely to stay until at the very last moment, a cautious male voice offered fifteen guineas.
“Vokins, what d’you need a ham for?”
Everyone was startled by the sound of the Collector’s familiar, commanding tones, particularly Vokins. He mumbled unintelligibly and looked abashed. He had known it would be a mistake.
“And look here, man, how d’you think you’re going to pay for it. You haven’t a penny to your name.”
Again Vokins mumbled. “Speak up, man!”
“It’s not for me, sir.”
“Then who is it for?”
“It’s for Mr Rayne, sir.”
All eyes turned towards Rayne, who smiled apologetically and said, yes, that he had asked Vokins to bid on his behalf as he himself would be conducting the auction and it would clearly be difficult for him to put in bids and be auctioneer at the same time.
“Who else has been making bids for Mr Rayne?” A number of gentlemen raised their hands uncertainly and a gasp of surprise went up from the assembly as it became evident that almost all the food had been bought on Rayne’s behalf.
“D’you have enough money to pay for all these goods, Mr Rayne?”
“Not at the moment, sir, but I soon will have.”
“You intend to sell them again?”
“Most of them, yes...There should be no difficulty...unless, of course,” Rayne added with a smile, “the relief comes sooner than expected.”
“Mr Rayne, d’you consider it honourable to profit from the distress of your comrades...of the men, women and children with whom you are fighting for your life?”
“It’s a question of fortune, Mr Hopkins. One has to make the best of a situation, after all. Besides, everyone else is bidding out of their next pay, just as I am. They can bid against me if they are prepared to risk it.”
“Is everyone bidding out of future pay?”
Several gentlemen nodded and someone said: “Nobody has cash, of course. That was the only way to do it.”
“Stand down, Mr Rayne.”
Rayne shrugged and ceded his place to the Collector. The Collector looked down at the gaunt, upturned faces gathered at the foot of the stairs. They stared back at him with dull eyes. One or two of the men were smiling. The Magistrate was smiling, and so were Mr Rose and Mr Ford, and so were the Schleissner brothers. The smile spread to more and more people, then turned into a laugh. Everyone was laughing; it was a bitter, unpleasant laugh which the Collector recognized as the sound of despair. Hardly any of the men making these rash bids expected to live to pay for them. In their present mood people would think nothing of mortgaging themselves for years ahead in order to acquire some trifling luxury like a jar of brandied peaches or a few leaves of tobacco.
“Listen to me. It may seem to some of you that there’s very little hope left for us in Krishnapur. But this is not so. With every passing day our chances of relief improve. D’you think that the Government in Calcutta is prepared to leave us to our fate? Consider the immense resources available to our nation, consider the British soldiers who must now be converging