The Great Belcher and Ganesh looked at Bissoon, full of respect for his selling hand.
Bissoon sucked his teeth loudly. ‘Lemmesee the book.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘The book, man.’
Ganesh said, ‘Yes, the book.’ And shouted for Leela to bring the book from the bedroom where, for safety, all the copies were kept.
‘Bissoon, what you doing here?’
For a moment Bissoon’s composure broke up as he turned and saw Leela.
‘Ah, is you. Leela. Ramlogan daughter. How your father, girl?’
‘You do well to ask. Pa got you in mind, I could tell you. All those books you sell him he didn’t want to buy.’
Bissoon was calm again. ‘Oh, yes. American books. Pretty books. Nice books. Salesmanship. Fastest-selling books I ever handle. Reason I sell them to your father. Last set he get. Lucky man, Ramlogan.’
‘I ain’t know about that. But you go be an unlucky man if you ever go back to Fourways, I could tell you.’
‘Leela,’ Ganesh said, ‘Bissoon come here to sell my book.’
The Great Belcher belched and Bissoon said, ‘Yes, lemmesee the book. When you in the book business time don’t wait for you, you know.’
Leela gave him the book, shrugged her shoulders, and left.
‘Stupid man, Ramlogan,’ Bissoon said.
‘More a woman than a man,’ The Great Belcher said.
‘Materialist,’ Ganesh said.
Bissoon sucked his teeth again. ‘You got any water in this place. It making hot and I thirsty.’
‘Yes, yes. We got water, Bissoon, man,’ Ganesh said eagerly, rising, and shouted to Leela to bring the water.
Bissoon shouted, ‘And, eh, Ramlogan daughter, don’t bring me any mosquitoey water, you hear.’
‘No mosquitoes here, man,’ Ganesh said. ‘Dryest place in Trinidad.’
Leela brought the water and Bissoon put down the book to take the brass jar. Ganesh and The Great Belcher looked at him intently. Bissoon drank the water in the orthodox Hindu way, not letting the jar touch his lips, just pouring the water into his mouth; and Ganesh, sympathetic Hindu though he was, resented the imputation that his jars were dirty. Bissoon drank slowly, and Ganesh watched him drink. Then Bissoon delicately put down the jar on the floor and burped. He pulled out a silk handkerchief from his coat-pocket, wiped his hands and his mouth, and dusted his coat. Then he took up the book again.
‘Ques-tion Num-ber One. What is Hin-du-ism? Answer: Hin-du-ism is the re-li-gion of the Hin-dus. Question Number Two. Why am I a Hin-du? Answer: Be-cause my pa-rents and grand-pa-rents were Hin-dus. Ques-tion Num-ber Three –’
‘Stop reading it so!’ Ganesh cried. ‘You breaking up the words and the sentences and you making the whole thing sound like hell.’
Bissoon gave a decisive rub to his toes, got up, dusted his coat and trousers, and started towards the door.
The Great Belcher rose hurriedly, belching, and stopped Bissoon. ‘God, is this wind troubling me again. Bissoon, you mustn’t go now. Is for a good cause we want you to sell the book.’
She took his arm and he allowed himself to be led back to his chair.
‘Is a holy book, man,’ Ganesh apologized.
‘Sort of kyatechism,’ Bissoon said.
‘Just what it is.’ Ganesh smiled appeasingly.
‘Hard book to sell, kyatechisms.’
‘Nah!’ The Great Belcher blended a belch into the word.
‘Look, is experience I have in this business, you know.’ Bissoon’s feet were draped again over the arm of his chair, and his toes were again playing with each other. ‘All my life, ever since I leave the grass-cutting gang, I in the book business. Now I could just look at a book and tell you how hard or how easy it is to sell. I start off as a little boy, you know. Start off with theatre handbills. Had to give them away. I give away more theatre handbills than any other body in Trinidad. Then, I move up to San Fernando, selling kyalendars, then –’
‘These books is different books,’ Ganesh said.
Bissoon picked up the book from the floor and looked through it. ‘You right. Handle poetry – it go surprise you how much people in Trinidad does write poetry – and I handle essays and thing, but I never handle a kyatechism before. Still, is experience. Gimme nine cents commission. Remember, if any sort of printed matter could sell in Trinidad, Bissoon is the man to sell it. Gimme thirty of your kyatechisms to start off with. Mark you, I warning you now that I don’t think they go sell.’
When Bissoon had left, The Great Belcher said, ‘He have a hand. He go sell the books.’
And even Leela was cheerful. ‘Is a sign. Is the first sign I ever believe in. Is Bissoon who sell those books to Pa. Is those books that put the idea of authoring in your head. And is Bissoon who selling them for you. Is a sign.’
‘Is more than a sign,’ Ganesh said. ‘Anybody who could sell a book to your father could sell milk to a cow.’
But secretly he too believed it was a good sign.
Beharry and Suruj Mooma could not hide their disappointment at the poor reception of the book.
‘Don’t let them worry you,’ Suruj Mooma said. ‘Is just jealous they jealous in Trinidad. I still think is a good book. Already it have some question and answer Suruj know off by heart.’
‘It have a lot in what Suruj Mooma say,’ Beharry said judiciously. ‘But I feel the real trouble is that Trinidad just ain’t ready for that sort of book. They ain’t educated enough.’
‘Hah!’ And Ganesh gave a short dry laugh. ‘They want a book that look big. Once it look big they think it good.’
‘Perhaps they want more than a booklet,’ Beharry ventured.
‘Look,’ Ganesh said sharply. ‘Is a damn good book, you hear.’
Beharry, growing bolder, nibbled energetically. ‘I don’t think you go really deep enough.’
‘You think I should throw out another one at they head?’
‘Companion volume,’ Beharry said.
Ganesh was silent for a while. ‘More Questions and Answers on the Hindu Religion,’ he dreamed aloud.
‘More Questions and Answers,’ Beharry said, ‘Companion Volume to 101 Questions and Answers.’
‘You make it sound good, man, Beharry.’
‘Well, write it, man. Write it.’
Before Ganesh even began thinking constructively about the companion volume Bissoon returned with bad news. He gave it with respect and sympathy. He took off his hat when he came into the house, didn’t fling his feet over the arm of the chair, and when he wanted water he said, ‘Tonnerre! But it hot today. You think you could give me just a little sip of water?’
‘I is not like some people who does go round boasting that they right,’ he said, after he had drunk. ‘Nah, I is not that sort of man. I know I did tell you, but I not going to even talk about it now. Wasn’t your fault that you didn’t know. You ain’t have my experience in the business, that is all.’
‘You ain’t sell none at all?’
‘Sell ten, and all the people I sell it to going to behave like your wife father when they get to find out. Had to sell it to them as sort of charm. Pappa, that cost me a lot of work.’
‘Ninety cent commission you have to get, then.’
‘Don’t bother. You keep that for the next one you write. Anything in the way of printed matter, if it can sell, Bissoon is the man to sell it.’
‘Can’t understand it, Bissoon.’
‘Is easy. You a little too early. You see, is the sort of book you go have hell even giving away because people go think you want to work some sign of magic on them. Still, you mustn’t give up.’
‘Damn funny sort of sign!’
Bissoon looked up bewildered.
In spite of everything Ganesh still felt that something might be made of the book. He sent signed copies to the heads of all the Governments he could think of, and when Beharry found that Ganesh was sending them free, he was annoyed.
‘I is a independent man,’ he said. ‘A
nd I don’t hold with that sort of curry-favouring. If the King want to read the book, he got to pay for it.’
This didn’t stop Ganesh sending a copy to Mahatma Gandhi, and doubtless it was only the outbreak of the war that prevented an acknowledgement.
7. The Mystic Masseur
MANY YEARS AFTER the event, Ganesh wrote in The Years of Guilt: ‘Everything happens for the best. If, for instance, my first volume had been a success, it is likely that I would have become a mere theologian, writing endless glosses on the Hindu scriptures. As it was, I found my true path.’
In fact, when the war began, his path was none too clear.
‘Is a hell of a thing,’ he told Beharry. ‘I feel I make for something big, yet I can’t see what it is.’
‘Is just why you going to do something big. I still believe in you, and Suruj Mooma still believes in you.’
They followed the war news with interest and discussed it every Sunday. Beharry got hold of a war map of Europe and stuck red pins on it. He talked a lot about strategy and ta’tics, and this gave Ganesh the idea of publishing monthly surveys of the progress of the war, ‘as a sort of history book for later on’. The idea excited him for a little, then lingered and died at the back of his mind.
‘I wish Hitler would come over and start bombing up Trinidad,’ he exclaimed one Sunday.
Beharry nibbled, eager for argument. ‘Why, man?’
‘Bomb everything to hell. Then it going to have no more worries about massaging people and writing books and all that sort of nonsense.’
‘But you forgetting that we is just a tiny little dot on some maps. If you ask me, I think Hitler ain’t even know it have a place called Trinidad and that it have people like you and me and Suruj Mooma living on it.’
‘Nah,’ Ganesh insisted. ‘It have oil here and the Germans thirsty for oil. If you don’t look out, Hitler come here first.’
‘Don’t let Suruj Mooma hear you. She cousin join the Volunteers. The dentist follow I did tell you about. Dentistry stop paying, so he join up. He tell Suruj Mooma is a nice, easy work.’
‘Suruj Mooma cousin have a eye for that sort of thing.’
‘But what if the Germans land here tomorrow?’
‘The only thing I sure about is that Suruj Mooma cousin go start breaking all sort of world record for running.’
‘No, man. If the Germans come, what we going to use for money? What about my shop? And the court-house? Is things like that does worry me.’
So, discussing the implications of the war, they began to discuss war in general. Beharry was full of quotations from the Gita, and Ganesh read again, with fuller appreciation, the dialogue between Arjuna and Krishna on the field of battle.
It gave a new direction to his reading. Forgetting the war, he became a great Indologist and bought all the books on Hindu philosophy he could get in San Fernando. He read them, marked them, and on Sunday afternoons made notes. At the same time he developed a taste for practical psychology and read many books on The Art of Getting On. But India was his great love. It became his habit, on examining a new book, to look first at the index to see whether there were any references to India or Hinduism. If the references were complimentary he bought the book. Soon he owned a curious selection.
‘Is a lot of book you getting, you know, Ganesh,’ Beharry said.
‘I was thinking. Suppose you didn’t know about me and you was just driving through Fuente Grove in your Lincoln Zephyr. You think you would guess that my house just full up with a hundred and one sort of book?’
‘Wouldn’t guess,’ said Beharry.
Leela’s pride in Ganesh’s books was balanced by her worry about money. ‘Man, all this book-buying go do,’ she said, ‘but it not going to pay. You got to start thinking of making some money now.’
‘Look, girl. I have enough worries and I don’t want you to make my head any hotter, you hear.’
Then two things happened almost at the same time, and his fortunes were changed for ever.
The Great Belcher, continually on circuit, called one day.
‘Is a blow, Ganesh,’ she began. ‘A big big blow. You can’t trust nobody these days.’
Ganesh respected his aunt’s sense of the dramatic. ‘What happen now so, then?’
‘King George do me a nasty trick.’
Ganesh showed his interest. She paused to belch and call for water. Leela brought it and she drank. ‘A nasty nasty trick.’
‘What she do so?’
She belched again. ‘Wait, you go hear.’ She rubbed her breasts. ‘God, this wind! King George leave me. She pick up a married man near Arouca. Is a blow, Ganesh.’
‘Oh God!’ Ganesh sympathized. ‘You telling me is a blow. But you mustn’t worry. You go get somebody else.’
‘She was nobody at all when I pick she up. All the clothes she had she had on she back. I buy she clothes. I take she round, show she to people. I get the Bombays to make she nice jewellery from my own gold.’
‘Is like what I do for this husband that God give me,’ Leela said.
The Great Belcher immediately laid her sorrow aside. ‘Yes, Leela? I hearing right? Is how you does always talk about your husband, girl?’ She nodded slowly up and down and put her right palm to her jaw as though she had toothache.
‘It shock me to hear about King George,’ Ganesh said, trying to make peace.
Leela became shrill. ‘Eh, eh, I have a husband who lose all sensa values and dragging my name in the mud, and still you don’t want me to complain?’
Ganesh stood between the women, but The Great Belcher moved him aside. ‘No, gimme a chance, boy. I want to hear this thing out to the end.’ She sounded more hurt than annoyed. ‘But, Leela, who you is to ask your husband what he doing or what he ain’t doing? Oho! This is the thing they call ed-u-ca-tion?’
‘What wrong with education? I educated, is true, but I don’t see why that should make everybody think they could insult me as they well want.’
Ganesh laughed unhappily. ‘Leela is a good girl. She don’t mean anything, really.’
The Great Belcher turned on him sharply. ‘What she say is the gospel truth, though. Everybody in Trinidad have the idea that you just sitting down here, scratching. Scratching not like hoeing, you know. It don’t grow food.’
‘I ain’t scratching, man. I reading and I writing.’
‘Is your story. I did come to let you know about King George, seeing as she did help you out so much at your wedding, but I really want to tell you, boy, that you have me worried. What you going to do about the future?’
Through her sobs Leela said, ‘I does keep on telling him that he could become a pundit. He know a lot more than most of the other pundits in Trinidad.’
The Great Belcher belched. ‘Is exactly what I come to tell him today. But Ganesh make to be a lot more than a ordinary pundit. If he is a Hindu he must realize by now that he have to use his learning to help out other people.’
‘What else you think I doing?’ Ganesh asked petulantly. ‘I sit down and spend my good good time writing a whole big book. Wasn’t for my benefit, you know.’
‘Man,’ Leela pleaded, ‘don’t start behaving so. Listen to what she have to tell you.’
The Great Belcher went on unperturbed. ‘It have a long time now I studying you, Ganesh. You have the Power all right.’
It was the sort of statement he had grown to expect from The Great Belcher. ‘What Power?’
‘To cure people. Cure the mind, cure the soul – chut! Man, you making me confuse, and you well know what I mean.’
Ganesh said acidly, ‘You want me to start curing people soul when you see me catching good hell to cure their toenail!’
Leela coaxed, ‘Man, the least you could do for me is to give it a try.’
‘She right, you know, Ganesh. Is the sort of Power you don’t even know you have until you start using it.’
‘All right, then. I have this great Power. How I go start using it? What I go tell people? “You
r soul a little run down today: Here, take this prayer three times a day before meals.” ’
The Great Belcher clapped her hands. ‘Is exactly what I mean.’
‘You see, man. I did tell you you only had to listen a little bit.’
The Great Belcher went on, ‘Is the sort of thing your uncle, poor man, used to do until he dead.’ Leela’s face grew sad again at the mention of the dead, but The Great Belcher snubbed her by refusing to cry. ‘Ganesh, you have the Power. I could see it in your hands, your eyes, in the shape of your head. Just like your uncle, God bless him. He woulda be a great man today, if only he did live.’
Ganesh was interested now. ‘But how and where I go start, man?’
‘I go send you all your uncle old books. They have all the prayers and everything in it, and a lot more besides. Isn’t really the prayers that important, but the other things. Oh, Ganeshwa, boy, I too too glad now.’ In her relief she began to cry. ‘I carrying around these books like a weight on my chest, looking for the proper person to give them to, and you is the man.’
Ganesh smiled. ‘How you know that?’
‘Why else you think God make you live the sort of life you been living? Why else you think you been spending all these years doing nothing but reading and writing?’
‘Yes, is true.’ Ganesh said. ‘I did always feel I had something big to do.’
Then all three of them cried a little, Leela prepared a meal, they ate, and The Great Belcher took up her sorrow where she had left it. As she made ready to leave she began belching and rubbing her breasts and moaning, ‘Is a blow, Ganesh. King George do me a nasty trick. Ohh! Ohh! Ganesh, Ganesh, is a blow.’ And wailing, she left.
A fortnight later she brought a parcel wrapped in red cotton spattered with sandalwood paste and handed it over to Ganesh with appropriate ceremony. When Ganesh untied the parcel he saw books of many sizes and many types. All were in manuscript, some in Sanskrit, some in Hindi; some were of paper, some of palm strips. The palm strips bound together looked like folded fans.
The Mystic Masseur Page 10
