by Peter Benson
‘Watchman?’ said Leonard.
‘Yes.’
‘I could do that.’
‘You and a few more…’
‘Tombeau?’
‘Yes. There’ll be a queue.’
Leonard sent word to Odette and left work early. He walked to Tombeau Bay. It was three miles away and the traffic choked but his spirits rose as he took the road that skirted the bay. It was quiet. Banana and coconut palms shaded the beach… something like a vague life he remembered.
He followed directions he’d been given, and met a man called Albert. ‘Hello.’
‘Good evening…’
‘Where’s the queue?’ he said.
‘What queue?’
‘They said there would be, for the job.’
‘What job?’
‘The watching.’
‘You’ve come for it?’
‘Yes.’
Albert was the owner. His hotel was a boarding house but clean, popular and heading towards a Tourist Board rating. He planned extensions and new furniture for the rooms. A swimming pool. He did some car hiring and wanted to expand that side of the business. The shack was on a patch of ground above the beach. Palms and causarias grew around, and there were broad views of Port Louis, the bay and the reef beyond.
The watchman had to keep a casual eye on passers-by. ‘No rubbish in the hotel,’ Albert said. ‘It’s night work mainly, rest of the time you do what you want. Jo fished.
‘I fished, ‘ said Leonard. ‘I fished.’ He said it again, to himself. He liked the idea that he might again. He thought about his father and the things Paul had taught him on Peros Banhos…‘I fished.’
‘You’ve got a rod?’
‘I’ll make one. And I’ll watch well too.’
‘Will you?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Good.’ Albert was a sympathetic man. Ilois people were becoming Mauritius’s racial butt – Albert had an open mind.‘Good,’ he said again, and gave Leonard the job.
‘How long for?’
‘As long as you’re good at it,’ Albert said, ‘it’s yours.’
Leonard, Odette and Jimmie moved a week later. It didn’t take them long. They didn’t have much to carry. They had a few rupees and smiled all the way.
Watch work was easy. No one bothered Leonard. He spent his off-duty time fishing. The noise of the ocean along the shore, the feel of it over his feet any time he wanted, the sight of it disappearing into the distance. Emerald hedges and glossy leaves; he was reminded of home but not depressed by the reminding at that time.
Odette laughed and told him old stories. Away from the noise and smoke and traffic of Port Louis; when Jimmie was old enough to walk, Leonard decided to teach the boy to fish. He cut a whippy rod, tied it with twine, found a hook and gave it to him.
‘Look Jimmie! Just like mine!’
They walked the shore. Odette watched. She smiled and lay back. She ran sand through her fingers and listened to birds chatter.
The shout of a child, the encouragement of an uncle, a helping hand, a paddle through pools and onto rocks to cast. Sea like visible heat, crabs scuttling across the beach, some fish spotted in the shallows.
‘Over there!’
‘Breakfast!’
Breakfast.
They were proud of their catch and the catches they made over following weeks. Nothing much, but it was fishing. Leonard wrapped one in a banana leaf and said, ‘You carry that one,’ to Jimmie.
‘Mine,’ the boy said to his mother.
‘You’re clever! Did you catch it yourself?’
‘Yes!’
It was low season. The hotel was empty. Albert walked down to the beach with a radio and a bottle of rum, and when Odette offered him a plate he said, ‘Why not?’ and patted Jimmie’s head.
‘Mine!’ the boy said, holding up his fish.
‘Did you catch it?’
‘Yes!’
Leonard was pleased to have his boss visit but Odette worried that she didn’t have rich enough food. Albert smiled and licked his lips.
‘Nothing like it,’ he said. ‘Cooking out doors,’ and to give the meal more atmosphere he turned the radio on and they listened to Sega music as they ate.
When he’d finished, Jimmie danced across the beach to the sea. He called his mother.
‘He wants you,’ said Albert.
‘He never wants anything else,’ said Odette, but she didn’t mind. She stood up, brushed sand off her palms and walked across the beach. ‘Come here,’ she said, and took Jimmie’s hands and led him into the water and out again, swinging and lifting him up.
‘You like the Sega?’ Albert asked Leonard. He’d been watching his sister and wishing he had someone like she had Jimmie. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I was a singer in a band once.’
‘Were you?’
Albert nodded. He pointed across the bay. ‘In Port Louis. We were the most popular. The best!’ He clapped his hands and smiled at the thought. ‘But now there’s the hotel and the cars. I haven’t got the time.’ He lit a cigarette and passed the bottle. ‘No time…’
Leonard didn’t say anything. Time didn’t mean the same to him as it did to his boss.
‘But maybe,’ said Albert, ‘I’ll make time later.’ He dragged on his cigarette. ‘When I’m older.’
He watched Odette dance. She placed her feet carefully, twisted her waist and spun away across the beach.
21
When Albert didn’t need him and he wasn’t fishing, Leonard was happy to sit on the beach and play with Jimmie, or just watch. Ships rode anchor in the bay, men in fishing boats shouted to each other. Men with rods cast from rocks, the ocean boiled over the reefs beyond with a roar of smashed coral and spindrift. Odette knelt in the door of their shack and sorted rice. A new scarf her brother had bought her kept her hair tidy.
‘You didn’t steal it?’
‘No! Look! I’ve got the price.’ He waved a receipt. ‘See?’
She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Albert came from the hotel. He was wearing shorts and new running shoes. ‘Leonard?’
‘Yes!’
‘Leonard! We’ve got a delivery.’
‘Delivery?’
Some of the rooms were being equipped with new beds. ‘Beds,’ said Albert.
‘How many?’
‘Ten.’
‘Ten!’
‘And they won’t move without us. Come on.’
‘Coming.’
Leonard had never seen ten beds grouped together outdoors. The delivery man had lined them up on the pavement outside the hotel. They had been made in a Mauritian workshop… ‘Show me a better bed and I’ll show you a square rupee,’ said Albert.
‘There isn’t a square rupee,’ said Leonard.
‘Pick up that end,’ said Albert, ‘and mind the corners on the paint.’
The two men carried the first bed to room twelve. They put it opposite a window.
Leonard had never seen inside any of the rooms. He admired the wallpaper, the bedside table, the cupboard with a mirror, the glass in the window and the light bulb with a yellow shade. A coil of mosquito repellant, a tiny shower room.
‘Very neat,’ he said.
‘Come on, nine to go.’
Leonard liked the next room the most. It was on the hotel roof, set aside from the others. Easy chairs and recliners were scattered across the roof; the hotel wasn’t full, but one or two tourists were relaxing, chatting and dabbing lotions on their bodies. Some of these people were young and held hands. Gorgeous women lay beside thickening men with moustaches and small feet. The women wore the kind of swimsuits that blind voyeurs, the men wore expressions that made Albert wonder how their women could be so blind.
Leonard stared at them. Albert said, ‘Don’t stare, come on,’ and led the way with the bed. ‘In here.’
The roof-top room was luxurious. Light from four windows filled it, a personal bath in a separate room was there. A
telephone and a colour television set were also provided. The floor was covered in a deep carpet. This was cream-coloured; Leonard had never walked on anything like it.
‘Nice,’ he said.
‘Not bad,’ said Albert. ‘The best in the place,’ he added, and stroked the television set.
‘How much?’
‘Ha!’ Albert laughed and put his hand on Leonard’s shoulder. ‘How much?’ He shook his head. ‘Come on…’
When the two men got back to the street, children were walking down the road. School had finished for the day, boys swung their satchels at each other, girls held hands and talked about boys. Rude boys and ones on mopeds.
‘This one’s for number four,’ said Albert.
‘Four,’ said Leonard.
‘Excuse me?’ said a tourist.
‘Can I help?’ said Albert.
‘Yes. I want to hire a car.’
‘Certainly sir. Wait there, Leonard; I’ll be back in a minute. This way…’
‘Thank you,’ said the tourist.
Leonard sat on one of the beds and waved to some children. They laughed at him.
‘What sort of car would you like?’ said Albert. ‘A Renault?’
‘That’d be okay.’
‘Or a Leyland? We have both.’
‘No. A Renault would be fine.’
‘A Renault 5?’
‘Fine.’
‘Or a Renault 12?’
‘No; the 5 would be fine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then please sign here.’
The tourist wanted to visit Pamplemousses Gardens. He had heard about them, and traced the route with a finger on a map he spread on a table. Albert fetched the car, Leonard watched a man drive a cow down the road. ‘Hello!’ he shouted. The man didn’t answer. He was deaf, and his only interest was his cow.
When the tourist had driven away, Albert came back and said, ‘It’s number four for that one, isn’t it?’
Leonard shrugged. ‘I think so.’
‘So do I.’
Number four was one of the cheaper rooms. It shared a shower with rooms three, five and eight, and its window had a view of a wall.
‘In here… mind the paint!’
‘I am.’
‘Move that table.’
‘This one?’
‘Yes!’
Other beds went to other rooms; when there was only one left and they went to collect it from the pavement, they found a schoolboy lying on it.
‘Hey! Get off!’ Albert yelled. ‘That’s new!’
‘Yes,’ said Leonard. ‘The boss doesn’t want his stuff dirty. Up! Move!’
The boy sat up. He was tired. Every morning he had to milk five goats before he left for school. When he got home he had to milk them again, clean their shed and do any other work his mother wanted him to do. ‘I was tired.’
‘Haven’t you got a bed at home?’
‘Yes…’
‘Then use it! Come on…’
The boy swung his legs off the bed and stood up. ‘I’m going,’ he said, and as he walked away, Leonard and Albert carried the bed into the hotel.
When they finished and washed their hands, the two men sat on the veranda and drank beer. A couple in love came down from the roof, spread their towels on the beach and waded into the sea. Albert watched Leonard watch them. He lit a cigarette. ‘Nice-looking girl,’ he said.
Leonard didn’t say anything. He’d been thinking about cars. Since he’d been in Mauritius, he’d seen many different types of cars. He wanted one with clean black tyres. Albert nudged him and said, ‘Beautiful…’
Leonard blinked. ‘What?’ he said.
‘Her!’ He pointed.
Leonard shrugged.
‘Have you got a girl?’ Albert knew he hadn’t. He drank some beer and leant back. He was curious. ‘Eh?’
Leonard shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not really.’
‘What do you mean? Not really?’
‘I haven’t.’
Albert lit two cigarettes and passed him one. ‘Maybe you should. I could fix you up.’
Leonard shook his head, stood up, walked across the veranda and down to the shack. Albert could go to hell with questions. He took his fishing rod and set off along the beach, past the swimming guests and cast a line into a pool beyond a stack of rocks.
It is easy to kill a fish. They drown in air or with more kindness you can bash their heads out on rocks with a stone. Fish ooze and don’t appear to show grief or pain, but once dead they still move. Leonard felt one squirm in his pocket. He took it out and stuck a knife in its eye.
He worked absentmindedly, letting his mind skip over thoughts and memories as he watched the end of his line and another fisherman working his way towards him. ‘Anything?’ the man yelled.
‘This.’ Leonard took the fish out of his pocket and held it up. It had stiffened into the shape of a crescent moon. ‘You?’
The other man shook his head. ‘Nothing!’ He laughed. He didn’t mind. He was a builder and only had the rod for fun and to keep away from home. His wife had six children. One was far thinner than the others. He was a fat man, his wife was a fat woman. He imagined her fancying a lean postman but he wouldn’t say anything. His fat was waste, hers was muscle. She had red eyes and didn’t mind him fishing. ‘Never mind…’ he said.
Leonard didn’t agree. He wanted to be serious about fishing. One day, he thought, I’ll have one of those, as he watched the boats along the shore. Some were old and others had fresh paint. He remembered everything he had learnt on Peros Banhos, and when the man passed him and said, ‘Goodbye,’ he didn’t say anything.
22
Leonard sat below the hotel veranda and watched for suspicious characters as the noise of a disco at the best hotel on Tombeau Bay floated in the air. It annoyed Albert. He came out and swore. He couldn’t afford the lights and the hi-fi system. One day he would. Now he was thinking about a swimming pool. The watchman’s shack would have to go.
He said, ‘Okay?’ to Leonard and went back to the bar. He had some interesting guests from England. They drank whisky and were very informative. They had visited America and Australia and knew a lot about mining. They were in Mauritius to meet a man about bauxite, and were full of ideas.
Odette came and sat with her brother. She noticed different things. She ignored the noise of the disco and listened to the sea as it broke along the shore. She sniffed the air. The smell of burning rubber, salt, Leonard. She leant back, closed her eyes and sighed.
‘We’re lucky,’ she said.
‘Lucky?’
‘Yes.’ She opened her eyes and pointed. ‘Look…’
‘At what?’
‘At what we’ve got!’ She raised her voice.
Leonard laughed. He didn’t see anything. If she’d pointed at something different or something they owned – she didn’t. She was satisfied with forgiving the people who had forced them there and saying, ‘There’re people who’d give anything for this. You know some of them too.’
‘I don’t!’
‘You do and know you do. In Roche Bois, remember?’ She looked into his eyes. ‘You’re a liar.’
‘Don’t call me that…’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m not!’
Odette laughed.
‘Haven’t you got anything to do?’ Leonard raised his voice. ‘I’m working.’
‘You call this work?’
‘Yes! Where’d you think we’d be without it? We wouldn’t have the beach and you wouldn’t be able to come up here and point at what you think we’ve got.’
‘Leonard…’ She put her hand on his and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
He grunted, stood up and walked around the veranda, turned the corner, waved to the kitchen staff and checked around the front. Nothing was happening. The road was quiet. The noise of the last record being played at the disco drifted down. He imagined the dancers
and walked back to the beach.
The dawn sky was the colour of a mullet’s nose. Two men walked along the beach carrying plastic bags.
‘That’s the place,’ said one.
‘You sure?’ said the other.
The first nodded. ‘The third from those trees. I wrote it down. Look!’ He had a piece of paper.
‘You’re right. Well done!’
‘Ssh…’
The place was the hotel. The two men hid themselves in the shadows of a banana tree and talked about the watchman. ‘No problem,’ said the first. ‘He’s only an Ilois. He’ll be asleep.’
The second man laughed. ‘Good old Ilois,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’
Leonard snored. He’d stayed up to watch until three o’clock and then gone to bed. Jimmie had a restless night but didn’t bother him. The two men crept past the shack, climbed the steps to the hotel veranda and inspected a window.
All the windows were barred with screens of scrolled iron. They tried a door. It was locked. They looked up at the guests’ rooms. Some of these had open windows, but were out of reach. ‘Come on. We’ll check the kitchen. This way.’
A kitchen window was open.
‘Beautiful!’
The two men climbed up and into the hotel. They trod carefully, past the cookers, sinks and piles of vegetable peelings to the dining room. They took shallow breaths and cocked their ears. The noise of the sea on the reefs and shore, the sound of a bedspring twanging. A gurgle through the water pipes, a mosquito whining through the reception area. Tables and chairs. A clock ticked. ‘Over there,’ whispered one of the men, and he pointed.
‘Where?’
‘There!’
‘Beautiful…’
Rows of bottles stood on mirrored shelves. Rum, whisky, brandy, gin, wine, beer. ‘See?’
The men filled their bags with bottles. ‘Let’s take the cigarettes.’
“Course we’ll take them. Idiot.’
‘Idiot? Me?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Look!’
‘Ssh…’
The bottles chinked together. The men held the bags close to their bodies. Something surprising in a dream shook Leonard awake. ‘Where?’ he said, sat up and remembered.
