The Austin Clarke Library

by Austin Clarke

  Willy didn’ answer back immediately; but a month and a half later, two days before Calvin decide he see the right automobile, a card drop through the door of the rooming house where Calvin living, address to Calvin: What are you doing up there, then? Canadians buying out all the island. You standing for that? Send down a couple of dollars and let me invest it in a piece of beach land for you, Brother. Power to the people! Salaam and love. Willy X.

  Calvin get blasted vex, damn vex, and start cussing ’cause he sure now that Willy gone mad too, like everybody else he been reading ’bout in the States and in England; black people gone mad, Calvin say, over Black Power; and he get more vex when he think that it was the landlady, Mistress Silvermann, who take up the postcard from the linoleum and hand it to him, and he swear blind that she hand it to him after she read the card; and now she must be frighten like hell for Calvin, cause Calvin getting letters from these political extremists, and Black Power birds of a feather does flock together; and she thinking now that Calvin perhaps is some kind o’ political maniac, crying “Black Power!”—all this damn foolishness ’bout power to the people, and signing his name Willy X, when everybody in Barbados know that that damn fool’s name is really William Fortesque. Calvin get shame-shame-shame that the landlady thinking different ’bout him, because sometimes she does be in the house all night alone with only Calvin; and she must be even thinking ’bout giving him notice, which would be a damn bad thing to happen right now, ’cause the motor car just two days off, the room he renting now is a nice one, the rent come down like the temperature in May when he talk plain to Mistress Silvermann ’bout how he paying twice as much as the other tenants. But what really get Calvin really vex-vex-vex as hell is that a little Canadian thing in the room over his head come downstairs one night in a minidress and thing, bubbies jumping ’bout inside her bosom, free and thing and looking nice-nice, and giggling all the time and calling herself a women’s-liberation; all her skin at the door, and the legs nice and fat just as Calvin like his meats; and Calvin already gone thinking that this thing is the right woman to drive-’bout in his new automobile with, this Canadian thing coming downstairs every night for the past month, and out of the blue asking him, “You’ll like a coffee?” When she say so the first time, coffee was as far from Calvin mind as lending Willy twenty-five cents for the down payment for the house spot ’pon the beach back home. Now, be-Christ, Willy X, or whatever the hell that bastard calling himself nowadays, is going to stay right there down in Barbados and mash-up Calvin life so! Just so? Simple so? Oh God no, man! But the landlady couldn’ read English; she did only use to pretend she is a bilingual person; the Canadian girl is who tell Calvin not to worry; and one night when they was drinking the regular coffee in the communal kitchen, the Canadian girl say, “Missis Silvermann is only a DP. She can’t read English.” Calvin take courage. The bank book walking ’bout with him, inside his trousers all the time, he counting the digits going to work, coming from work, in the back seat alone ’pon the streetcar, while waiting for the subway early on a morning at the Ossington station, and then he make a plan. He plan it down to a T. Every penny organize for the proper thing, every nickel with its own work to do: the bottle of wine that the Canadian girl gave him the name to; the new suit from Eaton’s that he see in the display window one night when he get hold of the girl and he get bold-bold as hell and decide to take she for a lover’s walk down Yonge Street; the new shoes, brown-brown till they look red to match the car; and the shirt and tie—every blasted thing matching up like if he is a new bride stepping down the aisle to the Wedding March. And he even have a surprise up his sleeve for the thing too. He isn’ no longer a stingy man, ’cause he see his goal; and his goal is like gold.

  The car delivery arrange for three o’clock Saturday; no work; the icebox in his room have in a beer or two, plus the wine; and he have a extra piece o’ change in his pocket—“I going have to remember to change the money from this pocket,” he tell himself, as if he was talking to somebody else in the room with him, “to the next pocket in the new suit”—and he have Chinese food now on his mind because the Canadian thing mention a nice Chinese restaurant down in Chinatown near Elizabeth Street. Calvin nervous as arse all Friday night; all Friday night the thing in Calvin room (here of late she behaving as if she live in Calvin room!), and Calvin is a man with ambitions: one night she tantalize Calvin head so much that he start talking ’bout high-rise apartment to put she in; perhaps, if she behave sheself good, he might even put a little gold thing ’pon her pretty little pink finger . . . the girl start asking Calvin if he want some; not in them exact words, but that is what she did mean; and Calvin get shame-shame and nearly blush—only thing, as you know, black people can’t show really if they blushing or if they mad as shite with a white person—and Calvin turn like a virgin on the night before she get hung in church, and in the marriage bed, and he saying all the time, because his mind ’pon the mileage in the motor car, “Want some o’ what?” And the girl laugh, and she throw back she head and show she gold fillings and she pink tongue and the little speck o’ dirt on she neck; and she laugh and say to sheself, “This one is a real gentleman, not like what my girlfriend say to expect from West Indian men, at all.” And you know something? She start one big confessing to Calvin about her previous life: “. . . and do you know what, Calvin? Would you like to hear something that I been thinking?” Calvin thinking ’bout motor car, and this blasted white woman humbugging him ’bout sex! Calvin get vex; he play he get vex ’bout something different from the woman and she sex, and he send she flying back upstairs to her own room. He get in bed immediately as she leff. But he ain’ sleeping. He wide awake in the dark like a thief. And his two eyes open wide-wide-wide like a owl eyes, and in the darkness in that little-little room that only have one small window way up by the ceiling and facing the clotheslines and the dingy sheets that the landlady does spend all week washing, Calvin see the whole o’ Toronto standing up and clapping and watching him drive by in his new motor car—with the Canadian thing squeeze-up ’side o’ him in the front seat!—dream turn into different dream that Friday night, because he was free to dream as much as he like, since Saturday wasn’ no work. Saturday is the Day of the Car. Motor-car day. He have everything plan. Go for the motor car, pick she up, drive she home, pick up the Canadian thing, go for a spin down Bloor as far as Yonge, swing back up by Harbord, turn left at Spadina, take in College Street, and every West Indian in Toronto bound to see him in his new motor car before he get back home. Park she in front o’ the house—let everybody see me getting outta she, come in, have a little bite, bathe, change into the new suit, give the Canadian thing the surprise I have for she, and whilst she dressing, I sit down in the car—“And I hope she take a long time dressing, so I would have to press the car horn, press the horn just a little, a soft little thing, and call she outside, to see me in the . . .”

  Morning break nice. It was a nice morning round the middle o’ September, fall time in the air, everybody stretching and holding up their head cause the weather nice. Even the cops have a smile on their fissiogomy. Calvin get up at five, take a quick look at the alarm clock, curse the clock for being so damn slow, went back to sleep, had a dream in which he see Willy as the garage mechanic at the car place taking too long over the Galaxie; he curse Willy in the dream and nearly didn’ get up in time, then turn ’round and curse Willy for coming into his dream. He left without drinking tea.

  Travelling with the Canadian thing half-’sleep beside him, and gone fast ’pon the subway at Ossington along Bloor, along Danforth, for the machine. The salesman-man smile and shake Calvin hand strong, and give Calvin the history of the bird, although Calvin had already-hear the bird history before. The salesman-man come outta the office still smiling, holding the motor-car keys between his index finger and the big thumb, and he drop them in Calvin hand. Calvin make a shiver. A shiver o’ pride and ownership.

  Galaxie in your arse! He say that in his mind, and he thinking o�
� Willy and the boys back in Marcus Rum Shop. He get in the car. He shuffle ’bout a bit in the leather seat. He straighten his two trouser creases. He touch the leather. He start up the motor. Listen to the motor. It ticking over like a fucking charm. He put the thing in gear. And he make a little thing through the car lot, and he would have gone straight back along Danforth to Bloor, to Ossington, if the Canadian thing didn’ wave she handbag in the air, to remind Calvin that she come with he, ’cause Calvin had forget she standing up there looking at a white convertible Cadillac, which she say is the car for Calvin, that there is lots o’ “Negro men driving Cadillac cars, even in Nova Scotia, where I come from,” and that Calvin should have buy one o’ them.

  You start spending my blasted money already, woman! This is mine! He didn’ tell she out loud in words what he was really thinking ’bout she, but he was thinking so, though. The Canadian gash get in the motor car, ’cause driving in a Galaxie more better than walking behind a Cadillac, and she sit down so comfortable that it look like if she own the car, and that it was she who was giving Calvin a chance to try she out, and that it wasn’ Calvin own-own money that pay-down ’pon the car. Calvin didn’t like that at all; he want she to sit down in the front seat like if he own the motor car.

  But Calvin gone up Danforth with new motor car and white woman beside o’ him, like if he going to a funeral—“Got to break she in gently, man”—and the Canadian thing not too please that Calvin didn’ listen to her advice as a woman should advise a man, and buy the Cadillac; but she still please and proud that Calvin get the Galaxie. She sitting in it like if she belong there by birth. And Calvin don’t really mind, ’cause he have the car, and it driving like oil ’pon a tar road back home. He make a thing along Danforth as far as Bloor, turn ’pon Yonge and tack-back as far as Harbord—the itinerry ain’ exactly as he first think it out, but it would do—make a thing along Harbord and meet up with Spadina, and continue according to plan. And in all this time so, not one blasted West Indian or black person in sight to look at Calvin new car and make a thing with his head, or laugh, or wave. When he make a right ’pon College at the corner o’ Spadina, a woman with a bag mark HONEST ED’S start walking through the green light, drop a tomato, stannup in the middle of the road and bend down to pick it up, and Calvin now, whether he looking for the woman tomato or he looking the wrong way, nearly run over she. Jesus Christ! Blam! Brakes on. The Canadian thing nearly break she blasted neck ’gainst the windshield. Calvin rattle bad like a snake. Police come. Police look inside the car. Police see Calvin. Police turn he eyes ’pon the Canadian thing, who now frighten as hell, and the Police say, “Okay, move along now, buster!”

  Calvin shaking till he get the Galaxie in front of the landlady rooming house, and he ain’ remember nothing ’bout what he plan to do when he bring home the prize of a motor car; the Police upset him summuch that he trembling more than the Canadian woman. “Give me a drink o’ water,” he say to the Canadian thing. She rubbing she neck all the time like if it really break in truth, and she get out, and she didn’ even look back at the new car, whiching, as you would understand, is what Calvin expect any man who just have a new motor car to do: yuh have to walk out of the door, close the door soft-soft because it ain’ the same thing as getting out of a taxi, make sure the door close, and when you know it close, open it again to show yuhself that it close good, and then really close it a next time; then walk off, look at the car, turn yuh head right and left like if you escaping from a light jab to the head, rub yuh hand over the chrome, walk round to the door where the passenger does sit down, open that door too, close it, and open it, and then lock it. Then yuh does have to forget something inside the car, so yuh could have a chance to open the doors a next time and play with the car, hoping in the meantime that somebody who never see you before with a car, see you now with this new one, and would say something like “My! How much horsepower?” because, according to Calvin, “A car in some ways is like a woman; yuh does have to care she!” Calvin do all these things, and he didn’t forget to walk to the back o’ the Galaxie, stoop down and play he looking at the tires, give them a little kick with his shoes to see if they got-in enough air, look under the car to see what the muffler look like, and things like that, although he know full-well that he don’t know one blasted thing ’bout motor cars except how to wash them off, or that yuh does drive them.

  He do the same thing when he walk ’round to the front o’ the car. The Canadian thing gone inside the house long time; and Calvin remember the glass o’ water and he walking up the front steps. Not one blasted person on the whole street look out at Calvin new motor car. Then the landlady, Mistress Silvermann, walk out the front door, look at Calvin, but not at the car, and say, “Don’t forget, Mr. Kingston, today your rent is due.” Calvin tell her in his mind something bad, and as she eventually look at the car as she reach the sidewalk, without looking back, she say, “Do you know the owner of this car, Mr. Kingston? Tell him to move it, please . . . I don’t want cars blocking my driveway . . .”

  Well, Calvin gone mad now. He walk in the house, and he catch the Canadian thing sitting down in his room, with the glass o’ water in her hand, as if she dreaming, just sitting and looking at the water in the glass as if it was a little aquarium. He drink the water. But it was like drinking miraculous-bush tea the Old Queen uses to make him drink when the bowels was giving trouble back in Barbados. Calvin, all of a sudden, think ’bout the Old Queen, put the Old Queen outta his head, and start dressing. He noticed that something was wrong with his dresser: perhaps the landlady was looking for her rent; perhaps the Canadian thing was—“That’s why she didn’ come back outside with the water! Anyhow . . .” He put on his clothes, the new suit, shoes and tie and shirt new and matching the Galaxie outside shining in the sun, and meantime the Canadian thing gone upstairs to her own-own room.

  Calvin finish dress, take up a old kerchief—“Gotta have a shammy-cloth; gotta buy one Monday!”—and he gone outside polishing the motor car. Back inside, he gone up to the Canadian thing room, knock soft, the door open, and out from behind his back he take a thing, and say in a sweet loving voice, “I buy this for you.”

  Ohhhhhhhh! Myyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

  “You shouldn’t, realllllllyyyyyyy!” But all the time she did know it was a dress Calvin buy for she for the occasion, ’cause when she went inside for the water, she start searching all the man things, and she had a nice peep at the dress. She even know it cost twenty-nine dollars without tax; and she wonder if Calvin really love she so much. Well, they dress-off and they coming out like bride and groom going to the church. The Galaxie smiling too, like if the Galaxie itself in love with the two o’ them too. The dress nearly red like the car, woman and motor car in red, and looking nice. Calvin steal a peep at the Canadian thing and she look good-good-good, like something to eat! He inspect the tires a next time, though he just done looking at them, but what the hell, it is his motor car; and then he check the gas tank and the tank say, “Let’s go for a long one, man!” And Calvin get in, fix the two creases in the new trousers, adjust the tie, look at the knot in the mirror, fix the mirror two times, and then ask the Canadian thing if she comfortable.

  “I’m fine, thank you!”

  Calvin rev-up the thing, she turn over nice, and he ready to go.

  “You not nervous?”

  She smile. A dimple and a gold filling show when she smile. Nice. She ain’ nervous.

  “Don’t mind what happen just now by Spadina, eh?” She smile nice again. She ain’ mind what happen by Spadina. “Darling” come to she lips with the smile. Calvin happy as hell now. He think he might treat this Canadian thing nice, and do the right thing with a gold ring even.

  “I take those things in my stride usually, but now it seems like an omen,” she say, just as they turn on to Bloor.

  Calvin ain’ thinking ’bout omen, ’cause the only omen he know ’bout is that he pray for a Galaxie and he get a Galaxie! And the horses under the bonnet roaring like
hell. Well, they drive and drive like if they was two explorers exploring Toronto: through Rosedale, where the Canadian thing say she would just love to own a house; and in his mind, Calvin promise she going get one in Rosedale; through the Bridle Path, where she say the cheapest house cost a million dollars; through Don Mills, where they see the big tall Foresters’ Building, all up there by IBM.

  “You should get a job at IBM, dear.” (“Doing wha’? Cleaning out the closets?” This Canadian thing like she is the wrong kind o’ woman for me, Calvin thinking. I hads better get a black woman!) All this she talk as they driving back on the Don Valley Parkway.

  The highway nice. The motor car open a new whole world to Calvin, and he love Canada even more better. Damn good thing he leff Barbados! The Galaxie like a horse, prancing ’pon the white people road. Night fall long time as they travelling, and Calvin experimenting with the dip-lights and the high beam. It nice to play with. The FM radio thing ain’ working good, cause Calvin never play one o’ them radios before, and he forget to practise ’pon it when he was visiting the car in the lot after he pay-down something ’pon she, so that the salesman would keep it for him. So he working the AM thing overtime. A nice tune come on. Before the tune come on, he thinking again that the Canadian thing maybe the right woman for him: she nice, she tidy, and she quiet. And he was raise-up to like quiet women; his mother tell him so: “Never married a woman who ain’ quiet, son, and that don’t like church.”