Minty Alley

by C. L. R. James

  Footsteps were approaching.

  ‘Yes, i’s she,’ said Miss Atwell, and Mrs. Rouse crossed the yard quickly and came into the room.

  ‘Mr. Haynes, you here with Miss Atwell? I was hoping you wouldn’t go.’

  ‘I was waiting for you,’ said Haynes.

  ‘I stayed in church a long time and then when I leave I sit down on a bench on the promenade and then I come home.’

  ‘So, my dear, ’e gone to hospital.’

  Mrs. Rouse shook her head, took off her hat and shawl and sat down.

  ‘But I not going to leave him there,’ she said calmly. ‘I am going for him tomorrow.’

  It was a bombshell.

  ‘You goin’ for him tomorrow!’ broke from the astounded Miss Atwell at last. ‘What for?’

  ‘To bring him home. I can’t leave him there to suffer.’

  Mrs. Rouse spoke as one whose mind was irrevocably fixed. Miss Atwell lifted her bird-like head and stared at Mrs. Rouse, turned to stare at Haynes and then stared at Mrs. Rouse again.

  ‘But,’ she began, and stopped.

  ‘Mr. Haynes.’ Mrs. Rouse addressed herself directly to him. ‘I couldn’t leave him there. I couldn’t do it. All my mind is to bring him back here. So what you say? You don’t think I better do what my mind give me to do?’

  ‘If you want to bring him here, Mrs. Rouse, I don’t see why you shouldn’t.’

  ‘I glad to hear you say so, Mr. Haynes.’

  Miss Atwell had grasped each arm of her chair and was looking from one to the other of them as if they were a pair of lunatics.

  ‘Miss Atwell,’ said Mrs. Rouse, ‘as if you not pleased.’

  In her voice was an immense patience. ‘Don’t think it will make any difference to you here.’

  Speech came to Miss Atwell at last.

  ‘God forbid, Mrs. Rouse! It isn’t that I am thinkin’ of, Mr. Haynes, it isn’t that. As there is a God above me it isn’t that. But you has me surprised, Mrs. Rouse. When you leave here you tell me you was only goin’ to see ’im, and find out if ’e want anything and come back.’

  ‘Yes, so I say. But I didn’t see him. And I went in the Immaculate Conception and when I come out I sit down on the promenade and ask God what to do and He show me.’

  ‘Mr. Benoit has nobody else?’ Haynes asked.

  ‘He and his family fall out from the time he take up with me. They find he was too good for me. I’s only me he have.’

  ‘You are going for him, Mrs. Rouse, but he is a very ill man, and perhaps you had better leave him for a few days.’

  ‘That is what I was thinkin’, too, Mr. Haynes,’ interposed Miss Atwell. ‘’E goin’ to want a lot of mindin’. Who goin’ to mind him, Mrs. Rouse? You can barely struggle with the cakes. Look at the work you have to do. Leave ’im till ’e a little better.’

  ‘If the hospital give him to me, I’ll take him. I will manage, Miss Atwell … I will manage … God will help me.’

  ‘You will need His help,’ said Miss Atwell. ‘You have enough on you already and now to take ’im. Eh, Mr. Haynes?’

  ‘Mrs. Rouse will do her best,’ said Haynes. It was no use arguing with her, so the only thing was to make it as easy as possible.

  The three of them sat and looked at one another and were silent. All the turmoil and passion which had raged and stormed in No. 2 during the past year seemed to have come to a final conclusion, leaving them as if stranded on a high beach.

  Mrs. Rouse sat in an upright chair, her fingers clasped in her lap, her shoulders bent and leaning forward, very tired, but no sign of mental conflict in her face, only a calm determination. Miss Atwell sat in a rocking chair, but upright and sharp as a terrier on watch. Haynes sat in another little wooden chair by the door. An old kerosene lamp flickered on a small table in the centre. The room contained nothing else. All the neat furniture Haynes had seen on the first day had long ago been sold or pawned.

  Mrs. Rouse began to speak.

  ‘Mr. Haynes,’ she said. ‘I know you wouldn’t laugh at me. But plenty people going to laugh at me. They going to have a lot to say. But I can’t think of them. Eighteen years we have been together, Mr. Haynes, he and me, and eighteen years isn’t eighteen days. He do me enough. Only I know how much he do me. But I leave God to punish him for that. We hope to be forgiven so we must forgive.’

  She sat unmoving, her eyes fixed vacantly on a patch of shadow at the foot of Haynes’s chair. Now and then she raised her eyes to his, but seemed too tired to keep them there for long. But she spoke on and on with few pauses. Haynes did not interrupt nor did Miss Atwell, who maintained her upright position, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Rouse’s face, only glancing at Haynes occasionally to see the effect of any observation which was more than usually astonishing. But Haynes had little time for her. He sat watching and listening to the weary woman who was trying to make them see the reasons which had led to her decision. Perhaps she was explaining them to herself as well.

  ‘Mr. Haynes, he and me build the house. We sweat and we strain to build it, and while it standing there I can’t see him want a shelter.’

  And later.

  ‘Mr. Haynes, you remember the man and how he used to be here. Where he is in the hospital now he is like a pauper. In the blue nightgown the paupers wear. I ain’t see him, but I know. With all sorts of people round him. I can’t leave him there, Mr. Haynes. Not while these walls standing.’

  The lamp which had been burning lower and lower gave a sudden flicker and went out. She started up, her hands crossed on her heart. ‘Oh God! I hope nothing happen to him.’

  ‘No, no, Alice,’ said Miss Atwell, jumping up and holding Mrs. Rouse by the arm, ‘the lamp has no pitch oil. It was goin’ down all the time.’

  ‘You don’t think—’

  ‘No, no, no. Look at it. It’s dry. You forgot to put oil in it tonight. I went out to the stove to get some, but that dry, too. Calm yourself, darling. Nothin’ goin’ to happen to him. My father lie down on his bed for three years and nine months before anything happen to him. She doin’ the best thing, eh, Mr. Haynes? I’s the two of them build the house. And for she to be here and know he sufferin’ there, it must wring her.’

  Mrs. Rouse sat down again.

  ‘Ah, Miss A., you understand. Mr. Haynes, in the night I can’t sleep. Every time I doze off I see the man lying on the bed in torment, stretching out his arms to me and calling for help. “Alice, Alice, don’t leave me to perish. Come to my rescue. Come to my assistance.” Mr. Haynes, when he call I must reply.’

  Haynes had no answer to give, nor did she seem to want any. In the darkness he could hardly see her face, could only hear with the distinctness which darkness gives the tones of her voice charged with fatigue, and with settled determination.

  ‘God put this fiery love in my heart for Mr. Benoit, Mr. Haynes. I try to root it out, but it wouldn’t come out. God plant it there for His own wise purpose. I going to show Mr. Benoit that though he press me down to the ground I am the one who will lift him up from it.’

  Another long silence.

  ‘But, Mr. Haynes, you not saying anything? You don’t think what I am doing is right.’

  Haynes pushed away the interminable vision of the worry and expense of the overburdened Mrs. Rouse attending to the stricken Benoit and said wholeheartedly:

  ‘You are doing the best possible thing, Mrs. Rouse. Don’t you think so, Miss Atwell?’

  ‘God is love,’ said Miss Atwell. ‘We’ll go for ’im in the mornin’.’

  Eleven o’clock struck. Haynes rose to leave and they came to the door with him. He stood on the last step, the two women on the threshhold above.

  ‘Well, then, until tomorrow morning,’ he said.

  ‘Until tomorrow,’ said Mrs. Rouse brightly.

  She was glad that those who lived at No. 2 had sided with her so heartily.

  ‘Ah, Mr. Haynes,’ she continued, ‘if only Philomen was here now! I miss her before, but i’s now I am going to miss her.
’

  Haynes was going, but he stopped.

  ‘Mrs. Rouse,’ he said, ‘I hope you wouldn’t mind my asking something.’ He saw an opportunity to solve one of the few events in No. 2 which he and Maisie had often discussed without being able to come to any sort of conclusion.

  ‘No, Mr. Haynes, what is it?’ But she sounded apprehensive.

  ‘It’s not about Maisie. I don’t wish to talk about Maisie any more. It’s about Philomen. Why was it that she had to leave here? I have always thought that there was something strange about it. I never cared to enquire, but hearing you say that you need Philomen I thought I would ask.’

  ‘We have no secrets from you, Mr. Haynes,’ she replied, but she hesitated.

  Miss Atwell came to the rescue.

  ‘Come, Ma Rouse, tell Mr. Haynes. He is an intelligent man. He knows all about these things.’

  Thus encouraged, Mrs. Rouse explained.

  ‘You see, Mr. Haynes, I have someone who guides me in my life. He is a man who can do things and I can tell you he has helped me a lot. And when I went to him once he told me that my blood and coolie blood don’t take. He say that’s why Mr. Benoit treat me as he did. He say I have nothing to expect from coolie blood but treachery. I ask him how me and Mr. Benoit keep together so long. He say is because Mr. Benoit was only halfcoolie. And he warn me against having any coolies around me. He say so long as I have, things bound to go bad. I tell him all that Philomen was to me and all she do for me, and if I send her away that would be ingratitude. He stop a little bit and he say, “Well, God wouldn’t like you to show ingratitude.” (He works by God you know, Mr. Haynes. Some work by the Devil, but some by God, and he work by God.) He tell me that not to tell her to go, but to treat her in a way that she would have to leave. So that is why you see Philomen not with me today … You see how it is, Mr. Haynes?’ she added anxiously.

  ‘Quite,’ said Haynes. ‘You see, I didn’t know all this.’

  Said Miss Atwell, filling an awkward pause: ‘God lets us know His will through His chosen, you know, Mr. Haynes. And where they shows us the way, we has to follow.’

  ‘Quite so, Miss Atwell,’ said Haynes.

  What was the use of arguing? Philomen was gone. Nothing he said could bring her back. Better to leave it there. But acting on a sudden impulse he changed his mind.

  ‘But, Mrs. Rouse, tell me, do you really believe that Philomen would harm you?’

  ‘Mr. Haynes,’ she replied at once, ‘I don’t know what to say. At the time I believe him, until poor Philomen leave. But sometimes I feel sorry and wish I hadn’t sent her away. But then again, the man told me so many things that come out true. I am confused. You don’t believe in people like those, Mr. Haynes?’

  ‘Not at all. In fact, Mrs. Rouse, to tell you the truth, I believe they are a set of imposters. You had to pay him a lot of money, I suppose.’

  ‘Five dollars every visit.’

  ‘You shouldn’t throw that money away, Mrs. Rouse, you want it. You believe in God, you pray to God, well, trust in God. But these fellows are after your money and nothing else.’

  ‘I believes you are right, Mr. Haynes,’ said Miss Atwell. ‘Mrs. Rouse, if I was you, I’d send to call her first thing tomorrow. Five dollars! But you know is only now I think of it, Mr. Haynes. I has to work two whole weeks for five dollars. And that man give you a lot of bad advice and make that money so easy!’

  ‘Speak to Philomen in the morning, Mrs. Rouse,’ said Haynes, ‘and keep your five dollars. You will want it to help Mr. Benoit get better. Good night.’

  ‘Good night, Mr. Haynes,’ they said almost together.

  ‘God will bless you, Mr. Haynes,’ said Mrs. Rouse.

  ‘That He will,’ said Miss Atwell.

  As Haynes searched in his pockets for matches he realized that he would have to postpone indefinitely his plans for leaving No. 2. ‘I am going to die in this damned house,’ he said resignedly and threw himself into bed.

  It was a long time before he dropped off to sleep. So the prophecies had been fulfilled and Mrs. Rouse was taking Benoit back. Maisie! Poor Maisie! How she would have raged and sneered. The things she would have said. Never since she had gone had he missed her so much. What a day the following Sunday would have been. But she was gone and gone for good.

  Next morning he rose early (he had not slept well) and went and stood in the yard near the corner of Victoria Street and the alley. A woman who lived in the alley said good morning and passed him. Then she turned back.

  ‘I suppose you know about Mr. Benoit, Mr. Haynes?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Haynes, ‘he is in the hospital.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t mean that. He died this morning about half-past three. I met a wardsman from the hospital and he tell me. That one in there,’ she pointed to No. 2, ‘wouldn’t be sorry for him, eh? He do that poor woman enough.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  As Benoit’s spirit had dominated the life at No. 2 even when he was not actually present, so with his death, the life at No. 2 came to an end.

  Mrs. Rouse got the corpse from the hospital and it was buried from home. And then a day or two after the funeral she told Haynes she had decided to sell out. She had neither the courage nor the strength to continue, she said. Mr. Rojas was arranging her business. She would take a smaller place. Gomes would continue taking cakes from her. ‘I will manage, Mr. Haynes,’ she concluded.

  There was little for him to say.

  ‘And what you going to do, Mr. Haynes? I tried to get a place with a room for you, but I couldn’t get at the price.’

  ‘I shall look for rooms, Mrs. Rouse.’

  ‘You must send for Ella, Mr. Haynes.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘She will come?’

  ‘Wherever she is working she will come if I go for her,’ said Haynes.

  Ella came at the first call, got rooms for him and he moved into them on the first of October, leaving Mrs. Rouse and Miss Atwell still at No. 2. The two of them would continue to live together and there were legal formalities still to be gone through before No. 2 could be sold.

  After they moved Haynes went to see them fairly regularly, but after a time became rather remiss.

  Maisie he got one letter from saying that she had safely jumped the boat and was with friends. She promised to write again and send an address, but nothing more ever came. After the desertion of Benoit, public opinion turned against the nurse. Her defence was that Benoit was living with the woman next door and she left him to her. But her clients dwindled, and with her child, Sonny, she went to America too. Haynes never saw her from the day she was sentenced in the court. Philomen he sees often. Gomes’s house is near to his rooms and she pays him visits through the front door, to the unfailing annoyance of Ella, who cannot stand the sight of anyone who lived in or had had anything to do with what she continues to call ‘that cursed house’. But Philomen does not take any offence, grows fatter than ever and is happy because she is high in the good graces of Sugdeo. She and Haynes are good friends, and she never fails to let him know when she has passed by No. 2. Whenever Haynes passed there in the tramcar he used to make it a point of duty to look. But of late forgets more often than not.

  One night, however, he was walking along Victoria Street and almost instinctively came to a halt when he reached Minty Alley. The front door and windows were open, and from the street he could see into the drawing-room. Husband and wife and three children lived there and one of the children was sitting at the piano playing a familiar tune from Hemy’s music-book. Over and over she played it, while he stood outside, looking in at the window and thinking of old times.

  THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

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  First published by Secker & Warburg 1936

  Published by New Beacon Books Ltd. 1971

  First published with a new introduction by Penguin Books 2021

  Text copyright © C. L. R. James, 1936, 1971

  Introduction copyright © Bernardine Evaristo, 2021

  The moral right of the copyright holders has been asserted

  Cover art: Joy Yamusangie

  ISBN: 978-0-241-99265-4

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.