'Oho!' Ganesh rose quickly from his blanket and went inside.

Beharry heard him shouting. 'Look, girl, I ain't care how tired you is, you hear. You never too tired to count money. What I want is the facts. You and your father is proper traders. Buy, sell, make money, money.'

Beharry listened, pleased.

'Wasn't your father idea. He too stupid. Was your idea, not so? You and your father ain't care what sort of name I have in this place once you making your money. And, eh, eh, is my my money. A year back, how much motor car coming to Fuente Grove in a whole month? One, two. Today? Fifty, sometimes a hundred. Who is the cause of that? Me or your father?' money. A year back, how much motor car coming to Fuente Grove in a whole month? One, two. Today? Fifty, sometimes a hundred. Who is the cause of that? Me or your father?'

Beharry heard Leela crying. Then he heard a slap. The crying stopped. He heard Ganesh walking heavily back to the verandah.

'You is a good good friend, Beharry. I go see about this right away.'

Before midday he had eaten, dressed not in English clothes but in his normal Hindu attire and was on his way to Fourways in a taxi. It was one of Ramlogan's. The driver, a fat little man b.u.mping cheerfully up and down in his seat, handled the steering-wheel almost as if he loved it. When he wasn't talking to Ganesh he sang a Hindi song, which apparently had only four words. Let us praise G.o.d Let us praise G.o.d.

He explained, 'Is like this, pundit. We five taxi-boys does remain in Princes Town or San Fernando, and we does tell people that if they going to see you they must only use these taxis, because you say so. Is what Mr Ramlogan say. But even I say is better for them, seeing how you bless the taxi yourself.'

He sang Let us praise G.o.d Let us praise G.o.d a few times. 'What you think of your pictures, sahib?' a few times. 'What you think of your pictures, sahib?'

'Pictures?'

The driver sang the song again. 'Picture on the door, hanging by where other taxi does have the tariff.'

It was a framed picture, issued by the Gita Press of Gorakhpur in India, of the G.o.ddess Lakshmi standing, as usual, on her lotus. There was no tariff.

'Is a too nice idea, sahib. Mr Ramlogan say was your own idea, and all five of we taxi-boys take we old hat off to you, sahib.' He became earnest. 'It does make a man feel good, sahib, driving a car with a holy picture inside it, especially when said picture bless by you. And the people like it too, man.'

'But what about the other taxi-drivers and them?'

'Ah, sahib. Is we biggest problem. How to keep the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.hes away? You have to be very very careful with them. Pappa, they could lie too, you know. Eh, Sookhoo find one man the other day who did sticking up he own holy picture.'

'What Sookhoo do?'

The driver laughed and sang. 'Sookhoo smart, sahib. He drive the man car on the gra.s.s one day and take up the crank and he go over and tell him cool cool that if he don't stop playing the fool, you was going to make the car bewitch.'

Ganesh cleared his throat.

'Sookhoo is like that, sahib. But listen to the upshot. Two days good ain't pa.s.s before the man car get in an accident. A bad accident too.'

The driver began to sing again.

Ramlogan kept his shop open all week. The laws forbade him to sell groceries on Sunday; but there was no regulation against the selling of cakes, aerated water, or cigarettes on that day.

He was sitting on his stool behind the counter, doing nothing at all, just staring out into the road, when the taxi pulled up and Ganesh stepped out. Ramlogan held out his arms across the counter and began to cry. 'Ah, sahib, sahib, you forgive a old, old man. I didn't mean to drive you away that day, sahib. All the time since that day I only thinking and saying, "Ramlogan, what you do your cha'acter? Ramlogan, oh Ramlogan, what you go and do your sensa values?" Night and day, sahib, I praying for you to forgive me.'

Ganesh tossed the ta.s.selled end of his green scarf over his shoulder. 'You looking well, Ramlogan. You getting fat, man.'

Ramlogan wiped his tears away. 'Is just wind, sahib.' He blew his nose. 'Just wind.' He had grown fatter and greyer, oilier and dingier. 'Ah, sit down, sahib. Don't bother about me. I is all right. You remember, sahib, how when you was a little boy you use to come in Ramlogan shop and sit down right there and talk to the old man? You was a fust-cla.s.s talker, sahib. It use to flubbergast me, sitting down behind the counter here and hearing you giving off ideas. But now' Ramlogan waved his hands around the shop and fresh tears came to his eyes 'everybody gone and leave me. Me one. Soomintra don't even want to come by me now.'

'Is not about Soomintra I come to talk '

'Ah, sahib. I know know you just come to comfort a old man left to live by hisself. Soomintra say I too old-fashion. And Leela, she always by you. Why you don't sit down, sahib? It ain't dirty. Is just how it does look.' you just come to comfort a old man left to live by hisself. Soomintra say I too old-fashion. And Leela, she always by you. Why you don't sit down, sahib? It ain't dirty. Is just how it does look.'

Ganesh didn't sit down. 'Ramlogan, I come to buy over your taxis.'

Ramlogan stopped crying and got off his stool. 'Taxi, sahib? But what you you want with taxi?' He laughed. 'A big, educated man like you.' want with taxi?' He laughed. 'A big, educated man like you.'

'Eight hundred dollars apiece.'

'Ah, sahib, I know is help you want to help me out. Especially these days when taxi ain't making any money at all. Is not the sort of job you, a famous mystic, want. I buy the taxi and them, sahib, only because when you getting old and lonely it must have something for you to do. You remember this gla.s.s case, sahib?'

It looked so much part of the shop now that Ganesh hadn't noticed it. The woodwork was grimy, the gla.s.s in many places patched and repatched with brown paper and, in one instance, with part of the cover of The Ill.u.s.trated London News The Ill.u.s.trated London News. The short legs stood in four salmon tins filled with water, to keep out ants. It required memory rather than imagination to believe the gla.s.s case was once new and spotless.

'I glad I do my little piece to help modernize Fourways, but n.o.body ain't appreciate me, sahib. n.o.body.'

Ganesh, for the moment forgetting his mission, looked at the newspaper-cutting and Leela's notice. The cutting was so brown it looked scorched. Leela's notice had faded and was almost unreadable.

'Is what life is, sahib.' Ramlogan followed Ganesh's gaze. 'Years does pa.s.s. People does born. People does married. People does dead. Is enough to make anybody a proper philosopher, sahib.'

'Philosophy is my job. Today is Sunday '

Ramlogan shrugged. 'You ain't really want want the taxis, sahib.' the taxis, sahib.'

'It go surprise you how much time I have on my hand these days. Let we say we make a bargain right now, eh?'

Ramlogan became very sad. 'Sahib, why for you want to make me a pauper? Why for you want to make me sad and miserable in my old, old age? Why for you prosecuting a old illiterate man who don't know A from B?'

Ganesh frowned.

'Sahib, wasn't a trick I was working back on you.'

'Working back back? Trick? What trick you have to work back? Anybody pa.s.sing in the road this hot Sunday afternoon and hearing you talk like this go swear I work some trick on you.'

Ramlogan placed the palms of his hands on the counter. 'Sahib, you know you getting me vex now. I ain't like other people, you know. I know you is a mystic, but don't provoke me, sahib. When I get vex, I don't know what I could do.'

Ganesh waited.

'If you wasn't my son-in-law, you know I take up your little tail and fling it through that door?'

'Ramlogan, ain't you does ever get a little tired of being smart smart all the time, even in your old age?'

Ramlogan thumped the counter. 'When at your wedding you rob me, we didn't get any of this d.a.m.n mystical stupidness. Look, move out of here before I lose my temper. And too besides, is Government road and anybody can run taxi to Fuente Grove. Ganesh, you just try and do anything and I put you in the papers, you hear.'

'Put me in the papers?'

'One time you did put me me in the papers. Remember? But it ain't going to be nice for you, I guarantee you. Oh, G.o.d! But I take enough from you in my lifetime! Just just because you married one daughter I did have. If you was a reasonable man, we coulda sit down, open a tin of salmon, and talk this thing over. But you too greedy. You want to rob the people yourself.' in the papers. Remember? But it ain't going to be nice for you, I guarantee you. Oh, G.o.d! But I take enough from you in my lifetime! Just just because you married one daughter I did have. If you was a reasonable man, we coulda sit down, open a tin of salmon, and talk this thing over. But you too greedy. You want to rob the people yourself.'

'Is a favour I want to do you, Ramlogan. I giving you money for the taxis. If I buy my own, you think you could find people to drive your taxis from Princes Town and San Fernando to Fuente Grove? Tell me.'

Ramlogan became insulting. Ganesh only smiled. Then, when it was too late, Ramlogan appealed to Ganesh's good nature. Ganesh only smiled.

Ramlogan sold, in the end.

But when Ganesh was leaving, he burst out. 'All right, Ganesh, you making me a pauper. But watch. Watch and see if I don't put you in the papers and tell everybody everything about you.'

Ganesh got into his taxi.

'Ganesh!' Ramlogan shouted. 'Is war now!'

He might have run the taxis as part of his service to the public, and not charge for it; but Leela made difficulties and he had to give in. It was her idea, after all. He charged four shillings for the trip from Princes Town and San Fernando to Fuente Grove; and if this was a little more than it ought to have been, it was because the roads were bad. At any rate the fare was cheaper than Ramlogan's, and the clients were grateful.

Leela tried to explain away Ramlogan's threats. 'He getting old now, man, and it ain't have much for him to live for. You mustn't mind all the things he say. He don't mean it.'

But Ramlogan was good as his word.

One Sunday, when The Great Belcher had called at Fuente Grove, Beharry came with a magazine, 'Pundit, you see what they write about you in the papers?'

He pa.s.sed the magazine to Ganesh. It was a ragged thing called The Hindu The Hindu, printed atrociously on the cheapest paper. Advertis.e.m.e.nts took up most of the s.p.a.ce, but there were lots of quotations from the Hindu scriptures in odd corners, stale Information Office hand-outs about the British War Effort, repeated urgings to 'Read The Hindu'; and a column of original scandal headed A Little Bird Tells Us A Little Bird Tells Us. It was to this that Beharry drew Ganesh's attention.

'Suruj Mooma bring it back from Tunapuna. She say you should hear the amount of scandal it causing.'

There was one item that began, 'A little bird tells us that the so-called mystic in South Trinidad has taken up driving taxis. The little bird also twittered into our ears that the said so-called mystic was party to a hoax played on the Trinidad public concerning a certain so-called Cultural Inst.i.tute...'

Ganesh pa.s.sed the paper to The Great Belcher. 'Leela father,' he said.

The Great Belcher said, 'Is why I come, boy. People talking about it. He call you the business Man of G.o.d. But you mustn't get worried, Ganesh. Everybody know that Narayan, the man who edit it, just jealous you. He think he is a mystic too.'

'Yes, pundit. Suruj Mooma say that Narayan went up to Tunapuna and start telling people that with just a little bit of practice he could be just as good as you in the mystic business.'

The Great Belcher said, 'Is the thing about Indians here. They hate to see another Indian get on.'

'I ain't worried,' Ganesh said.

And, really, he wasn't. But there were things in The Hindu The Hindu that people remembered, such as the description of Ganesh as the business Man of G.o.d; and the accusation was parroted about by people who didn't know better. that people remembered, such as the description of Ganesh as the business Man of G.o.d; and the accusation was parroted about by people who didn't know better.

He didn't have the business mind. In fact, he despised it. The taxi-service was Leela's idea. So was the restaurant, and that could hardly be called a business idea. Clients had to wait so long now when they came to see Ganesh that it seemed only considerate to give them food. So Leela had built a great bamboo tent at the side of the house where she fed people; and since Fuente Grove was so far from anywhere else, she had to charge a little extra.

And then people made a lot of fuss about Beharry's shop.

To understand the affair some people made it the scandal of Beharry's shop, you must remember that for years most of Ganesh's clients had been used to fake spirit-charmers who made them burn camphor and ghee and sugar and rice, and kill c.o.c.ks and goats. Ganesh had little use for that sort of silly ritual. But he found that his clients, particularly the women, loved it; so he too ordered them to burn things two or three times a day. They brought the ingredients and begged him, and sometimes paid him, to offer them up on their behalf.

He wasn't really surprised when, one Sunday morning, Beharry said, 'Pundit, sometimes me and Suruj Mooma does stop and think and get worried about the things people bringing to you. They is poor people, they don't know whether the stuff they getting is good or not, whether it clean or not. And I know that it have a lot of shopkeepers who wouldn't mind giving them the wrong sort of stuff.'

Leela said, 'Yes, man. Is something Suruj Mooma been telling me she worried about for a long long time.'

Ganesh smiled. 'Suruj Mooma doing a lot of worrying these days.'

'Yes, pundit. I know you woulda see my point. The poor people ain't educated up to your standard and is up to you to see that they getting the right stuff from the proper shopkeeper.'

Leela said, 'I think it would make the poor people feel nicer if they could buy the stuff right here in Fuente Grove.'

'Why you don't keep it by you then, maharajin maharajin?'

'It wouldn't look nice nice, Beharry. People go start thinking we working a trick on them. Why not at your shop? Suruj Mooma done tell me that it wouldn't be any extra work. In fact, I think that you and Suruj Mooma is the correctest people to handle the stuff. And I so so tired these days, besides.' tired these days, besides.'

'You overworking yourself, maharajin maharajin. Why you don't take a rest?'

Ganesh said, 'Is nice for you to help me out this way, Beharry.'

So clients bought the ingredients for offerings only from Beharry's shop. 'Things not cheap there,' Ganesh told them. 'But is the only place in Trinidad where you sure of what you getting.'

Nearly everything Beharry sold came to Ganesh's house. A fair amount was used for ritual. 'And even that,' Ganesh said, 'is a waste of good good food.' Leela used the rest in her restaurant.

'I want to give the poor people only the best,' she said.

Fuente Grove prospered. The Public Works Department recognized its existence and resurfaced the road to a comparative evenness. They gave the village its first stand-pipe. Presently the stand-pipe, across the road from Beharry's shop, became the meeting-place of the village women; and children played naked under the running water.

Beharry prospered. Suruj was sent as a boarder to the Naparima College in San Fernando. Suruj Mooma started a fourth baby and told Leela about her plans for rebuilding the shop.

Ganesh prospered. He pulled down his old house, carried on business in the restaurant, and put up a mansion. Fuente Grove had never seen anything like it. It had two stories; its walls were of concrete blocks; the n.i.g.g.e.rgram said that it had more than a hundred windows and that if the Governor got to hear, there was going to be trouble because only Government House could have a hundred windows. An Indian architect came over from British Guiana and built a temple for Ganesh in proper Hindu style. To make up for the cost of all this building Ganesh was forced to charge an entrance fee to the temple. A professional sign-writer was summoned from San Fernando to rewrite the GANESH, Mystic Mystic sign. At the top he wrote, in Hindi, sign. At the top he wrote, in Hindi, Peace to you all; Peace to you all; and below, and below, Spiritual solace and comfort may be had here at any time on every day except Sat.u.r.day and Sunday. It is regretted, however, that requests for monetary a.s.sistance cannot be entertained. Spiritual solace and comfort may be had here at any time on every day except Sat.u.r.day and Sunday. It is regretted, however, that requests for monetary a.s.sistance cannot be entertained. In English. In English.

Every day Leela became more refined. She often went to San Fernando to visit Soomintra, and to shop. She came back with expensive saris and much heavy jewellery. But the most important change was in her English. She used a private accent which softened all harsh vowel sounds; her grammar owed nothing to anybody, and included a highly personal conjugation of the verb to be.

She told Suruj Mooma, 'This house I are building, I doesn't want it to come like any erther Indian house. I wants it to have good furnitures and I wants everything to remain prutty prutty. I are thinking about getting a refrigerator and a few erther things like that.'

'I are thinking too,' Suruj Mooma said. 'I are thinking about building up a brand-new modern shop, a real proper grocery like those in Suruj p.o.o.pa books, with lots of tins and cans on good good shelf '

' and all that people says about Indians not being able to keep their house properly is true true. But I are going to get ours painted prutty prutty '

' a long time now Suruj p.o.o.pa say that, and we going to paint up the shop, paint it up from top to bottom, and we going to keep it prutty prutty, with a nice marble-top counter. But, mark you, we not going to forget where we live. That That going to be prutty prutty too ' going to be prutty prutty too '

' with good carpets like therse Soomintra and I see in Gopal's, and nice curtains '

' morris chairs and spring-cushions. But look, I hear the baby crying and I think he want his feed. I has to go now, Leela, my dear.'

With so much to say to each other now, Leela and Suruj Mooma remained good friends.

And Leela wasn't talking just for the sake of talk. Once the house was completed and that, for a Trinidad Indian, is in itself an achievement she had it painted and she expressed her Hindu soul in her choice of bright and clashing colours. She commissioned one house-painter to do a series of red, red roses on the blue drawing-room wall. She had the British Guianese temple-builder execute a number of statues and carvings which she scattered about in the most unlikely places. She had him build an ornate bal.u.s.trade around the flat roof, and upon this he was later commissioned to erect two stone elephants, representing the Hindu elephant G.o.d Ganesh. Ganesh thoroughly approved of Leela's decorations and designed the elephants himself.

'I don't give a d.a.m.n what Narayan want to say about me in The Hindu The Hindu,' he said. 'Leela, I going to buy that refrigerator for you.'

And he did. He placed it in the drawing-room, where it hid part of the rose-design on the wall but could be seen from the road.

He didn't forget the smaller things. From an Indian dealer in San Fernando he bought two sepia reproductions of Indian drawings. One represented an amorous scene; in the other G.o.d had come down to earth to talk to a sage. Leela didn't like the first drawing. 'It are not going to hang in my drawing-room.'

'You have a bad mind, girl.' Under the amorous drawing he wrote, Will you come to me like this? Will you come to me like this? And under the other, And under the other, or like this? or like this?

The drawings went up.

And after they had settled that they really began hanging pictures. Leela started with photographs of her family.