‘What shame?’
‘Ah, boy. The Home for Destitutes Fund. You know Narayan start that?’
‘The Little Bird talking about it for months now.’
‘Home for Destitutes! As fast as the money collecting, the man buying estates. And was only by a chance I get to find out. I ain’t know if you know how hard Gowrie having it these days. She is a sort of relation to Narayan. So, when I met Gowrie at Doolarie wedding and she start this big bawling and crying about money, I say, “Gowrie, why you don’t go to Narayan and ask him? He having this fund for destitute.” She say no, she can’t go, because she got she pride and the fund still open. But I talk she into going and so when I see she yesterday at Daulatram funeral, I ask she, “You ask Narayan?” She say yes, she ask Narayan. “And what he do?” I ask. She say Narayan just begin one crying and losing his temper when she ask him, saying that everybody think that because he open one little fund he is a rich man. He say, “Gowrie, I poorer than you. How you could look at me and think I is rich? Just last week I had to buy a whole estate for fourteen thousand dollars. Where I go find all that money?” So he say and so he begin one long crying and Gowrie say in the end she feel that he was going to ask she for money.’
Throughout the long speech The Great Belcher hadn’t belched once. ‘Is the Coca-Cola, you think?’ Ganesh asked.
‘No, so it does happen when I get carry away.’
‘But how people ain’t making a row about this fund, man?’
‘Ah, boy, don’t tell me you ain’t know Trinidad. When people give money, you think they care who get it? Once they open they mouth and skin their teeth for a photo in the papers, they happy, you hear. And too besides, you believe they want this thing to come out for people to start laughing at them?’
‘It ain’t right. I ain’t saying this because I is a mystic and all that, but I think that to any outsider it can’t look right.’
‘Is just how I feel,’ The Great Belcher said.
So the deputation came again and sat, not in the verandah, but at the dining-table in the drawing-room. They looked at the pictures on the walls again. Once more Leela went through the ritual of taking out Coca-Cola from the refrigerator and pouring it into the beautiful glasses.
Swami was still dressed in white; there was the same array of pens and pencils in his shirt pocket, and the same letter. Partap had lost his adhesive plaster. The boy had discarded his short trousers for a double-breasted brown suit a size or two bigger than he required. He had a copy of Time magazine and the New Statesman and Nation.
Partap said, ‘Narayan so smart he stupid. He playing right in we hand now, pundit. He changing his name, man. With Indians he is Chandra Shekar Narayan.’
‘And with everybody else,’ Swami added, ‘Cyrus Stephen Narayan.’
Leela brought large sheets of paper and many red pencils.
Ganesh said, ‘I think over what you say, and we going to start up we own paper.’
Swami said, ‘Is just what go knock hell out of Narayan.’
Ganesh ruled out columns on the sheet before him. ‘Like in all things, we have to start small.’
The boy put Time and the New Statesman on the table. ‘These is small papers. Very small papers.’
Swami laughed. It sounded like gargling in the next room. ‘You see, sahib, the boy could talk good. And, man, he is a born writer. He know a lot more than plenty of big big man in this place.’
The boy repeated. ‘Yes, these is very small papers.’
Ganesh smiled sympathetically. ‘That go cost a lot, man. We have to start small and simple. Look at your uncle Swami. He start small when he did bringing out papers.’
Swami nodded solemnly.
‘And Partap. And me. We did all have to start small. We starting up with four pages.’
‘Only four pages?’ the boy said petulantly. ‘But that ain’t no sort of paper at all, man.’
‘Later we go build it up, man. Big big.’
‘All right, all right.’ The boy angrily pulled his chair away from the table. ‘Go ahead and make up your so-call paper. But just leave me out of it.’ He attended to his Coca-Cola.
‘First page,’ Ganesh announced. ‘Bright page. No advertisements, except in the bottom right-hand corner.’
‘I always did promise myself,’ Partap said reverently, ‘that if I did ever start up a paper, I woulda dedicate it to Mahatma Gandhi. I know a boy, if you treat him nice, could pick up a block with Gandhi picture from the Sentinel office. We could put this on the top of the front page and I could always find out some words or something to go with it.’
Ganesh marked out the space for the homage.
‘That settle,’ Swami said.
The front page going to be a page of attack, attack,’ Ganesh said. ‘Leave that to me. I working on this article exposing the Destitutes Fund and Leela busy writing a little report about the social welfare work she doing.’
Swami was so pleased he tried to cross his gargantuan legs. The chair creaked and Ganesh looked hard at him. Leela came out and swept through the room. ‘Some people look as if they are never see furnitures before. Next time I are going to bring some benches.’
Partap sat bolt upright and Swami smiled.
The boy, sitting against the wall next to the refrigerator, said, ‘Yes, the page settle. But I wonder what people go say when they see in one side the page dedication to Mahatma Gandhi and in the other side attack, attack.’
Swami said sharply, ‘Shut up, boy. Otherwise, don’t mind you big and wearing long pants, I haul you across my knee and I give you a sound sound cut-arse, right here, in front of the pundit self. And I leave you home next time and you never touch any paper I bring out. If you ain’t have nothing but suckastic remarks, keep quiet.’
‘All right, you is a big man and you go shut me up. But I want to see how all you going to full up the three other pages.’
Ganesh ignored the exchange and went on ruling columns on the inside pages. ‘Page two.’
Partap sipped some Coca-Cola. ‘Page two.’
‘Yes,’ Swami said, ‘page two.’
Partap snapped his fingers. ‘Advertisements!’
‘A whole page advertisements on page two? You see the way inexperience people does talk?’
‘Some advertisements,’ Ganesh pleaded.
‘Is what I did mean,’ Partap said.
‘Four columns on page two. Two for advertisement?’
Partap nodded.
Swami said, ‘Is how I use to do it.’
‘What you going to put in the two columns?’ The boy.
Swami turned around quickly in his chair and again it creaked dangerously. The boy was holding up Time before his face.
‘How about a little thing by you, pundit?’ Partap asked.
‘Man, already I writing up a whole front page. And I ain’t want my name to appear in the paper. I ain’t want to bring myself down to Narayan level.’
Swami said, ‘Culture, sahib. Page two is the culture page.’
Partap said, ‘Yes, culture.’
There was a long silence, broken only by the boy turning over the pages of Time with unnecessary rustle.
Ganesh tapped his pencil on the table. Swami propped his hands against his chin and leaned forward on the table, pushing it towards Ganesh. Partap crossed his arms and furrowed his brow.
‘Coca-Cola?’ Ganesh said.
Swami and Partap nodded absent-mindedly and Leela came out to do the honours. ‘I have some enamel cups, you know, if that are going to make you people any happier.’
‘Oh, we is all right,’ Partap smiled.