A Bend in the River - V.S. Naipaul [134]
I waited for Théo.
And when the man came I could see that he was embarrassed and his first impulse, when he saw me through the glass, was to walk past the door. I had known him years before as a mechanic; he used to look after the vehicles in the health department. Then, because he had certain tribal connections, he had risen politically, but not very high. He would have had trouble signing his name. He was about forty, undistinguished in appearance, with a broad, dark-brown face beaten up and spongy with drink. He was drunk now. But only on beer; he hadn’t yet moved on to whisky. Nor had he moved on to the regulation official dress of short-sleeved jacket and cravat. He stuck to trousers and shirt. He was, really, a modest man.
I was standing where my desk used to be. And it occurred to me, noticing how sweated and grimy Théo’s white shirt was, that it was like the time when the schoolboys, treating me like prey,used to come to the shop to try to get money out of me in simple ways. Théo was sweating through the pores on his nose. I don’t believe he had washed his face that morning. He looked like a man who had added fresh drink, and nothing else, to a bad hangover.
He said, “Mis’ Salim. Salim. Citizen. You mustn’t take this personally. It has not come about through any wish of mine. You know that I have the highest regard for you. But you know what the situation was like. The revolution had become”—he fumbled for the word—“un pé pourrie. A little rotten. Our young people were becoming impatient. It was necessary”—trying to find the right word, he looked confused, clenched his fist and made a clumsy cuffing gesture—“it was necessary to radicalize. We had absolutely to radicalize. We were expecting too much of the President. No one was willing to take responsibility. Now responsibility has been forced on the people. But you will suffer in no way. Adequate compensation will be paid. You will prepare your own inventory. And you will continue as manager. The business will run as before. The President insists on that. No one is to suffer. Your salary will be fair. As soon as the commissioner arrives, the papers will come through.”
After his hesitant start, he had spoken formally, as though he had prepared his words. At the end he became embarrassed again. He was waiting for me to say something. But then he changed his mind and went to the storeroom, his office. And I left, to go and look for Mahesh at Bigburger.
There it was business as usual. Mahesh, a little plumper, was pulling coffees, and Ildephonse was jumping about and serving late breakfasts. I was surprised.
Mahesh said, “But this has been an African company for years. It can’t be radicalized any more. I just manage Bigburger for ’Phonse and a few others. They formed this African company and they gave me a little part in it, as manager, and then they bought a lease from me. That was during the boom. They owe the bank a lot. You wouldn’t believe it when you look at ’Phonse. But it’s true. That happened in a lot of places after Noimon sold out to the government. That gave us an idea which way the wind was blowing, and some of us decided to compensate ourselves in advance. It was easy enough then. The banks were flush with money.”
“Nobody told me.”
“It wasn’t the kind of thing people would talk a lot about. And your thoughts were elsewhere.”
That was true. There had been a coolness between us at that time; we had both been scratchy after Noimon’s departure.
I said, “What about the Tivoli? All that new kitchen equipment. They invested so much.”
“That’s crippled with debt. No African in his right mind would want to be