A House for Mr. Biswas - V.S. Naipaul [127]
‘Don’t come into this room. Don’t set foot in it again.’ He waved the stick. He moved to the window and, looking at her, waving the stick, began to draw the bolt. ‘Don’t touch me,’ he bawled, and there were sobs mixed with his words.
She blocked the door.
But he had thought of the window. He pushed it open. It swung out shakily. Light came into the room and fresh air mingled with the musty smell of old boards and newspapers – he had forgotten how musty they smelled. Beyond the flat barrackyard he saw the trees that lined the road and screened his house.
Shama walked towards him.
He began screaming and crying. He pressed his palms on the window-sill and tried to hoist himself up, looking back at her, the stick now useless as a weapon of defence since his hands were occupied.
‘What are you doing?’ she said in Hindi. ‘Look, you will damage yourself.’
He was aware of Tarzan, Savi and Anand below the window. Tarzan was wagging his tail, barking and leaping up against the wall.
Shama came closer.
He was on the sill.
‘O God!’ he cried, winding his head up and down. ‘Go away.’
She was near enough to touch him.
He kicked at her.
She gave a yelp of pain.
He saw, too late, that he had kicked her on the belly.
The women from the barracks rushed up when they heard Shama cry out, and helped her from the room.
Savi and Anand came round to the kitchen area in front. Tarzan ran in puzzlement between them and the women and Mr Biswas.
‘Pack up your clothes and go home,’ Dookhnee, one of the barrack-women, said. She had often been beaten and had witnessed many wife-beatings; they made all women sisters.
Savi went into the room fearfully and, not looking at her father, started to pack clothes into a suitcase.
Mr Biswas stared and shouted, ‘Take your children and go away. Go away!’
Shama, surrounded by the barrack-women, called, ‘Anand, pack up your clothes quick.’
Mr Biswas jumped down from the sill.
‘No!’ he said. ‘Anand is not going with you. Take your girl children and go.’ He didn’t know why he had said that. Savi was the only child he knew, yet he had gone out of his way to hurt her; and he didn’t know whether he wanted Anand to stay. Perhaps he had spoken only because Shama had mentioned the name.
‘Anand,’ Shama said, ‘Go and pack your clothes.’
Dookhnee said, ‘Yes, go and pack your clothes.’
And many of the women said, ‘Go, boy.’
‘He is not going with you to that house,’ Mr Biswas said.
Anand remained where he was, in the kitchen area, stroking Tarzan, not looking at Mr Biswas or the women.
Savi came out of the room with a suitcase and a pair of shoes. She dusted her feet and buckled on a shoe.
Shama, only now beginning to cry, said in Hindi, ‘Savi, I have told you many times to wash your feet before putting on your shoes.’
‘All right, Ma. I will go and wash them.’
‘Don’t bother this time,’ Dookhnee said.
The women said, ‘No, don’t bother.’
Savi buckled on the other shoe.
Shama said, ‘Anand, do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay with your father?’
Mr Biswas, the stick in his hand, looked at Anand.
Anand continued to stroke Tarzan, whose head was now upturned, his eyes partly closed.
Mr Biswas ran to the green table and awkwardly pulled out the drawer. He took the long box of crayons he used for his placards and held it to Anand. He shook the box; the crayons rattled.
Savi said, ‘Come, Anand boy. Go and get your clothes.’
Still stroking Tarzan, Anand said, ‘I staying with Pa.’ His voice was low and irritable.
‘Anand!’ Savi said.
‘Don’t beg him,’ Shama said, in control of herself again. ‘He is a man and knows what he is doing.’
‘Boy,’ Dookhnee said. ‘Your mother.’
Anand said nothing.
Shama got up and the circle of women around her widened. She took Myna, Savi took the suitcase, and they walked along the path, muddy between sparse and stubborn grass, to the road, scattering the hens and chickens before them. Tarzan followed, and was diverted