A House for Mr. Biswas - V.S. Naipaul [235]
W. C. Tuttle came out to the verandah, the lorry-driver at rest. His khaki shorts revealed round sturdy legs, and his white vest showed off a broad chest and large flabby arms. Leaning over the half-wall of the verandah, under the hanging ferns, he put a long finger delicately to one quivering nostril and, with a brief explosive noise, emitted some snot from the other nostril.
Mr Biswas chattered on in a daze, to divert attention from the readers and learners and W. C. Tuttle, to drown the noises from the house, the sudden piercing cry from Chinta, as from someone in agony: ‘Vidiadhar and Shivadhar! Come back here this minute, if you don’t want me to break your foot.’
Shy, interested readers and learners streamed steadily through the gate.
‘There’s lots of room,’ Miss Logie said, smiling. ‘It won’t be a squeeze for long. I shan’t be going all the way to Sans Souci. I don’t feel very well and a day at the beach would be too much for me.’
Mr Biswas understood. ‘Only these four,’ he said. ‘Only these four.’ He kicked backwards in the direction of the readers and learners. The circle merely widened.
‘Orphans,’ Mr Biswas said.
Then mercifully they were off, some of the orphans racing the Buick a little way down the street.
They commiserated with Miss Logie on her indisposition and begged her to change her mind; there would be no pleasure for them if she did not come. She said she hadn’t intended to go bathing at all; she had intended to come with them only for the ride. But presently, when it was established without doubt that there were only four children in the car and that there would be no stops for more, her resolution weakened and she said the fresh air had revived her a little and she would come with them after all.
When people stared from the road the children didn’t know whether to smile, frown or look away; those who were near the straps held on to them. Never, as from the windows of that Buick, did North Trinidad look so beautiful. They noted, as though they had never seen it before from a bus, how the landscape changed, from marsh just outside Port of Spain, to straggling suburb, to hilly country, to country village, to country town, to rice fields and sugarcane fields, with the Northern Range always on their left. They drove along the smooth new American highway, were checked on entering and leaving the American army post by soldiers with helmets and rifles. Then they drove along a winding road overarched by cool trees to Arima, which welcomed careful drivers; and on to Valencia, where the road ran straight for miles, with untouched bush on either side.
They were, Anand reflected, driving with hampers – laden hampers – to the sea. The English composition had come true.
Mr Biswas was worried about Shama. Sitting plumply next to Miss Logie on the front seat, her elaborate georgette veil over her hair, Shama was showing herself self-possessed and even garrulous. She was throwing off opinions about the new constitution, federation, immigration, India, the future of Hinduism, the education of women. Mr Biswas listened to the flow with surprise and acute anxiety. He had never imagined that Shama was so well-informed and had such violent prejudices; and he suffered whenever she made a grammatical mistake.
They stopped at Balandra, and walked to the dangerous part of the bay where the waves were five feet high and a sign warned against bathing. Never had water seemed so blue; never had sand shone so golden; never had bay curved so beautifully, waves broken so neatly. It was a perfect world, the curve of the coconut trees repeated in the curve of the bay, the curl of the waves, the arc of the horizon. Already they could taste the salt on their lips. The fresh wind blew; the trousers of Mr Biswas and the chauffeur sausaged out; the women and girls held down their skirts.
They bathed where it was safe.
(And later Anand pointed out to Mr Biswas that in spite of what she had said Miss Logie had brought her bathing suit.)
They opened the hampers and ate on