A House for Mr. Biswas - V.S. Naipaul [32]
He left soon after, promising to come back and see them one day, knowing that he wouldn’t, that the links between Dehuti and himself, never strong, had been broken, that from her too he had become separate. The desire to keep on looking for a job had left him. He supposed he had always known he would fall back on Tara for help. She liked him; Ajodha liked him. Perhaps he would apologize, and they would put him in the garage.
Then Alec reappeared in Pagotes, and there was no sign of engine grease on him. His hands and arms and face were spotted and streaked with paint of various colours, as were his long khaki trousers and white shirt, where each stain was rimmed with oil. When, at the end of a long, idle and uncertain week, Mr Biswas saw him, Alec had a small tin of paint in one hand and a small brush in the other; he was standing on a ladder against a café in the Main Road and painting a sign, of which he had already achieved THE HUMMING BIRD CA.
Mr Biswas was full of admiration.
‘You like it, eh?’ Alec came down the ladder, pulled out a large paint-spotted cloth from his back pocket and wiped his hands. ‘Got to shadow them. In two colours. Blue across, green down.’
‘But that will spoil it, man.’
Alec spat out a cigarette that had burned down to his lips and gone dead. ‘It will look like a little carnival when I finish. But that is the way they want it.’ He jerked his head contemptuously towards the proprietor of the Humming Bird Café who was leaning on his counter and looking at them suspiciously. The shelves at his back were half filled with bottles of aerated water. Flies buzzed about him, attracted by the sweat on his neck and those parts of his body exposed by his vest; flies with different tastes had settled on the coarse sugar on the rock cakes in his showcase.
To Alec Mr Biswas explained his problem, and they talked for a while. Then they went into the tiny café and Alec bought two bottles of aerated water.
Alec said to the proprietor, ‘This is my assistant.’
The proprietor looked at Mr Biswas. ‘How he so small?’
‘Young firm,’ Alec said. ‘Give youth a chance.’
‘He could paint humming birds?’
‘He want a lot of humming birds in the sign,’ Alec explained to Mr Biswas. ‘Hanging about and behind the lettering.’
‘Like the Keskidee Café,’ the proprietor said. ‘You see the sign he got?’ He pointed obliquely across the road to another refreshment shack, and Mr Biswas saw the sign. The letters were blocked in three colours and shadowed in three other colours. Keskidee birds stood on the K, perched on the D, hung from the C; on EE two keskidees billed.
Mr Biswas couldn’t draw.
Alec said, ‘ ’Course he could paint humming birds, if you really want them. The only thing is, it would look a little foliow-fashion.’
‘And too besides, it oldfashion,’ Mr Biswas said.
‘I glad you say that,’ Alec said. ‘Was what I been trying to tell him. The modern thing is to have lots of words. All the shops in Port of Spain have signs with nothing but words. Tell him.’
‘What sort of words?’ the proprietor said.
‘Sweet drinks, cakes and ice,’ Mr Biswas said.
The proprietor shook his head.
‘Beware of the dog,’ Alec said.
‘I ain’t got a dog.’
‘Fresh fruits daily,’ Alec went on. ‘Stick no bills by order.’
The proprietor shook his head.
‘Trespassers will be prosecuted. Overseas visitors welcomed. If you don’t see what you require please ask. Our assistants will be pleased to help you with your inquiries.’
The proprietor was thinking.
‘No hands wanted,’ Alec said. ‘Come in and look around.’ The proprietor became alert. ‘Is exactly what I have to fight in this place.’
‘Idlers keep out,’ Mr Biswas said. ‘By order