A House for Mr. Biswas - V.S. Naipaul [74]
‘Look at Savi,’ Shama said.
‘Savi?’
They were in Mrs Tulsi’s room, the Rose Room, where all the sisters spent their confinements.
‘It is a nice name,’ Shama said.
Nice name; when all the way from The Chase he had been working on names, and had decided on Sarojini Lakshmi Kamala Devi.
‘Seth and Hari chose it.’
‘You don’t have to tell me.’ Jerking his chin towards the baby, he asked in English, ‘They had it register?’
On the marble topped table next to the bed there was a sheet of paper under a brass plate. She handed that to him.
‘Well! I glad she register. You know the government and nobody else did want to believe that I was even born. People had to swear and sign all sort of paper.’
‘All of we was register,’ Shama said.
‘All of all-you would be register.’ He looked at the certificate. ‘Savi? But I don’t see the name here at all. I only see Basso.’
She widened her eyes. ‘Shh!’
‘I not going to let anybody call my child Basso.’
‘Shh!’
He understood. Basso was the real name of the baby, Savi the calling name. The real name of a person could be used to damage that person, whereas the calling name had no validity and was only a convenience. He was relieved he wouldn’t have to call his daughter Basso. Still, what a name!
‘Hari make that one up, eh? The holy ghost.’
‘And Seth.’
‘Trust the pundit and the big thug.’
‘Man, what you doing?’
He was scribbling hard on the birth certificate.
‘Look.’ At the top of the certificate he had written: Real calling name: Lakshmi. Signed by Mohun Biswas, father. Below that was the date.
They both felt that a government document, which should have remained inviolate, had been challenged.
He enjoyed her alarm, and looked at her closely for the first time since he had come. Her long hair was loose and spread about her pillow. To look at him she had to press her chin into her neck.
‘You got a double chin,’ he said. She didn’t reply.
Suddenly he jumped up. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘Show me.’
He showed her the certificate. ‘Look. Occupation of father. Labourer. Labourer! Me! Where your family get all this bad blood, girl?’
‘I didn’t see that.’
‘Trust Seth. Look. Name of informant: R. N. Seth. Occupation: Estate Manager.’
‘I wonder why he do that.’
‘Look, the next time you want a informant, eh, just let me know. Calling Lakshmi Basso and Savi. Hello, Lakshmi. Lakshmi, is me, your father, occupation – occupation what, girl? Painter?’
‘It make you sound like a house painter.’
‘Sign-painter? Shopkeeper? God, not that!’ He took the certificate and began scribbling. ‘Proprietor,’ he said, passing the certificate to her.
‘But you can’t call yourself a proprietor. The shop belong to Mai.’
‘You can’t call me a labourer either.’
‘They could bring you up for this.’
‘Let them try.’
‘You better go now, man.’
The baby was stirring.
‘Hello, Lakshmi.’
‘Savi.’
‘Basso.’
‘Shh!’
‘Talk about the old thug. The old scorpion, if you ask me. The old Scorpio.’
He left the dark room with its close medicinal smells, its basins and its pile of diapers and came out into the drawingroom where at one end the two tall chairs stood like thrones. He went through the wooden bridge to the verandah of the old upstairs where Hari usually sat reading his unwieldy scriptures. Shyly, he came down the stairs into the hall, anticipating much attention as the father of the newest baby in Hanuman House. No one particularly looked at him. The hall was full of children eating gloomily. Among them he recognized the contortionist and the girl who had been running the house-game at The Chase. He smelled sulphur and saw that the children were not eating food but a yellow powder mixed with what looked like condensed milk.
He asked, ‘What is that, eh?’
The contortionist grimaced and said, ‘Sulphur and condensed milk.’
‘Food getting expensive,