The Mystic Masseur by V. S. Naipaul Read Free Book Online

of type, he was struck with something like awe. He stayed to watch the boy set up a cinema hand-bill. The boy, whistling without intermission, ignored Ganesh altogether.
    ‘Is on this sort of machine they does print books?’ Ganesh asked.
    ‘What else you think it make for?’
    ‘You print any good books lately?’
    The boy dabbed some ink on the roller. ‘You ever hear of Trinidad people writing books?’
    ‘ I writing a book.’
    The boy spat into a bin full of ink-stained paper. ‘This must be a funny sort of shop, you know. The number of people who come in here and ask me to print the books they writing in invisible ink, man!’
    ‘What you name?’
    ‘Basdeo.’
    ‘All right, Basdeo, boy. The day go come when I go send you a book to print.’
    ‘Sure, man. Sure. You write it and I print it.’
    Ganesh didn’t think he liked Basdeo’s Hollywood manner, and he instantly regretted what he had said. But so far as this business of writing books was concerned, he seemed to have no will: it was the second time he had committed himself. It all seemed pre-ordained.

    ‘Yes, they is pretty invitation cards,’ Ramlogan said, but there was no joy in his voice.
    ‘But what happen now to make your face long long as mango?’
    ‘Education, sahib, is one hell of a thing. When you is a poor illiterate man like me, all sort of people does want to take advantage on you.’
    Ramlogan began to cry. ‘Right now, right right now, as you sitting down on that bench there and I sitting down on this stool behind my shop counter, looking at these pretty pretty cards, you wouldn’t believe what people trying to do to me. Right now it have a man in Siparia trying to rob my two house there, all because I can’t read, and the people in Penal behaving in a funny way.’
    ‘What they doing so?’
    ‘Ah, sahib. That is just like you. I know you want to help me, but is too late now. All sort of paper with fine fine writing they did make me sign and everything, and now – now everything lost.’
    Ganesh had not seen Ramlogan cry so much since the funeral. He said, ‘Well, look. If is the dowry you worried about, you could stop. I don’t want a big dowry.’
    ‘Is the shame, sahib, that eating me up. You know how with these Hindu weddings everybody does know how much the boy get from the girl father. When, the morning after the wedding the boy sit down and they give him a plate of kedgeree, with the girl father having to give money and keep on giving until the boy eat the kedgeree, everybody go see what I give you, and they go say, “Look, Ramlogan marrying off his second and best daughter to a boy with a college education, and this is all the man giving.” Is that what eating me up, sahib. I know that for you, educated and reading books night and day, it wouldn’t mean much, but for me, sahib, what about my cha’acter and sensa values?’
    ‘You must stop crying and listen. When it come to eating the kedgeree, I go eat quick, not to shame you. Not too quick, because that would make people think you poor as a church-rat. But I wouldn’t take much from you.’
    Ramlogan smiled through his tears. ‘Is just like you, sahib, just what I did expect from you. I wish Leela did see you and then she woulda know what sort of man I choose for she husband.’
    ‘I wish I did see Leela too.’
    ‘Smatterer fact, sahib, I know it have some modern people nowadays who don’t even like waiting for money before they eat the kedgeree.’
    ‘But is the custom, man.’
    ‘Yes, sahib, the custom. But still I think is a disgrace in these modern times. Now, if it was I was getting married, I wouldn’t want any dowry and I woulda say, “To hell with the kedgeree, man.” ’

    As soon as the invitations were out Ganesh had to stop visiting Ramlogan altogether, but he wasn’t alone in his house for long. Dozens of women descended on him with their children. He had no idea who most of them were; sometimes he recognized a face and found it hard