In Elias’s mouth litritcher was the most beautiful word I heard. It sounded like something to eat, something rich like chocolate.
Hat said, ‘You mean you have to read a lot of poultry and thing?’
Elias nodded. We felt it wasn’t fair, making a boy like Elias do litritcher and poultry.
Elias moved back into the pink house which had been empty since his father died. He was studying and working. He went back to Titus Hoyt’s school, not as pupil, but as a teacher, and Titus Hoyt said he was giving him forty dollars a month.
Titus Hoyt added, ‘He worth it, too. He is one of the brightest boys in Port of Spain.’
Now that Elias was back with us, we noticed him better. He was the cleanest boy in the street. He bathed twice a day and scrubbed his teeth twice a day. He did all this standing up at the tap in front of the house. He swept the house every morning before going to school. He was the opposite of his father. His father was short and fat and dirty. He was tall and thin and clean. His father drank and swore. He never drank and no one ever heard him use a bad word.
My mother used to say to me, ‘Why you don’t take after Elias? I really don’t know what sort of son God give me, you hear.’
And whenever Hat or Edward beat Boyee and Errol, they always said, ‘Why you beating we for? Not everybody could be like Elias, you know.’
Hat used to say, ‘And it ain’t only that he got brains. The boy Elias have nice ways too.’
So I think I was a little glad when Elias sat the examination for the third time, and failed.
Hat said, ‘You see how we catch these Englishmen and them. Nobody here can tell me that the boy didn’t pass the exam, but you think they go want to give him a better grade? Ha!’
And everybody said, ‘Is a real shame.’
And when Hat asked Elias, ‘What you going to do now, boy?’ Elias said, ‘You know, I think I go take up a job. I think I go be a sanitary inspector.’
We saw him in khaki uniform and khaki topee, going from house to house with a little notebook.
‘Yes,’ Elias said. ‘Sanitary inspector, that’s what I going to be.’
Hat said, ‘It have a lot of money in that, I think. I hear your father George uses to pay the sanitary inspector five dollars a month to keep his mouth shut. Let we say you get about ten or even eight people like that. That’s—let me see … ten fives is fifty, eight fives is forty. There, fifty, forty dollars straight. And mark you, that ain’t counting your salary.’
Elias said, ‘Is not the money I thinking about. I really like the work.’
It was easy to understand that.
Elias said, ‘But it have a exam, you know.’
Hat said, ‘But they don’t send the papers to England for that?’
Elias said, ‘Nah, but still, I fraid exams and things, you know. I ain’t have any luck with them.’
Boyee said, ‘But I thought you was thinking of taking up doctoring.’
Hat said, ‘Boyee, I going to cut your little tail if you don’t shut up.’
But Boyee didn’t mean anything bad.
Elias said, ‘I change my mind. I think I want to be a sanitary inspector. I really like the work.’
* * *
For three years Elias sat the sanitary inspectors’ examination, and he failed every time.
Elias began saying, ‘But what the hell you expect in Trinidad? You got to bribe everybody if you want to get your toenail cut.’
Hat said, ‘I meet a man from a boat the other day, and he tell me that the sanitary inspector exams in British Guiana much easier. You could go to B.G. and take the exams there and come back and work here.’
Elias flew to B.G., wrote the exam, failed it, and flew back.
Hat said, ‘I meet a man from Barbados. He tell me that the exams easier in Barbados. It easy, easy, he say.’
Elias flew to Barbados, wrote the exam, failed it, and flew back.
Hat said, ‘I meet a man from Grenada the other day ’
Elias said, ‘Shut your arse up, before it have trouble between we in this street.’
A few years later I sat the Cambridge Senior School Certificate Examination myself, and Mr Cambridge gave me a second grade. I applied for a job in the Customs, and it didn’t cost me much to get it. I got a khaki uniform with brass buttons, and a cap. Very much like the sanitary inspector’s uniform.
Elias wanted to beat me up the first day I wore the uniform.
‘What your mother do to get you that?’ he shouted, and I was going for him when Eddoes put a stop to it.
Eddoes said, ‘He just sad and jealous. He don’t mean anything.’
For Elias had become one of the street aristocrats. He was driving the scavenging carts.
‘No theory here,’ Elias used to say. ‘This is the practical. I really like the work.’
V
MAN-MAN
Everybody in Miguel Street said that Man-man was mad, and so they left him alone. But I am not so sure now that he was mad, and I can think of many people much madder than Man-man ever was.
He didn’t look mad. He was a man of medium height, thin; and he wasn’t bad-looking, either. He never stared at you the way I expected a mad man to do; and when you spoke to him you were sure of getting a very reasonable reply.
But he did have some curious habits.
He went up for every election, city council or legislative council, and then he stuck posters everywhere in the district. These posters were well printed. They just had the word ‘Vote’ and below that, Man-man’s picture.
At every election he got exactly three votes. That I couldn’t understand. Man-man voted for himself, but who were the other two?
I asked Hat.
Hat said, ‘I really can’t say, boy. Is a real mystery. Perhaps is two jokers. But they is funny sort of jokers if they do the same thing so many times. They must be mad just like he.’
And for a long time the thought of these two mad men who voted for Man-man haunted me. Every time I saw someone doing anything just a little bit odd, I wondered, ‘Is he who vote for Man-man?’
At large in the city were these two men of mystery.
Man-man never worked. But he was never idle. He was hypnotised by the word, particularly the written word, and he would spend a whole day writing a single word.
One day I met Man-man at the corner of Miguel Street.
‘Boy, where you going?’ Man-man asked.
‘I going to school,’ I said.
And Man-man, looking at me solemnly, said in a mocking way, ‘So you goes to school, eh?’
I said automatically, ‘Yes, I goes to school.’ And I found that without intending it I had imitated Man-man’s correct and very English accent.
That again was another mystery about Man-man. His accent. If you shut your eyes while he spoke, you would believe an Englishman-a good-class Englishman who wasn’t particular about grammar-was talking to you.
Man-man said, as though speaking to himself, ‘So the little man is going to school.’
Then he forgot me, and took out a long stick of chalk from his pocket and began writing on the pavement. He drew a very big’s in outline and then filled it in, and then the c and the H and the O. But then he started making several O’s, each smaller than the last, until he was writing in cursive, O after flowing O.
When I came home for lunch, he had got to French Street, and he was still writing o’s, rubbing off mistakes with a rag.
In the afternoon he had gone round the block and was practically back in Miguel Street.
I went home, changed from my school-clothes into my home-clothes and went out to the street.
He was now halfway up Miguel Street.
He said, ‘So the little man gone to school today?’
I said, ‘Yes.’
He stood up and straightened his back.
Then he squatted again and drew the outline of a massive L and filled that in slowly and lovingly.
When it was finished, he stood up and said, ‘You finish your work. I finish mine.’
Or it was like this. If you told Man-man you were going to the cricket, he would write CRICK and then concentrate on the E’S until he saw you again.
One day Man-man went to the big café at the top of Miguel Street and began barking and growling at the customers on the stools as though he were a dog. The owner, a big Portuguese man with hairy hands, said, ‘Man-man, get out of this shop before I tangle with you.’
Man-man just laughed.
They threw Man-man out.
Next day, the owner found that someone had entered his café during the night and had left all the doors open. But nothing was missing.
Hat said, ‘One thing you must never do is trouble Man-man. He remember everything.’
That night the café was entered again and the doors again left open.
The following night the café was entered and this time little blobs of excrement were left on the centre of every stool and on top of every table and at regular intervals along the counter.
The owner of the café was the laughing-stock of the street for several weeks, and it was only after a long time that people began going to the café again.
Hat said, ‘Is just like I say. Boy, I don’t like meddling with that man. These people really bad-mind, you know. God make them that way.’
It was things like this that made people leave Man-man alone. The only friend he had was a little mongrel dog, white with black spots on the ears. The dog was like Man-man in a way, too. It was a curious dog. It never barked, never looked at you, and if you looked at it, it looked away. It never made friends with any other dog, and if some dog tried either to get friendly or aggressive, Man-man’s dog gave it a brief look of disdain and ambled away, without looking back.
Man-man loved his dog, and the dog loved Man-man. They were made for each other, and Man-man couldn’t have made a living without his dog.
Man-man appeared to exercise a great control over the movements of his dog’s bowels.
Hat said, ‘That does really beat me. I can’t make that one out.’
It all began in Miguel Street.
One morning, several women got up to find that the clothes they had left to bleach overnight had been sullied by the droppings of a dog. No one wanted to use the sheets and the shirts after that, and when Man-man called, everyone was willing to give him the dirty clothes.
Man-man used to sell these clothes.
Hat said, ‘Is things like this that make me wonder whether the man really mad.’
From Miguel Street Man-man’s activities spread, and all the people who had suffered from Man-man’s dog were anxious to get other people to suffer the same thing.
We in Miguel Street became a little proud of him.
I don’t know what it was that caused Man-man to turn good. Perhaps the death of his dog had something to do with it. The dog was run over by a car, and it gave, Hat said, just one short squeak, and then it was silent.
Man-man wandered about for days, looking dazed and lost.
He no longer wrote words on the pavement; no longer spoke to me or to any of the other boys in the street. He began talking to himself, clasping his hands and shaking as though he had ague.
Then one day he said he had seen God after having a bath.
This didn’t surprise many of us. Seeing God was quite common in Port of Spain and, indeed, in Trinidad at that time. Ganesh Pundit, the mystic masseur from Fuente Grove, had started it. He had seen God, too, and had published a little booklet called What God Told Me. Many rival mystics and not a few masseurs had announced the same thing, and I suppose it was natural that since God was in the area Man-man should see Him.
Man-man began preaching at the corner of Miguel Street, under the awning of Mary’s shop. He did this every Saturday night. He let his beard grow and he dressed in a long white robe. He got a Bible and other holy things and stood in the white light of an acetylene lamp and preached. He was an impressive preacher, and he preached inanodd way. He made women cry, and he made people like Hat really worried.
He used to hold the Bible in his right hand and slap it with his left and say in his perfect English accent, ‘I have been talking to God these few days, and what he tell me about you people wasn’t really nice to hear. These days you hear all the politicians and them talking about making the island self-sufficient. You know what God tell me last night? Last night self, just after I finish eating? God say, “Man-man, come and have a look at these people.” He show me husband eating wife and wife eating husband. He show me father eating son and mother eating daughter. He show me brother eating sister and sister eating brother. That is what these politicians and them mean by saying that the island going to become self-sufficient. But, brethren, it not too late now to turn to God.’
I used to get nightmares every Saturday night after hearing Man-man preach. But the odd thing was that the more he frightened people the more they came to hear him preach. And when the collection was made they gave him more than ever.
In the week-days he just walked about, in his white robe, and he begged for food. He said he had done what Jesus ordered and he had given away all his goods. With his long black beard and his bright deep eyes, you couldn’t refuse him anything. He noticed me no longer, and never asked me, ‘So you goes to school?’
The people in Miguel didn’t know what to make of the change. They tried to comfort themselves by saying that Man-man was really mad, but, like me, I think they weren’t sure that Man-man wasn’t really right.
What happened afterwards wasn’t really unexpected.
Man-man announced that he was a new Messiah.
Hat said one day, ‘You ain’t hear the latest?’
We said, ‘What?’
‘Is about Man-man. He say he going to be crucified one of these days.’
‘Nobody go touch him,’ Edward said. ‘Everybody fraid of him now.’
Hat explained. ‘No, it ain’t that. He going to crucify hisself. One of these Fridays he going to Blue Basin and tie hisself to a cross and let people stone him.’
Somebody-Errol, I think-laughed, but finding that no one laughed with him, fell silent again.
But on top of our wonder and worry, we had this great pride in knowing that Man-man came from Miguel Street.
Little hand-written notices began appearing in the shops and cafés and on the gates of some houses, announcing Man-man’s forthcoming crucifixion.
‘They going to have a big crowd in Blue Basin,’ Hat announced, and added with pride, ‘and I hear they sending some police, too.’
That day, early in the morning, before the shops opened and the trolley-buses began running in Ariapita Avenue, the big crowd assembled at the corner of Miguel Street. There were lots of men dressed in black and even more women dressed in white. They were singing hymns. There were also about twenty policemen, but they were not singing hymns.
When Man-man appeared, looking very thin and very holy, women cried and rushed to touch his gown. The police stood by, prepared to handle anything.
A van came with a great wooden cross.
Hat, looking unhappy in his serge suit, said, ‘They tell me it make from match-wood. It ain’t heavy. It light light.’
Edward said, in a snapping sort of way, ‘That matter? Is the heart and the spirit that matter.’
