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

his rum, continued sick all day, and rose fresh and strong early Monday morning, ready for the week’s work.
    It was only this Saturday drinking that kept Beharry’s shop going. He himself never drank because he was a good Hindu and because, as he told Ganesh, ‘it have nothing like a clear head, man’. Also, his wife didn’t approve.
    Beharry was the only person in Fuente Grove with whom Ganesh became friendly. He was a little man, scholarly in appearance, with a neat little belly and thin, greying hair. He alone in Fuente Grove read the newspapers. A day-old copy of the Trinidad Sentinel came to him every day by cyclist from Princes Town and Beharry read it from end to end, sitting on a high stool in front of his counter. He hated being behind the counter. ‘It does make me feel I is in a pen, man.’
    The day after he arrived in Fuente Grove Ganesh called on Beharry and found that he knew all about the Institute.
    ‘Is just what Fuente Grove want,’ Beharry said. ‘You going to write books and thing, eh?’
    Ganesh nodded and Beharry shouted, ‘Suruj!’
    A boy of about five ran into the shop.
    ‘Suruj, go bring the books. They under the pillow.’
    ‘ All the books, Pa?’
    ‘All.’
    The boy brought the books and Beharry passed them one by one to Ganesh: Napoleon’s Book of Fate , a school edition of Eothen which had lost its covers, three issues of the Booker’s Drug Stores Almanac , the Gita , and the Ramayana .
    ‘People can’t fool me,’ Beharry said. ‘Tom is a country-bookie but Tom ain’t a fool. Suruj!’
    The boy ran up again.
    ‘Cigarette and match, Suruj.’
    ‘But they on the counter, Pa.’
    ‘You think I can’t see that? Hand them to me.’
    The boy obeyed, then ran out of the shop.
    ‘What you think of the books?’ Beharry asked, pointing with an unlighted cigarette.
    When Beharry spoke he became rather like a mouse. He looked anxious and worked his small mouth nervously up and down as though he were nibbling.
    ‘Nice.’
    A big woman with a tired face came into the shop. ‘Suruj Poopa, you ain’t hear me calling you to eat?’
    Beharry nibbled. ‘I was just showing the pundit the books I does read.’
    ‘Read!’ Her tired face quickened with scorn. ‘Read! You want to know how he does read?’
    Ganesh didn’t know where to look.
    ‘He does close up the shop if I don’t keep a eye on him, and he does jump into bed with the books. I ain’t know him read one book to the end yet, and still he ain’t happy unless he reading four five book at the same time. It have some people it dangerous learning them how to read.’
    Beharry replaced the cigarette in the box.
    ‘This world go be a different and better place the day man start making baby,’ the woman said, sweeping out of the shop. ‘Life hard enough with you one, leave alone your three worthless children.’
    There was a short silence after she had gone.
    ‘Suruj Mooma,’ Beharry explained.
    ‘They is like that,’ Ganesh agreed.
    ‘But she right, you know, man. If everybody did start behaving like me and you it would be a crazy kinda world.’
    Beharry nibbled, and winked at Ganesh. ‘I telling you, man. This reading is a dangerous thing.’
    Suruj ran into the shop again. ‘She calling you, Pa.’ His tone carried his mother’s exasperation.
    As Ganesh left he heard Beharry saying, ‘ She ? Is how you does call your mother? Who is she ? The cat mother?’
    Ganesh heard a slap.
    He went often to Beharry’s shop. He liked Beharry and he liked the shop. Beharry made it bright with coloured advertisements for things he didn’t stock; and it was as dry and clean as Ramlogan’s shop was greasy and dirty.
    ‘It beat me what you does see in this Beharry,’ Leela said. ‘He think he could run shop, but he does only make me laugh. I must write and tell Pa about the sort of shop it have in Fuente Grove.’
    ‘It have one thing you must write and tell your father to do. Tell him to go and open a stall in San