The Comedians (23 page)

‘So the pump will be set working now?' I asked.

‘It will be one of my first projects.' He waved his hand at the files on the shelves behind him. ‘But as you see I have many cares.' I noticed that the steel grips on many of his ‘cares' had been rusted by a long succession of rainy seasons: a ‘care' was not quickly disposed of.

Mr Smith came smartly back at him. ‘So Doctor Philipot is still missing?'

‘As your war-communiqués used to put it, “missing believed killed”.'

‘But I attended his funeral,' Mr Smith said.

‘His what?'

‘His funeral.'

I watched the Minister. He showed no embarrassment. He gave a short bark, which was meant to be a laugh (I was reminded of a French bulldog) and said, ‘There was no funeral.'

‘It was interrupted.'

‘You cannot imagine, Professor, the unscrupulous propaganda put about by our opponents.'

‘I am not a professor and I saw the coffin with my own eyes.'

‘That coffin was filled with stones, Professor – I am sorry, Mr Smith.'

‘Stones?'

‘Bricks to be exact, brought from Duvalierville where we are constructing our beautiful new city. Stolen bricks. I would like to show you Duvalierville one morning when you are free. It is our answer to Brasilia.'

‘But his wife was there.'

‘Poor woman, she was used, I hope innocently, by unscrupulous men. The morticians have been arrested.'

I gave him full marks for readiness and imagination. Mr Smith was temporarily silenced.

‘When are they to be tried?' I asked.

‘The inquiries will take some time. The plot has many ramifications.'

‘Then it's not true what the people think – that the body of Doctor Philipot is in the palace working as a zombie?'

‘All that is Voodoo stuff, Mr Brown. Luckily our President has rid the country of Voodoo.'

‘Then he has done more than the Jesuits could do.'

Mr Smith broke in with impatience. He had done his best in the cause of Doctor Philipot and now it was his mission which demanded full attention. He was anxious not to antagonize the Minister with such irrelevancies as zombies and Voodoo. The Minister listened to him with great courtesy, doodling at the same time with a pencil. Perhaps it was not a sign of inattention, for I noticed the doodle took the form of innumerable percentage-marks and crosses – so far as I could see there were no minus-signs.

Mr Smith spoke of a building which would contain a restaurant, kitchen, a library and a lecture hall. If possible there should be enough room for extensions. Even a theatre and cinema might be possible, one day; already his organization could supply documentary films, and he hoped that soon – given the opportunities for production – there might arise a school of vegetarian dramatists. ‘In the meanwhile,' he said, ‘we can always fall back on Bernard Shaw.'

‘It is a great project,' the Minister said.

Mr Smith had been in the republic a week now. He had seen the kidnapping of Doctor Philipot's body; I had driven him through the worst of the shanty-town. That morning he had insisted against my advice in going to the Post Office himself to buy stamps. I had lost him momentarily in the crowd, and when I found him again he had not been able to approach a foot towards the
guichet
. Two one-armed men and three one-legged men hemmed him round. Two were trying to sell him dirty old envelopes containing out of date Haitian postage stamps: the others were more frankly begging. A man without legs at all had installed himself between his knees and removed his shoe-laces preparatory to cleaning his shoes. Others seeing a crowd collected were fighting to join in. A young fellow, with a hole where his nose should have been, lowered his head and tried to ram his way through towards the attraction at the centre. A man with no hands raised his pink polished stumps over the heads of the crowd to exhibit his infirmity to the foreigner. It was a typical scene in the Post Office except that foreigners were rare nowadays. I had to fight my way to reach him, and once my hand encountered a stiff inhuman stump, like a piece of hard rubber. I forced it on one side, and I felt revolted by myself, as though I were rejecting misery. The thought even came to me, What would the fathers of the Visitation have said to me? So deeply embedded are the disciplines and myths of childhood. It took me five minutes to get Mr Smith clear, and he had lost his shoe-laces. We had to replace them at Hamit's before we called on the Secretary for Social Welfare.

Mr Smith said to the Minister, ‘The centre, of course, would not be run at a profit, but I calculate we ought to give employment to a librarian, secretary, accountant, cook, waiters – and eventually of course the cinema-usherettes . . . At least twenty people. The film-shows would be educational and free of charge. As for the theatre – well, we mustn't look too far ahead. All vegetarian products would be supplied at cost price, and the literature for the library would be gratis.'

I listened to him with astonishment. The dream was intact. Reality could not touch him. Even the scene in the Post Office had not sullied his vision. The Haitians freed from acidity, poverty and passion would soon be bent happily over their nut cutlets.

‘This new city of yours, Duvalierville,' Mr Smith said, ‘might provide an admirable situation. I'm not an opponent of modern architecture – not at all. New ideas need new shapes, and what I want to bring to your republic is a new idea.'

‘It might be arranged,' the Minister said, ‘there are sites available.' He was making a whole row of little crosses on his sheet, all plus-signs. ‘You have plenty of funds, I am sure.'

‘I thought a mutual project with the Government . . .'

‘Of course you realize, Mr Smith, we are not a socialist state. We believe in free enterprise. The building would have to be put up to tender.'

‘Fair enough.'

‘Of course the Government would make the final decision between the tenders. It is not a mere matter of the lowest bid. There are the amenities of Duvalierville to be considered. And of course questions of sanitation are of first importance. For that reason I think the project might well come in the first place under the Ministry for Social Welfare.'

‘Fine,' Mr Smith said. ‘Then I would be dealing with you.'

‘Later of course we would have to have discussions with the Treasury. And the Customs. Imports, of course, are the responsibility of the Customs.'

‘Surely there are no duties here on food?'

‘Films . . .'

‘Educational films?'

‘Oh well, let us talk about all that later. There is first the question of the site. And its cost.'

‘Don't you think the Government might be inclined to contribute the site? In view of our investment in labour. I guess land here doesn't fetch a high price anyway.'

‘The land belongs to the people, not the Government, Mr Smith,' the Minister said with gentle reproof. ‘All the same you will find nothing is impossible in modern Haiti. I would myself suggest, if my opinion is asked, a contribution for the site equivalent to the cost of construction . . .'

‘But that's absurd,' Mr Smith said, ‘the two costs bear no relation.'

‘Returnable, of course, on completion of the work.'

‘So you mean the site would be free?'

‘Quite free.'

‘Then I don't see the point of the contribution.'

‘To protect the workers, Mr Smith. Many foreign projects have come suddenly to an end, and the worker on pay day has found nothing in his envelope. A tragic thing for a poor family. We still have many poor families in Haiti.'

‘Perhaps a bank guarantee . . .'

‘Cash is a better notion, Mr Smith. The
gourde
has remained stable for a generation, but there are pressures on the dollar.'

‘I would have to write home to my committee. I doubt . . .'

‘Write home, Mr Smith, and say that the Government welcomes all progressive projects and will do all it can.' He rose from behind his desk to signify that the interview was at an end, and his wide toothy smile showed that he expected it to be beneficial to all parties. He even put his arm around Mr Smith's shoulders to demonstrate that they were partners in the great work of progress.

‘And the site?'

‘You will have a great choice of sites, Mr Smith. Perhaps close to the cathedral? Or the college? Or the theatre? Anything which does not conflict with the amenities of Duvalierville. Such a beautiful city. You will see. I will show it to you myself. Tomorrow I am very busy. So many deputations. You know how it is in a democracy. But Thursday . . .'

In the car Mr Smith said, ‘He seemed interested all right.'

‘I would be careful about that contribution.'

‘It's returnable.'

‘Only when the building's completed.'

‘His story about the bricks in the coffin. Do you suppose there's something in that?'

‘No.'

‘After all,' Mr Smith said, ‘none of us have actually seen Doctor Philipot's body. One mustn't judge hastily.'

II

For some days after my visit to the embassy I heard nothing from Martha, and I was worried. I played the scene over and over again in my mind, trying to judge whether any irrevocable words had been spoken, but I remembered none. I was relieved, but angered too, by her short untender note when it came at last: Angel was better, the pain was over, she could meet me, if I wished, by the statue. I went to the rendezvous and found nothing changed.

But even in the lack of change and in her tenderness, I found cause for resentment. Oh yes, she was ready to make love now in her own good time . . . I said, ‘We can't live in a car.'

She said, ‘I've been thinking a lot about that too. We shall ruin ourselves with secrecy. I will come to the Trianon – if we can avoid your guests.'

‘The Smiths will be in bed by this time.'

‘We'd better take both cars in case . . . I can say I've brought you a message from my husband. An invitation. Something of the sort. You go first. I'll give you five minutes.' I had expected a night of argument, and then suddenly the door which I had pushed against so often before flew open. I walked through and found only disappointment. I thought: She thinks quicker than I do. She knows the ropes.

The Smiths surprised me when I reached the hotel by their audible presence. There was a clatter of spoons and the clinking of tins and a gentle punctuation of voices. They had taken over the verandah tonight for their evening Yeastrel and Barmene. I had wondered sometimes what they spoke about together when they were alone. Did they re-fight old campaigns? I parked the car and stood awhile and listened before I mounted the steps. I heard Mr Smith say, ‘You've put in two spoonfuls already, dear.'

‘Oh no. I'm sure I haven't.'

‘Just try it first and you'll see.'

From the silence that followed I gathered he was right.

‘I have often wondered,' Mr Smith said, ‘what happened to that poor man who was asleep in the pool. Our first night. Do you remember, dear?'

‘Of course I remember. And I wish I had gone down as I wanted to at the time,' Mrs Smith said. ‘I asked Joseph next day, but I think he lied to me.'

‘Not lied, dear. He didn't understand.'

I walked up the stairs and they greeted me. ‘Not in bed yet?' I asked rather stupidly.

‘Mr Smith had to catch up with his mail.'

I wondered how I could shift them from the verandah before Martha arrived. I said, ‘You mustn't be too late. The Minister is taking us to Duvalierville tomorrow. We start early.'

‘That's all right,' Mr Smith said. ‘My wife will stay behind. I don't want her bumped along the roads in the sun.'

‘I can stand it quite as well as you can.'

‘I
have
to stand it, dear. For you there's no necessity. It will give you a chance to catch up on your lessons in Hugo.'

‘But you need your sleep too,' I said.

‘I can do with very little, Mr Brown. You remember, dear, that second night in Nashville . . .'

I had noticed how Nashville came back often to their common memory: perhaps because it was the most glorious of their campaigns.

‘Do you know whom I saw in town today?' Mr Smith asked.

‘No.'

‘Mr Jones. He was coming out of the palace with a very fat man in uniform. The guard saluted. Of course I don't suppose they were saluting Mr Jones.'

‘He seems to be doing pretty well,' I said. ‘From prison to palace. It's almost better than log-cabin to White House.'

‘I have always felt that Mr Jones has great character. I'm very glad he's prospering.'

‘If it's not at someone else's expense.'

At even that hint of criticism Mr Smith's expression slammed shut (he stirred his Yeastrel nervously to and fro) and I was seriously tempted to tell him of the telegram sent to the captain of the
Medea
. Wasn't it possibly a flaw in character to believe so passionately in the integrity of all the world?

I was saved by the sound of a car, and a moment later Martha came up the steps.

‘Why, it's that charming Mrs Pineda,' Mr Smith exclaimed with relief. He rose and busied himself arranging a seat. Martha looked at me with despair and said, ‘It's late. I can't stop. I've just brought a message from my husband . . .' She produced an envelope from her bag and pushed it into my hand.

‘Have a whisky while you are here,' I said.

‘No, no. I really must get home.'