Magic Seeds by V.S. Naipaul Page B

days.”
    Dear Willie, Our father is ill. Neither you nor I have been in touch with him for many years, and I suppose if you asked meI would have said that I was waiting for him to die, so that no one would be able to see what I had come from. I don’t know how you feel, but my shame was very great, and my happiest day was when Wolf came and took me away from that dishonest mess of a family and an ashram. But this news of the illness of the old man makes me think of things from his point of view. I suppose with age one can begin to do things like that. I see how damaged he was, through no fault of his own, and I see how he did the best with what was available to him. We are of another generation and another world. We have another idea of human possibility and we must not judge him too harshly. My heart is telling me that I should go and see him, although I know in my bones that when I get there I will find the same old mess and will be ashamed of them all and pining to leave all over again
.
    Willie thought, “The waiter’s clean white uniform was a sign. That idea of changing a hundred marks into rupees and making my way back to the ashram was a bad idea. It is cowardly. It is against all my knowledge of the world. I must never think of it again.”
    When he went back to the street of the tanners he said to Bhoj Narayan, “You are right. We should start thinking of making our way back to the camp. If there has been a calamity they will need us all the more.”
    They were very close then, and that afternoon in the town, and walking to the factory, and during the hours of work, and during the walk back just before dawn. And Willie for the first time felt something like companionship and affection for the dark man.
    He thought, “I have never had this feeling for any man. It iswonderful and enriching, this feeling of friendship. I have waited forty years for it. This business is working out.”
    They were awakened about noon by a commotion outside their house: many harsh voices speaking at once. The harsh voices were the voices of the tanners, as though they had developed this special grinding quality of voice to compensate for the high smell in which they lived. The light around and above the door was dazzling. Willie was for looking out. Bhoj Narayan pulled him to one side. He said, “Somebody is looking for us. It is better for me to deal with it. I will know how to talk.” He dressed and went out into the commotion, which immediately became more of a commotion, but then was stilled by the authority of his new voice. The voices moved away from the house, and a few minutes later Bhoj Narayan came back with a man in what Willie could now recognise as the peasant disguise people in the movement used.
    Bhoj Narayan said, “I never thought we were going to be let down. But we almost gave you up. We’ve been living on air for a week.”
    The mock-peasant said, wiping his face with the long thin towel hanging over his shoulder, like an actor growing into his part, “We’ve been under great pressure. The Greyhounds. We’ve lost some people. But you were not forgotten. I’ve brought you your money, and your instructions.”
    Bhoj Narayan said, “How much?”
    “Five hundred rupees.”
    “Let’s go into the town. There are now three of us outsiders in one little room in the settlement, and we’ve drawn a lot of attention to ourselves. That could be unhealthy.”
    The mock-peasant said, “I had to ask. Perhaps I didn’t use the right words. And they became suspicious.”
    Bhoj Narayan said, “You probably tried to be funny.”
    He and the newcomer walked ahead. They all came together again at the hotel where Willie had his coffee and rice-cakes. The waiter’s uniform was degrading fast.
    Bhoj Narayan said to Willie, “The leadership are taking quite an interest in you. You’ve hardly been in the movement, but already they want you to be a courier.”
    Willie said, “What does a courier do?”
    “He takes