Chapter 57 fifty six gilbert

I gradually dreaded the knock on the door.Is this how one should live in the UK?Who would it be if it weren't for that goddam thing downstairs who'd bother me, or beat me up until my nose bleeds? Kenneth.Standing in front of me rubbing his hands, he told me eagerly that he had a small offer for me to do business with.I crossed my hands and blocked the door, lest his warm eyes pull the whole person into the room.dude are you listening Oh yes, I'm listening, Kenneth. no dude.I'm not Kenneth, I'm Winston. I put my tongue against my cheek and continued to listen to the dumb proposition this man was about to tell me this time.His story begins when he tells me that he already has a little money.How does he earn it?He has several brothers from the same district as partners in his hometown.He had some savings, so he joined them.His luck soon came and made his money more abundant.Now with that money, plus some money his grandma gave him when he sold the land to a big-name movie star, he found he had enough money to buy a house.Right here, London.The exact location is Finsbury Park, he pointed his finger up and told me like a compass, it was just north of London.He went on to tell me that the place needed a lot of work, which is why he was able to get it for a good deal.

I asked: Dude, what's the point you're trying to tell me?I'm tired of waiting for that moment, and I can just say: No, thanks, and close the door.But one thing bothers me.I slowly began to see what was going on.The man standing in front of me spoke without ambiguity.I interjected, "Wait a minute, you're Kenneth, aren't you?" no dude.I'm Winston.Come on, can't you see it yet?He showed me the back of his hand as proof.I don't see anything on it. I asked him: Why are you showing me this?What am I looking for on it? Kenneth doesn't have those two spots on the back of his hand, see?One here and one there.He held his hand up in front of me, pointing to a stain that only his mom could see.

I told him: keep talking.The only effective way to find out was if he was asking me for money it would be Kenneth and vice versa it would indeed be Winston. Gilbert, I want you to fix that room.You can live there with your new wife.We rent other rooms to fellow villagers.There is no need to pay rent to British women.You can charge decent rent.Then take care of that place. Why are you using me?Why not come by yourself? Gilbert, I'm a businessman.I set my sights on another small place.I'm going to do the same there.But I can't take care of every place at the same time. Can I at least see the gleam in his eyes?So you want me to pay you?

Gilbert, you help me renovate there weekend, night.But I don't pay you.You take care of that place.I still won't pay you.But you have to give me some rent.Can we all agree on this?He looked at me firmly.Not once does he look ashamed of his shoe polish or the dirt under his nails.He asked: Tsk, dude, why don't you trust me? What about your brother? Come on, haven't you heard?Kenneth went to live in the Midlands of England. Why? Some guy in London is after the money he owes. Don't you worry that guy will come after you? No, because I'm the one chasing him.But, Gilbert, tell me what do you think?What do you say about my proposal?

why me? He breathed in between his teeth.I trust you.From the time we got here, you are the only brother I've known that I've trusted.You take care of me.Find this room for me. You don't want me to give you money? Tsk, man, I don't want your money!A little work and a little business.But if you don't want him ready to walk away.I grabbed him by the sleeve and yelled: Oh, Winston!Where have you been, dude? I hugged him right at the door while he groomed himself. Tsk, watch out for my suit.Freshly cooked. No longer welcome at Queenie's house, Winston was my saviour, arriving just in time for my needs. (In time! There are plenty of people in the home country who find out that time is more than just waiting for a moment.) I couldn't wait to see the place Winston had found for me, so I took the mail van a short detour. (Anyway, everyone knows that we stupid postman get lost.) It was a beautiful house.I could see it as soon as I turned the key and pushed the door open.What a big house!Four floors, solid solid rooms.The ceiling is so high that my voice echoes throughout the room.The garden stretched far and wide into the mist.The ground floor of the house has two bedrooms, a kitchen with sink and stove, and a bathroom.The living room has soaring windows that stretch from floor to ceiling.My fellow, after that room in Earl's Lane, I see a palace before me.But still my heart started pounding like boots.Why?How do I convince Hortens that this house is a place we can live?Repeatedly question me with this sentence: that's it?Frowning at me, convinced God put me in this world for the purpose of dragging her into the slums of England.She's only just been convinced that I'm not baby Queenie's troublesome daddy.Winston, no liar, said it was in need of a little repair.God, oh, baby.It does need a little renovation.Of course she would only see these ceiling-to-floor windows, old-fashioned gutters hanging crookedly, and rusty doors with broken hinges.Every fortified room is as eerie as a nightmare.Peeling dark brown paint, old newspapers strewn across the bare floor, and holes in the plaster so deep they reveal the planks of the house's structure.She will definitely notice the stink in the kitchen.Is the ground wet or a stray cat peeing?Can she tell the difference?Of course she would see dead pigeons falling in one of the bedrooms.But only after she had observed that every pane of glass in the window was broken did she say to me: Is this how the British live?Grieves, sighs at everything she sees.And what about dust?Just wave her white gloves in the air and watch them turn black.

But Holtens had no patience for questioning the room in Finsbury Park.She was eager to think of leaving this room in Earl Lane.Can't wait to get rid of Queenie.Mrs. Bligh and the chaos that ensues.And the gas stove, she had long wanted to wave goodbye to that broken gas stove.She was so eager, so full of higher life, that I had no choice but to nag her to remember that the place still needed repairs.She is wearing a coat, a green hat and white gloves.I lead her into the first room, nervous as if I were about to introduce a lover to a scary mommy.I even bought a bouquet of flowers!The previous afternoon, I put the winter bouquet in a vase and placed it on the fireplace.I swept up the scattered newspapers into a pile.Hey guys, I even buried pigeons.My imbecile mind thought that this stupid decoration might save Hertens from jeers.But now, instead of evoking a sense of home, those flowers look as sad as this room.She examined the fireplace, the floor, the ceiling, the unattended wooden shutters.At the window, she looked out puzzled at the street scene, running a gloved finger across the pane.She checked the windows as she swept the dust away, but said nothing.But man, I'm ready for what to do with her.Made her tell me this place is run down.Made her ask me why I brought her to this lifeless house.Because all the answers are on my lips.Rehearsed and ready to go.Just finished the war.And, yes, that's how the British live, and many worse than that.What!She thought she was a princess, could she turn her nose up at such a beautiful house?I would yell that she was lucky to have a place to live.

My eyes followed her as she paced the room in silent shock.When she finally finished her ordeal, she set her sights on me.She raised her chin, raised her nose for a long time, opened her lips slowly, and sighed: That's it? I knew she would say that.The same dispirited tone as when she first stepped into the room I had worked so hard to find in Earl Lane.that's all?Soon, when she saw my determination to drag her into the slums, she would lament and say, with downcast eyes: Is this how the English live?I took a deep breath to comfort myself. What do you mean?Tsk, the obnoxious woman started banging her knuckles on the wall, listening with sharp ears.

I mean, is that all? Just how?Does she look at me puzzled, or is it because of the sound on the wall that she cares? She spread her arms out: that's it?Come on, in this huge room, she has to stretch her arms.It's cold, but my brow is sweating.She said again: that's it?I'm ready.I'm on fire.Then she asked me slowly: Do we only have this room, or are there other rooms? What do you mean? Gilbert, what did you do?This is simple question.This room is nice, but is this all we have? Wait a minute, you like this room? Yes, this room is fine. Very run down.I said. We can fix it.

But look, I told her, don't you see the paint is peeling off the wall?What about those windows?Every window is cracked. These things can all be fixed. That takes a lot of work. Come on, Gilbert, you're not afraid of a little hard work.I can help you.She spins around the room.A little paint and some rugs.She moved to the corner, leaned forward, opened her arms and said: Here is a table and chair.Before rushing to the fire Proposal: Here are two armchairs in front of an open English fireplace.Just watch, we'll make it comfortable here.All words knotted in my tongue.But before my eyes, I suddenly saw almost the most beautiful woman.Pride, arrogance Well, let's face it, it's even unbearable.But I still just want to kiss her.Pull her towards me, right in the middle of this rickety room.Feel her breath, then her lips against mine.

She asked: But Gilbert, I want to know, is this the only room, or are there other rooms? This beauty wants the best in everything.I will never again ask her to just commit herself to that.She is beautiful in a green hat and white gloves, and I will make her life worthy of her finery.Hold her high, and make that room in Earl Lane a distant memory, like a scene in a dream.I smile at her, with love.I said: Oh no, Miss Dirtyfoot.In addition to this one, there are many, many rooms.Come on, if you hold my hand, I will show you around one by one. I am used to sleeping with my arms folded in an armchair.My limbs have become foldable.No winged animal can be folded so neatly as I do.I may be wrinkled like a moth emerging from a cocoon every morning, but as long as there is light, the blood will flow through my body in an instant, making me feel like a man again.Under my big blanket, I'm as snug as a bug.As usual every night, I turned off the light and wished Hertens a good dream.But tonight, when all is still and dark, I hear her whisper: Gilbert.

Tsk!I thought to myself: what is it this time?Is it rats, dripping water from the tap, the smell of gas?Hortens, I'm tired, I'll talk about it in the morning, okay? Gilbert. I make sleep noises, cueing them with fake snores. Gilbert, would you like to come to bed? I didn't answer.Why?Well, I believe I'm asleep and dreaming these words.I was sure if I spoke, she would wake up and blame me for interrupting her. She said it again, louder this time: Gilbert. I said timidly with great fear: What is it, Hortens? Didn't you hear what I said?I know I'm awake.Well, every part of my body has never been so alert before. I said: I'm not sure. What do you think I said? I am not sure. I said, do you want to sleep in bed with me?There are still many seats. She lifted the quilt.As she rolled the bed toward me, I felt a breeze inside.I moved on the chair to pay attention, not to stand up, but to make a sound, to see if she was playing tricks on me.Will she tell me has she changed her mind?Or joked that it was a good joke that made her laugh, haha?I stick out a leg in case I can go back when my self-esteem is needed.But she said: Do you want to come over because I'm starting to get cold? There is no man in the world who can refuse.If anything, I tell you, it's not Jamaican either.I fly up from my chair.Every time my feet hit the cold floor, they squeezed into two sheets.The rest of my grateful body followed suit, settling in the warmest place in the world.It felt like the Caribbean sun was shining on me, and the naked girl was fanning me with a banana leaf, and it couldn't have been better.Because the smell of Hortens soothes my body.Her soap, her perfume.Tsk, even her not-so-sweet sweat smell.But that amazing obstinacy couldn't fool me.I turned my back on her and lay stiff as a stick.Afraid that if I touched any part of her on purpose or by accident, she would start screaming.She draped the blanket over me with motherly efficiency.I feel her foot lightly pressing against my leg.I move the legs away.But the cold little foot followed immediately. She asked: Are you sleeping well?I have no sense of reason to speak.If I open my mouth, she hears me panting like a dog.She brought her face to the back of my neck.Her breath, light as a kiss, flutters in my ears.Gilbert, tell me, will there be a doorbell at our new home?Will that doorbell jingle jingle?At the same time, her foot, the dirty one, began to rub lightly up and down my leg.