The Salesman, Rasheed, saw the middle-aged, East Indian man inspecting tractors in the showroom and a wave of dislike swelled up inside him.
The man wore an old, faun coloured, felt hat; a rumpled, green, plaid shirt and mud-stained, navy blue pants held up by a piece of string. His zipper was spoilt and he used a large safety pin to fasten his fly. His feet and chappals were encrusted with mud. The wooden chappals clacked loudly on the floor when he walked and left a trail of mud flakes. He held a grease-stained, brown, paper bag, which he swung nonchalantly when he spoke. He smelled of cow dung and of coconut oil mixed with Limacol, which rural Indians used for hair grooming.
Photo by Navin Parray
Rasheed stomped towards the man. "Don't touch! Don't touch!" he said harshly, polishing the tractor with cheesecloth to erase the man's finger print smudges.
"I did just lookin' at de tracter dem", the man said in a sing-song intonation, a broad smile wreathing his face.
Rasheed hated that smile. It reminded him of ignorant, fawning coolies.
"Well look but don't touch," he snapped.
"How much dis tracter cost, bhai?" the man asked.
"One forty," Rasheed replied curtly.
"An' how much horsepower it have?"
"Twenty."
"Yuh have good mechanic to fix dem?"
Rasheed glared at the man then stalked off to attend to another customer. Left alone, the man continued inspecting a tractor. He felt the upholstery, rocked the steering and finally hopped into the driver's seat.
Rasheed saw him. "Hello! Hello!" he called out disapprovingly.
"I'll handle it," another salesman assured.
Approaching the man, he said, "Excuse me, can I help you?"
"I did just lookin' at de tracter dem," the man replied.
"What you want to know?"
"You have good mechanic to fix dem?"
"Yes."
"Dem wuk good on hill, bhai? Dem nuh capside?"
"No, they make to operate on hills."
"Merican, eh bhai?"
"Yes."
"'Merican make good vehicle."
"Yes, they do."
"How much dem cost, bhai?"
"The twenty horsepower is $140,000 and the sixteen... $112,000."
"Yuh have discount, bhai?"
"We can arrange something if you pay in seven days. We also give free servicing for the first two oil changes."
"Dat good, bhai. Make out a bill for two."
"Two?" the salesman echoed, half amused.
"Yeah, de twenty horsepower dem."
"I see," the salesman replied, humouring the man. "You paying cash or through the bank?"
"Cash. Bank have too much paper dem does want yuh sign. Where yuh office, bhai?" the man asked expectantly.
"Sorry, I don't have one," the salesman apologized.
"No office bhai, a top class salesman like you?"
"Let's go to my desk."
There he pretended preparing a receipt.
"O.k., that's $280,000."
"Aie, yuh good in ‘ritmetic, bhai," the man laughed, opening the paper bag he carried. Then he casually dumped a mound of hundred dollar bills on the desk. The salesman's jaw dropped at the sight.
Rasheed, observing from a distance, stood shocked, realizing the commission he had lost.
The man stacked several bundles of cash neatly on the desk and shoveled the remainder back into the bag.
"Make the bill out to Harrylal," he said, then he strode out of the showroom, chappals echoing noisily through the building.
That evening Rasheed's mother noticed his surliness.
"Rasheed, bhai, wha' wrong?"
"Nothing Ma. Where Pa?"
"He in de garden with yuh uncle from Guyana. They trying out a new tracter."
Rasheed headed outside to investigate. Through the bushes, he saw his father chatting with someone. Fear welled up inside him as he recognized the person. It was the man with the brown, paper bag.