Going Solo Read Free Page B

now and you’re not leaving this room until you’ve made me a promise! You’ve got to promise me you won’t tell a soul! Promise me that!’
    Behind him I could see that curious black leather ‘violin case’ lying open on his bunk, and in it, nestling alongside each other like three large black hairy hedgehogs, lay three more wigs.
    ‘There’s nothing wrong with being bald,’ I said.
    ‘I didn’t ask for your opinion,’ he shouted. He was still very angry. ‘I just want your promise.’
    ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I said. ‘I give you my word.’
    ‘And you’d better keep it,’ he said.
    I reached out and took hold of the pipe that was lying on my bunk. Then I began rummaging round in various places for my tobacco pouch. U. N. Savory sat down on the lower bunk. ‘I suppose you think I’m crazy,’ he said. Suddenly all the bark had gone out of his voice.
    I said nothing. I could think of nothing to say.
    ‘You do, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You think I’m crazy.’
    ‘Not at all,’ I answered. ‘A man can do as he likes.’
    ‘I’ll bet you think it’s just vanity,’ he said. ‘But it’s not vanity. It’s nothing to do with vanity.’
    ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘Really it is.’
    ‘It’s business,’ he said. ‘I do it purely for business reasons. I work in Amritsar, in the Punjab. That is the homeland of the Sikhs. To a Sikh, hair is a sort of religion. A Sikh never cuts his hair. He either rolls it up on the top of his head or in a turban. A Sikh doesn’t respect a bald man.’
    ‘In that case I think it’s very clever of you to wear a wig,’ I said. I had to live in this cabin with U. N. Savory for several days yet and I didn’t want a row. ‘It’s quite brilliant,’ I added.
    ‘Do you honestly think so?’ he said, melting.
    ‘It’s a stroke of genius.’
    ‘I go to a lot of trouble to convince all those Sikh wallahs it’s my own hair,’ he went on.
    ‘You mean the dandruff bit?’
    ‘You saw it, then?’
    ‘Of course I saw it. It was brilliant.’
    ‘It’s just
one
of my little ruses,’ he said. He was getting just a trifle smug now. ‘No one’s going to suspect me of wearing a wig if I’ve got dandruff, are they?’
    ‘Certainly not. It’s quite brilliant. But why bother doing it here? There aren’t any Sikhs on this ship.’
    ‘You never know,’ he said darkly. ‘You never can tell who might be lurking around the corner.’
    The man was as potty as a pilchard.
    ‘I see you have more than one,’ I said, pointing to the black leather case.
    ‘One’s no good,’ he said, ‘not if you’re going to do it properly like me. I always carry four, and they’re all slightly different. You are forgetting that hair
grows
, old man, aren’t you? Each one of these is longer than the other. I put on a longer one every week.’
    ‘What happens after you’ve worn the longest one and you can’t go any further?’ I asked.
    ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘That’s the clincher.’
    ‘I don’t quite follow you.’
    ‘I simply say, “Does anyone know of a good barber round here?” And the next day I start all over again with the shortest one.’
    ‘But you said Sikhs didn’t approve of cutting hair.’
    ‘I only do that with Europeans,’ he said.
    I stared at him. The man was stark raving barmy. I felt I would go barmy myself if I went on talking to him much longer. I edged towards the door. ‘I think you’re amazing,’ I said. ‘You’re quite brilliant. And don’t worry about a thing. My lips are sealed.’
    ‘Thanks old man,’ U. N. Savory said. ‘Good lad.’
    I flew out of the cabin and shut the door.
    And that is the story of U. N. Savory.
    You don’t believe it?
    Listen, I could hardly believe it myself as I staggered upstairs to the bar.
    I kept my promise though. I told no one. Today it no longer matters. The man was at least thirty years older than me, so by now his soul is at rest and his wigs are probably being used by his nephews and nieces for