Hanif Kureishi - Gabriel's Gift

Hannah, who stood on the doorstep in her vast black overcoat, heavy shoes and hat, looked like someone from another age. But at least she had sartorial self-respect, thought Gabriel. The rest of the older population now resembled a legion of disoriented mountaineers, in lightweight, all-weather clothes covered in pockets, with labels like Eiger and South Face.

‘Come on, then,’ he said, helping her down the steps. ‘And make sure I don’t fall into the clutches of any drug dealers on the way.’

Hannah rarely went further than the local shops and market. As Gabriel led her to the bus stop and saw how alarmed she was by the swirling indifferent crowd and its numerous languages, he talked to her continuously. Still she insisted on taking his hand; not, he realized, to lead him, but for fear of getting lost herself.

Seeing the various neighbourhoods from her point of view — for a while it seemed advantageous to pretend to himself that he was in Calcutta — he noticed that the bus, onto which they had had to clamber at the traffic lights as the driver appeared to see no other reason for slowing down, was driven by a monosyllabic lunatic who only stopped when shouted at by the passengers, most of whom were listening to music on headphones. Other ‘customers’ chatted loudly on their mobiles and almost everyone else gibbered and swore to themselves. Then the bus — because of road works, he was told — didn’t take its usual route but seemed to veer around West London almost at random, with the frantic passengers shouting instructions each time they saw a sign saying DIVERSION.

She was solid, Hannah, and, back on the street, moved only slowly, with a kind of shuffle, whereas everyone else was engulfed by the stream; a moment’s hesitation could engender a homicide. Gabriel tried to stand between her and this eventuality.

By the time they reached Dad’s house she seemed exhausted. But when, on the pavement outside, she heard people speaking in her language, Hannah’s face brightened and she started to follow them into the building. Gabriel had to tell her to stay where she was.

‘Why —?’ she began.

‘Dad might be in a bad mood,’ he explained.

She stepped back sadly. Gabriel couldn’t let her see Dad’s place for fear she wouldn’t be able to resist telling his mother that he was drinking beer, surrounded by ashtrays, dirty plates, and his only asset, a picture by an old rock star.

Gabriel then took her to the bus stop, accompanied her onto the ship of fools and instructed someone to tell her when to get off. Then, as she looked so bewildered, and he was grateful not to be her, he bent down to her face and kissed her. Her hands went to his and she kissed him back, in gratitude. He waved from the street as her terrified face flew into the traffic.

At last he was pushing on his father’s door.

‘Here comes the son!’ called Dad gaily. He was in bed in all his clothes, apart from his trousers, reading the paper. ‘Little darlin’!’

‘You’re cheerful today,’ said Gabriel. ‘What are we going to do? Is it a museum or the cinema? There’s a film I want to see.’ He patted his pocket. ‘Don’t worry, Mum’s given me the money.’

‘Why — does she think I haven’t got any?’

‘She knows you, Dad.’

‘And she thinks I’m useless. If we want to see a film we can do it. We can go anywhere we like — almost.’

‘How come?’

‘You’ll see. Pass me my trousers. Have you noticed that they’re new combats?’

Gabriel was looking around. ‘Where’s Lester’s picture?’

His father got up energetically but slipped on several discarded beer cans and landed back on the bed.

Gabriel helped him up and said, ‘Take it easy, Dad. Save the falls for a stadium.’

‘When I find the motherfucking floor and my shoes I’m going to show you where your picture is.’

‘We have to go somewhere? You said it was on the wall.’

‘It is on the wall. Not on this wall, necessarily. But it is definitely on a wall. A wall is a wall, isn’t it? Or are you picky about your walls?’

‘I am picky about them, as it happens. I like my possessions to be on walls I know.’

‘Do you want to see it or not?’

‘I’m less keen now.’

Dad was putting his trousers on. ‘Christ, you’re in a dismal mood.’

‘You’ve put me in one, funky fingers,’ said Gabriel.

‘You’ll be OK in a minute. Got any grass?’

‘I’ve given up, Dad.’

‘Mum tell you off?’

‘It was making me paranoid … and I kept seeing strange things. Chairs and stuff.’

‘Yeah, I’ve had paranoia in my time. No chairs, though. I wouldn’t want that. Chairs? Was it the stuff you got at school or the stuff I grew at home?’

‘All of it. I’ve been getting very lost in my own head and sometimes I feel I’ll never get out, as if I’m —’

‘Come on now, we’ve got things to do.’

As they went out, Gabriel noticed, leaning against the entrance, the man with the curly slippers who’d threatened Dad. He nodded as they went past, as if he knew everything about them.

After travelling a short distance, Dad locked up the bicycle and they walked to a hamburger restaurant with a flashing neon sign announcing the name, Splitz.

The girl on the door greeted Dad like a friend, kissing him on both cheeks.

‘What sort of place is this?’ Gabriel said. ‘What are we doing here?’

‘Speedy — the boss and owner — is an old pal. He used to hang around the bands. When we were on tour, he started to cook for us. He was so slow because he couldn’t stop wittering on that he was called Speedy. Look at him now, shaking his withered old pussy in cream while we’re just — just creamed!’

Gabriel looked at tourists and adolescents in London for the day, eating hamburgers as big as rugby balls, knickerbocker glories and sundaes like icebergs.

‘But Dad —’

Dad said, ‘Yo! Speedy!’

Hurtling towards them, Speedy was middle-aged with a young man’s face, tinted yellow. He had good teeth and teenage American clothes.

‘This is him, my boy.’ said Dad.

‘At last,’ said Speedy. He took Gabriel’s hand and caressed it with long, manicured fingers. ‘He is blond, and not the wrong blond either! Those cheekbpnes could cut you open! Where did he get them?’

‘Not from me, obviously,’ said Dad.

‘And Lester’s friend, too! I can see why.’

Speedy laughed soundlessly by opening his mouth and pushing his head forward on its long wrinkled neck. Gabriel guessed that professionally he had to laugh a lot and this was the most economical way to do it.

‘How is dear Lester?’ Speedy asked.

On closer examination, Gabriel saw that Speedy’s head seemed to have been shrunken from a larger model, as if his features had shrivelled over the years.

‘The very same cool dude,’ said Dad. ‘I told you, I was hanging out with him just the other day. You know, when he gave me the … thing.’

‘Thing?’

‘The thing … on the wall.’

‘Yes, yes. That reminds me, there’s something I need to tell you. Hold on a minute.’

‘Bacchus with a face-lift,’ whispered Dad, as Speedy suddenly disappeared to have his lips nibble at another face.

On his return, Speedy said, ‘Come up to my operating table.’

They climbed the underlit stairs to a table set on a dais overlooking the restaurant, covered in papers, magazines, invitations and CDs. A waitress brought them milkshakes and beer.

‘Now,’ said Speedy, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’ll show you.’

‘I can’t wait,’ said Dad. To Gabriel he said, ‘I haven’t seen it yet! I didn’t want to look without you.’

‘You’ll be ecstatic,’ said Speedy. ‘This picture looks good!’