Hanif Kureishi - Gabriel's Gift

‘Sorry?’ said Gabriel.

‘Quiet,’ said Dad, picking up his beer glass. ‘Just wait and see, will you, Gabriel!’ He said to Speedy, ‘He’s very impatient.’

‘Good for him,’ said Speedy. ‘If you ask me, nothing you have to wait for is worth having.’

Gabriel was led past a wall on which hung gold discs and tour jackets; some of the jackets might have been made by his mother. There were photographs of menacing young men in ostentatious ‘Saturday’ clothes, boys who were once heroes to other boys. There were posters for American bands and movies, juke-boxes, ageing fruit machines and copulating clockwork rabbits in a glass case.

On a pillar, in a big silver frame, with a light ith over it, and a legend under it — ‘ New Art Work — Lester Jones ’ — was ‘Lester’s’ picture. It had gained another title too. Tick the Plate, Nigel,’ it was now called, for some unknown reason.

This was Gabriel first exhibition: the first time art by him had been hung in public. But soon Gabriel began to feel unwell and not only because he suspected that ‘art’ brought out the worst in people.

‘Well hung, eh?’ giggled Speedy. ‘It’s a work of art!’

‘A great work of great art,’ Dad repeated, putting his arm around Speedy.

‘Of course everything in Splitz is art,’ Speedy went on. ‘And is original. But this is even more original than the other originals, which are also original. It’s amazing. And here, with us, is Gabriel.’ said Speedy, turning instinctively to the camera that had been produced by the girl who’d greeted them at the door.

Gabriel, Speedy and the picture were photographed together. As Dad didn’t want to be left out, a photograph of Dad, Gabriel and the picture soon followed.

Dad said, ‘You going to put one of these pictures up here, Speedy?’

‘Maybe I will, if they turn out good.’

‘You’ve got lots of photographs. What you need in here,’ said Dad, ‘is a good old-fashioned painting of yourself, with you looking magnificent and handsome and in charge.’

‘That’s a great idea. Anyone can have a photograph done. But where would I get a portrait?’ Speedy adopted a final pose. ‘Now — smile one more time, folks!’

Throughout this Gabriel remained quiet, though he kept glancing at the picture.

He knew Lester would feel betrayed by having a personal gift displayed like this without being asked. Not only that, the night Gabriel had crept into his mother’s room, retrieved it from under the bed, and then stayed up, he hadn’t copied the picture exactly how it was. He had, in fact, ‘improved’ it a little here and there, adding other colours, lines and various experimental flourishes. Lester might have said that most art is theft; William Burroughs might have written that ‘all pictures are fakes’; but they can’t have meant it literally. The picture might not be exceptionally valuable but Gabriel had forged Lester’s signature — rather well, he thought. A career in crime would have been a possibility, if he weren’t so sensitive. If the truth came out, Gabriel would be in serious trouble not only with Speedy, his parents and Lester, but with the police. It was Archie’s fault. Archie had led him on. If Archie hadn’t been dead, Gabriel would have killed him.

Speedy went on, ‘I can tell you boys — people are coming in just to look at this. Real Lester enthusiasts with seventies hair. The problem is, Lester was kinda anorexic in those days, and they don’t eat as much as I would like. More good news — one of the national daily papers might run a story about it. What do you think about that, Gabriel?’

‘Gabriel!’ said Dad. ‘Pay attention!’

‘It’s lovely,’ said Gabriel. ‘Marvellously wonderful.’

Speedy went on, ‘Maybe they’ll use one of the pictures we just took! Your friends at school will be mightily impressed! Aren’t you pleased?’

Gabriel put on his shades. ‘I’m delighted.’

‘But you’re cool, too, eh?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Yes.’ said Dad. ‘He’s bloody cool.’

‘That’s good,’ said Speedy. ‘It’s how a young boy should be.’

‘I’m not that young,’ said Gabriel.

‘No, no, of course not,’ said Speedy. ‘At your age you seem to be all your ages at once.’

‘That’s right,’ said Gabriel. ‘It is like that.’

‘See,’ said Dad. ‘I told you Speedy was cool.’

‘Yeah,’ said Gabriel.

Back at the table Gabriel took his father’s beer and sipped it. Speedy beat him insistently on the shoulder. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m very proud … of Lester,’ said Gabriel.

‘Good, good.’ said Speedy. ‘Me too.’

‘Really, aren’t you pleased?’ asked Dad, trying to peer into Gabriel’s glasses. ‘Everyone can see it now. It’s democratic, right? And of course you can come and sit here and look at it whenever you like.’

Gabriel asked Speedy, ‘Does Lester come here?’

‘Oh yes, yes. He has been here, a few years back,’ said Speedy. ‘But I can’t say he’s a regular visitor, no.’ Gabriel sighed in relief. ‘But his friends come in. Like guide dogs, they keep an eye on things for him.’

When at last, having ordered more drinks and food for Dad, and having spotted a TV presenter and a footballer at the entrance — though he was only a mid-fielder from the First Division — Speedy sped away. Gabriel tried to breathe more easily and take in the enormity of what had happened.

‘You’re quiet,’ said Dad. He was eating and drinking rapidly. ‘It’s free.’ His cheeks were bulging.

‘So? I’m thinking.’

‘Thank God for that. Your eye is twitching too. Do you know why?’

‘Did you get a good price for the picture?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Did you, Dad?’

Gabriel saw his father’s embarrassment. It hadn’t been his intention to make his father feel bad. In fact Gabriel had been thinking that, despite everything, they all had what they wanted. Gabriel’s mother had a picture by ‘Lester’; Speedy had a picture by ‘Lester’; Gabriel had the original in his room; and his father had some money.

‘Not what I’d expected or hoped for,’ said Dad. ‘Speedy’s shrewd. But what I got was better than nothing.’ Dad leaned across the table. ‘Sometimes living is more important than a few squiggles on a piece of paper.’

‘What will you do with the money? Get a flat in a mansion block?’

‘A flat? A toilet, maybe. Or a window — without curtains!’ His father laughed without humour.

‘How long will the money last?’

‘I’ve saved some for you, but otherwise it’s nearly gone.’

‘On what?’

‘Food, booze, rent and my debts, which are considerable. It’s expensive out there. Mum always looked after the money. I had no idea what things cost.’

‘What will you do now?’

‘I’ve borrowed more from the man downstairs. I had no choice. What else could I do?’

‘How will you pay it back?’

‘Really, I don’t know,’ said Dad. ‘I had a bad argument with the landlord and he’s told me to get out. I’m going to end up sleeping on the street. Look out for me at tube stations singing “The Streets of London”. I’m afraid it might be the end of the road for me, Angel.’

‘Can’t you stay with a mate?’

‘For how long? Anyway the wives won’t have me there.’

‘Why?’

‘They say I’m a bad influence! Me! I’ve known those people for years — and they won’t have me in the house! I tell you, kid, after a time, all a man wants is a little peace. Unfortunately, the calmest state of mind is happiness, and I’m a long, long way from that. Anyhow, I don’t think I should burden you with this. Is she seeing anyone else?’