Hanif Kureishi - The Last Word

‘That’s just the country, Harry. They are natural sounds. But there is another noise.’

‘What is it? Where?’

‘Why are you so jumpy? Has something disturbed you?’

‘Yes, I’m disturbed all the time here. I think Mum is calling to me through the walls. Dead mothers talk even more than live ones.’

‘What does she say?’

‘She asks me what I’m doing here.’

‘That’s what mothers are supposed to do.’

He said, ‘Keep holding my penis.’

‘Just a minute. Come,’ she called. ‘Oh big, big wow. Wow.’

The door opened and Julia came in bearing a breakfast tray.

‘Good morning, ma’am,’ Julia said, placing the tray on the low table at the end of the bed. Harry shrank under the sheets. It was the only time his penis had contracted in Julia’s presence. ‘And sir. Sorry it’s me — Mum’s not well. She had a fall onto her knee.’

‘Not a push? I’m sorry to hear that, Julia. I hope she recovers soon.’

‘Thank you, sir. Can I pour the tea for you?’

‘That would be perfect, my dear.’

‘There’s toast and eggs downstairs. I’ll run your bath for you, ma’am.’

‘Thank you,’ said Alice. When Julia had gone, she whispered, ‘Is it like P. G. Wodehouse every day?’

‘Oh yes. I haven’t lifted a finger all the time I’ve been here. I’ve found the indolence utterly enervating.’

Alice and Harry went down to join Liana, while Julia and her mother moved slowly around them waving rags and squirting unguents. Although Alice had asked Julia for an ironing board, Julia had somehow found their clothes and elected to do Alice and Harry’s washing and ironing, explaining that not only would she be offended if Alice did the work herself, but she even might lose her job.

‘I beg you, Alice ma’am, it’s my only livelihood,’ she said, ‘since they closed the abattoir.’

The closing of the abattoir had generated many knock-ons in the area, most of them deleterious. Working for Liana and Mamoon at the weekends, Julia had also put in some hours at the abattoir during the week, in order to increase her earnings. Now, since she was aware that Liana was becoming fed up with her, not only did she take care of her and Mamoon, she cleaned and tidied Harry and Alice’s room and bathroom, and organised Harry’s papers, notebooks and stationery. Harry felt slightly oppressed by Julia’s ever-presence, but there was nothing he could do about that, nor about the way her eye watched over him and Alice from a suitable vantage point, usually near the skirting board.

After the long weekend, Alice realised she was owed some annual leave and decided to stay on instead of fleeing back to the city, as she had said she would. She had become almost romantic about the place, despite the fact that, as Harry complained, it took an hour to buy milk and you had to wear wellingtons most of the time, if not rainwear and a vest. Alice said now that she loved Mamoon and Liana, who felt like parents to her, and that spending this intimate time with Harry — witnessing his anguish and hearing him worry, the exposure of his need — was one of the best things to have happened to their relationship.

While Harry worked, Alice helped Mamoon choose his clothes, before taking him on drives and walks, where she was beginning a series of photographs of him in the countryside, leaning against trees, ‘for the book’.

‘I thought he hated being photographed?’

‘Not by me. He listens to a woman,’ Alice said later, when they took a canoe down the balmy little river. Alice sat sedately in the front in nautical stripes and a floppy hat, steering occasionally by dipping her paddle into the water like someone stirring their tea. ‘I feel he wants to understand and help me.’

‘Help you what?’

‘Live more successfully.’

‘What is that?’

‘To have more pleasure.’

Earlier that morning he had watched her walking ahead of him, in the sunshine, slow, dreamy, sensual, almost vacant and outside time, a creature in another dimension, and he thought, guiltily, that that, for him, was a woman: always other, and a provocation. Now he handed her a peach from a basket at his feet, and watched her bite into it, the juice running down her chin.

‘What a beautiful pussy you are. .’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’m surprised to hear you say he listened and was interested,’ said Harry, handing her a napkin. ‘Friends of his I’ve interviewed say he’s self-absorbed. He had a tantrum the other night because a tomato was too cold.’

‘I’d hate it if he had a tantrum. I wouldn’t know what to do. I’d probably just cry. How did Liana deal with it?’

‘“Cold, habibi ? Oh dear,” she said, picking up the relevant tomato, sticking it up her dress and placing it between her thighs. “A cold tomato. That must be the worst thing in the world. Why don’t I warm it up for you? Is that better?” When she replaced it on the plate he took a bite. “That is indeed better, memsahib,” he said. “You know I need to spare my teeth.”’

Alice, for whom vulgarity and humour were a portal to madness, said, ‘There’s nothing in it for him with the men. With the women he really gives us the gaze. He makes anarchic jokes and hums the songs by Dido I’ve introduced him to.’

‘Dido?’

‘The Stéphane Grappelli was getting me down.’

‘Me too. But he hums Dido? The two of you listen to White Flag ?’

‘He la-la’s along. It’ll be Tracey Thorn next and then I’ll slowly manoeuvre him all the way to Amy Winehouse. What would you say, Julia? Does he listen to you?’

‘Yes, he does,’ said Julia, who was waiting at the little jetty with an armful of towels. Harry and Alice had learned that you merely had to say her name for her to materialise, like a spirit. ‘He doesn’t treat me like a servant. He never has, since I was little. He sits there and talks to me about what’s in the paper when he reads them in the morning, asking me who the people are.’

‘You see,’ said Alice, moving towards Julia and being helped up the bank. ‘Go to him, Harry, and talk. Take your chance. I wagged my finger and said, “Harry’s getting insomnia and depression. Do not upset my partner, Mr Writer, or you’ll find that things will not go well.”’

‘Did that go down a treat?’

‘He will give more to you now. He seemed to be bubbling over, earlier, and may say you can meet the other woman.’

‘Marion?’

‘Now, go,’ she said. ‘I want to spend some time with Julia.’

‘Why?’

‘We have similar backgrounds. And similar interests. Come on, my dear,’ she said to her. ‘Let’s get together. Let’s talk about men, babies and how fat we were as children. Let’s frighten Harry and then go shopping with Liana this afternoon. I want to buy perfume. And perhaps later we could dance in the barn.’

Harry said, ‘Can’t I come with you?’

‘Of course not. You have important things to do.’

‘Would it be possible for us to chat a little today?’ whispered Harry, pleased to have found Mamoon in the library.

To Harry’s surprise, Mamoon said, ‘Yes, why not, I am keen,’ though he did glance at Harry’s clipboard as if it were his death certificate. ‘Do you have any exciting questions for once?’

‘I wondered if you might feel invigorated after your morning massage?’

‘My skin is singing. And you have put me in the unfortunate position of having to think about you, something I’ve been reluctant to do.’

‘Think about me in what way?’

‘You’re surprised.’

‘Gobsmacked, sir.’

‘Good.’ Mamoon said, ‘Your fascination with the female body isn’t unnatural or unusual. In fact the body of the young woman is the world’s most significant object, admired and desired by homosexuals, of course, as well as by other women, babies, lesbians, children, fashion designers and men. No wonder Muslims hide the woman like a filthy picture, while their fundamentalists remind us that female sexuality is the biggest problem of all. For these people the woman is already a whore. They’re right to be so concerned,’ he went on. ‘The young female body is at the centre of the world, and usually at the centre of most elections — abortion, single mothers, maternity leave, prostitution, incest, abuse, the hijab. . The woman is where we all come from, and where we all want to go. The woman’s body makes knowledge disappear. It’s amazing that anyone has time to think about philosophy, literature, psychology or history. Women know it too, which is why they hurry on the street. No beautiful woman is a slow walker.’