Hanif Kureishi - The Last Word

Since then one small outhouse had been restored as Mamoon’s work room. Another run-down barn apparently housed his unused books, copies of his own works in numerous languages, and a disorganised archive, but nobody had been in there for some time. A ‘studio’, where she would write, paint or design, was semi-built for Liana, but remained unfinished, and she used it to dance in. Liana had also been planning, with an architect, a further extension for guests. It was partly this development, along with all the work she’d had done to the house itself, which had busted Mamoon, forcing him to say that if things didn’t improve, he’d have to work for a living.

Mamoon himself, now in his early seventies, stood waiting for them in the yard with Liana and Yin and Yang, their two young, barking springer spaniels. A handsome and seemingly strong man still, with a wide chest, goatee beard and black eyes, Mamoon was diminutive and dressed in tweedy English country clothing, greens and browns. Liana appeared to be dressed almost entirely in fur, the tails of dead animals dripping down her chest.

The couple greeted their guests warmly, but it was clear, as Rob fell out of the taxi and gazed deferentially at Mamoon, that Mamoon wasn’t interested in him: Mamoon, to Harry’s satisfaction, gave Rob one of the scathing grimaces he was famous for.

Rob lurched away to shout at people on the phone. Then, while Liana went off to cook, Rob hurried towards the sofa in the living room, dragging a rug from the floor and plunging under it. ‘The fresh country air always relaxes me. Don’t let it happen to you,’ he said, passing out. ‘And — make sure you impress him.’

While waiting for Mamoon, who had gone to get changed, Harry contemplated Rob, horizontal rather than lateral, and thought how enviably free and individual the editor was, beyond the disappointing pull of reality.

‘Come, please, Harry. Will you?’

Harry did a double take, for Mamoon had appeared at the door head-to-toe in blue Adidas and trainers. Waving at the young man, he said he would show him his land, two ponds, and the river at the bottom of the field.

‘Let’s walk together and talk, since we are both interested in the same thing.’

‘What is that, sir?’

‘Me.’

Harry had heard that with his sarcasm, superiority, scrupulosity and argumentative persistence, Mamoon had made hard men, and, in particular — his forte — numerous good-hearted, well-read women weep. However, as they went out of the house and across the garden, Mamoon said nothing about the biography, and made no jokes or cutting remarks. Harry had been taken to meet Mamoon and Liana three weeks before, at a lunch organised by Rob. The talk then had been gossipy and light; Mamoon had been gentle and charming, and had kissed his wife’s hand. Harry imagined that this meeting in the country would be the serious audition. But he seemed already to have been given the job. Or had he? How could he find out?

They looked at the flowers, vegetables, ponds, and the closed, grubby-looking swimming pool. Then Mamoon looked at Harry and explained that he needed exercise. It turned out that, among other things, Rob had told Mamoon that Harry was an intellectual with a fine singing voice, and also that he’d been a schoolboy tennis champion. Unfortunately, the reprobate now snoring and groaning on the sofa had failed to inform Harry that playing tennis with Mamoon was part of the deal, and that he would be introduced to a pair of Mamoon’s old shorts, while hitting balls for him in the court adjacent to his garden.

That afternoon, as Mamoon puffed and thrashed, and Harry helped him with his backhand grip and even sculpted Mamoon’s body into his as they worked on his serve, Harry was terrified that Mamoon would drop dead on the court, murdered prematurely by the man sent to embalm him in words.

The tennis session cheered Mamoon. Clearly seeing that Harry’s presence wouldn’t be all bad, he punched his fist into the palm of his other hand, and said, ‘You have the look of an English gentleman cricketer. Did you play for Cambridge?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re not terrible at tennis. You even tested me. I like that. I need it. While you write me, we can be competitors. It will lift our games. We will improve together, side by side. Okay?’

Mamoon went to shower; Liana took Harry into the garden, sat him down on a bench and patted his knee. Simultaneously, a dark-eyed country girl with tied-back black hair and a tight white blouse began to pad across the infinite lawn with a tray of tea and biscuits. When the girl finally arrived, after what seemed like forty minutes, and began to pour the tea — things in the country appeared to take place in slow motion; the stream petrified between pot and cup — Liana looked Harry over with a mixture of severity and pity, and indicated the surroundings.

‘What is your impression?’

Harry sighed. ‘The peace, the silence, the distance. This place is paradise. Perhaps I’ll get to live like this, when I’m older.’

‘Only if you work very hard. I can reveal the truth now, young one. My husband approves of you. He whispered to me while changing that you seem to be among the few decent and bright Englishmen left on this island. “How did they turn out one so decent?” he said. But, Harry, it is my job to ask you what you intend to do with this man I love, admire and worship.’

Harry said, ‘He is one of the greatest writers of our time. Of any time, I mean. His fictions are stand-out, but he got to know, and has written up, some of the most violent and powerful men in the world. I want to give a true account of his fascinating life.’

‘How can you tell it all?’

Rob had warned Harry that you couldn’t go wrong if you mentioned ‘the facts’. No one could have a beef with ‘the facts’ — they were unarguable, like a punch in the face.

‘The facts—’

But Liana interrupted him. ‘I must tell you that it will not be easy, but Mamoon is compassionate and wise. You will write a gentle book, remembering that all he has, apart from me, is his reputation. Anyone who besmirches that will suffer from nightmares and boils forever. By the way, do you take drugs?’ Harry shook his head. ‘Are you promiscuous?’

Harry shook his head again. ‘I am almost engaged,’ he said.

‘To a woman?’

‘Very much so. She is a PA to a clothes designer.’

‘And you don’t have a criminal record?’

‘No.’

‘Dear God, with you we are getting everything at once!’

He was becoming dizzy; Liana stared at him in admiration until he felt uncomfortable and sipped his tea.

‘How is it, your tea, sir?’ said the girl, who was still standing there. ‘You like Earl Grey? Rrrr. . if it’s your favourite and you’re coming to stay, I’ll get you a hundred tea bags.’

‘Thank you, I do like it.’

‘Digestive?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Jaffa cake?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Shall we go in and eat properly?’ said Liana.

Rob missed lunch, and woke up when the taxi arrived.

‘I can see,’ said Liana, as she and Mamoon stood together in the yard with their arms around one another, waving goodbye to Rob and Harry, ‘that it is going to be a lot of fun to have you here, and we will all get along well as Team Mamoon. You will be so welcome here at Prospects House! I can feel already that you will become like a beloved son to us.’

‘They’re so happy together,’ said Rob, as the taxi drew away. ‘Makes me spit. Harry, don’t go straight home. I’m not quite as married as I used to be. Let’s go out and rip some rectum, yeah?’

‘No, please—’

‘I am adamant, friend.’

That night, since he thought it would be Harry’s last glimpse of civilisation for some months, Rob insisted on taking him and Alice to a smart place in Mayfair frequented by bankers, gangsters and Russian prostitutes. They began with vodka, oysters and tiger prawns, but as with all of Rob’s sprawling meals, it was some time before they even reached the base camp of the first course. Hours later, staggering out into the quiet, grand city, and feeling as if he’d swallowed someone’s head, Harry said, ‘Who would have any idea that the financial system has collapsed?’