Hanif Kureishi - The Last Word

‘Please, Liana, you smell of fish, and I’ve got a problem that only a diplomat like you can help me with. The day has come — I’ve been fired.’

‘Who by?’

‘Your husband. Last night he chased me with his stick. He was a little, let’s say, agitated by the Marion material.’

‘So was I.’

‘Do I leave then?’

‘Why not?’

‘Okay. I’ll get my things.’

She said, ‘Not that I believed a word of that filth. Did you? The puttana made it all up for revenge and publicity. Can you imagine for a moment him behaving like that? The British public are decent and will understand. It was obvious he would fall out with you.’

‘Doesn’t he ensure a fatal fight with everyone? Particularly the women.’

‘Not with me,’ she said. ‘I’m the boss here, tesoro , don’t worry.’

‘I’ll ring Alice and give her the news that you will help,’ he said. ‘She’s at home fretting about me.’

‘She is delicate, we must take care of her. But doesn’t it worry you,’ Liana said, ‘and don’t take this the wrong way — that she doesn’t find you at all amusing?’

‘Thanks for that, Liana.’

‘You are very funny, you know.’ She looked at him, and said, ‘As for Mamoon, never ignore him, and never listen to him. You go to work, and I’ll speak to him at exactly the right time.’ She winked. ‘Observe the masterly way I shoot for his G-spot. It’s like feeding a lion while keeping your fingers.’

Mamoon came in, with a dressing on his forehead. If Harry had wondered whether Mamoon would remember last night’s threat, he needn’t have worried.

Mamoon scowled, and said with a ferocity Harry had yet to become accustomed to, ‘My spine aches the entire time, I can’t see a foot in front of my face and I’m dizzy. My knee feels like an envelope full of broken glass and my penis is like a chloroformed slug—’

‘Are you constipated? Have you had the dream again?’ asked Liana.

‘I am facing this urchin in my kitchen.’ He jabbed at Harry and said, ‘I rang Rob and ordered that you must stand out of my sunshine, sunshine.’

‘No, Mamoon.’ Liana pointed the washing-up brush at him, and then flicked it, as she did with the cats when they jumped on the table. ‘Idiot or not, we’ve given him this damn job and he has to complete the paperwork. Your tantrums are ridiculous and interfering.’

‘This serpent, the woodworm, insulted me.’

‘How?’

‘He made allegations against my honour.’

‘Are you finally saying they’re absolutely and completely wrong?’

‘Liana, I’ve told you, he’s beyond a pest.’

‘He is. Even Alice has absolutely confirmed the woodworm is a blood-boiler. But he stays.’

‘Why defend a fake who actually hasn’t written a word? I think you like him a bit too much.’

‘Too much for what?’

‘It’s repulsive in a woman of your age. You resemble a mutton chop.’

She started to laugh. ‘Eat me then!’

‘Shut up.’

‘Watch it.’ She repointed the brush in his direction.

Harry wouldn’t have wanted that brush pointed at him , and could see that a younger Mamoon, at this point, could become mightily annoyed and cranky. He appeared to be looking about for something handy to heave in her direction. Then his breathing slowed, he closed his eyes and caressed his battered forehead.

‘Remove him for ever from my sight.’

She said, ‘We made a decision, you and I together, and we should follow it through without this mad fatwa against him. Otherwise I won’t feed you.’ She picked up the saucepan from the Aga and walked to the bin. ‘Dal makhani, your favourite. And your paneer — say bye bye, paneer.’

‘Liana—’

‘And you love my salty raita. It was going to be followed by apple crumble and cream. Choose now — food or mood.’

‘Food or mood? Don’t throw that away! I choose food.’ He was hurriedly tucking his napkin into the neck of his shirt. ‘Will there be tomatoes? I love how you cooked them last time.’

‘Did you?’ she said, winking at Harry. She went and kissed Mamoon, sliding her hand down the front of his shirt. ‘Did you like that, habibi , my love?’

‘It might be more tasty if you cooked everything that way.’

‘I will do it like that — if you make me.’

‘One more thing.’ He thrust his finger at Harry. ‘Where is Alice?’

‘Why?’ asked Liana.

‘She has calming hands,’ he said.

Liana rolled her hands over Mamoon’s belly. ‘Don’t I?’

‘She’s professional.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Harry.

‘Looks like you’ve been given a last chance,’ said Liana. ‘You’d better get that book done. Soon we will read some of it. And we had better like it. .’

Alice and Liana sat in the heat on the lawn, passing a tub of vanilla ice cream between them and conspiring to bring young people to Prospects House. Her face hidden under an umbrella to protect it from the sun, Alice had her feet up on a stool; when she wasn’t scooping up Ben and Jerry’s, she laid the back of her hand on her overheated and worried forehead, and sighed deeply. Then she noticed Harry and started on the considerable business of sitting up.

Liana was writing lists and thinking aloud; she used the words ‘young’ and ‘artist’ a lot, as well as ‘yoga centre’ and ‘writers’ retreat’. In contrast, Mamoon didn’t look like a man whose home would soon be open to the public. Sitting in the shade a decent distance away, working on the proofs of his collected essays, Means and Ends , he couldn’t hear his wife. Occasionally, he would interrupt his humming of a tune by Everything But the Girl to groan and complain about his irrelevance, but no one listened. On Liana’s instructions, Julia bustled over with tea until he accused her of trying to poison him with Lapsang Souchong. Despite the sight of Harry pacing up and down outside the back door, Mamoon was cheerful. He had been active: recently, with a few remarks, he had made a lot happen.

Alice had been there for two days, swimming in the river and resting, while Mamoon was working again. Harry, after his conversations with Marion, had been settling back into his work. It had become difficult and frustrating as he fought to find clarity in the chaos of his research. For days he had read letters and written to friends, colleagues and possible lovers of Mamoon, while considering the work in relation to the life, making links across the decades.

But Rob had been attempting to harry Harry, as Mamoon had insisted he should. Harry might have been reinstated as official portraitist, but only on condition, Mamoon had concluded, that Liana get tough with Rob. It was time, Mamoon had said, for Harry’s work to be thoroughly inspected by the editor before Harry became waylaid or dangerous to literature, perhaps going too far in a ‘strange direction’, or becoming ‘self-indulgent’ with the book. Mamoon wanted to look like himself.

Mamoon might be annoyed, but it wasn’t as if Rob had been unprovoked by the biographer. For some time Harry had been ignoring his communications, claiming he was ‘out of range’. However, that morning, waking up late with Alice, Harry had pulled the curtains and stopped dead. Rob was stumbling up the track bearing a large suitcase and rucksack. It wasn’t long before Rob had walked into the house, demanded breakfast from Julia, and, when Harry went to greet him, insisted on seeing his laptop.

When he began to read through Harry’s work both aloud and to himself, Harry said, ‘I’m not ready for this, Rob. These are notes. Why are you doing it?’