Adam Thirlwell - Politics

‘I mean. Had you, had you had sex with girls before? Or did you?’ said Papa.

‘Me, um, no,’ said Nana. ‘No.’

‘And was that? Was that odd then?’

‘What? With Anjali?’

‘Well yes.’

‘It was. It was fun. It was different.’

‘So you enjoyed it?’

‘I?’

‘You liked it, with Anjali?’

Nana wriggled. She pushed her palm down flat on the duvet, over a white proud lion.

‘I’m not going to answer that,’ she said.

‘So. This must have been Moshe’s idea, I suppose?’ asked Papa.

‘No,’ said Nana. ‘Was mine.’

‘It was yours?’

‘Look it wasn’t anyone’s idea.’

‘The, the, what do you call it, the menage?’

‘Yeah the menage.’

‘But, how do you start it? How did it start?’ ‘Look Papa.’

‘Okay, okay.’

‘Were you all drunk?’ said Papa.

‘Do you have to ask these questions?’ said Nana.

‘I’m just. I’m. No.’

‘I mean it’s fine.’

‘I have to say,’ said Papa. ‘I always liked that boy.’

‘Papa!’ said Nana.

‘Well it’s true. He made me laugh.’

‘But. Jesus,’ said Papa.

This was a different ‘Jesus’. This was a more secure, more comprehending ‘Jesus’. It was a fascinated ‘Jesus’.

10

Papa was naughty and fascinated. But he also had his more caring side. It made him protective. It made him protective and serious.

‘But. I’m not entirely happy with this,’ said Papa. ‘I have to say.’

‘You’re what?’ said Nana.

‘I’m not entirely, I can’t entirely approve of this.’

‘What, leaving?’

‘No not the leaving. Well. I don’t approve of the leaving. But this whole arrangement.’

‘It’s not narrayngement. It’s over.’ ‘Well it was an arrangement.’

‘Well it’s not any more.’

‘Was it?’ said Papa.

‘Was it what?’ said Nana.

‘Was it ideal?’

‘No of course not.’

‘I thought it would be a good thing,’ said Nana.

‘A good thing?’ said Papa.

‘I thought it would make him happy. I thought it’d make her happy.’

‘But what about you?’

‘I thought I. I. I don’t know.’

‘It’s difficult to talk about,’ said Nana.

‘Uhhuh,’ said Papa.

‘It’s, well, was nice for a while. It sounds odd but it was nice.’

‘No I can believe that.’

I think we can trace a progression for Papa’s emotions in this scene. It is quite an understandable progression. First Papa was shocked. Then shock turned into slight amazement. Then this amazement lurched into amused curiosity. Then this became protectiveness and worry. Worry was now giving way to simple logical thought.

‘But then Moshe’s not really going out with Anjali,’ said Papa. ‘He’s been left with her.’

‘No no,’ said Nana, ‘he likes her. They’re going out.’ ‘But does he love her? Are they in love?’

‘I don know.’

‘Are they in love?’

‘I don know. Maybe.’

‘I mean how long have they? I mean. It’s only a couple of weeks.’

‘Months.’

‘Alright months. Christ. Months.’

‘But still,’ said Papa. ‘Sweetheart, what were you thinking?’

No, Papa was intelligent, no question.

‘And what about you and him?’ said Papa. ‘Does Moshe still love you?’

‘I don know,’ said Nana.

‘You don’t know?’

‘Well possibly. Well yeah.’

‘So okay. This is the thing,’ said Papa. ‘You have left Moshe with another girl, who he feels sorry for, while he is still in love with you. And you’ve done this so that you can be with me.’

This was not exactly correct, remember. It was a little more noble than the truth. It was correct as far as Papa knew, but Papa did not know about Nana’s worries about sex. He did not know that there was a selfish reason for leaving Moshe as well as a sweet one.

‘Well if you put it like that,’ said Nana.

When Nana was young, she went upstairs to bed and then would lie there, in the foetal position. She did this because someone at school had told her that it made you feel safe. So Nana curled up. She went to bed early, at twilight. And then she would lie there and wait for her goodnight kiss. She’d listen to the creaks of the landing as Papa came upstairs. And then she would pretend to be asleep as the door was pushed gently ajar. Then his face was close to her and she kept her eyes extraspecially tight. He kissed her, then he left. She went to bed early, at twilight, and the curtains turned the white room blue so that if you woke up from your quickest dream you couldn’t tell if it was really a white room in blue light or a blue room resplendent in white light.

When Nana woke up, she would pad off across the landing and find Papa in his bigger bed. And if he was on the side close to the door she’d crawl up next to him, perched on the edge. She looked after him. She did this by dozing with him. And when he got up to go to work then Nana would let herself tumble and end up where Papa had been. And she would watch his crouched breasts and the tuft of his shaving brush and his odd hooked penis through the half-closed bathroom door.

Twice a week the office let Papa go home early to Nana, so that he could watch her while she did her homework at the kitchen table. He squeezed his cufflinks out of his cuffs and made her tea.

Whenever Nana imagined happiness it was in the kitchen with her Papa.

This was her favourite house. There was a rosehip bush on the corner of the road. There were sleeping policemen, made of red brick with yellow edging. There was a green lounge and a yellow kitchen with dandelion wallpaper. And upstairs there was a white landing with a rucked oatmeal carpet. At the end of the landing there was a window with a stained-glass tulip. On this tulip, Nana had Blu-Tacked a bird she had made, cut out of cardboard — its black felt-tip outline smothered in gluey feathers.

She loved the house. She loved her Papa. I don’t want you to underestimate this, now that Papa, sweet practical generous Papa, was making her change her mind.

12

Papa said, ‘You are obviously going to have to go back to Moshe.’

Nana said, ‘I can’t.’

‘No. You are going back to Moshe.’

‘But I really can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I can’t go back because there’s Anjali,’ said Nana.

‘Darling I don’t see this problem with Anjali,’ said Papa. ‘Do you love Anjali?’

‘No.’

‘And do you love Moshe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then what?’

‘I can’t hurt Anjali.’

‘Nana. Nana. Anjali is not the problem.’

Of course this is what Nana wanted to hear. It is what she really wanted. She wanted Moshe back and on his own. But it was difficult for Nana, doing what she wanted. It was especially difficult if what she wanted would also hurt someone else.

But this is the ending. It is where everything turns upside down. And Nana would be selfish. That is why it is the ending.

Perhaps you do not agree that this is selfish. Perhaps you think that if Papa wanted Nana to leave, then there is hardly a vexed moral issue. But the issue is not with Papa. Well, it is not just Papa. The issue is Anjali.

I told you to remember Anjali. Anjali was, in an odd way, happy. And Nana knew that. Moshe had told her. She also knew that, if she went back, she would be taking Moshe away from Anjali. Moshe had told her that too. So what I am saying is this. Nana knew all of this, and she would still go back. She would do everything she needed to do.

‘You know I love you very much,’ said Papa.

And Moshe would come back to her. Of course he would. I know everything. I know Moshe very well.