Hanif Kureishi - Collected Stories

‘Did he threaten Patricia?’

‘He didn’t need to. She was delighted to talk about the intricacies of your character, in so far as she understood it, for hours. Not that this interested Matte. Of course, she doesn’t know where you are. I left the island a few days later and went to Athens.’

‘Were you followed?’

‘Why would I be? What’s going on?’ Alicia said. ‘You know what Patricia wanted? For you to run the place with her.’

‘I’d have liked to do that,’ I said. ‘For a while. It would have been fun. Impossible too, of course, with her attitude towards me.’

‘You’d have done it?’ she said. ‘Don’t you have any doubts?’

‘What?’

‘About yourself. About what you are capable of? That makes you different to a lot of people. Different to most people, in fact.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I do have doubts. I just don’t want them getting in the way of my mistakes.’

She said, ‘Something else happened. I haven’t told you the whole story. When you disappeared from the boat that last night —’

‘Yes, sorry. I couldn’t stand it —’

‘Some people went back to the Centre. But I was hanging around to see whether you might return. A lot of our group stayed on the boat until after breakfast. The dawn was lovely. Matte came to me. He realised I was from the Centre. I don’t look like the other people he knows, with their perfect bodies. He took me to his room. He wanted information about you.’

‘What did you say?’

‘He was sitting there opposite me, opening and shutting his legs like a trap. He looked almost as handsome as you. I promised to tell him everything I knew about you if he fucked me. I told him I was an unorgasmic virgin. It was time, you see. He was amused, and seems to have looked into these things. “Apparently, the use of virgins”, he told me, “prolongs life. The headmaster of a Roman school for girls lived to one hundred and fifty. Rather that than ingesting the dried cells of foetal pigs, or drinking snake oil.” He seemed to think it was a decent exchange. He fucked me hard, right there on the floor. It was wonderful. Is it always like that? I’m pregnant.’

‘By him? Matte?’

She patted her stomach. ‘Don’t ask me if I’ll keep it.’

‘The world is full of single mothers. It’s the only way, these days. What use are men? But he’s not a good man.’

‘I don’t need to tell you, a good man is hard to find. Ask Patricia!’

‘Alicia, that was a mad thing to do! You don’t know him!’

‘One day, I’ll present him with a bill.’

‘But why him?’

‘You’d turned me on and I couldn’t wait any longer. No one else on that boat seemed much interested in having me. I know I’m not beautiful, and as a girl all I wanted was to be beautiful. Matte was looking at me like a hungry wolf I couldn’t keep from the door.’

‘It’s like having a kid with the devil.’

‘If he’s really bad, you’d better tell me the details. I can only consider my position if I know the facts. Otherwise … I’m going ahead with it.’

She was waiting; she seemed to be aware that there was more I knew.

‘I only met him once,’ I said. I kissed and cuddled her. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What will you do now?’

‘I’m back living with Mother. Things are dark. I need to tell you, I don’t know how to go on.’

I was looking at her. ‘People either want eternal life or they want out right now.’

‘Can you think of reasons to continue?’

‘Lots. Pleasure.’

‘Only that?’

‘Children,’ I added, ‘if you like them. They always gave me more pleasure than anything else.’

‘Good, good,’ she said.

With her, I always felt I had to justify the most basic things, which discomforted me. Still, I liked her; I’d always liked her. I wanted to help her. Then I had an idea. I told her I had something to sort out; we agreed to meet later.

When we parted, I went to an Internet café and sent an email in my given name, to a friend who was the editor of a literary magazine which published fiction, some journalism and photographs. I urged him to see Alicia as soon as possible. I told him I didn’t want my name mentioned. Then I rang Alicia and told her she had to go and see this man after lunch. After some argument she agreed to go to his office, read him a couple of poems and talk about herself.

Later that day, when we met again in a local pub, she told me he’d given her a job reading manuscripts and sorting out the office three days a week.

‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘Are you pleased?’

She kissed me. ‘I knew that somehow this had happened through you, Leo. But the odd thing was, he didn’t know your name.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘He wouldn’t remember me. But my father was well connected.’

‘Who was your father? Or is that your privacy, right?’

We were sitting in a bar by the window where I could monitor the street for murderers. I recognised a few local people. They all looked like murderers. However, there was one person in particular I had been looking out for during the last few days, without properly admitting it to myself, someone I couldn’t search out, but had to wait for.

It had to be now. There she was, my wife, across the road. The wheel of her shopping cart had come off. She was fiddling with it, but it would have to be fixed properly. At a loss, she stood there, looking around. The cart was heavy, full of provisions. She couldn’t leave it and she couldn’t carry it home.

I asked Alicia to excuse me. I crossed the road to my wife and asked if she were okay.

‘I’m rather stuck, dear.’

‘These small accidents can be devastating. Can I?’

I hauled the cart into a doorway and took a look at it. I’m not mechanical, but I could see the wheel had sheared off.

‘Do you live far?’

‘Ten minutes’ walk.’

I said, ‘I’ll be a good Samaritan. Wait one minute.’

I went back to Alicia.

‘This is my good deed for the week, perhaps for the century. Meet me in three hours at the pub on the corner.’

She was looking at me. ‘You’d go home with any woman, apart from me.’

‘It must seem like that.’

‘Can’t we bring up the kid together?’

I kissed her. ‘Later.’

I recrossed the road and picked up the cart in my arms.

‘Which way?’

It was heavy and awkward. I walked slowly, with exaggerated complaints, in order to spend more time with my wife.

‘Don’t you have anyone to help you?’ I said.

‘Not at the moment.’

We were approaching my house. I noticed the front gate was wonky and needed repairing.

She opened the front door. ‘Would you like to come in?’ I hesitated. ‘Just for a minute,’ she said.

‘If it’s all right with you. I wouldn’t mind a glass of water.’

Inside, she said, ‘Can I ask … what do you do?’

‘I’ve been travelling. Gap year.’

She went into the kitchen and I looked around. Nothing had changed, but everything was slightly different.

My son, now the same age as me, came downstairs and put his head round the door. I almost gave way. It was him I wanted to touch, his hands and face. In the last few years it had become more difficult for us to touch each other. He was embarrassed, or he didn’t like my body. I loved, still, to kiss his cheeks, even if I had to grab him and pull him towards me.

‘All right, Mum?’ Mike said. ‘Hello,’ he said to me.

I must have been staring.

‘My cart broke,’ she said.

‘Your heart?’ he said.

‘Cart, you big idiot!’

He came into the room. He looked alert, happy and healthy. I could see my old self in the way he held himself. I missed me. I missed, too, my pleasure in him, in living close to his life, in knowing what he did and where he went.