Hanif Kureishi - Collected Stories

I heard a voice.

‘We weren’t too bothered about capturing you earlier. We guessed you’d end up here.’

Matte emerged from the gloom. A torch was shining in my face. I covered my eyes.

I asked, ‘You always knew about this place?’

‘I knew the caravan would have moved on, but figured out you’d be less well connected than me. I still need that body.’

‘Looks like I’m going to need it myself.’

‘You’ve argued yourself out of it. Someone else’s need is greater.’

‘Your brother?’

‘What? Let me worry about him.’

I said, ‘You can take the body. There’s a lot of life still in it. All I want is the old one back.’

‘Come through here.’ He pointed to the door, and added, ‘This place smells bad, or is it just you?’

‘It’s the place, too.’

He said, ‘Jesus, what the fuck have they been doing, burning bodies?’

I followed him, surrounded by his three men, into another room. I noticed there were no windows; the floors were concrete and covered with broken glass and other debris. The tiles had been pulled up and smashed. Long, bright neon lights were positioned precariously. A man in blue doctor’s scrubs was standing there with two assistants, all of them masked. In the middle of the room stood the sort of temporary operating table they use on battlefields, along with medical instruments on steel trays. I was looking around for my old body. Maybe it was being kept in another room and they’d wheel it in. I couldn’t wait to see it again, however crumpled or corpse-like it might seem.

‘Where’s my old body?’ I said to the man I assumed to be the doctor. ‘I won’t get far without it.’

He looked at Matte, but neither of them said anything.

‘I see,’ I said. ‘There’s no body. It’s gone.’ I sighed. ‘What a waste.’

‘Tough luck,’ he said. ‘You’re going to eternity. When I’ve sorted this out, my brother and I are off to Honolulu for a family reunion. The only shame is, he’ll remind me of you.’

I noticed, on the floor, what looked like a long freezer on its side. It was large enough for a body the size of mine. There was a wooden box, too, big enough for a dead brain. Brains didn’t take up much room, I guessed, and were not difficult to dispose of.

‘Can I have a cigarette?’ I said.

‘That’s what did for my brother.’

‘My last,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll give up. Promise.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Matte. ‘Okay. Get on with it.’

One of the men handed me a cigarette. ‘Arsehole.’

‘You too,’ I said.

The man made a move towards me. Matte said, ‘Don’t damage him! No bruises, and don’t cut him up.’

I said, ‘I’m going to undress now, have a smoke, and then I’ll be ready for you.’

‘Good boy,’ said Matte. ‘You wanted a death and now you’re going to get one.’ When I removed my jacket and shirt, Matte looked at me approvingly. ‘You look good. You’ve kept yourself in shape.’

‘Look at my dick, guys.’ I was waving it at them. ‘Wouldn’t you like to have one of these?’

Matte said, ‘What the fuck’s that aftershave you’re wearing?’

I lit my lighter, and moved backwards.

‘It’s petrol,’ I said. ‘I’m soaked in it. Never had petrol in my hair before. You come near me, pal, and this body you want goes up in flames like a Christmas pudding. And you too, of course.’

I held the lighter close to my chest. I didn’t know how much closer I could get it without turning into a bonfire. Still, rather self-immolation than the degradation which would otherwise be my fate. I’d go out with a bang, burning like a torch, screaming down the road.

Apart from Matte, everyone retreated. The doctors shrank back. Matte wanted to grab me. There was a moment when, to be honest, he could have done it. But the others’ fear seemed to affect him. He didn’t know what to do; all he could do was play for time.

There was nothing behind me but the door, which was open. I picked up my shirt and trousers, before turning and fleeing. I ran, and I guess they ran, but I ran faster and I knew my way out of there.

I climbed the fence, got dressed and continued to run. It was dark, but I was fit and had some idea where I was going. They’d get in their cars and pursue me, but I was being canny now. I was away. They would never find me.

It didn’t occur to me for a long time to consider my destination. When I felt safe I rested in someone’s garden. I needed a drink, but sweat and petrol don’t smell good together. The last thing I needed was suspicious looks. I was carrying my credit cards, but I realized there was nowhere I could go now; not back to my wife, to my hotel, or to stay with friends. I wouldn’t be safe until Matte’s brother died, or Matte turned his attention elsewhere. Even then there could be other criminals pursuing me. It was as though I were wearing the Mona Lisa .

I was a stranger on the earth, a nobody with nothing, belonging nowhere, a body alone, condemned to begin again, in the nightmare of eternal life.

‘Come along now!’

The father, having had enough, decided it was time they all left the playground.

A week ago, in this park, they had run into an Indian friend, a doctor, who’d been shocked by the disrespect and indiscipline of the father’s children. The second seven-year-old twin, the one in the Indiana Jones hat, had said to the doctor friend, ‘What are you — an idiot?’

The father had had to apologise.

‘They are speaking to everyone like this?’ the friend had said to the father. ‘I know we live here now, but you have let them become Western, in the worst way!’

No English friend would have presumed to say such a thing, the father had commented, later at home.

‘The problem is,’ the kid had replied, ‘he’s a brown face.’

The father, furious and agitated ever since, thought he should start being more authoritative.

‘We’re going!’ he said now, in what he considered to be almost his ‘sharpest’ voice.

He picked up the blue plastic ball and strode out of the enclosed playground and into the park. The seven-year-old twins had been hitting each other with sticks and the two-year-old had been flung from the roundabout, scraping his leg.

Still, they would walk across Primrose Hill to a café on the other side. The children had been asking for drinks; he wanted a coffee.What better way was there to spend a Sunday morning in the adult world?

To his surprise, his three sons followed him without complaint. His friend should have been there to witness such impressive obedience. His wife-to-be had run into an acquaintance and he could see her still chatting, beside the swings. He had already interrupted her once. Why was it that the time he most wanted to talk to her was when she was engaged with someone else?

Outside the playground, in the open park, with the hill rising up in front of him and the sky beyond it, he felt like walking forwards for a long time with his eyes closed, leaving everyone behind, in order, for a bit, to have no thoughts. For years, before his children were born, he seemed to have forfeited Sundays altogether. Now the poses, the attitude, the addictions and, worst of all, the sense of unlimited time had been replaced by a kind of exhausting chaos and a struggle, in his mind, to work out what he should be doing, and who he had to be to satisfy others.

He didn’t walk towards the hill, however, but stood there and held the ball out in front of him.