Hanif Kureishi - Collected Stories

‘I must go now.’

She walked quickly, so that Moon knew not to follow her; when she turned she saw him taking another route. But after a few minutes walking she heard a sound and was frightened. She took a few more steps.

‘How are you feeling?’ said Bodger.

She was startled. He seemed to have concealed himself behind a tree and jumped out on her, surely an unusual practice for a doctor.

‘Not physically bad,’ she said, grateful for the enquiry. ‘Strong again, in that way. But I’m lost.’ He was looking at her strangely. ‘I liked the last medicine you gave me, but what prescription can anyone give for lostness?’

‘A kiss.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Let me kiss you.’

He closed his eyes, awaiting her reply, as if it were the most important question he’d ever asked.

She left him standing in that position. Down below the soup was ready. They poured it into the bowls and drank it with that air of ritual solemnity exclusive to picnics, and declared they never tasted anything so appetising at home.

They lay in a jumble of napkins, water bottles and paper plates. It got dark; the bonfire was dying. Everyone felt too sluggish to get up and put on more wood. Lisa drank beer after beer and let Moon watch her.

Rocco felt awkward sitting there. His back was hot from the fire, while Vance’s loathing was directed at his chest and face. The hatred made him feel weak and humiliated.

‘A great picnic and enchanting evening,’ said Rocco.

‘Glad you liked it.’

In a cringing voice he said, ‘You know, Vance, occasionally I envy your certainty about everything.’

Lisa interrupted. ‘I don’t. I’ll never know how anyone can have so much when so many people have almost nothing.’

Vance shook his head at both of them and Lisa got up and ran away. Rocco stared into the distance.

It was past one when they got into the cars. Everyone was ready for bed, apart from Moon and Lisa, who were chasing one another in the woods.

‘Hurry up!’ shouted Bodger, who had become irritable.

‘Too stoned,’ said Vance, jangling his keys. ‘I’m off.’

Exhausted by the picnic, by Vance’s hatred of him, and by his own thoughts, Rocco went to find Lisa. She was in high spirits; when she seized him by both hands and laid her head on his chest, breathlessly laughing out loud, he said, ‘Don’t be vulgar.’

She lost heart. She climbed into the car feeling stupid.

‘Typical of the sentimental unemployed,’ Vance said, closing his eyes, the better to concentrate on his opinions. Karen was driving. ‘They think people are suffering because I’ve taken their money. They think I don’t care. That I see an unemployed man and woman who can’t feed their kids or pay the mortgage, and I fall about laughing. Meanwhile he swaggers around at exhibitions, museums and theatres, passing judgement, puffing himself up.’

‘Music and books,’ said Bodger. ‘The best things in life. Reason for living. What men and women make. The best. And what will remain of us, if anything.’

Vance went on, ‘You’ll never find one of these people — whose dole I provide — sticking out their hand and saying, thank you for wanting to be rich, thank you for making this country run and for taking risks! There’s more and more of them about. People don’t contribute. What we’ll do with them is the problem of our time.’

Bodger said, ‘Lisa. She said something simplistic. And you’re jumping on her because you hate Rocco. But she’s a lovely woman!’

‘Bodger, if you met a man who giggled all day and never worked, you’d say, a job will do you good. But you let her off because she’s a beautiful woman.’

‘What would you do with her, then? Hit her?’

Vance said, ‘I might let her peel my potatoes.’

It would be too hot to sleep. Even with the windows open the air was not disturbed. Lisa sat down and looked at Rocco.

‘Why did you speak to me like that? Rocco, please.’ He was pulling something from his pocket. ‘What’s that?’

‘It came for you.’

‘When?’

‘The other day.’

‘Which day?’

‘Read it.’

He went into the bedroom and lay down in the dark.

She was weeping. ‘Rocco.’ Thinking he was standing behind her chair, she sobbed, ‘Why didn’t you tell me this? I wouldn’t have gone on the rotten picnic and laughed like that. Moon said such dirty things to me. I think I’m losing my mind.’

He was suffocating. He put his fingers in his ears. Then he climbed through the window, over the fence, and went down the street. Above his head a brightly lit train shot across a bridge.

Rocco peeped through Bodger’s windows.

‘Are you asleep? Hey. What’s happening?’

He heard some coughing. Then, ‘What d’you think I’m doing at this time?’

Bodger stood there in his underpants scratching.

‘I’m going to kill myself, Bodger.’

‘Thanks for the information.’

‘Put the light on! I can’t stay at home. You’re my only friend and my only hope. Bodger, I’ve got to get away from here.’

Bodger let him in and put three bottles of wine and a bowl of cherries on the table.

‘I want to talk.’

It was a monologue, of course, but Bodger — unfortunately for him — considered Rocco to be the only person in town worth talking to.

‘How much frustration can a person bear?’ Rocco asked. ‘How much should one bear? Is stoicism a great or a foolish thing? Without it life would be unliveable. But if there’s too much of it, nothing happens, and you can only ask, why are you stopping new shapes forming?’ Without waiting for Bodger to express an opinion, he said, ‘Please lend me the money to get away. I only need enough to last a few weeks, until I get a room or a flat. If you can lend me a grand, I’d be grateful.’

‘One thousand pounds!’

‘London’s expensive. Seven hundred and fifty would do it.’

‘You already owe me more than that.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’

Bodger said, ‘I’ll have to borrow it myself. I haven’t got any loose cash. I went on that holiday. I’ve got the mortgage, my mother, and I bought the car. I —’

Rocco could tell that his friend didn’t want to let him down. To cheer him up, Rocco offered Bodger one of the cherries and poured him some of his own wine.

‘What about Lisa?’ said Bodger. ‘She’s not staying here, is she?’

‘I’m going to set things up in London for her. She’ll join me after. If there’s two of us there at first, it’ll cost twice as much.’

‘I’ll miss you both,’ said Bodger.

He raised his glass. ‘You’re a good man. I love you. Come with us.’

‘Oh God, why do you have to be so weak? Can’t you make up with Vance before you go?’

‘I’m going to try. But I’m too lazy and useless for him. The only thing is, you don’t know how he treats his staff. He’s the sort of person who thinks that the more ruthless, cruel and domineering they are, the better boss they’ll be. You wouldn’t work five minutes for him. Poor Vance, why doesn’t someone tell him the eighties are over?’

Rocco drank and ate the cherries cheerfully. ‘People exist for him not as interesting human beings, but as entities to work. I’m surprised he hasn’t suggested the weak be exterminated. And all this to make our society more affluent, more rationalised, more efficient. Will that bring happiness to people?’

‘Aren’t you trying to exterminate Lisa?’

Rocco sat back. ‘I don’t understand your problem, Bodger. One only sees these things as tragic if one has a certain view of relationships. That they mustn’t end. That their ending is tragic rather than painful. That the duration of a relationship is the only measure of its success. Why see it like that?’