Hanif Kureishi - Collected Stories

Feather said, ‘Strength and wisdom aren’t the same.’

Bodger hurried in. ‘The weather will spoil everything anyway.’ He sat down. ‘We have to care for one another. Yes! Otherwise we lose our humanity.’

Vance went on, ‘We have the weak — people like Rocco — dominating the strong with their whingeing. They want others to do everything for them. But they will deplete our strength and drag us down. Selfishness, wanting something for oneself, is the law of reality. But if I benefit, others will benefit.’

Feather took all this equably. ‘Who says who is weak and who is strong, and in what sense?’

‘Him, presumably,’ said Bodger. ‘The new God enterprise.’

‘Get real,’ said Vance. ‘Half the people who drag themselves to your surgery are skivers. They watch soap operas day and night. Why should we spend valuable resources keeping them alive?’ He turned to Feather. ‘I hope you’re coming tomorrow.’

‘I’m a pacifist.’

He smacked his fist into his palm.

‘That’s just voluntary ignorance. You should come and see what life is like.’

Rocco lay on the sofa and became aware of an unusual clattering sound. Wondering if children had got in upstairs, he ran to the stairs. No, it couldn’t be that — the entire atmosphere had altered, as if there’d been a collision in space and the world would be extinguished. He moved to the window. The earth had turned grey. It was raining on the hard ground. Tonight, surely, was the end of summer. The evenings would draw in; no one would lie on the beach or gather at the War Memorial; the coach parties and foreign tourists would leave. Only they would remain.

For most of his life, at this time of year, he would be returning to school, and a new term.

He remembered as a kid running into the garden with two girls and getting soaked. They had snuggled up to one another in fear. No longer was he afraid of thunderstorms and now he ruined girls. Never had he planted one tree and never had he denied himself the opportunity to say something cutting or cruel, but he’d only wrecked everything.

Already aching from the exercises he had attempted with Teapot, he would feel worse tomorrow. What did it matter? He would encourage Vance to do him in, not only to break his arms — which wouldn’t affect his brain — but to destroy his spirit and remaining hopes. It would be a relief.

It seemed not long after that Teapot turned up with his motorbike and spare helmet. He and Rocco smoked some of Moon’s Mellow Wednesday, practised some kicks, and went off.

Lisa had returned as it was getting light and had fallen asleep on the sofa with a coat over her. Rocco kissed her face and smoothed her hair.

There had been a moment — Moon was lapping between her legs and her mind was running free — when she’d projected herself into the future and looked back. She saw that these people, like the teachers and children at her first school — all pinches, curses, threats and boisterous power — were in retrospect just pathetic or ordinary, and nothing to be afraid of. She knew, at that moment, that she had already left.

When she thought of what she’d been through she didn’t know how she hadn’t gone mad. Her own strength surprised her. How much more of it might she have?

Feather rose early, meditated restlessly, and started out with a rucksack and stick. Why was she going? It was ridiculous for a pacifist to be present at such an event. But she was curious. She thought of Rocco. He had suffered; he understood something about life; he liked people. There was no cruelty in him; yet he fucked everyone up. And the person he made suffer the most was himself.

She stopped on the way to eat and drink; she washed in a rain-filled stream. For a change the air was moist. She wondered why this journey wasn’t more enjoyable and when she sat and thought about it she realised she was tired of being alone; it was time to find a lover, particularly with winter on its way.

The others drove as far as they could and then walked up the chalk downs, until they could see the town in the distance, and the sea beyond.

She was walking up the Rim when a car approached. It was Karen, who was distressed. But Feather didn’t want a lift.

She walked to the very top, a flat area with a pagan pedestal. The first thing she saw was Vance unpacking new running shoes. He wore sweatbands around his head and wrists, a singlet and a pair of shorts. Rocco hadn’t given a thought to what he would wear, and had turned up in his ordinary clothes. He noticed that Bodger had arrived, but refused to acknowledge him.

Teapot rushed over to Vance. ‘Please, Mr Vance, Rocco’s terrified. He’s shaking all over. Don’t hurt him. He’s had some Mellow Wednesday. You can’t beat up a man in that condition.’

‘I’ll teach him a lesson,’ said Vance, hawking and spitting. ‘After the beating he’ll be an improved person.’

‘Look at him.’

Vance glanced over at Rocco and guffawed. ‘He’s disgusting, it’s true. But that doesn’t change anything.’

Teapot said, ‘And he’s upset.’

‘So?’

Bodger was standing nearby with his doctor’s bag. ‘What about?’

‘He saw his girlfriend being fucked — last night.’

‘Who by?’

Teapot leaned towards them. ‘Moon.’

Bodger went pale.

Across the way, practising his kicks and trying to make himself usefully mad, Rocco twisted his ankle. Teapot helped him up, but Rocco could barely walk and, when everyone was ready, Teapot had to cart him to the fighting place. Rocco stood there on one foot, breathing laboriously.

Karen stood a few feet away, tugging at her hair. She was watching her husband but seemed, also, to be thinking about something else.

Vance was dancing around and when he turned away to give Karen the thumbs up, Rocco, windmilling an arm as he’d seen guitarists do, took a tremendous swing at him, which missed. Then he hobbled towards Vance and attempted a flying kick.

Rocco collapsed and lay there shouting, ‘Beat me, Burger Queen. Kick my head in. Kick, kick, kick!’

‘Get up. I’m not ready yet. Get up, I said!’

Vance reached out a hand to him, and Rocco got up. Then he tried, once more, to attack Vance who danced around him until, taking aim, he landed a nice punch in the centre of Rocco’s face. Rocco fell down and Vance bestrode him, picking up his arm and bending it back over his knee. Rocco refused even to whimper but his face was screaming.

Bodger, with his hand over his mouth, murmured, ‘Don’t, don’t …’

‘A fight’s a fight, ain’t it?’ said Vance.

‘Please, Vance, you’re just making more work for me.’

‘Kill me, kill me, Queen,’ begged Rocco.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Vance. ‘I’m on my way.’

Suddenly there was a sound from the bushes. Feather, naked but covered in dirt and mud, rushed screeching into the space and began to dance. Vance stared at her, as they all did, but decided to take no notice — until Feather took up a position in front of him and held up her hands.

‘I’m breaking my fingers,’ she said.

Vance continued his bending work.

Feather snapped her little finger and waved it at everyone.

‘Now the next,’ she said. ‘And the next.’

‘No, no, no!’ said Bodger.

‘What the hell is going on?’ cried Vance. ‘Get her out of here!’

Bodger rushed into the centre of the fight and threw himself on Vance.

Rocco had thought, somehow, that he would never get home again and had no idea that he’d be so glad to be back. The books, records and pictures in his house and the light outside seemed new to him. He thought he might read, listen to music and then go and look at the sea. Vance had been right, the fight had done him good.