Hanif Kureishi - Collected Stories

‘That’s interesting. More lonely than any other time, do you think?’

‘Yes,’ said Morgan. ‘All you lack seems irrevocable.’

Eric said, ‘Between the age of twelve and thirteen my elder brother, whom I adored, committed suicide, my father died of grief, and my grandfather just died. Do you think I still miss them?’

‘How could you not?’

Eric drank his beer and thought about this.

‘You’re right, there’s a hole in me.’ He said, ‘I wish there were a hole in you.’

Morgan said, ‘She has listened to me. And me to her.’

Eric said, ‘You really pay attention to one another, do you?’

‘There’s something about being attended to that makes you feel better. I’m never lonely when I’m with her.’

‘Good.’

‘I’ve been determined, this time, not to shut myself off.’

‘But she’s my wife.’

There was a pause.

Eric said, ‘What is it people say these days? It’s your problem! It’s my problem! Do you believe that? What do you think?’

Morgan had been drinking a lot of whisky and smoking grass, for the first time. He had been at university in the late sixties but had identified with the puritanical left, not the hippies. These days, when he needed to switch off his brain, he noticed how tenacious consciousness was. Perhaps he wanted to shut off his mind because in the past few days he had been considering forgetting Caroline. Forgetting about them all, Caroline, Eric and their kids. Maybe he would, now. Perhaps the secrecy, and her inaccessibility, had kept them all at the right distance.

Morgan realised he had been thinking for some time. He turned to Eric again, who was tapping the bottle with his nail.

‘I do like your house,’ said Eric. ‘But it’s big, for one person.’

‘My house, did you say? Have you seen it?’

‘Yes.’

Morgan looked at Eric’s eyes. He seemed rather spirited. Morgan almost envied him. Hatred could give you great energy.

Eric said, ‘You look good in your white shorts and white socks, when you go out running. It always makes me laugh.’

‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than stand outside my house?’

‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than steal my wife?’ Eric pointed his finger at him. ‘One day, Morgan, perhaps you will wake up and find in the morning that things aren’t the way they were last night. That everything you have has been sullied and corrupted in some way. Can you imagine that?’

‘All right,’ said Morgan. ‘All right, all right.’

Eric had knocked his bottle over. He put his napkin on the spilled beer and popped his bottle on top of that.

He said, ‘Are you intending to take my children away?’

‘What? Why should I?’

‘I can tell you now, I have had that house altered to my specifications, you know. I have a pergola. I’m not moving out, and I’m not selling it. Actually, to tell the truth’ — Eric had a sort of half-grin, half-grimace on his face — ‘I might be better off without my wife and kids.’

‘What?’ said Morgan. ‘What did you say?’

Eric raised his eyebrows at him.

‘You know what I mean,’ Eric said.

Morgan’s children were with their mother, the girl away at university, the boy at private school. Both of them were doing well. Morgan had met Eric’s kids only briefly. He had offered to take them in if Caroline was prepared to be with him. He was ready for that, he thought. He didn’t want to shirk the large tasks. But in time one of the kids could, say, become a junkie; the other a teenage prostitute. And Morgan, having fallen for their mother, might find himself burdened. He knew people it had happened to.

Eric said, ‘My children are going to be pretty angry with you when they find out what you’ve done to us.’

‘Yes,’ said Morgan. ‘Who could blame them?’

‘They’re big and expensive. They eat like horses.’

‘Christ.’

Eric said, ‘Do you know about my job?’

‘Not as much as you know about mine, I shouldn’t think.’

Eric didn’t respond, but said, ‘Funny to think of you two talking about me. I bet you’d lie there wishing I’d have a car crash.’

Morgan blinked.

‘It’s prestigious,’ Eric said. ‘In the newsroom, you know. Well paid. Plenty of action, continuous turnover of stories. But it’s bland, worthless. I can see that now. And the people burn out. They’re exhausted, and on an adrenalin rush at the same time. I’ve always wanted to take up walking … hill-walking, you know, boots and rucksacks. I want to write a novel. And travel, and have adventures. This could be an opportunity.’

Morgan wondered at this. Caroline had said that Eric took little interest in the outside world, except through the medium of journalism. The way things looked, smelled, tasted, held no fascination for him; nor did the inner motives of living people. Whereas Morgan and Caroline, dawdling in a bar with their hands playing on one another, loved to discuss the relationships of mutual acquaintances, as if together they might distil the spirit of a working love.

Morgan picked up his car keys. He said, ‘Sounds good. You’ll be fine then, Eric. Best of luck.’

‘Thanks a bunch.’

Eric showed no sign of moving.

He said, ‘What do you like about her?’

Morgan wanted to shout at him, he wanted to pound on the table in front of him, saying, I love the way she pulls down her clothes, lies on her side and lets me lick and kiss her soft parts, as if I have lifted the dish of life up to my face and burst through it into the wonderland of love for ever!

Eric was tensing up. ‘What is it?’

‘What?’

‘You like about her! If you don’t know, maybe you would be good enough to leave us alone!’

‘Look, Eric,’ Morgan said, ‘if you calm yourself a minute, I’ll say this. More than a year ago, she said she wanted to be with me. I’ve been waiting for her.’ He pointed at Eric. ‘You’ve had your time with her. You’ve had plenty. I would say you’ve had enough. Now it’s my turn.’

He got up and walked to the door. It was simple. Then it felt good to be outside. He didn’t look back.

Morgan sat in the car and sighed. He started off and stopped at the lights on the corner. He was thinking he would go to the supermarket. Caroline could come round after work and he would cook. He would mix her favourite drink, a whisky mac. She would appreciate being looked after. They could lie down together on the bed.

Eric pulled open the door, got in, and shut the door. Morgan stared at him. The driver behind beeped his horn repeatedly. Morgan drove across the road.

‘Do you want me to drop you somewhere?’

‘I haven’t finished with you,’ said Eric.

Morgan looked alternately at the road and at Eric. Eric was sitting in his car, in his seat, with his feet on his rubber mat.

Morgan was swearing under his breath.

Eric said, ‘What are you going to do? Have you decided?’

Morgan drove on. He saw that Eric had picked up a piece of paper from the dashboard. Morgan remembered it was a shopping list that Caroline had made out for him. Eric put it back.

Morgan turned the car round and accelerated.

‘We’ll go to her office now and discuss it with her. Is that what you want? I’m sure she’ll tell you everything you want to know. Otherwise — let me know when you want to get out,’ said Morgan. ‘Say when.’

Eric just stared ahead.

Morgan thought he had been afraid of happiness, and kept it away; he had been afraid of other people, and had kept them away. He was still afraid, but it was too late for that.

Suddenly he banged the steering wheel and said, ‘Okay.’

‘What?’ said Eric.