Hanif Kureishi - Collected Stories

‘That’s enough,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I don’t think we should keep looking at it. Let’s wrap it in something. Get some kitchen roll and a plastic bag.’

When it wriggled they were both staring at it.

‘Get that thing off my kitchen table!’ she said. She was about to become hysterical. ‘My mother’s coming for lunch! Get it out of here!’

‘I think I will do that,’ he said.

A few minutes later, to his surprise, he was walking down the street with a penis in his pocket.

His instinct was to drop it in a dustbin and go straight to work, but after a few minutes’ consideration he thought he would take it to an artist whose hair he cut, a sculptor who usually worked in faeces and blood. The sculptor used to work in body parts, but had got into trouble with the authorities. Nevertheless, he might find the opportunity to work with a penis irresistible. The art dealers, who yearned for more and more horrible effects, would be fascinated. Alfie would get paid. His wife had told him that he should become more ‘business-minded’. More than anything she wanted him to appear on television.

Alfie was heading in the direction of his friend’s house when he saw a policeman walking towards him. Quickly, he pulled the wrapped penis out of his pocket and let it fall to the ground. People threw litter down all the time. It wasn’t a serious crime.

He had scarcely gone a few more yards when a schoolgirl ran up behind him, waving the bag and telling him he had dropped his breakfast. Thanking her, he stuffed it back in his pocket.

His teeth were chattering. He didn’t want the ‘thing’ in his pocket one more second.

He turned a corner and found himself crossing the river. Making sure no one was watching, he tossed the penis over the side of the bridge and watched it fall.

Then he noticed that under the bridge a passing cruiser was taking tourists down the river. A voice was commenting through a megaphone: ‘On the left we can see … and on your right there is a particularly interesting historic monument.’

Meanwhile, the penis, coming loose from its covering, was hurtling towards the upper deck.

Alfie fled.

*

Less than a mile away, Doug, an actor, got out of bed and strolled into his new bathroom. He was in his early forties, but looked superb.

The next day he was about to start work on the biggest film of his life. It was a costume drama, a classy production, which meant he didn’t have to take his prick out of his breeches until the tenth minute. The director was excellent and Doug had chosen his female co-stars himself, for their talent as well as their size. Doug had intended to spend the day in the gym. After he would get his hair and nails done, before retiring early to bed with the script.

It wasn’t until he passed the mirror on the way to the shower, and looked at himself for the first time that day, that he realised his penis was missing. The whole thing had gone, penis, scrotum, even his pubic hair.

Doug thought he might faint. He sat on the edge of the bath with his head between his legs, but the position only reminded him of his loss.

He had been ‘in’ pornography since he was a teenager, but recently the market had started to boom. Pornography had penetrated the middlebrow market and he, coupled with Long Dong — the professional moniker he had given his penis — was becoming a recognisable star.

Doug had appeared on TV chat shows and in mainstream magazines and newspapers. He believed he was entitled to the gratitude and respect that comedians, singers and political impersonators received. After all, distracting the fickle public was arduous and required talent and charm. Uniquely, Doug offered that which most people never saw: the opportunity to witness others copulating; fascination and intoxication through the eyes.

Many men envied Doug his work and some had even attempted it. How many of them could keep it up, under hot lights and with a film crew around them, for hours on end, year after year? Doug could sustain an erection all day and sing something from Don Giovanni while checking his shares in the Financial Times . Hadn’t hundreds of thousands of people witnessed his stick of rock and the jets of gushing, blossoming jissom that flew across his co-stars’ faces?

If he lost his manhood, his livelihood would go with it.

Thinking fast now, Doug conjectured whether, late at night, he had taken Long Dong out somewhere and slapped it down on a table. In bars and at parties, all over the world, the public loved asking questions about his work. Like most stars, he adored answering them. At some point someone, usually a woman, asked to see Long Dong. If the time and place was right — Doug had learned to be wary of making the men envious and causing friction between couples — he would let them peek. The ‘eighth wonder of the world’, he called it.

However, he had never mislaid his greatest asset before — his only asset, some people said.

Doug went to the bars and clubs he had visited the previous night. They were being cleaned; the chairs were upended on the tables and the light was bright. Someone had left behind a shoe, a shotgun, a pair of false eyelashes and a map of China. No penis had been handed in.

Bewildered, he was standing outside on the street when, across the road, he saw his penis coming out of a coffee shop accompanied by a couple of young women. The penis, tall, erect and wearing dark glasses and a fine black jacket, was smiling.

‘Hey!’ called Doug as his penis stepped into a cab, politely letting the women go first.

Doug hailed another taxi and told the driver to follow the first one. In front he could see the top of his penis. The girls were kissing him and he was laughing and talking excitedly.

The traffic was bad and they lost sight of the cab ahead.

After driving around, Doug decided to go into a bar and consider what to do. He was furious with his penis for flaunting itself round town like this.

He had ordered a drink when the barman said, ‘If it’s quiet in here it’s because that penis from all the films has gone into a bar along the road.’

‘Is that right?’ said Doug, jumping up. ‘Where?’

The barman gave him directions.

A few minutes later he was there. By now it was lunchtime and the place was so crowded Doug could hardly get through the door.

‘What’s going on here?’ he asked.

‘Long Dong’s arrived,’ said a man from a TV crew. ‘I’ve seen all his films — at a friend’s house, of course. Dickhead is my favourite. The big guy’s a star.’

‘Is that right?’ said Doug.

‘Are you a fan?’

‘Not at the moment.’

Doug tried to push through the crowd but the women wouldn’t let him through. At last he scrambled onto a chair and spotted his penis standing at the bar, accepting drinks, signing autographs and answering questions like a true professional.

‘You people have put me where I am today,’ he was saying, grandly. ‘I feel I should repay you all. What are you drinking?’

Everyone cheered and called out their orders.

‘What about me!’ shouted Doug. ‘Who made you?’

At this Long Dong looked up and caught the eye of his owner. Quickly he made his apologies — and bolted. By the time Doug had shoved his way through the crowd, the penis had disappeared. Doug ran out into the street, but there was no sign of it.

All day, everywhere he went, he heard stories of the remarkable penis, not only of its size and strength, but of its warm way with strangers.

The one person Doug did run into was Alfie, drinking alone in the dark corner of an unpopular bar. Alfie was distraught, convinced the police were pursuing him not only for stealing a penis and trying to sell it, but for dropping it on the head of a Japanese tourist passing beneath Tower Bridge on a pleasure cruiser.