Hanif Kureishi - Collected Stories

‘I recognise you from somewhere,’ said Doug.

‘Yes, yes,’ said Alfie. ‘Maybe. I have the feeling we were together last night.’

‘What were we doing?’

‘Who knows? Listen —’

Alfie explained that he felt terrible about the whole business. If Doug ever wanted a free haircut, he’d be very welcome. He even offered to give him one immediately.

‘Another time,’ said Doug.

He didn’t have time now to consider such things. He had embarked on the search of his life.

‘Just let me know when you want a trim,’ said Alfie. ‘The offer will always be open.’

It wasn’t until the evening, wandering about the city at random, that Doug caught sight of his penis again, this time sitting in a workman’s caff. It was in disguise by now, with a hat pulled down over its head and its collar up. Doug could see it was suffering from celebrity fatigue and wanted to be alone.

Doug slid into the seat beside it. ‘Got you,’ he said.

‘Took you long enough,’ said the penis. ‘What do you want?’

Doug said, ‘What do you think you’re playing at — making an exhibition of yourself in this way?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘We’ve got to take it slowly. If there’s one thing that makes everyone nervous, it’s a big fat happy thing like you.’

‘I’ve had enough of your nonsense,’ said the penis.

‘Without me, you’re nothing,’ said Doug.

‘Ha! It’s the other way round! I’ve realised the truth.’

‘What truth?’

‘You are a penis with a man attached. I want out.’

‘Out where?’

‘I’m going solo. I’ve been exploited for years. I want my own career. I’m going to make more serious films.’

Doug said, ‘Serious films! We’re starting the follow-up to Little Women tomorrow — Huge Big Women , it’s called.’

‘I want to play Hamlet,’ said the penis. ‘No one has quite understood the relationship with Ophelia. You could be my assistant. You could carry my script and keep the fans away.’

Doug said, ‘You mean, we won’t be physically attached ever again?’

The penis said, ‘I would be prepared to come back under your management, as I quite like you. But if I do, the arrangement would have to be different. I would have to be attached to your face.’

Doug said, ‘Where on my face exactly would you like to be attached? Behind my ear?’

‘Where your nose is now. I want to be recognised, like other stars.’

‘You’ll get sick of it,’ warned Doug. ‘They all do, and go crazy.’

‘That’s up to me,’ said Long Dong. ‘There will be cures I can take.’

The penis took a sausage from the plate in front of him and held it in the middle of Doug’s face.

‘It would be like that, only bigger. Cosmetic surgery is developing. In the future there’ll be all kinds of novel arrangements. What do you say to being a trendsetter?’

‘What of my scrotum? It would … ahem … hang over my mouth.’

‘I’d do the talking. I’ll give you an hour to decide,’ said the penis, haughtily. ‘I’m expecting other offers from agents and producers.’

Doug could see that Long Dong was beginning to shrink back into himself. It had been a fatiguing day. When at last his eyes closed, Doug picked the penis up, popped it into his pocket and buttoned it down.

Doug rushed across town to see a cosmetic surgeon he knew, a greedy man with a face as smooth as a plastic ball. He had remade many of Doug’s colleagues, inserting extensions into the men’s penises, and enlarging the breasts, lips and buttocks of his female colleagues. Few of these actors would even be recognised by their parents.

The surgeon was at dinner with several former clients. Doug interrupted him and they walked in the surgeon’s beautiful garden. Doug laid the sleeping penis in the surgeon’s hand.

He explained what had happened and said, ‘It’s got to be sewn on tonight.’

The surgeon passed it back.

He said, ‘I’ve extended dicks and clits. I’ve implanted diamonds in guys’ balls and put lights in people’s heads. I’ve never sewn a penis back on. You could die on the table. You might sue me. I’d have to be recompensed.’

As the objections continued, Doug begged the man to restore him. At last, the surgeon named a sum. That was almost the worst blow of the day. Doug had been well paid over the years, but sex money, like drug money, tended to melt like snow.

‘Bring me the money tonight,’ ordered the surgeon, ‘otherwise it will be too late — your penis will become used to its freedom and will never serve you again.’

The only person Doug knew with such a large sum of cash was the producer of Huge Big Women who was, that night, entertaining a few hookers in his suite. The women knew Doug and soon made him aware that news of his misfortune had got round. He blushed and smarted now when the women called him ‘big boy’.

To Doug’s relief, the producer agreed to give him the cash. Handing it over, he mentioned the interest. It was a massive sum, which would rise daily, as Doug’s penis would have to. The man made Doug sign a contract, pledging to make films for what seemed like the rest of his life.

Travelling back to the surgeon, Doug considered what life might be like without his penis. Perhaps he had been mercifully untied from an idiot and they could go their separate ways. But without his penis how could he earn his living? He was too old to start a new career.

The surgeon worked all night.

Next morning, when Doug woke up, the first thing he did was look down. Like a nervous snake charmer, he whistled an aria from Don Giovanni . At last, his penis started to stir, enlarge and grow. Soon it was pointing towards the sun. It was up, but not running. He and his love were rejoined.

A few hours later Doug was on the set. His penis swung between his legs, slapping against each thigh with a satisfying smack.

Doug was glad to be reunited with the most important part of himself; but, when he thought of the numerous exertions ahead, he felt weary.

He said, ‘Listen: you say you can’t hear well and your back hurts. Your body won’t stop reminding you of your ailing existence. Would you like to do something about it?’

‘This half-dead old carcass?’ I said. ‘Sure. What?’

‘How about trading it in and getting something new?’

It was an invitation I couldn’t say no to, or yes, for that matter. There was certainly nothing simple or straightforward about it. When I had heard the man’s proposal, although I wanted to dismiss it as madness, I couldn’t stop considering it. All that night I was excited by an idea that was — and had been for a while, now I was forced to confront it — inevitable.

This ‘adventure’ started with a party I didn’t want to go to.

Though the late 1950s and early 1960s were supposed to be my heyday, I don’t like the assault of loud music, and I have come to appreciate silence in its many varieties. I am not crazy about half-raw barbecued food either.

Want to hear about my health? I don’t feel particularly ill, but I am in my mid-sixties; my bed is my boat across these final years. My knees and back give me a lot of pain. I have haemorrhoids, an ulcer and cataracts. When I eat, it’s not unusual for me to spit out bits of tooth as I go. My ears seem to lose focus as the day goes on and people have to yell into me. I don’t go to parties because I don’t like to stand up. If I sit down, it makes it difficult for others to speak to me. Not that I am always interested in what they have to say; and if I am bored, I don’t want to hang around, which might make me seem abrupt or arrogant.