The Nothing

by Hanif Kureishi

  Then an odd thing happens.

  SIX

  Guess what? He has the money and he disappears. A day passes, then another, and another. She waits; even I wait. She stares at the door and at her phone. She paces; picks things up, looks at them, and puts them down again. Still the shit doesn’t show up.

  The manic intoxication of love forces her out. Like God, I am all-seeing. In other words, I follow her moves on my phone. She comes home wet and exhausted, having looked for him in places I’m sure she’s never been: pubs, clubs and dives in Soho, the offices of movie magazines.

  I wake up expecting to be loved and then I remember that I am not.

  She doesn’t come to me in the morning, let alone give me a kiss. She has panic attacks, sleeplessness, ‘vice-like’ heart pains and requires an ECG. She could easily die before me; she’d often thought she would. With a migraine of sledgehammer-and-suicide intensity, she takes to her bed and pukes and mewls. I manage to fetch her a basin and hold it for her, my weak arms trembling as I observe her dark hair, kissing it when I can. Since her loneliness and anxiety chill me, I sit beside her, dozing.

  It isn’t until I begin to relax that I have some idea of what a strain it can be living with a stranger who sucks on your wife’s nipples, biting around that pretty ring, the areolas.

  ‘Has he gone for good?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I say, ‘Darling, it is just us for the first time in ages. If my legs worked, I’d stretch them. If my arms did, I’d rip off my shirt and smack my chest. Won’t you do me a favour? Just a sniff, baby. Will you show me yourself?’

  From a Muslim heritage of modesty, if not severity, under my tutelage she became sexual. She’d been fondled by her stepfather and an uncle. She’d never had an orgasm, even in masturbation. Her husband never touched her cunt, never sucked her or offered his cock to admire. She attempted to reduce her sexuality to banality and even ridiculousness, as some people succeed in doing. ‘Why does it matter?’ she said. ‘Most people have little or no sex. Or even love. Can’t we forget the whole thing.’

  The humiliation of desire. We smoked weed together and did stuff we’d never done. Sex is like art: if you know what you’re doing, you don’t know what you’re doing. It took us a year to create together the sex that sent us. At last we found love and passion in the same place – in love’s Holy Grail, one another.

  Sometimes, as I rest, she will lie down next to me naked, allowing me to look at her. Now, reclining in my favourite chair, I decide to see what she will give me.

  She is usually willing to pull her panties down and open her legs, to show me her pink lips. She isn’t averse to masturbating, a show which always elevates my mood. She might raise her stockinged foot to my mouth and let me suck on it while I paw at my dick.

  She likes to be looked at and appreciated. She swims most days, doing seventy lengths in the morning. Her ass is still firm. When I could rim her little hole, or halo, as I call it, and push inside, she’d almost slice the tip of my tongue off.

  ‘Not right now, Waldo.’

  ‘Please, kiss me on the forehead.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Like you, I haven’t been well.’

  ‘I repel you. Can’t we talk?’

  ‘What is this about, Waldo?’

  Her eyes are red.

  ‘Are you sure Eddie’s good for you?’

  ‘What do you mean? You don’t want someone to talk to me? To listen to me? To take me places? You’re becoming more of a rude man than you were before,’ she says. ‘You want me to be alone. You’re old, very old, Waldo, and I want to have a life. Can’t you admit you were harsh with him?’

  ‘Was I?’

  ‘You have savage eyes. You interrogated him. You looked at him the way you used to look at the actors. Some of them hated you—’

  ‘I was responsible for some of the best work those turds did. A slap across the chops can only benefit a glove puppet. You know what kind of man Eddie is.’

  ‘According to you, what sort?’

  ‘I imagine he’s fled with a woman to a Brighton hotel on her husband’s money. He’s never earned a living.’

  ‘How would you know what a living was, sitting in a chair all day wearing an old tie-dyed T-shirt and staring into people’s homes through binoculars?’

  ‘I’m aware of his reputation.’

  ‘What reputation?’

  ‘As a chancer. A man we used to refer to as “a shit”. Someone who gets to a restaurant early to order drinks on the other’s tab. Someone who would extract the milk out of your tea, as my mother would say.’

  ‘That’s unkind.’

  ‘We’re not composing an article for the Encyclopaedia Britannica. That is the way of gossip. When we fucked and came, we liked to talk. Why suddenly so prudish?’

  ‘You mock and bully him. You make him find things you need and berate him if he can’t.’

  ‘He’s an upper-middle-class, public-school-educated, middle-aged white man. His parents lashed the natives overseas while promoting Western values. He’s had more opportunities than anyone on the planet. So he’s a fool.’

  She says, ‘An outrageous thing happened which stunted and eventually ruined him—’

  She stops.

  I say, ‘You’ve lost the ability to talk intimately to me, Zee. I’m afraid Anita might become closer.’

  ‘Please, don’t try that. Remind me to go out next time she’s here telling us which famous director or actor tried to seduce her.’ She says, ‘Do you have any idea what went on at that famous school of Eddie’s?’

  ‘Ah. So it is true. Is it? Once you’ve informed me, I will reflect on it.’

  ‘He’s told no one but me and a friend. You’d take advantage. You know you would.’

  ‘You’ve never held back, Zee. You said I could make you do or say anything. And you know I can close down our bank accounts.’

  ‘You’d starve me, would you, pig? I know you wouldn’t dare.’

  I extend my tongue, like a lizard expecting a fly. ‘Spill the beans or apply a flannel to my forehead.’

  ‘You are corrupt.’

  ‘Don’t you love that about me?’

  ‘I don’t know what I love about you any more.’ She sits opposite me, and she isn’t laughing. ‘Waldo, you know very well how the British disposed of their children – far out of sight. The school was cold and far away, in the north of England. His parents, like characters out of Somerset Maugham, were sipping gin and tonics in Hong Kong.

  ‘Eddie worshipped his English teacher, Bow; handsome, charismatic, anarchic – so Eddie said. A man he was determined to please. You know how he is …

  ‘As you say, Eddie was the future of England’s ruling elite. He was thirteen, and terrified all the time. There were spankings during the day for minor infringements. The real stuff was at night.

  ‘Eddie was clever and pretty but awkward and hopeless at sport. One day Bow pointed at him. He had been chosen to go to Bow’s study.

  ‘He looked forward to it from the moment he got up, counting the minutes. He’d prayed to be picked, after smiling at Bow, the teacher who was considered a “connoisseur”, who seemed free and unlike the others. Eddie raced through the freezing corridors in his damp overcoat. He wasn’t ignored or neglected now.

  ‘Bow announced he would give Eddie a special name. He did this to his favourites. Eddie nearly burst with pride. He was called Dear Pussy.’

  ‘Dear Pussy.’

  ‘Don’t ever say it to him. Don’t smirk.

  ‘Bow lit the room with candles in wine bottles. It was decorated with rugs, books, reproductions of Expressionist paintings, and all that. And a life mask of Keats, can you imagine?’

  I close my eyes. ‘You’re doing well. I’m receiving it in 3D.’

  ‘Bow would open a bottle of wine, offer Eddie a Balkan Sobranie and play him his favourite records: the soundtrack to Lift to the Scaffold, I think it was. You’d know it. And Dizzy—’

&n
bsp; ‘Dizzy Gillespie.’

  ‘And Nina Simone. Eddie was bowled over by this elegant dandy, still wearing his sixties cravat, Chelsea boots and hippie hair. Bow gave Eddie Dorian Gray and hugged and kissed him. Eddie was compliant. You see, he had gone there cheerfully. Eventually, well – he sucked him off. He’d never done that before. God forgive me, but provide me with the strength to say it—’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘He was made to strip and offer his bottom. The man made it easier with margarine. Waldo, you’ve got the filthiest mind of anyone I’ve met. I won’t describe any more of the rape. It was painful, needless to say. Despite retching at the smell of semen – and having to visit the matron, who said nothing but applied iodine – Eddie was keen to do everything Bow wanted. The next day he returned. The next, too. It went on for a long time. Bow had a dressing-up box. Eddie loved to pose for him as Peter Pan.

  ‘But Bow preferred Eddie as Liza Minnelli in Cabaret. He bought the boy high heels, a wig, eyelashes and lingerie. He liked him to sing “Tomorrow Belongs to Me” in his cute voice. Eddie was gazed at by Bow with such admiration and desire he felt more wanted than ever before in his life.

  ‘Bow took Eddie to the cricket at Lord’s. There were tender study trips to Florence and Venice. For the first time the other boys looked up to Eddie. Bow often had his arm round him. The Godfather protected him. Now and again, however, other boys were invited to be Bow’s intimate intimates and even to wear the clothes, to pose and be photographed.

  ‘Little Eddie wept. He was jealous. He wanted to be loved exclusively. He attacked one of them in the cloakroom with a screwdriver. He was hypnotised.

  ‘He began to offer himself to the older boys. In London he went with random older men who approached him at tube and railway stations. He had learned to see the need in a stranger’s eye. They gave him money, alcohol, drugs. He attended orgies in his school uniform with important people—’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘His nightmare was not to be recognised. Didn’t you say people go their whole lives wanting to be admired for their hidden qualities? So look and listen, Waldo, and learn a lesson. There are many things you don’t know about Eddie.’

  We look at one another. I say, ‘How long did it go on for?’

  ‘Four years with Bow.’

  ‘Why did he tell you?’

  ‘In Cannes we had the beach, the moon, the attention. With us he was top of the world. “This is where I’ve always wanted to be – with Waldo, and you, the people I love most,” he said. He sent photos to his kids. “It’s the greatest privilege of my life.” But he couldn’t enjoy it – or anything – because he had had something on his mind for years. He broke down. I had already told him what had happened to me. So at last he said it.’

  ‘Do any of the women know?’

  ‘He could never mention it. He thought it would make him hateful. The one person he told was his best pal, who owns clubs in London. Then me.’

  ‘You’re special for him, Zee. Do you know why?’

  ‘Please, Waldo, I can only beg you to zip it right up. Anita must not know this. Or else—’

  ‘Or else?’

  ‘You know.’

  I say, ‘No need to threaten, Zee. Just tell me, did he see the man after this?’

  ‘Eddie met with Bow in London when he first became a journalist. Bow continued to tell him that he, Eddie, was his greatest creation, that Eddie was smart and charming, he’d never met anyone with more potential. But now he was entirely Bow’s invention and project …

  ‘Two years later Eddie wrote to Bow, who was living in Bristol. They met several times.

  ‘The past looks worse the closer you look at it. Eddie had started on a round of therapy. Bow insisted to Eddie that he had loved and believed in him. As for the sex, it had been “fun” or “messing around”. Not rape.

  ‘Eddie accused the teacher of dirtying every single thing he had, of humiliating him where there should have been care. Hurting him when he was vulnerable, away from his parents. Eddie said he’d been “nothing” to Bow. When he gave himself to other men, he felt like nothing. Even now, a lot of the time, he feels like nothing.

  ‘Eddie returned to Bristol with his friend. Gibbo, I think he’s called. They had talked a lot. Gibbo believed that vengeance is the best therapy. He encouraged the man.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘Recompense Eddie.’

  ‘To give him money, you mean?’

  ‘Otherwise Eddie would make a fuss. The press, the police, utter disgrace and prison even—’

  ‘And the man did?’

  ‘Eddie and Gibbo went to his flat. Eddie demanding, Gibbo threatening. The man’s a semi-gangster with a thuggish side. And a cosh. Gibbo poked and tormented him—’

  ‘You can do anything to a guilty man.’

  ‘They carried off cash, a painting and Bow’s mother’s necklace. All valuable. But Gibbo said it was not enough. They went back.’

  ‘What happened?’

  She hesitates. ‘Bow was having a breakdown. He babbled on about his charity work. It wasn’t pretty. He used the wall. He was bleeding. He wanted to smash his brain in. Gibbo thought it would be a mercy and helped.

  ‘Bow fled the room. They watched him running away. And followed him to the Clifton Suspension Bridge.’

  ‘Did he jump?’

  ‘They saw the body. They returned, took some other things, covered their tracks and sold the stuff. Eddie went to the funeral and then to a railway station, where he was found crouched in a corner, howling and filthy.’

  ‘Eddie killed Bow.’

  ‘The man killed Eddie first. After school, Eddie was mad, unable to get that devil’s voice out of his head. He still hears Bow’s screams as he fell to his death. But Eddie needed justice.’

  ‘He needed money.’

  ‘They became the same thing.’

  ‘They are not.’

  ‘I hate you trying to be clever, Waldo.’

  She has been playing with her jade beads, twisting her hands.

  ‘Do you believe it?’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t said anything. I take it back, Waldo. Please—’

  ‘A monster is someone who’s been monstered.’

  ‘Oh, shut your silly mouth. You enjoy these things too much. Stop talking or I’ll stop you.’

  ‘Aren’t you thinking of your reputation? You used to, Zee. What will people say about you – with this man?’

  ‘People? What people?’

  Her breathing is shallow and fast. The jade beads break and scatter across the floor like a hailstorm. Rather than reaching down to collect them for fear they will be touched by dirty feet, she snatches up a cushion. She comes at me. She holds it over my face. She presses it down with her swimmer’s arms.

  My chest heaves, my legs thrash and twitch. I attempt to strike at her with my fists.

  It is like running backwards up stairs. Then there’s a break. For a long time I feel as if I’m underwater, drowning.

  When I come to, she is crouching on the floor, breathing hard, staring at me.

  I wonder who she has turned into and what sort of madness this is.

  ‘Why did you make me, Waldo? You – you with your unreasonableness. You asked for it. You even paid Eddie to disappear—’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘That was a filthy thing to do behind my back. You made me hand him money.’

  ‘He begged me to pay his rent.’

  ‘He’s gone because of you.’

  ‘He’ll be back when he’s horny and hungry.’

  ‘God, you could make a woman extreme …’

  She reaches for my arm. I offer my hand. She will comfort me. But she is pulling me. She is dragging me out of my chair. I will end up on the floor.

  ‘Come on, old man – come and get me, if you want me!’

  It all stops. She has put her finger to her lips.

  ‘No – pipe down. Stop panting in that doglike way.’ We are quiet. ‘The
re’s someone at the door.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I think I can hear the buzzer.’

  ‘Waldo, silence!’ We wait. ‘Yes, it’s true. There’s someone there. Someone wants us.’

  SEVEN

  Eddie has returned after four days. With a slight tan, I notice. The weather can be wild in Brighton. He grins uncomfortably and hops from foot to foot.

  He sighs. ‘Sorry, busy with the kids.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call?’

  I say, ‘We were about to call the police.’

  ‘Why? Never do that. I lost my phone. Then I found it again. And you missed me! I’m glad to be home.’

  They need to talk, and swipe me into in a corner of the room, where I draw, play with images on my iPad, and listen to the music I’m using through my headphones. I am like an aged ape in a suspended cage in the corner, unable to even spit at the guests.

  They hurry me to bed. He is staying the night. I can hear her feet rushing across the floor.

  I address the camera I have had rigged up in the corner of my room, the one which will watch me die. I turn off my hearing aid and take two pills. Still I can hear her distressed voice in the night, calling out in Punjabi. He comforts her; she is soon quiet.

  *

  In the morning she feeds Eddie before he leaves for a meeting in his new clothes and my shoes.

  While she waits, Zee arranges fresh flowers. You see people truly when they enjoy the most. Today the world is an apple Zee wants to bite into. There is music, a little dancing and much clattering in cupboards. She puts away her clothes, rearranges her dresses, folds her sweaters, discards lingerie. She sorts out her ‘important’ shoes and takes some to the charity shop. Photographs are moved.

  When Eddie returns she goes to greet him. They sit close together. I listen. I learn they have a plan. It stimulates them like an amphetamine.

  She starts to pack. Rapture tears down the walls of habit. This is how they will live when I’m dead.

  My highly honed skills – the look, the sulk, the sigh, the silence – aren’t working. I have been disappeared. I cannot stay in my hole like an animal, fearing myself.