by Colm Toibin
He waited the next day until his break at lunchtime and went quickly back to the house. When he opened the door of the room, he saw that Abdul was asleep. Since Abdul was taller than the rest of them, nearly too tall for the bed, his feet were sticking out from the sheets. His feet, Malik saw, were angular, the toes all bony. He sat on his own bed watching him. When Abdul opened his eyes he did not smile; he appeared tired, weary, as if in some distress. When Malik asked him if he was all right, he nodded but he still did not move. Without asking him, Malik went to the kitchen and returned with the flask of cold water and a glass.
Abdul was covered in sweat and the sheets were almost wet. Malik saw that he needed a fresh pair of pyjamas and fresh sheets. He knew where Mahmood kept spare sheets, but did not know how he would find fresh pyjamas. In the room below, where Mahmood did the ironing, he found two single sheets and a pair of his own shorts that had been freshly washed. He found a small plastic basin in the kitchen as well and took them all upstairs. In the bathroom, he filled the basin with cold water and fetched a sponge.
Abdul was still lying with his eyes closed. Malik moved towards the bed and set the basin down. He knelt and gently opened the top of Abdul’s pyjamas and whispered to him that he was going to sponge him with cold water. Abdul nodded slightly and lay quietly as Malik began to sponge his chest; then, having made him sit up, Malik took off the pyjama top and slowly sponged Abdul’s shoulders and back. Abdul looked as though what was happening caused him mild pain. His shoulders were broad and the skin on his back had a shiny smoothness broken by the shape of his spine. The warmth coming into his hand from Abdul’s shoulder as he held it made Malik want to keep it there for as long as he could.
He did not know if Abdul would allow him to lower the top sheet and sponge him on the stomach and around his crotch. But Abdul lay back as though he did not notice or care. As Malik opened the button on his pyjama bottom, he was surprised to find that Abdul had an erection. He glanced nervously at Abdul’s face; he had his eyes closed partly from exhaustion, but also from a mixture, Malik thought, of embarrassment and something else, something that Malik could not be certain of as he sponged him slowly. He kept an eye on the door and listened carefully for a footfall on the stairs, but there was no sound. He was sure that they were alone in the house, but he was ready to cover Abdul quickly at the slightest hint that anyone was coming.
He rubbed Abdul’s legs with the sponge and then suggested that Abdul should stand up and change into the shorts while he put new sheets on the bed. Abdul stood up with difficulty, moaning softly to himself and shivering. It was only when Abdul was standing that Malik could see how long the penis was, much longer than his own, he thought, and far too long for the shorts to cover. As Abdul lay down again on the clean sheet, Malik whispered that he had to return to work before Baldy noticed his absence, but that he would be back later if Abdul needed anything. He took the basin and emptied the water into the shower in the bathroom and then left the sheets and Abdul’s pyjamas downstairs in a pile beside the ironing board. He would explain to Mahmood later, he thought, that he was the one who had done this.
In the days afterwards, as Abdul got better, and was able to take soup and then solid food, Malik noticed that he began to ignore him. Before he was sick, Abdul was often silent, seldom making jokes or contributing to the night-time conversation. He was often to be found lying on the bed with his hands behind his head, making clear somehow that he was content to be left alone, happy to remain unnoticed in his own world. A few times now, both in the barbers’ shop and at night, Malik tried to make him acknowledge his presence, give some hint that he remembered what had happened between them, but Abdul often stared at him as though he did not know him. One night when he returned from work, Malik found the shorts that he had given to Abdul lying on his bed. They had been washed, but nonetheless when he put them to his nose he could smell something faint that he thought might be the smell of Abdul. He put the shorts in his suitcase, and a few times over the following days he took them out and smelled them again.
One evening when Baldy was counting the money he suddenly turned and looked at him.
‘You’re a bit of a fool, aren’t you?’ He was almost smiling as though he did not really mean what he said.
‘What?’ Malik asked. He did not like it when Baldy said anything other than the usual. He wished this could stop now and Baldy would just count the money, make sure it was correct, and then look around the room before leaving.
‘Yeah, you,’ Baldy said, accusingly.
Malik did not reply. He glanced down at the money, hoping that Baldy would finish his business and go.
‘OK then,’ Baldy said as if speaking to himself, ‘that’s enough of that. Do you know how to use a mobile phone?’
Malik nodded.
‘Good. You’ll be selling them from tomorrow. Don’t come here in the morning. I’ll get some other fool to sweep the floor and sell the cards. Come to the bigger shop. At nine on the dot.’
As he left, Malik noticed the barbers who were finishing up looking at him as though something grave had occurred. As he passed Abdul, he tried to catch his eye, but Abdul was busy, working with fierce concentration as he clipped at the hairs around a customer’s ear. He did not lift his head as Malik left the shop.
Almost every single person who came to buy a mobile phone already had one. He knew that it was not his job to tell them that there was very little difference between the one they were already using and some new bright and more expensive model on display. Often it was just a brand name, or model number, and the packaging. And yet, when his customers came in ones or twos and asked to see the latest type, there was something so serious, so earnest, about them that it was clear to him that nothing more important would happen to them in months, maybe all year, than this purchase, this exchange of a perfectly good model for a totally new one.
Every one of them knew about phones; it was one of the subjects for easy discussion at night between the customers who came to the Four Corners and the barbers there, and the people who came to the supermarket. They could argue about brands and systems, as though they themselves had been involved in their manufacture or design.
They touched the new models with reverence and awe, but also with expertise. Malik needed only to stand back and let them study the model they were looking for and let them know what colours were available. The prices were all written down. He emphasized to them that they could not take the actual phone they were going to buy out of its packaging unless they had already paid for it. They could look at a sample of it, however, hold it, test for themselves its properties, how it took photographs and how the keys might be slightly easier to handle than some other model only a year old, which could be discarded or given away, as no one seemed interested in owning a second-hand mobile phone.
A few times he was tempted to say to men who came in shabby jeans or in thin kurta pyjamas or in worn shoes that they should spend the money instead on clothes or in a shoe-shop. Their time with him, he slowly realized, had nothing to do with need, or value for money. It was how men at home thought about cars or trucks or houses, the same seriousness, the same sense that the newest thing would be good for their reputation, would make their neighbours respect them. These men away from home would never have enough money for a car or a truck or a house. This small object so filled with modern tricks had come to stand in for all of that.
Abdul began to talk to him. It started one evening when the others were watching a cricket match and Malik had retreated to the bedroom and was busy putting his newly laundered clothes into his suitcase. He noticed that Abdul was hovering in the room, moving back and forth between the window and the door and then sitting on the bed. At first Malik was hesitant about speaking to him, and it occurred to him also that perhaps Abdul had come back here to be alone, or to open his suitcase when no one else was watching. He was almost ready to leave the room when Abdul spoke.
‘Are you selling many mobile phones?’
he asked.
Malik turned to him. Abdul seemed nervous now, as though he had made a request of some sort, such as a loan of soap or shampoo, and was uneasily waiting for the answer.
‘Some days it’s good,’ Malik said and smiled, ‘and some days it’s quiet.’
Abdul nodded and looked at the floor.
‘I’d say you don’t miss the Four Corners.’
When he had spoken he looked up; the expression on his face, Malik saw, was sad. Malik did not reply, but sat on the edge of his own bed.
‘You’re not watching the game?’
‘It’s no use,’ Abdul said. ‘It’s just a video. I know the result.’
‘Do you like cricket?’ Malik asked.
‘I used to play,’ Abdul replied, then lowered his eyes again. Soon, he seemed lost in thought and Malik judged it best not to break the silence. He lay back on the bed and put his hands behind his head as he had often seen Abdul do. After a while he heard cheering and clattering and he knew that it must be the end of the over or that the video must have come to an end. It was not long before a few of the others came into the bedroom laughing and talking and beginning to get ready for the night.
On most evenings after that if Malik made his way into the bedroom immediately after supper he found that Abdul would follow him. Sometimes they would be alone for a while and Abdul would sit on the edge of the bed and ask Malik questions or remain silently watching him. Malik wanted to ask him questions in return but he was too nervous and thought he would wait. If anyone else arrived, Abdul would stand up and pretend to be busy, rummaging in his suitcase or going into the bathroom or back to the kitchen. He would never join in the general conversation.
Abdul would always begin by asking him how many mobile phones he had sold that day. A few times when Malik tried to go into detail about a customer or about a new model that had arrived, Abdul would look down as though embarrassed or bored, and he did not know whether he should go on talking or not. He told Abdul that his mother was dead and that his brother had died just the previous year and all he had at home were his father, who had married again, and his sister, who was also married. When he added that he called home once a month but did not speak to his father but instead to the woman who ran the chicken stall, Abdul nodded sympathetically and said it would be good if his father and he both got mobile phones and then he could text. Malik did not say that his father already had a phone but he did not think his father would send him texts since he had not even suggested that Malik should use his number when he phoned home.
When he saw Super, he mentioned Abdul’s name and listened in case Super had any comment to make on him. But Super simply asked him if Abdul was the tall one and when Malik said that he was he remarked that Abdul was very quiet. Malik noticed that Super seemed to approve of this. Super had nothing else to say about Abdul and it was hard for Malik to mention him again although he was eager to find an excuse to do so.
Sometimes he lay on the bed knowing that Abdul was opposite sitting on the edge of his bed. At first Abdul’s silences made him uncomfortable but slowly he became used to them, believing that Abdul was shy, or was someone who kept his thoughts to himself. He would not, Malik thought, follow him into the bedroom unless he wanted to be friendly. It was not unusual for the lodgers in the house or the men who worked in the barber shops or the other shops on the street to have a friend, someone they had known at home perhaps, someone they could be seen with or could depend on. Abdul, he realized, had no such friend; nor did he.
Abdul was more distant than any of the others. None of them ever commented if he stood up from the table even before the meal was over. But they must notice now, Malik thought, that Abdul was often to be found talking quietly to him. Even though Malik learned nothing about him in the conversations, he learned to trust him and came to like him and looked forward to returning each evening knowing that Abdul liked sitting close to him at the table when they were eating and seemed to want to be in his company later.
One evening when he arrived back at the house, Malik found that all of the Pakistani businesses on the street had received the same flier as he had with news that a band called Wooee from Pakistan was to play in a square nearby the following Wednesday night at ten o’clock. Salim insisted that the lead singer was a brother of Ali Azmat of Junoon and that he had seen them on television. No one else had heard of the band and Mahmood said that he would not go to the concert as it might be just a cheap way to check everyone’s papers.
‘They could do that any day just by walking along the street,’ Salim said.
The following evening Salim announced that he had Googled the name of the band and he had watched them on YouTube and he was right, the lead singer was Ali Azmat’s brother and he was great. He had shown the clip to other people in the locutorio and all of them had agreed with him. Soon, he said, everyone would know their music. They were young, he said, and that was why no one had heard of them, but it was going to be a special evening and he was tired of listening to music on bad cassette players and bad CD players. At home, he said, his brother had a stereo with speakers, and it was like being in the room with the music. He was not going to miss the concert.
Later, Malik asked Abdul if he was going to go, but Abdul said that he was not sure, that he did not finish work until ten and would need to eat something and there might not be time.
The next evening Mahmood said that he had seen the clip on YouTube too and he agreed with Salim and he was going to go and see Wooee. As the week went on and there was much discussion about the band, Malik waited for a sign from Abdul. A few times he almost asked him again. Since it was clear that all of the others were going, Malik knew that the building would be empty that evening. He began to imagine Abdul and himself in the room alone preparing for bed, Abdul slowly undressing, maybe talking more than usual. He imagined him moving across the room to turn off the light, and then both of them lying silently in the dark, aware that they would have this room to themselves for an hour or maybe more, and aware too that they would easily hear the others coming back. Malik did not think in any detail about what would happen between them in the dark; it was almost enough for him that they would be alone together and almost enough for him to know that Abdul would be lying on his back and Malik would be able to hear his breathing.
On the morning of the concert as he prepared for the day, Malik still believed that Abdul would make some sign to him about his intentions, but instead Abdul seemed even more distant than usual. During the day as business was slack he found himself watching the door. Abdul could, in his break, walk to the shop and let him know what he was doing later. But Malik knew that Abdul was unlikely, in fact, to approach the shop. He went over in his mind the nights when Abdul had followed him into the room; he wondered now if he had done this to get away from the others, and if he was not actually making an effort to be his friend, and if the time he had washed him with the sponge had meant nothing, and if he himself was thinking too much about this.
When the shop closed at nine he had an hour to spare before the concert began and before Abdul usually arrived home. As he walked back to the house slowly, he felt almost happy that nothing about the evening had been resolved. Either Abdul would come back to the house, or he would go to the concert. Whichever it was, it would be something new, and it was this very newness in all its vagueness and uncertainty that made Malik smile as he walked up the stairs of his building and decided that he would have something to eat while he waited to see if Abdul would come home.
There was not a sound in the house, and even the noise from the street seemed oddly muted. He sat at the kitchen table and ate some cold chicken curry and bread that had been left over from the night before. And then he strayed into the bedroom. Having the room to himself like this made him acutely conscious that this was also Abdul’s room, the room where Abdul slept, the room where his lungs took in the air, the room where his suitcase held his clothes and whatever special things he treasured. Malik went ove
r and touched Abdul’s pillow and ran his hand along the shape that he would make were he to come now and lie on the bed. Malik looked at the suitcase in the corner but he knew not to touch it, let alone open it. Instead he lifted the pillow and carried it over to his own bed. He could smell some shaving lotion and maybe some hair oil or tonic from it, but there was also something stale or earthy that belonged to Abdul, that came from his breath, his mouth. He put the pillow right up against his face and tried to breathe in the smell so that it would belong to him too. He then moved it against his chest and hugged it, keeping his eyes closed and pretending that he was someone else and that it was a dark room and that he was alone with Abdul, who was softly pushing against him.
When he put the pillow back, trying to ensure that there was no sign it had ever been removed, he saw that the time was nine forty-five. He decided that he would wait for half an hour or maybe thirty-five minutes to see if Abdul would come, and then, if he did not arrive, he would go to the square where the band was playing and hope that he could find him there. He wished now that he had some way of being able to read Abdul’s mind, or even know where he was, what he was doing so that he would not have to wait like this, moving from the bedroom into the kitchen and then into the bathroom to check himself in the mirror, and then back again to the hallway, standing close to the door, ready to go into the bedroom if he heard a sound that might be Abdul approaching.