The Nothing

by Hanif Kureishi

  She pushes me around the pond. We stop to pick up coffee. We are quiet except for the ticking of my wheels. I talk to myself, as usual.

  But she leans towards me. ‘What did you say, Waldo?

  Are you mumbling?’

  ‘I said at least she has someone.’

  ‘Zee? What do you mean?’

  ‘She hasn’t remained passive. She took something she wanted.’

  ‘You admire that?’

  At the end of his essay ‘The Theme of the Three Caskets’, Freud says of us, ‘It is in vain that an old man yearns for the love of a woman as he had it first from his mother.’ Yet I know of several old men in various states of decay or dissolution – inevitably the worst men, who behaved most badly towards women – who have found youngish, angelic women to walk them to the gate of darkness. Saintly, useful, kind: these keepers of the phallus don’t mind at all. They like it. There’s no accounting for taste.

  ‘Are you dating?’

  ‘I wish,’ she sighs. ‘It’s been too long. Men come on to me, but they’re all twenty-five. I went with one or other of them a few times. None of them have got “that thing”. I’m ready to give up on it all, Waldo. Who would tolerate me?’

  ‘I can’t hear you say that, baby. Are you working on it?’

  ‘I’m helping you right now, Waldo. I’m concerned about what you’ll do with this information about Eddie. Swear to me you’ll be careful. Use it sparingly. You don’t want to blow her up. Or yourself.’

  ‘I know this, Anita. Zee is lost in a fantasy. Sexual ecstasy only lasts a few weeks. Soon she will know what he is really like. She won’t be able to disregard it. I’m counting the minutes – and you and I will hurry the process along. You’ve given me the opening I was looking for.’

  Who’d have thought retirement would be so apocalyptic?

  I am weak and unhappy but I haven’t given up. I plan my next move.

  Dynamite or not, it will be direct and radical, I’m telling you. If she is not ready to give up on love, she must be made ready.

  I don’t want her to be happy. I just want her to be with me. Is that too much to ask?

  TWELVE

  ‘Do you think he doesn’t have other women? That he is not with Patricia Howard?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Her. Don’t look away.’

  ‘This is like an assault. It’s cruel. Do I need to see this?’

  ‘It would be a good idea.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’ll help you.’

  ‘Now you are shoving it in my face. Get away.’

  ‘Please.’

  We are alone. I have prepared. There is a picture of Patricia on my iPad, which I offer to her. Pat was married to a well-known actor I once employed.

  Zee takes the iPad. I study her face as she looks. Despite the dangers involved, I am keen, as the truth-doctor, to relieve my wife of her ignorance. A strong dose of reality will lead to a renewal of our love. She will return to me. All will be well once more.

  I say, ‘She is nice-looking. Don’t you think? Usually Eddie goes for less attractive women. They are more grateful, as he once explained.

  ‘Patricia has “helped him out” – cufflinks, watches, a computer, phones, tickets to Wimbledon, and so on. Her husband was a well-known theatre actor.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Patricia was in a position to introduce Eddie to useful people. She loaned him money to “tide him over”. He didn’t return it. She wasn’t surprised, and anyhow, he listens to her heroically, and how many women can find such an ear? He makes demands, subtly. He knows how to do this. You have to admire someone who has no integrity. I certainly do. But still …’

  Zee is pulling her hair out, strand by strand. She picks up a pillow and holds it out. She presses it into her face, to see how long she can last. She is red-faced and breathing hard.

  Satisfied by her experiment, she approaches me. ‘Of course any intelligent, desirable man would have entanglements. Charm does that. It goes without saying. Didn’t you do the same? I’ve heard about it from all sorts.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  She regards me with some calculation, as if about to guess my measurements. She bites her lip, concentrating. Then she pushes the cushion over my face and holds it there. This is the longest it has been. I try to kick out at her, but at last I go limp. She doesn’t flinch. She looks at me and continues. She’s not having any nonsense.

  When it stops she says, ‘Anything else?’

  I am shuddering uncontrollably. I gasp, ‘Wait.’

  ‘Carry on, Waldo. Do your worst. Let’s see if I can take it.’

  I feel as if I have run a long way. I gather my breath. Her eyes are hard. She waits.

  ‘Don’t you see, he’s not in our reality, Zee. He’ll meet a woman, fall in love after five minutes, and drive her to Prague the next day to try to buy a castle – with her money.’

  ‘Who doesn’t admire spontaneity?’

  ‘He’s a psycho, Zee. Only madmen are free. But listen to me—’

  ‘Who isn’t mad? He’s made some mistakes, I agree.’

  ‘Mistakes? There’s another girl. The sculptress.’ Lovers endure a servitude that slaves would baulk at. But this might shift her. ‘You want to know about it?’

  ‘Will you never die? How you torment me.’

  ‘With the truth.’

  ‘I doubt it’s that.’

  I say, ‘Look at this one. Sarah and Eddie at her gallery opening.

  ‘And what a voluptuous, long-legged minx she is, Zee. She loves her breasts being slapped, pulled and pegged. She begs him to be vicious. Can you do that for him? I worry you might be too tender for Eddie. The minx makes him go further than he has with any woman before. She was the woman he was with when he disappeared with our money and you went out looking for him.’

  She covers her face. ‘Christ, Waldo, I thought you’d calmed down with age.’

  ‘Zee, can I have a glass of water?’

  ‘This is not the Ritz and I’m not a servant.’

  ‘You’ll be relieved to hear he’s on dangerous ground with the minx.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Her father has found out. He will remove Eddie’s nuts unless he makes himself scarce. You are his best hope. That’s why he clings so.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I hope you haven’t touched him. I’m sorry you have to be celibate. But I’m telling you, Eddie’s used to making a whore of himself. You told me yourself. He has no standards. He’s riddled with sexual disease.’

  Her mouth opens wide. ‘How do you think you know this?’

  ‘I have contacts.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘All I can say is we are in danger, baby. We must get him out of here and go back to where we were.’ I stop. ‘But I don’t feel like talking now, Zee. I’ve said enough. I’m weak and my throat is dry.’

  She fetches a glass of water and throws it over me. She holds the pillow over my face. My chest will explode. My bloodless head spins.

  Then she is done. She goes to make a cup of tea for us both.

  She is weeping. ‘Look what you’ve done to me, Waldo. What a fucking bastard you are with your tales.’

  ‘This is a lovely cup of tea, Zee.’

  She is rubbing her forehead.

  ‘Waldo, I don’t feel well.’

  ‘What’s up? Tell me, baby.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Waldo. My head is steaming. Everything is getting too much.’

  She rolls and smokes a cigarette and I watch her.

  ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God, Waldo.’

  ‘You need rest, baby,’ I say. ‘Killing me is wearing you out.’

  THIRTEEN

  Ill and sulking, she looks like a bomb site. Fatigue, headaches, vomiting, the skin under her eyes is violet. She sleeps in her overcoat when she is like this and won’t eat or even drink. She refuses to look at us. She’s either taken a Valium or two, or she’s had it with us.
Both, probably.

  Eddie has just come in, and he looks at her and then at me over and over. He can’t work out what has changed. He believed they were going to the Wolseley for oysters and a night of love.

  He shuffles about, flapping his hands. If he isn’t fondling my wife he doesn’t know where to put them.

  She knows what she wants tonight. She goes into her room and shuts the door, taking a bottle of wine with her. That, from her point of view, is that. I pity her, flung into the threshing machine of desire, unable to escape. After the delivery of my report on Eddie, it will take a few days of mourning and regret for her to feel stronger.

  Not only am I succeeding here, but I can now humiliate Eddie. It will help him learn from his mistakes.

  ‘Is she all right?’ he asks.

  ‘She’s had some disturbing news which has caused a migraine, Eddie. She won’t be coming out.’

  ‘Waldo, would you like a drink?’

  ‘There should be a bottle open. Would you make me something to eat?’

  ‘What would you like?’

  ‘There’s salmon in the fridge. Make it with the asparagus that’s left over. Put a little mayonnaise on the side, please.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And a little mustard.’

  He brings it over and puts it on my tray.

  ‘Aren’t you eating? Would you put a film on? How about Caligula? Is it true that he suffocated the emperor Tiberius with bed pillows?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Then he says, ‘It’s raining hard, but as Zee’s not up to anything tonight, I might pop out for a drink.’

  ‘An old friend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Anyone I know? Could you do something for me before you go?’

  Technically, he’s good. I want him to help me move a file from the recording machine I use sometimes to my iPad, where I can edit it better. It’s a record of Zee’s orgasms, and her whisperings with Eddie. A soundman I used to work with came to the flat and kindly helped set up some microphones.

  There is other material on my phone – little videos and photographs – which I can transfer myself and cut together. My fingers aren’t fast, but my equipment has voice recognition. It’s like shouting at your editor in the cutting room.

  I have cut various conversations together to make a continuous narrative that works well. There’s a part of the recording I particularly enjoy, which I have played several times, like a Beatles single. Eddie says, ‘I’m paranoid. Everyone says. But I keep thinking he can hear us. What will we do when he finds out?’

  ‘I think you know, Eddie. Until then we can enjoy ourselves. Anyhow, he’s so full of himself he can’t see further than his nosey nose,’ she says. ‘There is nothing he can do. I own half of everything. Soon, when everything is clear – as we discussed – all of everything. We’ll get out of this depressing place. Where would you like to live?’

  ‘This area’s a bit down at heel for me, I have to say. Coming back here always feels slightly wretched.’

  ‘I know what you mean – the Russians, Arabs and those covered women. Even little girls. I would never do that in London or let my daughters do it.’

  ‘We’re like strangers in our own city.’

  ‘I don’t want you to be a stranger anywhere. I’ve been looking through estate agents’ material to find us a suitable place – with a wood-panelled study where I can lie on a chaise longue and watch you write your book.’

  ‘And rooms for my children to stay? You haven’t met them yet.’

  ‘Oh, Eddie—’

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘I’m not good with that kind of thing.’

  ‘What kind of thing? I know we can become one family, Zee. My kids and yours. I can assure you, you will adore my kids—’

  ‘At least the ones who aren’t locked up.’

  He says, ‘I want to invite my daughter here next week.’

  ‘Please, Eddie.’

  ‘Zee, she has been pouring boiling water over her arms and the school claims she is uncontrollable. She needs to be supported. She can use the study here. It’ll be a quiet place for her. You have daughters, you know how one can be beside oneself. We need to seek help for the girl.’

  ‘Do that, Eddie—’

  ‘My angel adores Anita’s films. Do you think Anita would pop by here to meet my daughter? She gave me her phone number. I could text her this evening.’

  ‘Text her? Eddie, I beg you, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t you see, Francesca’s had a hard time with me. She feels I let her down. Anita could be her mentor.’

  ‘Leave her out of this. Waldo would hate that. He doesn’t like Anita being used. As for your daughter, if she came, the other kids might follow. Where would it end? We could be overrun and I’d be hidden in my room. Waldo wouldn’t put up with it. He’s very protective of me.’

  Eddie watches me as I play this back through my Bose sound-cancelling headphones. What does a film director do? We lure audiences into a trap of pleasure by letting them watch crimes. Crime and love are the only subjects. We provide passion and cruelty. In return the public give us money and fame. It’s honest work. It’s witchcraft.

  I nod at Eddie. ‘Good man. The quality is fine.’

  ‘What is the material you’re playing with?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I thought I heard my voice. Wasn’t that an image of me?’

  ‘It was. You’re more of a character than I am. I am working on something which will interest you. A new form of movie. An “eargasm”. It’ll be called Heaven’s Gate.’

  ‘Wake up, Waldo, hasn’t that title been used before?’

  I hold up the evil eye of my phone and press the video recorder.

  ‘Let me change it to One Thousand and One Secrets, then.’ He’s becoming impatient but cannot walk out. ‘Do you still see Patricia? Pat Howard. She was married to a friend. I heard you know her.’

  ‘I see her occasionally.’

  ‘I’m going to invite her over for dinner next week. I want to freshen things up socially. I think she’ll like Zee. Do you talk intimately with Patricia?’

  He looks at the camera. ‘Intimately?’

  ‘Does she tell you who she loves? If she has a boyfriend?’

  ‘Why would she?’

  ‘Didn’t you have her? There were rumours. I know you, Eddie. We’ve exchanged confidences in the past. And Zee and I talk. She adores my voice. She says I could have had a career on the radio, like Bob Dylan.’

  ‘There are rumours about you too, my friend.’

  ‘I hope they’re libellous.’

  ‘Weren’t you with Anita?’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I’ve heard it said.’

  ‘She’s too beautiful for me, Eddie. Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Many don’t, Waldo. People say it’s still going on. Zee has her suspicions. Actresses rely on directors.’

  As he smiles and turns away, I say, ‘You’re cultured, Eddie. Were your parents knowledgeable? Is that where your curiosity comes from?’

  Eddie snorts. ‘My parents were ignorant in the way only English upper-middle-class Tories can be, Waldo. Stupidity, narcissism, and hedonism.’

  ‘You’re educated.’

  ‘At boarding school I had a teacher … He gave me the depraved, contraband stuff. Dostoevsky, Baudelaire, Henry Miller, Godard, Billie Holiday … wine, even—’

  ‘I know you like to be protected by an older man. What was his name? Didn’t you write about him? The Teacher Who Made Me. Wasn’t that it? What did he make you?’

  He looks at his watch. ‘Please, Waldo, I’d better move.’

  ‘There’s a crisp twenty on the table.’

  He glances at it. His hand covers it. He picks it up. ‘Kind of you, Waldo.’

  ‘What was the teacher’s name?’

  ‘Bow.’

  ‘You still see him?’

/>   ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘How did he die?’ He shakes his head. ‘Smile at the camera.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘You make me creative again. It’s terrible to have to retire. This is how Pelé must feel.’

  ‘Waldo,’ he says, ‘I’m worried about Zee. Are you sure she’ll be okay? Should we call a doctor?’

  ‘I’ll see how she goes tonight.’

  ‘What has made her like this? Did she have something on her mind?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know—’

  ‘Can I be honest with you, Eddie? It is true. We have been discussing you. You cause us to worry, and we consider ourselves to be like parents to you. I didn’t want to excite you, but I’ve been making enquiries. I’ve taken things in hand. I’m pushing my contacts. I’m going to get you a professorship. I always say there are few people who talk about film as well or as often as you.’

  ‘Waldo, thank you so much.’

  ‘I’m grateful that you look after Zee for me, Eddie. You really are a good friend. There’s no one like you in our lives.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s nothing.’

  ‘If you have time, please call in tomorrow briefly to pick up your things. Late in the afternoon. Very late, and bring oranges for the machine and some of that bread I adore, the ciabatta. If you have time, can you pop into the Algerian Coffee Store on Old Compton Street and get my usual dynamite? You’ve got the money now.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Meanwhile, give me time to get her better. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her. We’ll be together all night.’

  ‘You will?’

  ‘Our marriage is the thing I’m most proud of.’ I offer him my fist. ‘One love, Eddie.’

  ‘One love, Waldo.’

  As I whistle ‘Tomorrow Belongs to Me’, he puts his washbag in his satchel and scurries out into the night. He has got the message and has gone for good. Or so I believe.

  FOURTEEN

  We are enjoying brunch. At least, she is. Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon. Toast on the side; coffee, fresh orange juice, melon with powdered ginger.

  It cheers me up to watch her eat. She was one of the thinnest women in our circle, existing on dates – maybe one, or sometimes two a day – and yogurt and semen. Some women envied her, a good sign. But her weight worried me.