The Body by Hanif Kureishi

Author:Hanif Kureishi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2004-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

5

I WENT TO eat in a taverna in town, reading at the table. After a few pages, I thought, “I can do this.” I pulled some paper from my rucksack and started on a story, which offered itself to me. It was something seen, or apprehended as a whole—almost visual—which I felt forced to find words for. My hands were shaking; without literature I couldn’t think, and felt stifled by a swirl of thoughts which took me nowhere new. But writing and the intricacies of its solitude was a habit I needed to break in order to stray from myself. Some artists, in their later life, become so much themselves, they go their own way, that they are no longer open to influence, to being changed or even touched by anyone else, and their work takes on the nature of obsession. Margot once said to me, “When you think or feel something important, instead of saying it, you write it down. I’d love it to rain on your computer!”

It did. I put away my pen and paper, paid, and left.

At the Center the voices, usually so quietly fervent, were almost raucous. Everyone, apart from Patricia, who had yet to appear, had gathered in colorful skirts, dresses, and wraps. Some wore bells on their ankles; many wore bras. The night air, invariably sweet, vibrated with clashing female perfumes; jewelry flashed and jingled. Excitement about the party on the yacht was so high that some people were already dancing.

I was wearing my usual shorts and white T-shirt. I’d bought this body because I liked it as it was, a pure fashion item that didn’t require elaboration.

I laughed when I saw that Alicia had attempted to comb her hair, making it look even more frizzy. With the light behind her, she looked as though she had a halo. She also wore lipstick, which I’d never seen on her. It was as if she were trying out being “a woman.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” she said.

“Me, too,” I replied.

“We’re on the trip, then.”

“Looks like it.”

Our singularity made us both seem insubordinate, as if we were refusing to enter into the spirit of the evening, which was how, to my regret, I’d been as a young man—rebellion as affectation. Not that anyone seemed to notice. With the arrival of Princess Patricia in a long tie-dyed skirt and with flowers in her hair, the party became impossible to resist.

At Patricia’s entrance, I said to Alicia, “I didn’t realize we were attending a film première!”

After posing in the door until everyone became silent and took her in, she came to me, kissed me on the lips, patted my face, licked her lips, and refused to acknowledge Alicia.

“Are we ready?”

She held my arm and pulled me along, telling the others to follow. It was clear: she wanted to go on the cruise because she wanted to show me off.

Patricia and I led what became a kind of procession through the village to the beach. The old men,

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