Gravel Heart by Abdulrazak Gurnah

Author:Abdulrazak Gurnah
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
ISBN: 9781408881316
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2017-11-25T10:18:33+00:00

7

MOTHER

The shock of Billie’s going took a few days to reach every sinew in my body and by the end of that I was listless, weary, at times paralysed. I would not have believed it if it had not happened to me. I felt her rejection as a bodily nausea, a carnal sensation of revulsion and depletion. I had to force myself to do the simplest things, make the bed, have a shower, cook. Even when I cooked I often could not eat. I could not sleep for longer than two or three hours and then woke up in misery. I could not concentrate at work or on what I was reading. The silence of the flat was oppressive and there were too many objects around that reminded me of her. I thought of going home for a visit, to break the chain of events, to please my mother, to reassure myself. That would take my mind off her for sure but I did nothing about it. Weeks went by like that until I found ways to coerce myself out of that nerveless state. Buying the flat was one of those ways. The owner got in touch to say he wanted to sell and I agreed to buy and that occupied a large amount of head space and pushed thoughts of her away.

Taking long walks was another. I think that walk I did to stay out of the flat on the day of Billie’s mother’s visit started something. I enjoyed it so I began to take long walks through London on my own. Sometimes I set off in the morning and headed across the river, going west or east as I felt like, as far as Chiswick or Hackney. I stayed out all day, or until I needed to force myself to keep walking, then I caught the train or the bus and headed back to Putney. I always took a book with me and if I was in the mood and I found the right spot, I sat down to read. Sometimes I walked to Camberwell and strolled past the OAU house, or to Holland Park to see the house where I lived when I first came to England. In the spring, I sometimes came home from work and went out again to walk in the park or as far as Clapham Common, stopping at a café or a pub on the way.

One Friday I walked all night long, through Wandsworth, and Tooting Bec and Brixton and Denmark Hill and Lewisham as far as Greenwich. I passed clubbers and revellers and people like me walking through London streets in their sleep. Mostly I kept away from the major roads, and tried to find my way through the tangle of small streets, bearing left whenever I felt in doubt. I read how once Charles Dickens walked from Tavistock Square in central London to Gad’s Hill Place, his house near Rochester, a seven-hour walk through the night, because he had had a row with his wife.

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