The Last Word

Eight

He was standing at the door of the library. Since he couldn’t remember the mantra Alice had insisted would calm him, he repeated to himself, ‘Doom, doom, doom. .’

‘Come.’

The book-lined room was quiet and cool, the heavy curtains keeping out the light. The desks, piled with the world’s most obscure and difficult books, were antique. Busts, sculpture, paintings and tapestries, some exquisite, some vulgar, had been shipped from Liana’s parents’ house near Bologna. Harry took off his shoes, stepping onto a long Venetian carpet selected by Mamoon when shopping with Liana. It was like walking across a Mantegna towards a hanging judge.

Mamoon had changed out of his usual roomy tracksuit, and was dressed in grey flannel trousers, Italian loafers with grey woollen socks, and a white shirt with the sleeves unbuttoned. The ginger tom on his lap closed his eyes as Mamoon stroked his head.

Harry sat down opposite and placed his notebook and pen, as well as his tape recorder, on the low table.

Mamoon said, ‘Harry, please, dear boy, before you ignite that dreadful recording box, can’t it be my turn to bore you with a question?’

Harry nodded. If he didn’t fall asleep, Mamoon would, occasionally, ask Harry a question which would be direct and difficult to answer, a question which, nonetheless, Harry believed he should answer in order to illustrate that silence was no use.

‘Harry, do you believe in monogamy and fidelity?’ Harry started. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes. Yes I do, yes, in theory.’

‘In theory?’

‘Ah-ha.’

‘You are a theoretician, you say?’

‘In a way.’

‘In what way are you in fact a theoretician?’

Harry said, ‘People say fidelity is the best solution, that everything is simpler inside the prison of love. Fewer people go crazy. The various alternatives make for more unhappiness, don’t they?’

‘How would I know?’ said Mamoon. ‘I have lived this long and still cannot answer the unanswerable questions. People come and ask me for universal truths, but this is the wrong address. You’ll only get universal questions here, the ones that make literature.’

‘How can you expect me to answer them?’

‘I’ve seen the way you look at women. We researched you, and heard rumours which shocked us. Luckily Rob vouched for you, otherwise we wouldn’t have considered taking you on. Perhaps, though, you’re not ready to withdraw from the game yet.’

Harry said, ‘My mother died. I needed female attention. There were aunts, Dad’s female friends, and my brothers’ girlfriends. It was a sumptuous pleasure, running into the arms of the women at that age, with many of them being more than nice to me. Perhaps it became something of an obsession, to try and satisfy a woman after being in her debt.’

‘To pay her back for her kindness?’

‘You should know, sir, that at the moment I am very seriously detoxing as far as that side of things goes. I learned I could have a very powerful effect on women. When they wanted to be desired, their passions could be huge. But I’m trying to stop, or at least quieten down, after certain somewhat hazardous escapades and scrapes.’

‘Recently?’

‘Oh God, I should have learned my lesson by now.’

‘What are you saying? I must have an example.’

‘I’m not sure we should get distracted, Mamoon, sir.’

Mamoon leaned forward. He was becoming impatient. ‘The point is, Harry, if I’m not to find you abhorrent, there will have to be more reciprocity all round. Particularly from your side.’ Mamoon tickled the stirring cat under its chin. ‘Do you follow me?’

Harry said, ‘Sir, I’d been on a bit of a binge with the women. I’d asked for too much. My debts were being called in. I picked up a woman on the tube.’

‘Which line?’

‘Central.’

‘Ah yes. Marble Arch. Bond Street.’

‘She was a woman I adored and then pitied — but perhaps led on — an isolated person, an overseas mature student, who eventually wouldn’t leave me alone, and then deliberately became pregnant by me. Or so she said. Apparently it was her last chance, at her age. She wanted nothing else from me — but a child! I was worrying. I remembered that she wrote everything down.’

‘Ah-ha. Everything is recorded. Go on.’

‘At some peril, I climbed up the side of her building and broke into her place, to read her diary and find out the facts about her pregnancy. The door opened while I was consulting the evidence. I thought I would die of a heart attack. It was her flatmate, who had a knife. She was so terrified I thought she might accidentally kill me.

‘I said I would explain everything. We put away some whisky. I slept with her. Then I refused to do it again. So this woman confessed everything to her friend, who got in her car and hunted me down. It turned out that for three days she waited for me in various places, before trying to run me over while I was cycling. My back wheel was crushed. When I looked up and saw her eyes, I threw the bike down and ran for my life. Meanwhile, I had to keep all this from my girlfriend, with whom I’d begun living.’

‘Alice — is that her name?’

‘Yes, she’s gentle and hopeless, and sort of flounders about. But she’s good to look at, and I’m mad about her. Before, if I could, I liked to have three girls a day.’

‘Three? You could manage that?’

‘Four is my record. No, five. What is yours, sir?’ When Mamoon said nothing, Harry said, ‘Now I am determined to put the devil behind me and go straight. But at that time there were others I hadn’t quite finished with — left over from an earlier period, you might say. One had an abortion. Another attempted suicide — in front of me. One of my brothers said I should never have to resort to touching my own penis, though it would have saved me some trouble.’

‘You seem to specialise, if that is the word, in making others crazy. Can it be deliberate?’

‘It’s been a bad run, Mamoon, sir. But at times it seemed worth it.’

‘In what way?’

‘The women were spectacular.’

‘How?’

‘One of them had big eyes,’ he said. ‘Every time she opened them wide, it was as though all the clothes were peeling from her body. She was a violinist who’d play Bach, and sing to me.’

‘Ah.’

‘So you see, they required the sacrifice. I knew I’d be a fool to follow them, but more of a fool not to.’

‘Good. A man who hasn’t left behind him a string of broken women has hardly been alive. And if anyone manages to get their sexuality and their love lined up together, they are indeed lucky. It is as rare as a fine spring day in the country.’

Harry said, ‘I am glad, I have to say, to be here in the countryside, where it’s quieter. I can be more monstrous than I would like to believe — in my passions, and in the way they suddenly end, as if the relationships never happened. I’m one of those people who needs to know where their next meal is coming from — just in case it doesn’t come at all. Not that women like to be so used, of course.’

‘Why behave in such a way?’

‘I have thought about this, Mamoon, sir, you’ll be surprised to hear.’

‘And?’

‘I love the razor’s edge. I want to be cut open. My terror is of a bourgeois, ordinary life. I can’t bear the everyday constraint. I believe that ordinariness would put out my spark, such as it is.’

Mamoon said, ‘I have said this: we must bow down in gratitude to the fundamentalist, who reminds us how dangerous books and sex are. All sex, and indeed all pleasure, must include a poisonous drop of perversion, of devilish transgression — of evil, even — for it to be worth getting into bed for. It’s become banal, now that it is ubiquitous. As a keen student of the scandal sheets, I have learned that adultery — pleasure plus betrayal — is the only fun left to us. Marriage domesticates sex but frees love. It is unsuitable as a solution to human need, but as with capitalism, the alternatives are much worse.

‘But all this,’ Mamoon continued, waving at the room, ‘that which you refer to as the everyday, the bourgeois and the dull? I want it. I need it. I love it.’

‘You do?’ Harry leaned forward to turn on the recorder.

‘Do not touch that,’ said Mamoon. ‘I’ve come home, Harry. I did, the other day, have to lower a knife into the toaster and it was more danger than I can bear. I’m sure it will happen to you — the desire for comfort and contentment. The desire not to be special. But I had heard from someone, perhaps Rob — aren’t you intending to get married?’

‘I hope so. Yes, that’s what I want to do. Definitely. I see marriage as a kind of defence, a levee against the turbulence of desire. Do you think it might work like that?’

‘Why would you think that?’

Harry picked up the tape recorder and showed it to Mamoon. ‘I’m supposed to ask you the questions.’

‘Your life is more interesting than mine.’

‘You won’t write about me, will you?’

‘I’d like you more as a fictional character, and you should be flattered to appear in one of my works, even without your trousers. However, Harry, my clock has stopped. The embalmer is rolling up his sleeves. Even as we speak, seventy-two virgins are slipping into schoolgirl uniforms for me. You must live, and I confirm: always put your penis first. Harry, you know I consider you to be an ass and a twerp, but it doesn’t follow you haven’t taught me a lot.’

‘Thank you for that. It cheers me. But what did I teach you, sir?’

‘My backhand was all over the place, you know that. I’d been making that wrong swing for years. It was too high.’ Mamoon went on, ‘You’re far more sophisticated, thoughtful and well read than I was at your age. But in other ways you’re very crude and self-deceiving.’

‘I am?’

‘I’m sorry if I just laughed at you.’

‘Did you laugh at me?’

‘Didn’t you hear my noise?’

‘I did, sir, and became alarmed that you were unwell. Why did you make your noise?’

‘The juxtapositions you described are laughable.’ Mamoon said, ‘On the one hand there is the banal bourgeois existence, and on the other a fantasy of what could be called limitless enjoyment — as though those were the only alternatives.’

‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘It seems royally stupid now you put it like that.’

‘I’m sorry if I was abrupt. But the way you picture it is misleading. The frame, one might say, is in the wrong place. You haven’t applied your considerable intelligence to this matter and I want to know why. It’s almost a fundamentalist separation you have going.’ He stared at the ceiling. ‘The novel is contamination. The novel sees the complication.’ He went on, ‘You’d be advised to attend to something Joseph Conrad once said, not that he’s a writer I can care much for now — very little gives me pleasure, as you know, since I am almost dead.’

‘What did Conrad say?’

‘“The discovery of new values is a chaotic experience. This is a momentary feeling of darkness. I let my spirit float supine on that chaos.”’

‘Floating supine on that chaos,’ repeated Harry. ‘That’s what I need.’

‘It’s the values bit I would attend to, if I were you.’

Harry noticed that Mamoon was looking at him with some amusement. Harry said, ‘Am I a weak young man, do you think? Or someone who has more pleasure than they deserve?’

‘Pleasure?’ Mamoon laughed. ‘Most people don’t know how to maximise their pleasure, Harry, they sexualise their pain. Surely you’ve noticed that most people live without love, spending their lives trying to find people they’re not turned on by.’

‘Why?’

‘Think about it.’

‘Could that possibly be a picture of you, sir?’

Mamoon leaned forward in his chair and said, ‘I hate to express a view, but you insist on forcing me. I never want to be too clear. Nothing confuses like clarity. The best stories are the open ones, those you don’t quite understand. But my idea of these matters is very simple: the loves you describe are very reduced encounters, of course. Not relationships, no. They couldn’t be described as such. They’re addictions, or anti-relationships. Perhaps you only like to be with people you hate?’

‘How so, sir?’

‘Relationships which don’t develop become sadistic. There has to be an exchange which develops both participants: there must be some sort of transformation, or new thing, otherwise there is violence. The violence of those who wish to explode out of a situation.’

‘Do you know that well, sir?’

Mamoon shrugged. ‘Mutual transformation is rare, as good things are. In my view, a person should live as they wish until they find someone they want to be faithful to. After all, as you say, one can’t suck oneself off.’

‘Exactly.’

Mamoon went on, ‘I think we’ve said enough for today. I feel the need to lie down for some time and think about what you’ve made me say.’ He smiled at Harry. ‘Why don’t you invite your girlfriend to stay here? I would like to see her.’

‘You would?’

‘I have the feeling that a young woman’s presence would make me more voluble.’

‘How come?’

Mamoon closed his eyes and said, ‘Perhaps it is again time for me to be reminded of the finer and baser things. When Victor Hugo was buried, you couldn’t find a whore in all of Paris. They were too busy paying their respects. That was a man — and he still has a show on in the West End.’

‘Right.’ Harry collected his things and began to pad backwards down the carpet towards the door.

But before he got out, Mamoon opened his eyes and said, ‘You might find that you can’t buy your sexuality off the peg in some sort of one-size-fits-all fantasy — that crass bourgeois idea, the morality of slaves. If you thought about it seriously, you would see that people have to shape and form their sexuality out of what they’re given. But it’s more like writing a book than reading from a script.’

‘Thanks.’

‘My pleasure. How is our little psychonarrative — my monument, your hauntology — coming along?’

‘It’s getting there, sir. But there’s some considerable distance to go.’

‘Good. There always will be, I suspect. I hope you are turning me into a story I can enjoy. Am I interesting? I’m so looking forward to being surprised by how I come out.’

Harry said, ‘You will be very surprised.’

‘Why?’

‘The truth is a tattoo on your forehead. You can’t see it yourself. I am your mirror.’

‘You. Fucking hell.’

‘Bad luck.’ Harry stopped for a moment. ‘I must ask, have you thought about whether I could visit and interview Marion?’

‘Why bother with her? There are always women. They come and go, apparently. So what? Don’t pursue them. Let them flock to you.’

‘Why do you refuse, sir?’

‘I’ve said it’s not a good idea. You’ll only irritate her. As if the poor woman hasn’t been through enough already.’

‘What exactly has she been through?’

‘Get out.’

‘There is one more thing, sir. Your backhand still needs work.’

‘Yes, I thought so. We must do that. I want to get back in physical shape again. I need you to encourage me through some stomach crunches and press-ups on the push-up bar. I need my body to work again. It might come in useful some day.’

Harry hurried away, but Liana was waiting outside for him, as he anticipated she would be, since she had no other company apart from Julia. She walked beside him through the fields, wanting to talk with him. When she said talk she meant she wanted him to listen. It was some relief to listen because he was exhausted after what he’d said to Mamoon, as if he’d attended, without wanting to, a down-to-the-bone therapy session.

She said, ‘You know me well enough, Harry, to see that I am a woman of longing.’ She wanted to talk about how much she wanted to get out of ‘the mud’, which was how she had begun to refer to the country. ‘The country smells of shit,’ she said. ‘Mamoon likes it, since it reminds him of back home. But now I need to get to London, and we must raise money to buy a flat. I hate to be so far from my hairdresser. My clothes are falling apart. We will give parties and dinners. You know I am keen to meet Sean Connery and the Gandhi actor. But in the meantime, I am giving a dinner for Mamoon nearby. Will your girlfriend attend, and then join us for a few days? I am so weary, Harry. Perhaps she will cheer us all up? Is she funny? I would so like someone out of the ordinary to come here.’

‘The invitation from both of you is very kind, but I am uneasy about inviting her,’ Harry said. ‘Alice is from a council estate, with a schizophrenic father. She didn’t go to university, and her brother’s in prison.’

‘For what?’

‘Drug dealing and burglary. She got into art school, but otherwise she’s uneducated. She read fashion magazines in her council house as if she were studying samizdat material, and, somehow, found a job in fashion. She’s not well paid, but she loves clothes and takes wonderful photographs of them. But as for literary talk — I can only say Valentino is her Dante and Alexander McQueen is her Baudelaire.’

‘The Roman maestro is her Dante? Once I took his hand in my city, as I did that of Fellini. Please, do invite her. Mamoon works but won’t complain too much if people come to the house and don’t irritate him. If he takes against them, of course, they can abandon all hope.’

Harry said, ‘The other morning, when I drove Mamoon into town to see his chiropodist he said he wished he had a shotgun.’ He did Mamoon’s ludicrously posh voice, ‘“Would anyone notice if we eliminated some of these young people? Would anyone care when there are so many of them just hanging about?”’

Liana said, ‘He says the same about cyclists. But if someone doesn’t come, I’ll scream like a banshee. Will you bring her to Mamoon’s birthday dinner — anyone young is welcome.’

‘I will ask her. I know what she’ll say.’

‘What?’

‘“What will I wear?”’

‘A woman after my own heart. Oh Harry, as Dante the famous writer says, “Tonight is the beginning of always. . Amore e’l cor gentil sono una cosa.”’