Free Collected Stories by Hanif Kureishi Page A

arms to secure them, but with each lurch his head was being forced down into the fissure. He felt as if his ears were going to be torn off. The two of them were about to crash through onto the floor.
    He rolled her over onto one bed. Then he sat up and showed her what would have happened. She started to laugh, she couldn’t stop.
    *
     
    The gas meter ticked; she was dozing. He had never lain beside a lovelier face. He thought of what Nicola might have sought that night with Celestine’s father. Affection, attention, serious talk, honesty, distraction. Did he give her that now? Could they give it to one another, and with a kid on the way?
    Celestine was nudging him and trying to say something in his ear.
    ‘You want what?’ he said. Then, ‘Surely … no … no.’
    ‘Bill, yes.’
    He liked to think he was willing to try anything. A black eye would certainly send a convincing message to her father. She smiled when he raised his hand.
    ‘I deserve to be hurt.’
    ‘No one deserves that.’
    ‘But you see … I do.’
    That night, in that freezing room, he did everything she asked, for as long as she wanted. He praised her beauty and her intelligence. He had never kissed anyone for so long, until he forgot where he was, or who they both were, until there was nothing they wanted, and there was only the most satisfactory peace.
    He got up and dressed. He was shivering. He wanted to wash, he smelled of her, but he wasn’t prepared for a cold bath.
    ‘Why are you leaving?’ She leaped up and held him. ‘Stay, stay, I haven’t finished with you yet.’
    He put on his coat and went into the living room. Without looking back he hurried out and down the stairs. He pulled the front door, anticipating the fresh damp night air. But the door held. He had forgotten: the door was locked. He stood there.
    Upstairs she was wrapped in a fur coat, looking out of the window.

    ‘The key,’ he said.
    ‘Old man,’ she said, laughing. ‘You are.’
    She accompanied him barefoot down the stairs. While she unlocked the door he mumbled, ‘Will you tell your father I saw you?’
    ‘But why?’
    He touched her face. She drew back. ‘You should put something on that,’ he said. ‘I met him once. He knows my wife.’
    ‘I rarely see him now,’ she said.
    She was holding out her arms. They danced a few steps across the hall. He was better at it now. He went out into the street. Several cabs passed him but he didn’t hail them. He kept walking. There was comfort in the rain. He put his head back and looked up into the sky. He had some impression that happiness was beyond him and everything was coming down, and that life could not be grasped but only lived.

With Your Tongue down My Throat
     

     
     

1
    I tell you, I feel tired and dirty, but I was told no baths allowed for a few days, so I’ll stay dirty. Yesterday morning I was crying a lot and the woman asked me to give an address in case of emergencies and I made one up. I had to undress and get in a white smock and they took my temperature and blood pressure five times. Then a nurse pushed me in a wheelchair into a green room where I met the doctor. He called us all ‘ladies’ and told jokes. I could see some people getting annoyed. He was Indian, unfortunately, and he looked at me strangely as if to say, ‘What are you doing here?’ But maybe it was just my imagination.
    I had to lie on a table and they put a needle or two into my left arm. Heat rushed over my face and I tried to speak. The next thing I know I’m in the recovery room with a nurse saying, ‘Wake up, dear, it’s all over.’ The doctor poked me in the stomach and said, ‘Fine.’ I found myself feeling aggressive. ‘Do you do this all the time?’ I asked. He said he did nothing else.
    They woke us at six and there were several awkward-looking, sleepy boyfriends outside. I got the bus and went back to the squat.
    *
     
    A few months later we got kicked out and I had to go back to Ma’s place. So