Free Gabriel's Gift by Hanif Kureishi

he?’ said other people.
    â€˜No, no one,’ was the authoritative reply, at last.
    â€˜No one,’ someone echoed.
    â€˜No, no one,’
    A sigh of disappointment fluttered through the gathering.
    â€˜We are someone.’ Dad put his hand on Gabriel’s arm. He whispered, ‘If anyone asks us anything … say “No comment”. Right?’
    â€˜No comment,’ repeated Gabriel.
    â€˜That’s it. And when we actually see him … Lester –’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Don’t say too much.’
    â€˜Don’t talk?’
    â€˜Well, a bit.’ Dad’s skin was bubbling with sweat like the walls of his room. ‘Oh God,’ he moaned. ‘It’s been a long, long time!’
    â€˜Is this the hotel?’
    Gabriel saw only a long, dark, high wall with a green door set into it. The brass knocker was in the shape of a monkey’s head.
    â€˜Of course it is.’
    They passed through the crowd. Gabriel noticed that the fans had Lester’s face, slightly remodelled, as if Lester had bequeathed them his old faces, having no more use for them.
    â€˜No comment,’ Dad intoned.
    â€˜No comment,’ Gabriel murmured.
    No one had asked them a question.
    The door opened, a man in grey holding it for them.
    â€˜Harold Steptoe?’ said Dad.
    â€˜Harold is waiting,’ said the man.
    Dad whispered to Gabriel, ‘That’s the name Lester always uses in hotels.’
    They were taken across the threshold and the door closed behind them.
    Gabriel, with his father beside him, found himself standing in an almost empty space.
    There was a deep hush in the hotel; the place was so stylish that there appeared to be nothing to disfigure the exquisite austerity of nothing piled on nothing, apart from – on an invisible shelf – a white vase containing a single white flower.
    In the distance, little figures in charcoal pyjamas and slippers started to unbend slowly, like Chinese mandarins coming out of hypnosis.
    One of these, a young girl, began to move towards them.
    â€˜Lester is waiting for you,’ she said, arriving pale, slightly out of breath and older than when she had started out. ‘This way.’
    As they followed, Gabriel thought how easy it would be to disappear into such an expanse of nullity until he realized she made her way by following a line of little grey pebbles on the ground. Approaching a plain white wall, she turned left suddenly and went through an arch, treading along a corridor where occasionally they saw bodyguards in black, protecting Lester from madmen who wanted him to be a god.
    The girl rapped on a door and was gone.
    Lester opened it himself, wearing a green silk kimono.
    He and Rex embraced.
    â€˜How’s the ankle?’ Lester took them into the room. He turned to Gabriel. ‘Did Rex tell you how it happened?’
    â€˜Many times.’
    Dad started to hop up and down on one leg. ‘All mended! Strong as a giraffe! Look! I’m ready to tour again!’
    Gabriel took Dad’s hand to calm him.
    â€˜Good,’ said Lester. ‘I’m not!’
    His face was as sharp and bright as a blade; he had one brown eye and one blue, with yellow flashes across it.
    Gabriel saw, in another room, a young, bare-legged woman sitting at a mirror having her hair caressed by two men in orange sarongs, their mouths filled with clips.
    Lester directed Dad to a table in the corner.
    â€˜Let me pick your long-living brain, maestro,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to do some kind of memoir. The freaks I’ve had in here from the past, doing my remembering for me! Now …’
    They talked over old times and Lester made notes. Gabriel took out his sketchbook and continued to work on the picture of his father he had started the previous night.
    He kept looking at Lester, secretly and not so secretly.
    How could he write songs that people the world over knew the words to? Why did