fried.’
I stopped chewing. I put down my plate and hobbled into the kitchen. I threw up into the sink. I turned on the tap and washed the mush I’d produced down the plug-hole. I poured myself a glass of water and returned to the living room.
Saleem was still staring at the picture. ‘But then it dawned on me,’ she said, as though there hadn’t been any hiatus in our conversation, ‘that black pudding is a mixture of pig’s blood and fat. Plain blood, if heated, would probably just disintegrate. The fat’d be the thing that would hold it together.’
I stared at her. I said, ‘You are a very sick, very cruel person.’
She turned and smiled. ‘Cool, calm, confident,’ she said. ‘The three Cs, remember?’
I sat down and pressed my glass of water up against my hot head.
‘Events,’ she added, ‘and how you choose to interpret events. Two totally different kettles of fish, like I told you.’ I said nothing. ‘You’ve got a whole lot of work to do in that department, Phil. You’re too bloody suggestible. And you always seem determined to think the very worst of other people. I mean, I’ve come into your home and I’ve fried you the kidneys I was intending to cook for my own dinner. A selfless act. But still you manage to convince yourself that I mean you harm. Is that an entirely acceptable, a reasonable way to be thinking?’
I held my glass of water in front of me and stared at it.
‘You are the exact same person,’ I said, ‘who got me to bury a live cat in the garden a few hours ago.’ Before she could respond I added, ‘And Doug drove his tractor into the greenhouse. Then he threatened Nancy. And Nancy, Nancy wrecked Doug’s vegetables and then shot Doug in the foot with a starting pistol before kidnapping him in the back of her truck.’
I looked up and over my glass and stared into Saleem’s eyes. ‘And you think I’ve been hasty in judging everyone? You really think I’m always determined to see the worst in people?’
Saleem grimaced. ‘Your problem is that you don’t think a person has any right to be more complicated than a fern or a bloody chrysanthemum. People live much more complicated lives than plants, Phil.’
‘I don’t think that way at all. Not at all.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Christ, you’ve become argumentative since you bumped your head. Let’s hope this’ll mean that you’re extremely persuasive and forthright at the meeting tomorrow.’
I lay down on the sofa again. I was tired now. I closed my eyes. Saleem came and stood over me. She said, ‘Finish your kidneys. You need some energy. You’ve got to take a good look at those files. You’ve got to assimilate all the receipts and the documents.’
‘I don’t want the kidneys. I don’t care about the files.’
Although my eyes were tightly shut I could feel Saleem right up close to me. When she next spoke I felt her breath on my ear and on my cheek.
‘Are you telling me,’ she whispered, ‘that the park means so little to you that this, the tiniest of sacrifices, is too much for you to make? The possibility of even the smallest bit of effort and discomfort are enough to make you abandon everything? Everyone?’
But it wasn’t that. The park meant too much, not too little. How could I be held responsible for something that I loved so completely? ‘Find Doug and let him go,’ I said, somewhat unreasonably. ‘Let Ray go, ‘ I added, ‘or go yourself if you feel that strongly about it. I don’t care who goes. I won’t go.’
Saleem was silent for so long that I opened one of my eyes and peeped out at her to check that she was still there. She was there. The air was bare with glare and stare. She was there.
‘And you dare to tell me,’ she gurgled, finding her voice, at last, locating it in the guttural regions of her lower throat, ‘and you dare to suggest to me that I wouldn’t sacrifice everything for something that I loved?’
‘That’s not what I was
I stopped chewing. I put down my plate and hobbled into the kitchen. I threw up into the sink. I turned on the tap and washed the mush I’d produced down the plug-hole. I poured myself a glass of water and returned to the living room.
Saleem was still staring at the picture. ‘But then it dawned on me,’ she said, as though there hadn’t been any hiatus in our conversation, ‘that black pudding is a mixture of pig’s blood and fat. Plain blood, if heated, would probably just disintegrate. The fat’d be the thing that would hold it together.’
I stared at her. I said, ‘You are a very sick, very cruel person.’
She turned and smiled. ‘Cool, calm, confident,’ she said. ‘The three Cs, remember?’
I sat down and pressed my glass of water up against my hot head.
‘Events,’ she added, ‘and how you choose to interpret events. Two totally different kettles of fish, like I told you.’ I said nothing. ‘You’ve got a whole lot of work to do in that department, Phil. You’re too bloody suggestible. And you always seem determined to think the very worst of other people. I mean, I’ve come into your home and I’ve fried you the kidneys I was intending to cook for my own dinner. A selfless act. But still you manage to convince yourself that I mean you harm. Is that an entirely acceptable, a reasonable way to be thinking?’
I held my glass of water in front of me and stared at it.
‘You are the exact same person,’ I said, ‘who got me to bury a live cat in the garden a few hours ago.’ Before she could respond I added, ‘And Doug drove his tractor into the greenhouse. Then he threatened Nancy. And Nancy, Nancy wrecked Doug’s vegetables and then shot Doug in the foot with a starting pistol before kidnapping him in the back of her truck.’
I looked up and over my glass and stared into Saleem’s eyes. ‘And you think I’ve been hasty in judging everyone? You really think I’m always determined to see the worst in people?’
Saleem grimaced. ‘Your problem is that you don’t think a person has any right to be more complicated than a fern or a bloody chrysanthemum. People live much more complicated lives than plants, Phil.’
‘I don’t think that way at all. Not at all.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Christ, you’ve become argumentative since you bumped your head. Let’s hope this’ll mean that you’re extremely persuasive and forthright at the meeting tomorrow.’
I lay down on the sofa again. I was tired now. I closed my eyes. Saleem came and stood over me. She said, ‘Finish your kidneys. You need some energy. You’ve got to take a good look at those files. You’ve got to assimilate all the receipts and the documents.’
‘I don’t want the kidneys. I don’t care about the files.’
Although my eyes were tightly shut I could feel Saleem right up close to me. When she next spoke I felt her breath on my ear and on my cheek.
‘Are you telling me,’ she whispered, ‘that the park means so little to you that this, the tiniest of sacrifices, is too much for you to make? The possibility of even the smallest bit of effort and discomfort are enough to make you abandon everything? Everyone?’
But it wasn’t that. The park meant too much, not too little. How could I be held responsible for something that I loved so completely? ‘Find Doug and let him go,’ I said, somewhat unreasonably. ‘Let Ray go, ‘ I added, ‘or go yourself if you feel that strongly about it. I don’t care who goes. I won’t go.’
Saleem was silent for so long that I opened one of my eyes and peeped out at her to check that she was still there. She was there. The air was bare with glare and stare. She was there.
‘And you dare to tell me,’ she gurgled, finding her voice, at last, locating it in the guttural regions of her lower throat, ‘and you dare to suggest to me that I wouldn’t sacrifice everything for something that I loved?’
‘That’s not what I was
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