Nightlight
She came to him late on
Wednesdays only for sex, the cab waiting outside. Four months ago
someone recommended her to him for a job but he has no work she can do.
He doesn't even pay himself now. They talk of nothing much and there
are silences in which they can only look at one another. But neither
wants to withdraw and something must be moving between them, for they
stand up together and lie down beside the table, without speaking.
Same
time next week she's at the door. They undress immediately . She leaves
not having slept but he has felt her dozing before she determinedly
shakes herself awake. She collects hersellf quickly without apology, and
goes without looking back. He has no idea where she lives or where
she's from.
When she's gone he
masturbates, contemplating what they did, imprinting it on his mind for
ready reference: she on her stomach, him on the boat of her back, his
face in her black hair forever. He thinks of the fluffy black hairs,
flattened with sweat like a toff's parting, around her arsehole.
Walking
around later he is both satisfied and unfulfilled, disliking himself
for not knowing why he is doing this - balked by the puzzle of his own
mind and the impossibility of grasping why one behaves so oddly, and why
one ends up resenting people for not providing what one hasn't been
able to ask for. Surely this new thing is a web of illusion and he is a
fool? But he wants more foolishness and not only on Wednesdays.
For
several weeks he determines to speak during their lovemaking, each time
telling himself that on this occasion the words will come out "We
should talk" is the sentence he prepares which becomes abbreviated to
"Want to talk?" or even "Talk?"
However his not speaking has clearly gladdened this woman...
Hanif Kureishi
