I got up; I told the old man to have my drink and asked him for some cigarettes. He threw his well-fingered packet at me. I went out, avoiding the bullying glance of the barman, glad to be rid of that insistent sound of weeping, which is a mark of when people have lost a temporary haven; and glad also to be rid of that whole bunch of depressives and trendies who mistake the fact of their lostness for the attraction of the outsider’s confusion.
As I walked down the darkened streets and inspected the curtained windows of the houses, I found that I had discovered something. I had found, in that sweet-tempered solitude of the streets, a huge and wonderfully small room in the sky that is composed of ten thousand taxi-cabs and pasted over with the quarter of a million pounds that belonged to a Nigerian. And in this discovery I dreamed of several silk-yards of myths and realities and enchantments with which to remake the cracked music of all wretched people.
Yes, I dreamed. I had discovered, for example, that there had been a mistake. Everyone had been fooled: I had perpetrated a hoax. Nobody knew it but: I WAS THE TAXI-CAB DRIVER. What a shock it was, coming to myself. Tramping down the grey streets, inspecting the houses, I followed myself, haunted by the desires in that hoax. This is how it happened, not too long ago. I was a taxi-cab driver, cruising along. This man in a brown suit flagged me. He had a briefcase. The first thought that crossed my mind was that he was a Nigerian. Rich Nigerian. I had picked up several of them before. I stopped and he climbed in. I looked at him in the mirror. He looked respectable and had an air of charismatic indifference. Politician or businessman. He told me where to drop him and before we got there he decided to stop off at Marks & Spencer. He stayed there a long time. He was probably buying up the entire establishment. I had picked up a few of them and had been pretty shocked at the number of stereos, videos and boxes of cereal that they took back home. I waited for the man. Let it be known that I waited. Then I took one look at the briefcase and drove away angrily. When I discovered the quarter of a million pounds in it, the first thing I did was to dump the cab. I caught a plane to America, bummed around for a while, came back, and changed my colour. It seemed to me a simple matter. People have been executed for much less than leaving a quarter of a million pounds in a starving man’s cab. People, in fact, should be hanged for carrying that kind of money around. What more could I do to help the starving, the miserable, the drought-ridden bastards of this world than to drive off with such money? That, however, is as far as my solution got. When I came back, and changed my colour, and saw all those stupid television news stories of the anguished Nigerian and the reward he was offering, I simply laughed my head off. I lugged the briefcase with me wherever I went. One day I found myself on a bridge over the Thames. Somehow I trapped myself into one of those moods when you think the whole ineluctable mystery of life is caught in the river’s reflections. I saw this white boy on the water flowing beneath the bridge. There was a group of people on the shore; they were shouting. Perfect fool that I was – I allowed a feeling of chivalry to come over me: I jumped into the river. When I splashed into the water I suddenly realized that the briefcase was gone. The boy was nowhere in sight. I swam around and soon saw a body floating, its head beneath the water. I swam after it and several confused thrashings later, the water surging into my mouth, I brought him ashore. The boy was dead and already bloated. The people who were clamouring on the shore, I discovered, had nothing whatever to do with the body. Then I remembered the briefcase. Hungry, wet, haunted by the faces of the anguished Nigerian, I shouted: ‘There is a quarter of a million pounds floating on the river.’ Before I could dive back in to rescue the briefcase, the inevitable happened. The Thames soon swarmed with a quarter of a million pirates, rogues and hassled people who had long since had enough. They bobbed and kicked, a riot on the waters, for a leather briefcase that would open up a feverish haven of dreams and close up, for ever, the embattled roomful of desires. The police got into it and I slipped away, angry and frustrated and cheated of myself. I hope that they never recovered the money.
That was a dream that drowned.
What a shock it was, coming to myself, when plane trees grown from cement and when the seasons of the streets yielded a dream of wonder. I found a house. I had always wanted to own a house. I inspected it. Bats flew out of the windows. I went up the creaking stairs and peeked around the eerie rooms. There was excreta all over the place, but that was of no serious consequence. I lit a match and found one of the rooms more tolerable than the others. I sat down and took in the smells of rubble and suicides and the decaying of human structures. I looked outside the window and found that it was morning.
Acknowledgements
The editor and publishers wish to thank the following who have kindly given permission to print extracts and copyright material in this anthology:
J. G. BALLARD: ‘First Impressions of London’ from A User’s Guide to the Millennium by J. G. Ballard, HarperCollins, 1996. © J. G. Ballard, 1993. Reproduced by permission of the author c/o Margaret Hanbury, 27 Walcot Square, London SEII 4UB.
JAMES BERRY: ‘From Lucy: Englan’ Lady’ and ‘From Lucy: Carnival Wed-d’n’, 1981 from Lucy’s Letters and Loving, by James Berry, New Beacon Books Ltd., London, 1982. Reprinted by permission.
WILLIAM BOYD: ‘Fly Away Home’ © William Boyd, 1997. Reproduced by permission of the author.
E. R. BRAITHWAITE: From Choice of Straws by E. R. Braithwaite, The Bodley Head, London, 1965. Reproduced by permission of The Bodley Head, an imprint of Random House UK Ltd.
DAVID DABYDEEN: ‘London Taxi Driver’ from Coolie Odyssey by David Dabydeen, Hansib Publishing Ltd. and Dangeroo Press, 1988. Reproduced by permission of Curtis Brown Ltd., London, on behalf of David Dabydeen.
ANITA DESAI: From Bye-Bye Blackbird by Anita Desai, Vision Books Private Ltd., 1985. © Anita Desai, 1985. Reproduced by permission of the author, c/o Rogers, Coleridge & White Ltd., London.
LAWRENCE DURRELL: From Spirit of Place by Lawrence Durrell, Faber and Faber Ltd., London, and E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc., 1969. © The Estate of Lawrence Durrell, 1969. Reproduced by permission of Curtis Brown Ltd., London, on behalf of The Estate of Lawrence Durrell, and Faber and Faber Ltd., London.
T. S. ELIOT: Letter to Henry Eliot and letter to Eleanor Hinkley from The Letters of T. S. Eliot 1898–1922, by T. S. Eliot, edited by Valerie Eliot, Faber and Faber Ltd., 1988, and Harcourt Brace & Co, 1989. © 1989 by SET Copyrights Limited. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt Brace & Company and Faber and Faber Limited.
EVA FIGES: From Little Eden: a Child at War by Eva Figes, Persea Books, 1978. © Eva Figes, 1978. Reproduced by permission of the author c/o Rogers, Coleridge & White Ltd., London.
ROMESH GUNESEKERA: From Reef by Romesh Gunesekera, Granta Books, London, 1994. © Romesh Gunesekera, 1994. US rights granted by The New Press. Reprinted by the permission of The New Press and A. M. Heath & Co Ltd.
ABDULRAZAK GURNAH: From Pilgrims Way by Abdulrazak Gurnah, Chatto & Windus, 1988. © Abdulrazak Gurnah, 1988. Reproduced by permission of the author, c/o Rogers, Coleridge & White Ltd., London.
WILSON HARRIS: From The Angel at the Gate by Wilson Harris, Faber and Faber Ltd., London, 1982. © Wilson Harris, 1982. Reproduced by permission of Faber and Faber Ltd.
MICHAEL HOFMANN: ‘The Machine that Cried’ from Acrimony by Michael Hofmann, Faber and Faber, London, 1986. Reproduced by permission of the author.
CHRISTOPHER HOPE: From Darkest England by Christopher Hope, Macmillan/Picador (UK) and W. W. Norton (USA), 1996. © Christopher Hope, 1996. Reproduced by permission of the author, c/o Rogers, Coleridge & White Ltd., London.
KAZUO ISHIGURO: From Remains of the Day, Faber and Faber Ltd. and Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1989. © Kazuo Ishiguro, 1989. Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf Inc., Faber and Faber Ltd. and Rogers, Coleridge & White Ltd., London.
C. L. R. JAMES: ‘Bloomsbury: An Encounter with Edith Sitwell’ from The C. L. R. James Reader, Blackwell Publishers, London, 1992. © C. L. R. James, 1992. Reproduced by permission of Curtis Brown Group Ltd., London
RUTH PRAWER JHABVALA: From Three Continents by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1987. Reproduced by permission of John Murray (Publishers) Ltd. and Harriet Wasserman Literary Agency, Inc.
LINTON KWESI JOHNSON: ‘Inglan is a bitch’ from Inglan Is a Bitch, Race Today Publications, 1980. Reproduced by permission of the author.
RUDYARD KIPLING: ‘The English Flag’ from Rudyard Kipling’s Verse: Definitive Edition, 1885–1932, by Rudyard Kipling, Doubleday, Doran & Company (USA), 1934. Reproduced by permission of A. P. Watt Ltd. On behalf of The National Trust for Places of Historic Interest or Natural Beauty.
GEORGE LAMMING: From The Emigrants by George Lamming, Michael Joseph, London, 1954. Reproduced by permission of the author.
DORIS LESSING: ‘In Defence of the Underground’ from London Observed by DORIS LESSING, HarperCollins Publishers, 1992.© 1992, Doris Lessing. Reprinted by kind permission of Jonathan Clowes Ltd., London, on behalf of Doris Lessing.
WYNDHAM LEWIS: From The Letters of Wyndham Lewis, edited by W. K. Rose, Methuen & Co. Ltd., London, 1963. © Wyndham Lewis Memorial Trust, London, 1963. Reprinted by permission of the Wyndham Lewis Memorial Trust.
PENELOPE LIVELY: From Oleander, Jacaranda by Penelope Lively, Harper-Collins Publishers, 1994. © Penelope Lively, 1994. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. and Penguin Books Ltd., London.
TIMOTHY MO: From Sour Sweet by Timothy Mo, Vintage Books, 1985. Reproduced by permission of André Deutsch Ltd., London.
SHIVA NALPAUI: From Beyond the Dragon’s Mouth by Shiva Naipaul, Viking Penguin Inc., 1984. Reproduced by permission of Aitken & Stone, Ltd., London.
V. S. NAIPUL: From The Enigma of Arrival by V. S. Naipul, Alfred A. Knopf, 1987. Reproduced by permission of Aitken & Stone Ltd., London.
BEN OKRI: ‘Disparities’ from Incidents at the Shrine by BEN OKRI, Heinemann, London, 1986. Reproduced by permission of David Godwin Associates, London.
GEORGE ORWELL: From Down and Out in Paris and London, Harper & Brothers Publishers, 1933. © The Estate of the late Sonia Brownell Orwell and Martin Seeker and Warburg Ltd. Excerpt from Down and Out in Paris and London, © George Orwell, 1933 and renewed 1961 by Sonia Pitt-Rivers. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt Brace & Company and A. M. Heath & Co. Ltd., London.
PETER PORTER: ‘An Ingrate’s England’ from Possible Worlds by Peter Porter, Oxford University Press, 1989. © Peter Porter 1989. Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press, Oxford, England.
JEAN RHYS: From Smile Please by Jean Rhys, André Deutsch Ltd., London, 1979. © Jean Rhys, 1979. Reproduced by permission of Sheil Land Associates, London.
SALMAN RUSHDIE: ‘A General Election’ from Imaginary Homelands, Granta Books, London, 1991. © Salman Rushdie, 1991. First published by Granta, reprinted with permission of The Wylie Agency, Inc.
SAMUEL SELVON: From The Lonely Londoners by Sam Selvon, Longman, London, 1956. © The Estate of the late Sam Selvon, 1956. Reprinted by permission of Susheila Nasta, Literary Representative of the late Sam Selvon.
GEORGE SZIRTES: ‘The Child I Never Was’ from The Photographer in Winter by George Szirtes, Seeker & Warburg, 1986, ‘Assassins’ from Short Wave by George Szirtes, Seeker & Warburg, 1983. Reproduced by permission of Reed Consumer Books Ltd.
