This day has been one of the better ones. My son Sachin is here visiting me. Last night, Isabella set up a film for me on my iPad before she left. I felt relaxed and was enjoying the movie when the cleaner came in, moved some things around and knocked the iPad onto its back. She flicked the light off and shut the door behind her.
I was in almost complete darkness. I could still hear the film, however, and tried to work out what was happening from the silhouettes flickering on the ceiling, like a shadow puppet show.
Sometime later I drifted into sleep and started to dream. I dreamt of my hands; they were tied together with a silver chord and I was unable to move them.
For some reason I can’t explain, I also had a memory of being on jury of the Cannes film festival in 2009 when Isabelle Huppert was the president.
We jury members, which included Asia Argento and Robin Wright, used to sneak into films early in the morning to avoid the red-carpet exhibition in the evening. It also meant we could leave early if the films were unpleasant, which they often were.
But one film in particular stayed with me. It was Lars Von Triers The Antichrist, images from which pursued me last night. The
best film from that year was Jacque Audiard’s A Prophet, which surely deserved to win first prize.
When I woke up I started to cry. Of course when you cry you must wipe away your tears, which is something I’m unable to do. So my eyes filled with bitter salty water and I got into a panic and thought I might lose my eyesight along with everything else. Finally, a kind nurse came into my room and downed me with a good dose of Lorazepam, then she touched me on my cheek and said; “it’s not so bad, at least you’re not in a coma.”
When the morning came I was feeling rather peckish. I was encouraged by the pleasant breakfast smells wafting in from the corridor. When the male nurse got to me I was delighted to see, for the first time, an array of hot Italian pastries and cheeses and some freshly squeezed orange juice.
As I am unable to use my hands, the nurses have to feed me. This particular nurse didn’t speak English and was apparently unaware of my requirements. The food sat there temptingly for an hour before the nurse returned, shrugged, picked up the tray and asked rhetorically, “you did not like?” before leaving with my breakfast.
Later the physio came to see me. He’s a serious man with dark eyes who promised that I would raise a pen again with my right hand. I find this difficult to believe, at present my fingers are alien sausages sewn to the stump of my wrist.
Tomorrow I will be leaving this place. This is my last day in this little room, my temporary prison. I will be moved to a much larger six floor facility where I’ll receive high quality physiotherapy. At the moment it feels as if my body is turning into marshmallow, that I am deliquescing.
I will also be able to meet others whose bodies are busted in different ways. My Italian is not so good but I hope to be able to bring some of those accounts to you, my new audience, if the patients agree.
A strange thing happened to me, I went to Rome with my wife for a few days at Christmas and now I will never go home again. I have no home now, no centre. I am stranger to myself. I don’t know who I am anymore. Someone new is emerging.
More than anything else, the thing I miss from my former life is reading. Of being in my study, of wandering around picking up a book from here or there; a work of fiction, an autobiography, history, some psychoanalysis. I like reading in this kind of random way. It is a form of self-communing.
For me, reading and writing go hand in hand. I was taught to write by my father when I was a young man. Talking about writing and structure, character momentum, meaning and ideas are the things that fascinate me most.
What does and does not make a piece of writing work? I’m watching a lot of television now and I find most of it unoriginal and unadventurous. The era of neoliberalism in creative writing has somehow convinced people that you can purchase the ability to write. To a certain extent you can, but you can only buy the obvious things, like formula. With real writing, there is contact between the deepest part of one person, and that of another.
Excuse me for a minute now, it is time for my second enema. I am looking forward to it. More news to follow.
Big drink on me tonight, your loving writer, Hanif x
Whenever I do anything I shall try to think of your suffering and be grateful and double my efforts on your behalf. May you find the strength you need to get you through this time.
I was so sorry Hanif to hear of your accident. You have always been a favourite author of mine. Your readers are here reading and listening to your voice as you write here for us and you are still of course the writer whether the pen is currently in your hand or not. I do hope your move from the current hospital setting gives you some escape from the four walls and that it is the beginning of your journey to recovery. Like others here I have my own story of meeting you (well nearly). I saw you at a reading event at a Literature festival in Berlin for your book The Body, I was living In Berlin that very hot summer, I had already read the book in English and was quite taken by the story and the sorrow of it. I think of that story now and about the relationship we with have with our bodies and what our bodies mean to us and our identities. I remember asking you a question at the end of why you had ended the story in the way you had, I found it sad and had hoped for a happy ending. Its not often a story I read stays with me but that one did. I'm thinking about that story now as I read your current stories.
A couple of years later I was training as a Psychologist in Hammersmith and working in schools, I remember seeing you, I guess it may have been at your kids' primary school, but of course as 'a professional' it was not appropriate to 'accost' a parent, whether they were a favourite author or not!
Wishing you a full and speedy recovery. Also I hope you get some writing tech sorted while you are recovering. Most tech has fairly good voice recognition now, I quite like using the dictation on Word on my Mac and using the google assistant on an android phone for searching stuff isn't bad either.