My Life as a Fake by Peter Carey Read Free Book Online Page A

remember thinking it must’ve been a very long time since anyone spoke to John Slater like this. In Britain he had somehow made himself so ‘well liked’ that it was hard to find another poet, even one who privately thought his work mawkish or pornographic, who would say a word against him. Certain I was about to witness the most awful row, I watched John sweep his great mane of grey hair back off his high and handsome brow, but when he finally responded it was in a rather small voice.
    I’m sorry, he said.
    Chubb gave nothing back except a sudden blink.
    Wystan is a remarkable man, continued Slater, but he is capable of the most awful cruelty and he does not always hold himself to the ethical standards he demands of others. But that is not exactly the point in this case, he said, sadly watching the waitress pour the beer. He took a handful of the
ikan bilis
and dropped them back into the bowl. I behaved like a cunt, he said. You hit me back. Fair enough.
    Chubb shrugged. I’m the hoaxer. No-one gives me face.
    Oh, please. Enough. Do you really think anyone remembers that McCorkle business anymore? It’s forgotten. Micks here never heard of you. The editor of
The Modern Review
never heard of you, or of Bob McCorkle.
    Thank you for lying.
    You know it is not a lie.
    So gracious of you. There was nothing Australian in how he bowed his head, no sign of that dry and deadly sarcasm. Such a famous poet, he said.
    The compliment caused Slater to swell physically in a way that reminded me, exactly, of Harold Wilson. Now, now, don’t flatter me, he said.
    Did I say
good
poet?
    Touché, said Slater.
    This conflict was not exactly boring, I suppose, but I had no interest in him fighting with Chubb, which he would surely do, at the next beer or the one after that. For the moment, however, he seemed mostly driven by a desire to prove himself a more decent man than Auden had thought. When he began to offer Chubb money, I was depressed but not surprised.
    It would have to be a loan, of course, he said, but I could give you fifty quid. I could do it now.
    He produced a pile of crumpled Malaysian dollars.
    I do believe Chubb considered the money, but then he retreated, shifted sideways along the settee, shaking his head.
    I’m not saying you’re here for bloody money. I am saying that I will lend you fifty quid. Give face, old chap. Don’t insult me.
    Like a duck talking to a chicken.
    What?
    I don’t want your
money-lah
.
    What do you want?
    He hesitated. Perhaps this lady will write up my story.
    Dear chap, that is like asking Fangio to park your mini-moke. Don’t you know who she is? She’s not some bloody hack. She is the editor of an important magazine. Besides, no-one is interested in your story anymore. ‘Unaffected by “the march of events,” He passed from men’s memory in
l’an trentuniesme.’
Really, if you’re hiding here, the war—as they say—is over. Come out. Surrender. Go home.
    Don’t
lebeh
, you, said Chubb patiently. This my home now.
    It was
twenty-six
bloody years ago, Slater insisted. Everyone is dead. He paused. Oh shit, I’m sorry. Really!
    Apa?
asked Chubb mildly.
    No, no, I’m
sincerely
sorry. About the poor young editor fellow, of course.
    I often carry notebooks, which normally contain nothing more interesting than my debts and schemes by which they might be settled. But when I produced one now Christopher Chubb’s eyes fixed on it as hungrily as I had wished.
    Slater also noticed. Oh Jesus, Micks, he said, you are so bloody perverse.
    But he had not read that mottled manuscript. He could not imagine a wonder he could never have made.
    I don’t know what happened to David Weiss, I said.
    I told you. The poor bugger hanged himself.
    He did not hang himself, said Chubb.
    Don’t play tricks on her, Chubb, really. You cannot play this particular prank more than once.
    Chubb completely ignored him, turning all his attention onto me. Great good fortune, he said, that someone who can understand