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

this story has finally come my way. He smiled. Good things will come of this. Important things.
    He is flattering you, Slater cried.
    I do not flatter, said Chubb. I do not lie. I am the only person who knows how this young man was killed. I can tell you that story, or not tell you. What for you not wish to know?

10
    I have no particular prejudice against middle-aged men, indeed I seem to collect them. However, at moments like this they become so intolerably
messy
. Chubb and Slater were like two dogs in a fight—deaf as posts, blood in their eyes, beyond my control. A Swissair flight crew who had been seated nearby moved into the fake pub, where presumably they would not have to endure Slater’s booming voice. As they passed us, a very pretty young air hostess raised an eyebrow as if to say, You idiot—get rid of them. It must have been comic to observe, I’m sure, a pair of codgers competing for the attention of a dowdy Englishwoman. Just the same, I had my notebook out. Although where this cheap spiral-bound article would lead us all, no-one could have foretold.
    Slater did not seem to notice the departing lovelies. The very nicest thing we could say about this prank of yours, he said, is that it misfired.
    He then stretched back, his hands behind his head, exposing the entire length of his rather well-preserved body as if he were beyond any possibility of attack. Chubb, by contrast, presumed nothing. He was like a foot soldier, a knife man. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his shiny, worn-out knees.
    He is right, he said quietly. The hoax misfired. I wished to make a point, but only to a few. Who cares about poetry? Fifty people in Australia? Ten with minds you might respect. Once Weiss had declared my fake was a work of genius, Iwished those ten people to know. That was it, Mem. I never wanted the tabloids. Who would expect the Melbourne
Argus
would ever be interested in poetry. This was not their business, but what a caning-
lah
, what a public lashing poor old Weiss was given. I could never have foreseen that.
    To be correct, old chap, Slater interrupted, you were responsible for him receiving, actually, two quite separate sets of canings.
    Cheh
, cried Chubb. I know, I know. But you must understand—none of this was planned, Mem.
    You see, Mem, said Slater, mauling me ever so affectionately as he spoke, the poor bugger was prosecuted for publishing obscenities.
    Christopher? I asked. Why was he prosecuted?
    No, not him. David Weiss.
    How could I know? Chubb demanded. So
boh-doh
stupid. It is impossible to conceive.
    Well, old mate, you wrote the bloody poems.
    Yes, and I made damn sure that they were foolish and pretentious, but they were not obscene. You know that, John. Tell her the truth. Listen, Mem, please, let me recite just a little to you. I promise you will suffer no embarrassment. And he did so, quickly, rather plainly, in an uninflected whisper.
    Only a part of me shall triumph in this

(I am not Pericles)

Though I have your silken eyes to kiss

And maiden-knees

Part of me remains, wench, Boult-upright

The rest of me drops off into the night
.
    And that was all? I asked. Bolt upright?
B-o-u-l-t.
    Chubb smiled. The bawd’s servant in
Pericles
. As a pun it makes sense, but not as a prosecution. Nothing is clear until you understand that obscenity was not the issue here.
    Very well. What was?
    He was prosecuted, Chubb said solemnly, for being a Jew.
    Oh, listen to him, Micks. You make rather a big thing about that, old chap. Take the blame yourself.
    Chubb blinked. Yes, listen. You cannot change the fact— Weiss was a Jew. If he had been ugly, it might not have mattered, but he was handsome, tall. High forehead. Thick wavy hair. A little conceited also. Am I allowed to say that? Let me tell you, he had cut a swathe through those clean-limbed girls at Melbourne University. Fresh off the beach at Portsea and Frankston. An Anglo-Saxon would have known to apologise for such extraordinary