Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi Read Online Free PDF

like being in the desert and seeing a mirage,’ he said. ‘Every few seconds, whatever I was doing, whoever I was talking to, I'd zone out. All I could see was a pint of beer. The climate is very conducive to drinking, obviously, and you can't do it.’ Mike and Jeff shook their heads in disgust, nodded in sympathy. This was a story, evidently, with a strong human-interest angle, even though it wasn't the main point of the story. The main point of the story was how the Kaiser had discovered he was a Muslim. ‘I was confronted by a member of the police or the committee to promote virtue. He didn't say anything, no
“Salaam ali Kuhn”
or anything like that, just “Have you read the Qu'ran?” I said, “Yes, I have.” He said, “Did you read it properly?” I said I thought I had, yes. He said, “Then you are a Muslim. Good.” End of conversation. Implacable logic’
    ‘And all the time he's speaking to you,’ said Mike, ‘all you're thinking about and seeing is this big, chilled Heineken in a frosted glass, right?’
    ‘Not necessarily a Heineken. Sometimes a Budvar.’
    ‘But always a lager? Never a real ale?’
    ‘It was too hot for real ale. But let's not get bogged down in specifics,’ he said. ‘There's a larger point here.’
    ‘I thought we were already in receipt of the lager point,’ Jeff quipped. ‘How much bigger can this story get?’
    ‘The point is that it took this trip to Saudi to make me realize that, all things considered, for the last thirty years, I have loved beer, if not more intensely, then certainly more constantly than anything else in my life.’
    The Kaiser was forty-six so that sounded about right. There was no opportunity to dwell on this expression of faith, however. In accordance with the laws of social physics the group of four had begun to draw others into its conversational orbit: Melanie Richardson from the ICA, NathaliePorter who worked at
Art Review
, and Scott Thomson, whom Jeff had known, off and on, for more than a decade. During that time, while other people changed jobs and advanced their careers, Scott had continued working at the same undemanding job (interrupted by lengthy periods spent travelling) as a sub at the
Observer.
That was how he earned his living but his true vocation was to be a perpetual convert, every few years embracing a new enthusiasm so wholeheartedly that it completely cancelled out whatever he'd previously set so much store by. His latest craze, though, was the same one he'd been evangelizing eight months ago: Burning Man, the big freak-out in the Nevada desert. He'd been for the first time a couple of years ago and was going again in August. It was, he said now, ‘a life-changing experience.’ Scott had said exactly the same thing the last time Jeff had seen him, at a party for the Frieze Art Fair, and he was happy to take his word for it. Not Mike, though.
    ‘In my experience,’ he said, ‘the thing about life-changing experiences is that they wear off surprisingly quickly so that after a few weeks you emerge from them pretty much unchanged. Nine times out of ten, in fact, it's precisely the life-changing experience that enables you to come to terms with the
un
changingness of your own life. That's why those novels are so popular, you know, the ones that culminate in a day or an event that will “change all of their lives forever.” It's a fiction.’
    ‘God,
you
don't change, do you, dude? Cynical as ever.’ Credit where it's due: Scott (who was always calling people ‘dude’) had not taken offence; in fact, he was laughing as he said this whereas Mike, while not being aggressive exactly, had spoken somewhat severely.
    The slight tension generated by this exchange was broken by a guy in a blue linen jacket, who backed into Jeff, spillinghis drink. He half-turned round and Jeff instinctively apologized. No self-restraint was required; this was how the aggressive impulse manifested itself. In its way it was a triumph of evolution,