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Gay Pantheon: Colm Toibin

Malik did not move beyond the street and he liked how gradually he was becoming known as he made his way to the supermarket to buy milk or soft drinks or tea. He enjoyed being greeted and saluted. And there were other things too that made him feel comfortable. Even though eight of them shared the room, for example, he learned that he would not need to lock his suitcase, he was assured that no one would touch it. One night, when one of the other lodgers wanted to move his suitcase for a moment, he came and asked permission. He realized that they all kept money and photographs and other private things in their cases, fully confident that no one would go near them. 

He noticed too that each of them had something special, a camera, a Walkman, a mobile phone, a DVD player, that set them apart and that they lent out as a special favour, or at particular times. Only Mahmood owned nothing. Mahmood worked hard and spent no money because he wanted desperately to go home. Some of the others, he told Malik, spent half their earnings on phone calls home. He had never called his wife even once, he said, not even for a second. He would not waste the money and it only made him sad. 

Each morning, except Saturday and Sunday, Mahmood left early to deliver butano. He carried the heavy bottles of gas up narrow staircases. And then in the afternoons he took care of all the laundry in the house, leaving clothes clean and folded on each bed, never making a mistake. And in the evening he cooked, charging less than even the cheapest restaurant in the street. 

Malik liked Mahmood from the beginning and liked having his clothes washed by someone he knew, and laid on his bed as though he were equal to the others. He also liked the food Mahmood cooked. But more than anything he was intrigued at how single-minded Mahmood was, how determined he was to go home.


-Like Toibin's famous novel "Brooklyn," the story "The Street" is about a love triangle, and it's about an actual, physical journey. Malik and Mahmood are Pakistani men in Barcelona, working and saving up money. Toibin doesn't write with obvious "fireworks." He is much more understated than Lorrie Moore. He does have an eye for details and gestures. He begins with "the street," the area where Malik (temporarily) lives, then narrows in on the communal dorm Malik is in. Tiny things suggest themes of give-and-take, and of "belonging." A salute on the street, a polite request about moving a suitcase: These things can mean much more than they seem to mean.

-From the general to the specific: Malik singles out only one bunkmate in his private thoughts, and that's Mahmood. The space devoted to Mahmood, so early in the story, lets us know that we might be reading about the beginnings of a love affair. Mahmood is set apart from the others because he has extraordinary self-discipline; he won't spend money on Walkmans or on phone calls home. Instead, he finds a unique way to contribute to the community: He does special errands and charges notably low prices for the food he prepares. (You wonder if anyone else in the bunk notices this strategy of compensation, or if it's visible only to Malik, the smitten "outsider.")

-Modest things can seem heroic. It's evident Malik admires Mahmood's fastidiousness and discipline. "Each morning, except Saturday and Sunday, Mahmood left early to deliver the butano. He carried the heavy bottles of gas up narrow staircases..." (Neither Mahmood nor Malik would know to translate butano as "butane," and it's unlikely they had a Pakistani word at hand to act as a substitute. A small observation like this goes a long way toward creating a "world," a deep experience, for the reader.)

-Toibin takes pains to note how emotion, respect, and care can be conveyed in wordless gestures: It's a great comfort to have your clothes "washed by someone you knew, and laid on your bed as though you were equal to the others." And to know that the food you're eating was made by a man you admire. ("As though he were equal to the others": Malik is new to this community, and he is in a kind of unofficial probationary phase. When you're in a situation like this, having an established man give you a small token of affection, a neat stack of clothing, can be a ticket to "insider status." Toibin has such skill when he is exposing the exciting "currents of life" running underneath apparently banal interactions. And he does his work without fussiness. Minimal use of adverbs and adjectives, very few blunt declarations of strong feeling--and yet "The Street," along with many other Toibin works, builds to an overwhelming end.

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