The Godfather: Peter Corris on enemies

In many crime novels, after the body of the victim has been taken away, the investigator’s first question is:

‘Did he have any enemies that you know of?’

Replies can vary from, ‘None that I recall’ to ‘Where do you want me to start? How long have you got?

I was set to thinking after reading a passage of this kind about how many people there might be who would speak ill of me. I’m pretty sure there would be no one wanting to kill me. In 54 years of adult life you’d think you’d rack up a few who wouldn’t have a good word for you.

I may be wrong but, after considering the question deeply, I can come up with only six who would probably show me the door.

Two are women. One I spent some time with long ago and dropped callously and without thought for her feelings. She kicked me in the behind at a party to show her displeasure. The other woman I let down badly several times and I can’t imagine that she’d ever want to see me again.

Two men tried very hard to be my friends. One made persistent attempts to have me socialise with him, to draw me into his work and involve himself in my affairs. I didn’t find him interesting and he became a nuisance. I took the opportunity he afforded by making a racist remark to tell him to go away and not bother me. He was deeply offended and shouted insults at me when we met in the street.

With the other man I did form a friendship for a time. He did me some kindnesses, but he also pressed too hard and would appear at inappropriate times and stay too long, ignoring broad hints. It became clear that his primary interest was himself and that that he mostly wanted to have someone to boast to.

In the end I cut the connection with a note that was probably the most difficult thing I ever found to write.

Two others who wouldn’t have me on their team were writers. One, a scriptwriter of note, I offended by writing a somewhat light-hearted newspaper article that mentioned his sister, who was a murder victim. It was 20 years earlier, she went by her married name, I didn’t know about the connection and would certainly have adopted a different tone if I had. He wrote me a letter objecting to my article and explaining why. I was mortified and wrote an apologetic reply. I never heard back from him and I don’t think that his opinion of me would have improved.

The last on my list was a journalist and author whom I enraged by a review I wrote of one of his books. I found it very bad and said something like, ‘This is the kind of book that people who believe they can write but can’t, produce.’ Pretty tough. He was a Queenslander and word reached me that he’d be looking to get even with me if I came north of the border.

I anticipated a heckler at a Brisbane Writers’ Festival session or a savage review of one of my books. Neither ever happened. Perhaps he’s keeping his powder dry.

I’m not proud of the actions that sparked these hostilities, but six seems a pretty small number in a life that has been at least semi-public. I’d be interested to know if it is above or below average.