Rushdie SVs

THE SATANI C VERSES
by Salman Rushdie
Copyright Salman Rushdie, 1988 All r ight s reser ved
VI KI NG
Published by t he Penguin Gr oup
Viking Penguin I nc. , 40 West 23rd St r eet , New Yor k, New Yor k 10010, U. S. A. Penguin
Books Lt d, 27 Wr ight s Lane, London W8 5TZ, England
Penguin Books Aust r alia Lt d. Ringwood, Vict oria, Aust ralia
Penguin Books Canada Lt d, 2801 John St reet , Mar kham, Ont ario, Canada L3R 1B4
Penguin Books ( N. Z. ) Lt d, 182- 190, Wair au Road, Auckland ro, New Zealand
Penguin Books Lt d, Regist er ed Of fices: Har mondswor t h, Middlesex, England
Published in 1989 by Viking Penguin I nc.
For Mar ianne
Cont ent s
I The Angel Gibreel
I I Mahound
I I I Ellowen Deeowen
I V Ayesha
V A Cit y Visible but Unseen
VI Ret ur n t o Jahilia
VI I The Angel Azr aeel
VI I I The Par t ing of t he Ar abian Seas
I X A Wonderful Lamp
Sat an, being t hus confined t o a vagabond, wandering, unset t led condit ion, is wit hout any
cert ain abode; f or t hough he has, in consequence of his angelic nat ur e, a kind of empir e in t he
liquid wast e or air , yet t his is cer t ainly part of his punishment , t hat he is . . . wit hout any fixed
Salman Rushdie ( 1947- )
The Sat anic Verses ( 1988)

Page 1 oI 285 Personal Library , Rushdie , The Satanic Verses
6/8/2003 Iile://C:\Documents20and20Settings\DIANA20DINHAM\Desktop\Rushdie,20Salm...
place, or space, allowed him t o rest t he sole of his foot upon.
Daniel Defoe, _The Hist ory of t he Devil_
I
The Angel Gibr eel
1
"To be bor n again, " sang Gibr eel Far isht a t umbling from t he heavens, "f irst you have t o
die. Hoj i! Hoj i! To land upon t he bosomy ear t h, fir st one needs t o fly. Tat - t aa! Taka- t hun! How
t o ever smile again, if first you won' t cr y? How t o win t he dar ling' s love, mist er , wit hout a sigh?
Baba, if you want t o get born again . . . " Just bef or e dawn one wint er' s morning, New Year' s
Day or t her eabout s, t wo r eal, f ull - gr own, living men fell fr om a gr eat height , t went y- nine
t housand and t wo feet , t owards t he English Channel, wit hout benefit of par achut es or wings,
out of a clear sky.
"I t ell you, you must die, I t ell you, I t ell you, " and t husly and so beneat h a moon of
alabast er unt il a loud cry crossed t he night , "To t he devil wit h your t unes, " t he words hanging
cryst alline in t he iced whit e night , "in t he movies you only mimed t o playback singers, so spar e
me t hese infernal noises now. "
Gibr eel, t he t uneless soloist , had been cavort ing in moonlight as he sang his impr ompt u
gazal, swimming in air , but t er fly- st roke, br east - st roke, bunching himself int o a ball,
spreadeagling himself against t he almost - infinit y of t he almost - dawn, adopt ing heraldic
post ur es, r ampant , couchant , pit t ing levit y against gr avit y. Now he rolled happily t owar ds t he
sar donic voice. "Oh, Salad baba, it ' s you, t oo good. What - ho, old Chumch. " At which t he
ot her , a fast idious shadow f alling headfir st in a gr ey suit wit h all t he j acket but t ons done up,
arms by his sides, t aking for grant ed t he impr obabilit y of t he bowler hat on his head, pulled a
nickname- hat er' s f ace. "Hey, Spoono, " Gibreel yelled, elicit ing a second inver t ed wince, "Proper
London, bhai! Her e we come! Those bast ar ds down t her e won' t know what hit t hem. Met eor or
light ning or vengeance of God. Out of t hin air , baby. _Dhar rr aaammm! _ Wham, na? What an
ent rance, yaar . I swear : splat . "
Out of t hin air: a big bang, followed by falling st ar s. A univer sal beginning, a miniat ur e
echo of t he birt h of t ime . . . t he j umbo j et _Bost an_, Flight AI - 420, blew apar t wit hout any
warning, high above t he gr eat , rot t ing, beaut iful, snow- whit e, illuminat ed cit y, Mahagonny,
Babylon, Alphaville. But Gibr eel has already named it , I must n' t int er fer e: Proper London,
capit al of Vilayet , winked blinked nodded in t he night . While at Himalayan height a brief and
pr emat ur e sun burst int o t he powder y January air, a blip vanished f rom r adar screens, and t he
t hin air was full of bodies, descending fr om t he Everest of t he cat ast r ophe t o t he milky
paleness of t he sea.
Who am I ?
Who else is t her e?
The air cr aft cr acked in half, a seed- pod giving up it s spores, an egg yielding it s myst er y.
Two act ors, pr ancing Gibr eel and but t ony, pursed Mr . Saladin Chamcha, fell like t it bit s of
t obacco fr om a broken old cigar. Above, behind, below t hem in t he void t here hung r eclining
seat s, st er eophonic headset s, dr inks t r olleys, mot ion discomfor t r ecept acles, disembar kat ion
car ds, dut y- free video games, br aided caps, paper cups, blanket s, oxygen masks. Also - - for
t here had been mor e t han a few migr ant s aboard, yes, quit e a quant it y of wives who had been
gr illed by r easonable, doing- t heir- j ob officials about t he lengt h of and dist inguishing moles
upon t heir husbands' genit alia, a sufficiency of children upon whose legit imacy t he Br it ish
Government had cast it s everr easonable doubt s - - mingling wit h t he r emnant s of t he plane,
equally f ragment ed, equally absurd, t her e f loat ed t he debr is of t he soul, br oken memories,
sloughed- off selves, sever ed mot her t ongues, violat ed privacies, unt r anslat able j okes,
ext inguished fut ur es, lost loves, t he for got t en meaning of hollow, booming words, _land_,
_belonging_, _home_. Knocked a lit t le silly by t he blast , Gibr eel and Saladin plummet ed like
bundles dr opped by some car elessly open- beaked st or k, and because Chamcha was going
down head fir st , in t he r ecommended posit ion for babies ent ering t he bir t h canal, he
commenced t o feel a low ir rit at ion at t he ot her ' s refusal t o f all in plain f ashion. Saladin
nosedived while Farisht a embr aced air , hugging it wit h his arms and legs, a flailing,
over wrought act or wit hout t echniques of r est r aint . Below, cloud- cover ed, await ing t heir
ent rance, t he slow congealed cur rent s of t he English Sleeve, t he appoint ed zone of t heir wat ery
reincarnat ion.
"O, my shoes are Japanese, " Gibr eel sang, t ranslat ing t he old song int o English in semi-
conscious deference t o t he uprushing host - nat ion, "These t r ouser s English, if you please. On
my head, r ed Russian hat ; my hear t ' s I ndian f or all t hat . " The clouds were bubbling up t owar ds
t hem, and per haps it was on account of t hat great myst ificat ion of cumulus and cumulo-
nimbus, t he might y rolling t hunder heads st anding like hammer s in t he dawn, or per haps it was
t he singing ( t he one busy perf or ming, t he ot her booing t he per formance) , or t heir blast - -
delirium t hat spared t hem full foreknowledge of t he imminent . . . but for what ever reason, t he
t wo men, Gibr eelsaladin Far isht achamcha, condemned t o t his endless but also ending
angelicdevilish fall, did not become awar e of t he moment at which t he processes of t heir
t r ansmut at ion began.
Mut at ion?
Yessir , but not random. Up t here in air - space, in t hat sof t , impercept ible field which had
been made possible by t he cent ur y and which, t her eaft er , made t he cent ury possible, becoming
one of it s defining locat ions, t he place of movement and of war, t he planet - shrinker and power -
vacuum, most insecure and t r ansit or y of zones, illusory, discont inuous, met amor phic, - -
because when you t hrow ever yt hing up in t he air anyt hing becomes possible - - wayupt her e, at
any rat e, changes t ook place in delir ious act ors t hat would have gladdened t he hear t of old Mr .
Lamar ck: under ext r eme envir onment al pressur e, char act er ist ics were acquir ed.
What char act erist ics which? Slow down; you t hink Creat ion happens in a r ush? So t hen,
neit her does revelat ion . . . t ake a look at t he pair of t hem. Not ice anyt hing unusual? Just t wo
br own men, falling hard, not hing so new about t hat , you may t hink; climbed t oo high, got
above t hemselves, flew t oo close t o t he sun, is t hat it ?
That ' s not it . List en:
Mr. Saladin Chamcha, appalled by t he noises emanat ing fr om Gibr eel Far isht a' s mout h,
fought back wit h ver ses of his own. What Far isht a heard waft ing acr oss t he improbable night
sky was an old song, t oo, lyrics by Mr . James Thomson, sevent eenhundred t o sevent een- for t y-
eight . ". . . at Heaven' s command, " Chamcha carolled t hrough lips t urned j ingoist ically
redwhit eblue by t he cold, "ar ooooose fr om out t he aaaazure main. " Farisht a, hor rif ied, sang
louder and louder of Japanese shoes, Russian hat s, inviolat ely subcont inent al hear t s, but could
not st ill Saladin' s wild r ecit al: "And guardian aaaaangels sung t he st r ain. "
Let ' s face it : it was impossible for t hem t o have heard one anot her , much less conver sed
and also compet ed t hus in song. Acceler at ing t owards t he planet , at mospher e roar ing around
t hem, how could t hey? But let ' s face t his, t oo: t hey did.
Downdown t hey hur t led, and t he wint er cold fr ost ing t heir eyelashes and t hr eat ening t o
freeze t heir heart s was on t he point of waking t hem fr om t heir delirious daydream, t hey wer e
about t o become aware of t he miracle of t he singing, t he r ain of limbs and babies of which t hey
wer e a par t , and t he t er ror of t he dest iny rushing at t hem fr om below, when t hey hit , wer e
dr enched and inst ant ly iced by, t he degree- zer o boiling of t he clouds.
They were in what appear ed t o be a long, ver t ical t unnel. Chamcha, pr im, r igid, and st ill
upsidedown, saw Gibr eel Far isht a in his purple bush- shirt come swimming t owards him acr oss
t hat cloud- walled f unnel, and would have shout ed, " Keep away, get away fr om me, " except
t hat somet hing pr event ed him, t he beginning of a lit t le f lut t ery screamy t hing in his int est ines,
so inst ead of ut t ering wor ds of rej ect ion he opened his arms and Far isht a swam int o t hem unt il
t hey wer e embr acing head- t o- t ail, and t he f or ce of t heir collision sent t hem t umbling end over
end, per for ming t heir geminat e cart wheels all t he way down and along t he hole t hat went t o
Wonderland; while pushing t heir way out of t he whit e came a succession of cloudforms,
ceaselessly met amor phosing, gods int o bulls, women int o spider s, men int o wolves. Hybr id
cloud- creat ures pressed in upon t hem, gigant ic flower s wit h human br east s dangling fr om
fleshy st alks, winged cat s, cent aur s, and Chamcha in his semi - consciousness was seized by t he
not ion t hat he, t oo, had acquired t he qualit y of cloudiness, becoming met amorphic, hybr id, as
if he were gr owing int o t he person whose head nest led now bet ween his legs and whose legs
wer e wr apped around his long, pat r ician neck.
This person had, however, no t ime f or such "high falut ions"; was, indeed, incapable of
falut ing at all; having j ust seen, emerging fr om t he swir l of cloud, t he figure of a glamor ous
woman of a cer t ain age, wearing a br ocade sar i in gr een and gold, wit h a diamond in her nose
and lacquer defending her high- coiled hair against t he pr essur e of t he wind at t hese alt it udes,
as she sat , equably, upon a flying car pet . "Rekha Merchant , " Gibreel greet ed her. "You couldn' t
find your way t o heaven or what ?" I nsensit ive wor ds t o speak t o a dead woman! But his
concussed, plummet ing condit ion may be offered in mit igat ion
. . . Chamcha, clut ching his legs, made an uncomprehending quer y: "What t he hell?"
"You don' t see her?" Gibreel shout ed. " You don' t see her goddamn Bokhar a rug?"
No, no, Gibbo, her voice whispered in his ear s, don' t expect him t o conf ir m. I am st rict ly
for your eyes only, maybe you are going crazy, what do you t hink, you namaqool, you piece of
pig excr ement , my love. Wit h deat h comes honest y, my beloved, so I can call you by your t rue
names.
Cloudy Rekha mur mured sour not hings, but Gibr eel cr ied again t o Chamcha: " Spoono? You
see her or you don' t ?"
Saladin Chamcha saw not hing, hear d not hing, said not hing. Gibr eel f aced her alone. "You
shouldn' t have done it , " he admonished her . "No, sir. A sin. A suchmuch t hing. "
O, you can lect ure me now, she laughed. You ar e t he one wit h t he high mor al t one, t hat ' s a
good one. I t was you who left me, her voice r eminded his ear , seeming t o nibble at t he lobe. I t
was you, O moon of my delight , who hid behind a cloud. And I in darkness, blinded, lost , for
love.
He became af raid. "What do you want ? No, don' t t ell, j ust go. "
When you wer e sick I could not see you, in case of scandal, you knew I could not , t hat I
st ayed away for your sake, but af t er wards you punished, you used it as your excuse t o leave,
your cloud t o hide behind. That , and also her, t he icewoman. Bast ar d. Now t hat I am dead I
have for got t en how t o f or give. I curse you, my Gibr eel, may your life be hell. Hell, because
t hat ' s where you sent me, damn you, wher e you came f rom, devil, wher e you' r e going, sucker,
enj oy t he bloody dip. Rekha' s cur se; and aft er t hat , verses in a language he did not
underst and, all harshnesses and sibilance, in which he t hought he made out , but maybe not ,
t he r epeat ed name _Al - Lat _.
He clut ched at Chamcha; t hey bur st t hr ough t he bot t om of t he clouds.
Speed, t he sensat ion of speed, ret urned, whist ling it s fearful not e. The roof of cloud fled
upwar ds, t he wat er - floor zoomed closer, t heir eyes opened. A scr eam, t hat same scream t hat
had flut t ered in his gut s when Gibreel swam across t he sky, burst fr om Chamcha' s lips; a shaft
of sunlight pierced his open mout h and set it free. But t hey had f allen t hrough t he
t r ansfor mat ions of t he clouds, Chamcha and Far isht a, and t here was a fluidit y, an
indist inct ness, at t he edges of t hem, and as t he sunlight hit Chamcha it r eleased more t han
noise:
"Fly, " Chamcha shrieked at Gibreel. "St ar t flying, now. " And added, wit hout knowing it s
sour ce, t he second command: "And sing. "
How does newness come int o t he wor ld? How is it bor n?
Of what fusions, t r anslat ions, conj oinings is it made?
How does it sur vive, ext reme and danger ous as it is? What compr omises, what deals, what
bet rayals of it s secret nat ur e must it make t o st ave off t he wr ecking crew, t he ext erminat ing
angel, t he guillot ine?
I s bir t h always a f all?
Do angels have wings? Can men fly?
When Mr. Saladin Chamcha fell out of t he clouds over t he English Channel he felt his hear t
being gripped by a force so implacable t hat he underst ood it was impossible for him t o die.
Af t er war ds, when his feet wer e once mor e firmly plant ed on t he gr ound, he would begin t o
doubt t his, t o ascr ibe t he implausibilit ies of his t ransit t o t he scrambling of his per cept ions by
t he blast , and t o at t r ibut e his survival, his and Gibr eel' s, t o blind, dumb luck. But at t he t ime
he had no doubt ; what had t aken him over was t he will t o live, unadult er at ed, irr esist ible, pure,
and t he fir st t hing it did was t o inf or m him t hat it want ed not hing t o do wit h his pat het ic
per sonalit y, t hat half - reconst ruct ed af fair of mimicr y and voices, it int ended t o bypass all t hat ,
and he f ound himself sur render ing t o it , yes, go on, as if he wer e a byst ander in his own mind,
in his own body, because it began in t he ver y cent r e of his body and spread out wards, t urning
his blood t o iron, changing his f lesh t o st eel, except t hat it also felt like a fist t hat enveloped
him f rom out side, holding him in a way t hat was bot h unbear ably t ight and int olerably gent le;
unt il finally it had conquer ed him t ot ally and could wor k his mout h, his finger s, what ever it
chose, and once it was sure of it s dominion it spr ead out war d fr om his body and gr abbed
Gibr eel Far isht a by t he balls.
"Fly, " it commanded Gibr eel. " Sing. "
Chamcha held on t o Gibr eel while t he ot her began, slowly at fir st and t hen wit h increasing
rapidit y and f or ce, t o flap his ar ms. Har der and har der he flapped, and as he flapped a song
bur st out of him, and like t he song of t he spect re of Rekha Mer chant it was sung in a language
he did not know t o a t une he had never heard. Gibr eel never r epudiat ed t he mir acle; unlike
Chamcha, who t r ied t o r eason it out of exist ence, he never st opped saying t hat t he gazal had
been celest ial, t hat wit hout t he song t he flapping would have been for not hing, and wit hout
t he flapping it was a sure t hing t hat t hey would have hit t he waves like r ocks or what and
simply bur st int o pieces on making cont act wit h t he t aut dr um of t he sea. Wher eas inst ead t hey
began t o slow down. The mor e emphat ically Gibr eel flapped and sang, sang and f lapped, t he
mor e pronounced t he decelerat ion, unt il f inally t he t wo of t hem were f loat ing down t o t he
Channel like scraps of paper in a breeze.
They were t he only survivor s of t he wreck, t he only ones who fell fr om _Bost an_ and lived.
They were f ound washed up on a beach. The mor e voluble of t he t wo, t he one in t he purple
shirt , swore in his wild ramblings t hat t hey had walked upon t he wat er , t hat t he waves had
bor ne t hem gent ly in t o shore; but t he ot her , t o whose head a soggy bowler hat clung as if by
magic, denied t his. "God, we wer e lucky, " he said. "How lucky can you get ?"
I know t he t r ut h, obviously. I wat ched t he whole t hing. As t o omnipr esence and - pot ence,
I ' m making no claims at pr esent , but I can manage t his much, I hope. Chamcha willed it and
Far isht a did what was willed.
Which was t he miracle wor ker?
Of what t ype - - angelic, sat anic - - was Farisht a' s song?
Who am I ?
Let ' s put it t his way: who has t he best t unes?
These were t he first words Gibr eel Far isht a said when he awoke on t he snowbound English
beach wit h t he impr obabilit y of a st ar fish by his ear: "Born again, Spoono, you and me. Happy
bir t hday, mist er ; happy bir t hday t o you. "
Wher eupon Saladin Chamcha coughed, splut t er ed, opened his eyes, and, as bef it t ed a new-
bor n babe, bur st int o foolish t ear s.
2
Reincar nat ion was always a big t opic wit h Gibr eel, f or fif t een years t he biggest st ar in t he
hist or y of t he I ndian movies, even bef or e he "miraculously" defeat ed t he Phant om Bug t hat
ever yone had begun t o believe would t erminat e his cont ract s. So maybe someone should have
been able t o f or ecast , only nobody did, t hat when he was up and about again he would
sot ospeak succeed where t he ger ms had failed and walk out of his old life f or ever wit hin a
week of his for t iet h birt hday, vanishing, poof ! , like a t r ick, _int o t hin air_.
The first people t o not ice his absence wer e t he f our member s of his film- st udio wheelchair -
t eam. Long bef or e his illness he had formed t he habit of being t r anspor t ed fr om set t o set on
t he gr eat D. W. Rama lot by t his gr oup of speedy, t rust ed at hlet es, because a man who makes
up t o eleven movies "sy- mult aneous" needs t o conser ve his ener gies. Guided by a complex
coding syst em of slashes, cir cles and dot s which Gibr eel r emembered f rom his childhood
among t he fabled lunch- runners of Bombay ( of which more lat er) , t he chair - men zoomed him
from r ole t o r ole, delivering him as punct ually and unerr ingly as once his fat her had delivered
lunch. And aft er each t ake Gibr eel would skip back int o t he chair and be navigat ed at high
speed t owar ds t he next set , t o be re- cost umed, made up and handed his lines. "A career in t he
Bombay t alkies, " he t old his loyal crew, "is more like a wheelchair race wit h one- t wo pit st ops
along t he rout e. "
Af t er t he illness, t he Ghost ly Germ, t he Myst er y Malaise, t he Bug, he had ret urned t o wor k,
easing himself in, only seven pict ures at a t ime . . . and t hen, j ust liket hat , he wasn' t t her e.
The wheelchair st ood empt y among t he silenced sound- st ages; his absence revealed t he
t awdry shamming of t he set s. Wheelchair men, one t o four , made excuses for t he missing st ar
when movie execut ives descended upon t hem in wrat h: Ji, he must be sick, he has always
been famous f or his punct ual, no, why t o cr it icize, mahar aj , gr eat art ist s must from t ime t o
t ime be permit t ed t heir t emper ament , na, and for t heir prot est at ions t hey became t he fir st
casualt ies of Far isht a' s unexplained hey- pr est o, being fired, four t hree t wo one, ekdumj aldi,
ej ect ed fr om st udio gat es so t hat a wheelchair lay abandoned and gat hering dust beneat h t he
paint ed cocopalms ar ound a sawdust beach.
Wher e was Gibr eel? Movie producers, left in seven lurches, panicked expensively. See,
t here, at t he Willingdon Club golf links - - only nine holes nowadays, skyscr apers having
sprout ed out of t he ot her nine like giant weeds, or, let ' s say, like t ombst ones mar king t he sit es
wher e t he t orn cor pse of t he old cit y lay - - t her e, right t her e, upper - echelon execut ives,
missing t he simplest put t s; and, look above, t uft s of anguished hair , t orn fr om senior heads,
waft ing down from high- level windows. The agit at ion of t he producers was easy t o under st and,
because in t hose days of declining audiences and t he creat ion of hist orical soap oper as and
cont empor ar y crusading housewives by t he t elevision net wor k, t her e was but a single name
which, when set above a pict ur e' s t it le, could st ill offer a sur e- fire, cent - per - cent guar ant ee of
an Ult r ahit , a Smashat ion, and t he owner of said name had depar t ed, up, down or sideways,
but cer t ainly and unarguably vamoosed . . .
All over t he cit y, aft er t elephones, mot or cyclist s, cops, fr ogmen and t r awler s dragging t he
har bour for his body had labour ed might ily but t o no avail, epit aphs began t o be spoken in
memory of t he darkened st ar . On one of Rama St udios' seven impot ent st ages, Miss Pimple
Billimoria, t he lat est chilli - and- spices bombshell - - _she' s no f libbert i- gibbert i mamzel! , but a
whir - st ir- get - lost - sir bundla dynamit e_ - - clad in t emple- - dancer veiled undr ess and posit ioned
beneat h writ hing car dboar d repr esent at ions of copulat ing Tant r ic f igur es fr om t he Chandela
per iod, - - and per ceiving t hat her maj or scene was not t o be, her big br eak lay in pieces - -
off er ed up a spit eful far ewell befor e an audience of sound recor dist s and elect r icians smoking
t heir cynical beedis. At t ended by a dumbly dist ressed ayah, all elbows, Pimple at t empt ed scorn.
"God, what a st r oke of luck, for Pet e' s sake, " she cr ied. "I mean t oday it was t he love scene,
chhi chhi, I was j ust dying inside, t hinking how t o go near t o t hat fat mout h wit h his breat h of
rot t ing cockr oach dung. " Bell - heavy anklet s j ingled as she st amped. "Damn good for him t he
movies don' t smell, or he wouldn' t get one j ob as a leper even. " Her e Pimple' s soliloquy
climaxed in such a t or r ent of obscenit ies t hat t he beedi - smokers sat up f or t he first t ime and
commenced animat edly t o compar e Pimple' s vocabular y wit h t hat of t he infamous bandit queen
Phoolan Devi whose oat hs could melt rifle bar rels and t ur n j ournalist s' pencils t o r ubber in a
t r ice.
Exit Pimple, weeping, censor ed, a scr ap on a cut t ing- room floor. Rhinest ones fell fr om her
navel as she went , mir r or ing her t ear s. . . in t he mat t er of Far isht a' s halit osis she was not ,
however, alt oget her wr ong; if anyt hing, she had a lit t le under st at ed t he case. Gibr eel' s
exhalat ions, t hose ochre clouds of sulphur and brimst one, had always given him - - when t aken
t oget her wit h his pronounced widow' s peak and crowblack hair - - an air mor e sat urnine t han
haloed, in spit e of his archangelic name. I t was said aft er he disappear ed t hat he ought t o have
been easy t o f ind, all it t ook was a halfway decent nose . . . and one week af t er he t ook off , an
exit mor e t ragic t han Pimple Billimoria' s did much t o int ensify t he devilish odour t hat was
beginning t o at t ach it self t o t hat forsolong sweet - smelling name. You could . say t hat he had
st epped out of t he scr een int o t he world, and in life, unlike t he cinema, people know it if you
st ink.
_We are creat ures of air, Our r oot s in dr eams And clouds, reborn I n f light . Goodbye_. The
enigmat ic not e discovered by t he police in Gibr eel Far isht a' s pent house, locat ed on t he t op f loor
of t he Everest Vilas skyscr aper on Malabar Hill, t he highest home in t he highest building on t he
highest gr ound in t he cit y, one of t hose double- vist a apar t ment s fr om which you could look
t his way acr oss t he evening necklace of Mar ine Dr ive or t hat way out t o Scandal Point and t he
sea, permit t ed t he newspaper headlines t o prolong t heir cacophonies. FARI SHTA DI VES
UNDERGROUND, opined _Blit z_ in somewhat macabr e fashion, while Busybee in _The Daily_
pr eferr ed GI BREEL FLI ES coop. Many phot ogr aphs wer e published of t hat fabled r esidence in
which French int er ior decorat ors bearing let t er s of commendat ion f rom Reza Pahlevi for t he
wor k t hey had done at Persepolis had spent a million dollar s r ecr eat ing at t his exalt ed alt it ude
t he effect of a Bedouin t ent . Anot her illusion unmade by his absence; GI BREEL STRI KES CAMP,
t he headlines yelled, but had he gone up or down or sideways? No one knew. I n t hat
met r opolis of t ongues and whisper s, not even t he shar pest ear s hear d anyt hing reliable. But
Mrs. Rekha Mer chant , r eading all t he papers, list ening t o all t he radio br oadcast s, st aying glued
t o t he Door darshan TV pr ogr ammes, gleaned somet hing fr om Farisht a' s message, heard a not e
t hat eluded ever yone else, and t ook her t wo daught er s and one son for a walk on t he roof of
her high- rise home. I t s name was Ever est Vilas.
His neighbour; as a mat t er of f act , from t he apar t ment direct ly beneat h his own. His
neighbour and his fr iend; why should I say any more? Of course t he scandal - point ed malice-
magazines of t he cit y filled t heir columns wit h hint innuendo and nudge, but t hat ' s no r eason
for sinking t o t heir level. Why t arnish her reput at ion now?
Who was she? Rich, cert ainly, but t hen Everest Vilas was not exact ly a t enement in Kur la,
eh? Marr ied, yessir, t hirt een year s, wit h a husband big in ball - bear ings. I ndependent , her
car pet and ant ique showr ooms t hriving at t heir pr ime Colaba sit es. She called her car pet s
_klims_ and _kleens_ and t he ancient art efact s wer e _ant i - queues_. Yes, and she was
beaut iful, beaut if ul in t he hard, glossy manner of t hose rar ef ied occupant s of t he cit y' s sky-
homes, her bones skin post ure all bear ing wit ness t o her long divor ce fr om t he impoverished,
heavy, pullulat ing eart h. Ever yone agr eed she had a st r ong personalit y, drank _like a fish_
from Lalique cryst al and hung her hat _shameless_ on a Chola Nat r aj and knew what she
want ed and how t o get it , fast . The husband was a mouse wit h money and a good squash
wrist . Rekha Mer chant read Gibreel Farisht a' s f arewell not e in t he newspaper s, wrot e a let t er of
her own, gat her ed her children, summoned t he elevat or , and rose heavenward ( one st or ey) t o
meet her chosen fat e.
"Many year s ago, " her let t er r ead, "I marr ied out of cowardice. Now, finally, I ' m doing
somet hing brave. " She lef t a newspaper on her bed wit h Gibreel' s message cir cled in r ed and
heavily underscored - - t hr ee har sh lines, one of t hem ripping t he page in fur y. So nat urally t he
bit ch- j our nals went t o t own and it was all LOVELY"S LOVELORN LEAP, and BROKEN- HEARTED
BEAUTY TAKES LAST DI VE. But :
Per haps she, t oo, had t he r ebir t h bug, and Gibr eel, not under st anding t he t err ible power of
met aphor , had recommended flight . _To be bor n again, first you have t o_ and she was a
creat ure of t he sky, she drank Lalique champagne, she lived on Ever est , and one of her fellow-
Olympians had flown; and if he could, t hen she, t oo, could be winged, and r oot ed in dr eams.
She didn' t make it . The lala who was employed as gat ekeeper of t he Ever est Vilas
compound of fered t he wor ld his blunt t est imony. "I was walking, here her e, in t he compound
only, when t here came a t hud, _t har aap_. I t urned. I t was t he body of t he oldest daught er . Her
skull was complet ely cr ushed. I looked up and saw t he boy falling, and af t er him t he younger
gir l. What t o say, t hey almost hit me wher e I st ood. I put my hand on my mout h and came t o
t hem. The young girl was whining soft ly. Then I looked up a furt her t ime and t he Begum was
coming. Her sar i was float ing out like a big balloon and all her hair was loose. I t ook my eyes
away f rom her because she was fallI ng and it was not respect ful t o look up inside her clot hes. "
Rekha and her children fell fr om Ever est ; no survivors. The whisper s blamed Gibreel. Let ' s
leave it at t hat f or t he moment .
Oh: don' t forget : he saw her aft er she died. He saw her several t imes. I t was a long t ime
befor e people under st ood how sick t he gr eat man was. Gibreel, t he st ar . Gibreel, who
vanquished t he Nameless Ailment . Gibreel, who fear ed sleep.
Af t er he depar t ed t he ubiquit ous images of his face began t o r ot . On t he gigant ic, luridly
coloured hoardings f rom which he had wat ched over t he populace, his lazy eyelids st ar t ed
flaking and cr umbling, drooping fur t her and furt her unt il his ir ises looked like t wo moons sliced
by clouds, or by t he soft knives of his long lashes. Finally t he eyelids fell of f, giving a wild,
bulging look t o his paint ed eyes. Out side t he pict ur e palaces of Bombay, mammot h cardboard
eff igies of Gibr eel wer e seen t o decay and list . Dangling limply on t heir sust aining scaf folds,
t hey lost ar ms, wit hered, snapped at t he neck. His port rait s on t he cover s of movie magazines
acquired t he pallor of deat h, a nullit y about t he eye, a hollowness. At last his images simply
faded of f t he print ed page, so t hat t he shiny covers of _Celebrit y_ and _Societ y_ and
_I llust r at ed Weekly_ went blank at t he bookst alls and t heir publisher s fired t he print ers and
blamed t he qualit y of t he ink. Even on t he silver screen it self, high above his wor shipper s in t he
dar k, t hat supposedly immort al physiognomy began t o put refy, blist er and bleach; proj ect or s
j ammed unaccount ably every t ime he passed t hrough t he gat e, his films gr ound t o a halt , and
t he lamp- heat of t he malfunct ioning proj ect or s bur ned his celluloid memor y away: a st ar gone
super nova, wit h t he consuming f ire spreading out war ds, as was f it t ing, f rom his lips.
I t was t he deat h of God. Or somet hing ver y like it ; f or had not t hat out size face, suspended
over it s devot ees in t he ar t ificial cinemat ic night , shone like t hat of some supernal Ent it y t hat
had it s being at least half way bet ween t he mort al and t he divine? Mor e t han halfway, many
would have ar gued, for Gibreel had spent t he gr eat er par t of his unique career incarnat ing,
wit h absolut e convict ion, t he count less deit ies of t he subcont inent in t he popular genr e movies
known as "t heologicals" . I t was par t of t he magic of his persona t hat he succeeded in cr ossing
religious boundar ies wit hout giving offence. Blue- skinned as Kr ishna he danced, flut e in hand,
amongst t he beaut eous gopis and t heir udder - heavy cows; wit h upt ur ned palms, ser ene, he
medit at ed ( as Gaut ama) upon humanit y' s suff er ing beneat h a st udio- ricket y bodhi- t r ee. On
t hose infr equent occasions when he descended f rom t he heavens he never went t oo f ar,
playing, for example, bot h t he Gr and Mughal and his f amously wily minist er in t he classic
_Akbar and Birbal_. For over a decade and a half he had r epr esent ed, t o hundr eds of millions
of believers in t hat count r y in which, t o t his day, t he human populat ion out numbers t he divine
by less t han t hr ee t o one, t he most accept able, and inst ant ly recognizable, face of t he
Supr eme. For many of his fans, t he boundary separ at ing t he per former and his r oles had
longago ceased t o exist .
The fans, yes, and? How about Gibreel?
That face. I n r eal lif e, reduced t o lif e- size, set amongst ordinary mort als, it st ood revealed
as oddly unst arr y. Those low- slung eyelids could give him an exhaust ed look. Ther e was, t oo,
somet hing coarse about t he nose, t he mout h was t oo well fleshed t o be st rong, t he ear s wer e
long- lobed like young, knurled j ackf ruit . The most profane of faces, t he most sensual of faces.
I n which, of lat e, it had been possible t o make out t he seams mined by his r ecent , near - fat al
illness. And yet , in spit e of profanit y and debilit at ion, t his was a f ace inext ricably mixed up wit h
holiness, per fect ion, grace: God st uff . No account ing for t ast es, t hat ' s all. At any r at e, you' ll
agr ee t hat f or such an act or ( for any act or, maybe, even for Chamcha, but most of all for him)
t o have a bee in his bonnet about avat ar s, like much- met amorphosed Vishnu, was not so very
surpr ising. Rebirt h: t hat ' s God st uff , t oo.
Or , but , t hen again . . . not always. Ther e are secular r eincarnat ions, t oo. Gibr eel Far isht a
had been bor n I smail Naj muddin in Poona, Br it ish Poona at t he empire' s fag- end, long bef or e
t he Pune of Raj neesh et c. ( Pune, Vadodar a, Mumbai; even t owns can t ake st age names
nowadays. ) I smail aft er t he child involved in t he sacr ifice of I brahim, and Naj muddin, _st ar of
t he fait h_; he' d given up quit e a name when he t ook t he angel' s.
Af t er war ds, when t he aircraf t _Bost an_ was in t he gr ip of t he hij acker s, and t he
passenger s, fear ing f or t heir fut ures, were r egressing int o t heir past s, Gibreel conf ided t o
Saladin Chamcha t hat his choice of pseudonym had been his way of making a homage t o t he
memory of his dead mot her , "my mummyj i, Spoono, my one and only Mamo, because who else
was it who st art ed t he whole angel business, her per sonal angel, she called me, _f arisht a_,
because apparent ly I was t oo damn sweet , believe it or not , I was good as goddamn gold. "
Poona couldn' t hold him; he was t aken in his infancy t o t he bit ch- cit y, his fir st migr at ion;
his fat her got a j ob amongst t he f leet - foot ed inspirers of f ut ure wheelchair quar t et s, t he lunch-
por t er s or dabbawallas of Bombay. And I smail t he far isht a followed, at t hir t een, in his fat her ' s
foot st eps.
Gibr eel, capt ive aboar d AI - 420, sank int o f or givable rhapsodies, fixing Chamcha wit h his
glit t ering eye, explicat ing t he myst er ies of t he runner s' coding syst em, black swast ika r ed cir cle
yellow slash dot , r unning in his mind' s eye t he ent ir e relay fr om home t o off ice desk, t hat
impr obable syst em by which t wo t housand dabbawallas delivered, each day, over one hundr ed
t housand lunch- pails, and on a bad day, Spoono, maybe fift een got mislaid, we wer e illit erat e,
most ly, but t he signs wer e our secr et t ongue.
_Bost an_ circled London, gunmen pat r olling t he gangways, and t he light s in t he passenger
cabins had been swit ched off, but Gibr eel' s ener gy illuminat ed t he gloom. On t he gr ubby movie
scr een on which, ear lier in t he j ourney, t he inflight inevit abilit y of Walt er Mat t hau had st umbled
lugubriously int o t he aer ial ubiquit y of Goldie Hawn, t here wer e shadows moving, proj ect ed by
t he nost algia of t he host ages, and t he most sharply def ined of t hem was t his spindly
adolescent , I smail Naj muddin, mummy' s angel in a Gandhi cap, running t iff ins acr oss t he t own.
The young dabbawalla skipped nimbly t hrough t he shadow- crowd, because he was used t o
such condit ions, t hink, Spoono, pict ure, t hir t y- for t y t iff ins in a long wooden t ray on your head,
and when t he local t rain st ops you have maybe one minut e t o push on or off , and t hen running
in t he st r eet s, flat out , yaar, wit h t he t r ucks buses scoot er s cycles and what - all, one- t wo, one-
t wo, lunch, lunch, t he dabbas must get t hrough, and in t he monsoon running down t he r ailway
line when t he t r ain br oke down, or waist - deep in wat er in some f looded st reet , and t here were
gangs, Salad baba, t ruly, organized gangs of dabba- st ealer s, it ' s a hungr y cit y, baby, what t o
t ell you, but we could handle t hem, we wer e everywher e, knew everyt hing, what t hieves could
escape our eyes and ear s, we never went t o any policia, we looked aft er our own.
At night fat her and son would r et ur n exhaust ed t o t heir shack by t he air por t r unway at
Sant acruz and when I smail' s mot her saw him approaching, illuminat ed by t he gr een r ed yellow
of t he depart ing j et - planes, she would say t hat simply t o lay eyes on him made all her dr eams
come t r ue, which was t he fir st indicat ion t hat t her e was somet hing peculiar about Gibreel,
because fr om t he beginning, it seemed, he could fulfil people' s most secr et desires wit hout
having any idea of how he did it . His fat her Naj muddin Senior never seemed t o mind t hat his
wife had eyes only for her son, t hat t he boy' s feet r eceived night ly pr essings while t he fat her' s
went unst r oked. A son is a blessing and a blessing requir es t he grat it ude of t he blest .
Naima Naj muddin died. A bus hit her and t hat was t hat , Gibr eel wasn' t ar ound t o answer
her prayer s for life. Neit her fat her nor son ever spoke of gr ief . Silent ly, as t hough it were
cust omary and expect ed, t hey bur ied t heir sadness beneat h ext ra wor k, engaging in an
inar t iculat e cont est , who could carr y t he most dabbas on his head, who could acquire t he most
new cont r act s per mont h, who could r un fast er , as t hough t he gr eat er labour would indicat e t he
gr eat er love. When he saw his fat her at night , t he knot t ed veins bulging in his neck and at his
t emples, I smail Naj muddin would underst and how much t he older man had r esent ed him, and
how import ant it was for t he f at her t o def eat t he son and r egain, t hereby, his usur ped pr imacy
in t he aff ect ions of his dead wife. Once he r ealized t his, t he yout h eased off, but his f at her' s
zeal r emained unrelent ing, and pr et t y soon he was get t ing promot ion, no longer a mere r unner
but one of t he organizing muqaddams. When Gibreel was ninet een, Naj muddin Senior became
a member of t he lunch- runners' guild, t he Bombay Tiffin Carr ier s' Associat ion, and when
Gibr eel was t went y, his fat her was dead, st opped in his t r acks by a st r oke t hat almost blew him
apart . "He j ust r an himself int o t he gr ound, " said t he guild' s General Secret ary, Babasaheb
Mhat r e himself. " That poor bast ar d, he j ust r an out of st eam. " But t he or phan knew bet t er . He
knew t hat his fat her had f inally run hard enough and long enough t o wear down t he f ront iers
bet ween t he worlds, he had r un clear out of his skin and int o t he arms of his wife, t o whom he
had pr oved, once and for all, t he super ior it y of his love. Some migr ant s ar e happy t o depar t .
Babasaheb Mhat re sat in a blue off ice behind a green door above a labyrint hine bazaar , an
awesome f igur e, buddha- fat , one of t he gr eat moving f or ces of t he met r opolis, possessing t he
occult gift of r emaining absolut ely st ill, never shif t ing f rom his room, and yet being ever ywhere
impor t ant and meet ing ever yone who mat t ered in Bombay. The day af t er young I smail' s fat her
ran across t he bor der t o see Naima, t he Babasaheb summoned t he young man int o his
pr esence. "So? Upset or what ?" The r eply, wit h downcast eyes: j i, t hank you, Babaj i, I am
okay. " Shut your face, " said Babasaheb Mhat re. "From t oday you live wit h me. " But but ,
Babaj i . . . "But me no but s. Alr eady I have informed my goodwif e. I have spoken. " Please
excuse Babaj i but how what why? "I have _spoken_. "
Gibr eel Far isht a was never t old why t he Babasaheb had decided t o t ake pit y on him and
pluck him fr om t he f ut ur elessness of t he st r eet s, but aft er a while he began t o have an idea.
Mrs. Mhat r e was a t hin woman, like a pencil beside t he r ubber y Babasaheb, but she was filled
so full of mot her - love t hat she should have been fat like a pot at o. When t he Baba came home
she put sweet s int o his mout h wit h her own hands, and at night s t he newcomer t o t he
household could hear t he great General Secret ary of t he B T C A pr ot est ing, Let me go, wife, I
can undr ess myself. At br eakfast she spoon- fed Mhat re wit h lar ge helpings of malt , and bef or e
he went t o wor k she brushed his hair . They were a childless couple, and young Naj muddin
underst ood t hat t he Babasaheb want ed him t o shar e t he load. Oddly enough, however , t he
Begum did not t reat t he young man as a child. "You see, he is a gr own fellow, " she t old her
husband when poor Mhat re pleaded, "Give t he boy t he blast ed spoon of malt . " Yes, a gr own
fellow, "we must make a man of him, husband, no babying for him. " "Then damn it t o hell, " t he
Babasaheb exploded, " why do you do it t o me?" Mr s. Mhat re bur st int o t ear s. "But you ar e
ever yt hing t o me, " she wept , "you ar e my fat her , my lover, my baby t oo. You are my lor d and
my suckling child. I f I displease you t hen I have no life. "
Babasaheb Mhat re, accept ing def eat , swallowed t he t ablespoon of malt .
He was a kindly man, which he disguised wit h insult s and noise. To console t he orphaned
yout h he would speak t o him, in t he blue office, about t he philosophy of r ebir t h, convincing him
t hat his parent s wer e already being scheduled f or r e- ent ry somewher e, unless of cour se t heir
lives had been so holy t hat t hey had at t ained t he final gr ace. So it was Mhat r e who st art ed
Far isht a off on t he whole r eincarnat ion business, and not j ust reincar nat ion. The Babasaheb
was an amat eur psychic, a t apper of t able- legs and a br inger of spir it s int o glasses. "But I gave
t hat up, " he t old his pr ot g, wit h many suit ably melodramat ic inf lect ions, gest ur es, frowns,
"aft er I got t he fr ight of my bloody life. "
Once ( Mhat r e r ecount ed) t he glass had been visit ed by t he most co- operat ive of spirit s,
such a t oo- friendly fellow, see, so I t hought t o ask him some big quest ions. _I s t here a God_,
and t hat glass which had been r unning round like a mouse or so j ust st opped dead, middle of
t able, not a t wit ch, complet ely phut t , kaput . So, t hen, okay, I said, if you won' t answer t hat t ry
t his one inst ead, and I came r ight out wit h it , _I s t her e a Devil_. Aft er t hat t he glass - -
bapr ebap! - - began t o shake - - cat ch your ears! - - slowslow at f ir st , t hen fast er - - fast er, like a
j elly, unt il it j umped! - - ai- hai! - - up f rom t he t able, int o t he air, fell down on it s side, and - - o-
ho! - - int o a t housand and one pieces, smashed. Believe don' t believe, Babasaheb Mhat r e t old
his char ge, but t henandt here I lear ned my lesson: don' t meddle, Mhat r e, in what you do not
comprehend.
This st or y had a profound effect on t he consciousness of t he young list ener , because even
befor e his mot her' s deat h he had become convinced of t he exist ence of t he super nat ur al world.
Somet imes when he looked around him, especially in t he aft ernoon heat when t he air t ur ned
glut inous, t he visible world, it s feat ures and inhabit ant s and t hings, seemed t o be st icking up
t hr ough t he at mosphere like a profusion of hot icebergs, and he had t he idea t hat ever yt hing
cont inued down below t he sur face of t he soupy air: people, mot or - car s, dogs, movie billboar ds,
t r ees, nine- t ent hs of t heir r ealit y concealed f rom his eyes. He would blink, and t he illusion
would fade, but t he sense of it never lef t him. He grew up believing in God, angels, demons,
afreet s, dj inns, as mat t er - of - fact ly as if t hey were bullock- car t s or lamp- post s, and it st ruck
him as a failure in his own sight t hat he had never seen a ghost . He would dr eam of
discovering a magic opt omet rist fr om whom he would pur chase a pair of greent inged
spect acles which would corr ect his r egr et t able myopia, and aft er t hat he would be able t o see
t hr ough t he dense, blinding air t o t he fabulous world beneat h.
Fr om his mot her Naima Naj muddin he heard a great many st or ies of t he Pr ophet , and if
inaccuracies had crept int o her ver sions he wasn' t int er est ed in knowing what t hey wer e. "What
a man! " he t hought . "What angel would not wish t o speak t o him?" Somet imes, t hough, he
caught himself in t he act of for ming blasphemous t hought s, for example when wit hout meaning
t o, as he dr if t ed off t o sleep in his cot at t he Mhat re r esidence, his somnolent fancy began t o
compare his own condit ion wit h t hat of t he Prophet at t he t ime when, having been orphaned
and shor t of funds, he made a great success of his j ob as t he business manager of t he wealt hy
widow Khadij a, and ended up marr ying her as well. As he slipped int o sleep he saw himself
sit t ing on a r ose- st rewn dais, simper ing shyly beneat h t he sari - pallu which he had placed
demurely over his f ace, while his new husband, Babasaheb Mhat re, reached lovingly t owards
him t o r emove t he fabr ic, and gaze at his feat ures in a mirr or placed in his lap. This dr eam of
marr ying t he Babasaheb brought him awake, f lushing hot ly for shame, and af t er t hat he began
t o wor ry about t he impur it y in his make- up t hat could creat e such t err ible visions.
Most ly, however, his r eligious fait h was a low- key t hing, a par t of him t hat required no
mor e special at t ent ion t han any ot her. When Babasaheb Mhat re t ook him int o his home it
conf ir med t o t he young man t hat he was not alone in t he wor ld, t hat somet hing was t aking
car e of him, so he was not ent irely sur pr ised when t he Babasaheb called him int o t he blue
off ice on t he morning of his t went y- first birt hday and sacked him wit hout even being prepar ed
t o list en t o an appeal.
"You' re f ir ed, " Mhat r e emphasized, beaming. "Cashiered, had your chips. Dis- _miss_. "
"But , uncle, "
"Shut your face. "
Then t he Babasaheb gave t he or phan t he gr eat est present of his life, inf or ming him t hat a
meet ing had been ar ranged for him at t he st udios of t he legendary film magnat e Mr . D. W.
Rama; an audit ion. "I t is f or appearance only, " t he Babasaheb said. "Rama is my good fr iend
and we have discussed. A small par t t o begin, t hen it is up t o you. Now get out of my sight and
st op pulling such humble faces, it does not suit . "
"But , uncle, "
"Boy like you is t oo damn goodlooking t o carr y t iff ins on his head all his life. Get gone now,
go, be a homosexual movie act or . I fired you five minut es back. "
"But , uncle, "
"I have spoken. Thank your lucky st ars. "
He became Gibreel Farisht a, but for f our years he did not become a st ar, serving his
appr ent iceship in a succession of minor knockabout comic part s. He remained calm, unhurr ied,
as t hough he could see t he f ut ure, and his appar ent lack of ambit ion made him somet hing of
an out sider in t hat most self - seeking of indust r ies. He was t hought t o be st upid or arr ogant or
bot h. And t hroughout t he f our wilder ness year s he f ailed t o kiss a single woman on t he mout h.
On- scr een, he played t he fall guy, t he idiot who loves t he beaut y and can' t see t hat she
wouldn' t go for him in a t housand year s, t he f unny uncle, t he poor r elat ion, t he village idiot ,
t he ser vant , t he incompet ent crook, none of t hem t he t ype of par t t hat ever r at es a love scene.
Women kicked him, slapped him, t eased him, laughed at him, but never , on celluloid, looked at
him or sang t o him or danced around him wit h cinemat ic love in t heir eyes. Off - scr een, he lived
alone in t wo empt y rooms near t he st udios and t r ied t o imagine what women looked like
wit hout clot hes on. To get his mind of f t he subj ect of love and desire, he st udied, becoming an
omnivorous aut odidact , devour ing t he met amorphic myt hs of Gr eece and Rome, t he avat ar s of
Jupit er , t he boy who became a flower , t he spider - woman, Circe, everyt hing; and t he t heosophy
of Annie Besant , and unified field t heory, and t he incident of t he Sat anic ver ses in t he early
car eer of t he Prophet , and t he polit ics of Muhammad' s har em aft er his r et urn t o Mecca in
t r iumph; and t he sur realism of t he newspapers, in which but t erf lies could fly int o young gir ls'
mout hs, asking t o be consumed, and children wer e bor n wit h no f aces, and young boys
dr eamed in impossible det ail of ear lier incar nat ions, f or inst ance in a golden for t ress f illed wit h
pr ecious st ones. He filled himself up wit h God knows what , but he could not deny, in t he small
hours of his insomniac night s, t hat he was full of somet hing t hat had never been used, t hat he
did not know how t o begin t o use, t hat is, love. I n his dr eams he was t orment ed by women of
unbearable sweet ness and beaut y, so he preferr ed t o st ay awake and force himself t o rehearse
some part of his general knowledge in or der t o blot out t he t r agic feeling of being endowed
wit h a larger - t han- usual capacit y for love, wit hout a single person on eart h t o of fer it t o.
His big break arr ived wit h t he coming of t he t heological movies. Once t he formula of
making films based on t he puranas, and adding t he usual mixt ure of songs, dances, funny
uncles et c. , had paid of f, ever y god in t he pant heon got his or her chance t o be a st ar . When D.
W. Rama scheduled a pr oduct ion based on t he st ory of Ganesh, none of t he leading box- off ice
names of t he t ime wer e willing t o spend an ent ir e movie concealed inside an elephant ' s head.
Gibr eel j umped at t he chance. That was his f irst hit , _Ganpat i Baba_, and suddenly he was a
super st ar , but only wit h t he t r unk and ears on. Aft er six movies playing t he elephant headed
god he was permit t ed t o r emove t he t hick, pendulous, gr ey mask and put on, inst ead, a long,
hair y t ail, in or der t o play Hanuman t he monkey king in a sequence of advent ure movies t hat
owed more t o a cert ain cheap t elevision ser ies emanat ing f rom Hong Kong t han it did t o t he
Ramayana. This ser ies pr oved so popular t hat monkey- t ails became de rigueur f or t he cit y' s
young bucks at t he kind of par t ies fr equent ed by convent gir ls known as "f irecr acker s" because
of t heir readiness t o go of f wit h a bang.
Af t er Hanuman t here was no st opping Gibreel, and his phenomenal success deepened his
belief in a guar dian angel. But it also led t o a mor e regret t able development .
( I see t hat I must , aft er all, spill poor Rekha' s beans. )
Even before he replaced f alse head wit h fake t ail he had become ir r esist ibly at t ract ive t o
women. The seduct ions of his fame had gr own so great t hat sever al of t hese young ladies
asked him if he would keep t he Ganesh- mask on while t hey made love, but he r efused out of
respect f or t he dignit y of t he god. Owing t o t he innocence of his upbr inging he could not at t hat
t ime diff er ent iat e bet ween quant it y and qualit y and accor dingly felt t he need t o make up for
lost t ime. He had so many sexual par t ner s t hat it was not uncommon for him t o f or get t heir
names even before t hey had left his room. Not only did he become a philander er of t he wor st
t ype, but he also lear ned t he ar t s of dissimulat ion, because a man who plays gods must be
above r epr oach. So skilfully did he conceal his lif e of scandal and debauch t hat his old pat r on,
Babasaheb Mhat re, lying on his deat hbed a decade aft er he sent a young dabbawalla out int o
t he world of illusion, black- money and lust , begged him t o get marr ied t o pr ove he was a man.
"God- sake, mist er, " t he Babasaheb pleaded, " when I t old you back t hen t o go and be a homo I
never t hought you would t ake me ser iously, t here is a limit t o respect ing one' s elder s, aft er
all. " Gibreel t hr ew up his hands and swore t hat he was no such disgr aceful t hing, and t hat
when t he right girl came along he would of course undergo nupt ials wit h a will. "What you
wait ing? Some goddess from heaven? Gr et a Gar bo, Gr acekali, who?" cried t he old man,
coughing blood, but Gibreel left him wit h t he enigma of a smile t hat allowed him t o die wit hout
having his mind set ent ir ely at r est .
The avalanche of sex in which Gibr eel Far isht a was t r apped managed t o bury his gr eat est
t alent so deep t hat it might easily have been lost for ever , his t alent , t hat is, for loving
genuinely, deeply and wit hout holding back, t he r ar e and delicat e gift which he had never been
able t o employ. By t he t ime of his illness he had all but for got t en t he anguish he used t o
exper ience owing t o his longing for love, which had t wist ed and t urned in him like a sor cer er ' s
knif e. Now, at t he end of each gymnast ic night , he slept easily and long, as if he had never
been plagued by dream- women, as if he had never hoped t o lose his hear t .
"Your t r ouble, " Rekha Mer chant t old him when she mat erialized out of t he clouds, "is
ever ybody always f or gave you, God knows why, you always got let of f, you got away wit h
mur der . Nobody ever held you responsible for what you did. " He couldn' t ar gue. "God' s gif t , "
she scr eamed at him, " God knows wher e you t hought you wer e fr om, j umped- up t ype from t he
gut t er, God knows what diseases you brought . "
But t hat was what women did, he t hought in t hose days, t hey wer e t he vessels int o which
he could pour himself, and when he moved on, t hey would under st and t hat it was his nat ure,
and for give. And it was t r ue t hat nobody blamed him f or leaving, f or his t housand and one
pieces of t hought lessness, how many abort ions, Rekha demanded in t he cloud- hole, how many
br oken hear t s. I n all t hose year s he was t he beneficiar y of t he infinit e generosit y of women,
but he was it s vict im, t oo, because t heir f or giveness made possible t he deepest and sweet est
corr upt ion of all, namely t he idea t hat he was doing not hing wr ong.
Rekha: she ent er ed his life when he bought t he pent house at Everest Vilas and she offer ed,
as a neighbour and businesswoman, t o show him her car pet s and ant iques. Her husband was
at a world- wide congr ess of ball- bear ings manufact ur er s in Got henbur g, Sweden, and in his
absence she invit ed Gibreel int o her apart ment of st one lat t ices fr om Jaisalmer and carved
wooden handr ails fr om Kcr alan palaces and a st one Mughal chhat r i or cupola t urned int o a
whir lpool bat h; while she poured him Fr ench champagne she leaned against mar bled walls and
felt t he cool veins of t he st one against her back. When he sipped t he champagne she t eased
him, sur ely gods should not part ake of alcohol, and he answer ed wit h a line he had once r ead
in an int erview wit h t he Aga Khan, O, you know, t his champagne is only f or out ward show, t he
moment it t ouches my lips it t ur ns t o wat er. Aft er t hat it didn' t t ake long for her t o t ouch his
lips and deliquesce int o his ar ms. By t he t ime her childr en r et ur ned f rom school wit h t he ayah
she was immaculat ely dressed and coiffed, and sat wit h him in t he drawing- room, revealing t he
secr et s of t he car pet business, confessing t hat ar t silk st ood for ar t ificial not ar t ist ic, t elling him
not t o be fooled by her brochure in which a rug was seduct ively descr ibed as being made of
wool plucked f rom t he t hr oat s of baby lambs, which means, you see, only _low- gr ade wool_,
adver t ising, what t o do, t his is how it is.
He did not love her, was not f ait hful t o her, forgot her birt hdays, f ailed t o r et urn her phone
calls, t ur ned up when it was most inconvenient owing t o t he presence in her home of dinner
guest s fr om t he wor ld of t he ball - bear ing, and like everyone else she forgave him. But her
for giveness was not t he silent , mousy let - off he got f rom t he ot her s. Rekha complained like
crazy, she gave him hell, she bawled him out and cur sed him for a useless lafanga and
har amzada and salah and even, in ext remis, for being guilt y of t he impossible feat of fucking
t he sist er he did not have. She spared him not hing, accusing him of being a creat ure of
surf aces, like a movie screen, and t hen she went ahead and forgave him anyway and allowed
him t o unhook her blouse. Gibreel could not r esist t he operat ic forgiveness of Rekha Merchant ,
which was all t he mor e moving on account of t he flaw in her own posit ion, her infidelit y t o t he
ball - bear ing king, which Gibreel forbore t o ment ion, t aking his verbal beat ings like a man. So
t hat whereas t he par dons he got f rom t he rest of his women left him cold and he f or got t hem
t he moment t hey wer e ut t ered, he kept coming back t o Rekha, so t hat she could abuse him
and t hen console him as only she knew how.
Then he almost died.
He was filming at Kanya Kumar i, st anding on t he ver y t ip of Asia, t aking part in a fight
scene set at t he point on Cape Comor in wher e it seems t hat t hree oceans ar e t r uly smashing
int o one anot her. Thr ee set s of waves r olled in fr om t he west east sout h and collided in a
might y clapping of wat ery hands j ust as Gibr eel t ook a punch on t he j aw, per fect t iming, and
he passed out on t he spot , falling backwar ds int o t r i - oceanic spume. He did not get up.
To begin wit h everybody blamed t he giant English st unt - man Eust ace Br own, who had
delivered t he punch. He prot est ed vehement ly. Was he not t he same f ellow who had perfor med
opposit e Chief Minist er N. T. Rama Rao in his many t heological movie roles? Had he not
per fect ed t he ar t of making t he old man look good in combat wit hout hurt ing him? Had he ever
complained t hat NTR never pulled his punches, so t hat he, Eust ace, invariably ended up black
and blue, having been beat en st upid by a lit t le old guy whom he could' ve eat en for breakf ast ,
on _t oast _, and had he ever, even once, lost his t emper ? Well, t hen? How could anyone t hink
he would hur t t he immor t al Gibr eel? - - They fir ed him anyway and t he police put him in t he
lock- up, j ust in case.
But it was not t he punch t hat had f lat t ened Gibreel. Af t er t he st ar had been flown int o
Bombay' s Breach Candy Hospit al in an Air Force j et made available f or t he pur pose; aft er
exhaust ive t est s had come up wit h almost not hing; and while he lay unconscious, dying, wit h a
blood- count t hat had fallen fr om his nor mal fif t een t o a murderous f our point t wo, a hospit al
spokesman faced t he nat ional pr ess on Br each Candy' s wide whit e st eps. "I t is a freak
myst ery, " he gave out . " Call it , if you so please, an act of God. "
Gibr eel Far isht a had begun t o haemorr hage all over his insides for no appar ent r eason, and
was quit e simply bleeding t o deat h inside his skin. At t he worst moment t he blood began t o
seep out t hrough his rect um and penis, and it seemed t hat at any moment it might burst
t orr ent ially t hr ough his nose and ears and out of t he cor ner s of his eyes. For seven days he
bled, and received t ransfusions, and ever y clot t ing agent known t o medical science, including a
concent rat ed f or m of r at poison, and alt hough t he t r eat ment result ed in a mar ginal
impr ovement t he doct or s gave him up for lost .
The whole of I ndia was at Gibreel' s bedside. His condit ion was t he lead it em on ever y r adio
bullet in, it was t he subj ect of hour ly news- flashes on t he nat ional t elevision net work, and t he
crowd t hat gat hered in War den Road was so large t hat t he police had t o disperse it wit h lat hi -
charges and t ear - gas, which t hey used even t hough ever y one of t he half - million mour ner s was
alr eady t earf ul and wailing. The Pr ime Minist er cancelled her appoint ment s and f lew t o visit
him. Her son t he air line pilot sat in Far isht a' s bedroom, holding t he act or ' s hand. A mood of
appr ehension set t led over t he nat ion, because if God had unleashed such an act of r et ribut ion
against his most celebrat ed incar nat ion, what did he have in st or e for t he rest of t he count ry?
I f Gibreel died, could I ndia be f ar behind? I n t he mosques and t emples of t he nat ion, packed
congr egat ions pr ayed, not only for t he life of t he dying act or, but for t he fut ur e, f or
t hemselves.
Who did not visit Gibr eel in hospit al? Who never wrot e, made no t elephone call, despat ched
no flowers, sent in no t iffins of delicious home cooking? While many lovers shamelessly sent
him get - well car ds and lamb pasandas, who, loving him most of all, kept herself t o her self,
unsuspect ed by her ball - - bear ing of a husband? Rekha Mer chant placed ir on ar ound her heart ,
and went t hrough t he mot ions of her daily lif e, playing wit h her childr en, chit - chat t ing wit h her
husband, act ing as his host ess when r equired, and never , not once, revealed t he bleak
devast at ion of her soul.
He r ecover ed.
The recovery was as myst er ious as t he illness, and as r apid. I t , t oo, was called ( by
hospit al, j our nalist s, fr iends) an act of t he Supreme. A nat ional holiday was declar ed; fireworks
wer e set off up and down t he land. But when Gibr eel r egained his st rengt h, it became clear
t hat he had changed, and t o a st art ling degr ee, because he had lost his fait h.
On t he day he was dischar ged fr om hospit al he went under police escor t t hrough t he
immense crowd t hat had gat her ed t o celebr at e it s own deliver ance as well as his, climbed int o
his Mercedes and t old t he driver t o give all t he pur suing vehicles t he slip, which t ook seven
hours and fift y- one minut es, and by t he end of t he manoeuvr e he had wor ked out what had t o
be done. He got out of t he limousine at t he Taj hot el and wit hout looking left or r ight went
dir ect ly int o t he gr eat dining- room wit h it s buffet t able groaning under t he weight of forbidden
foods, and he loaded his plat e wit h all of it , t he pork sausages fr om Wilt shire and t he cur ed
Yor k hams and t he rasher s of bacon from godknowswhere; wit h t he gammon st eaks of his
unbelief and t he pig' s t rot t er s of secular ism; and t hen, st anding t here in t he middle of t he hall,
while phot ographers popped up f rom nowher e, he began t o eat as f ast as possible, st uffing t he
dead pigs int o his face so rapidly t hat bacon r ashers hung out of t he sides of his mout h.
Dur ing his illness he had spent every minut e of consciousness calling upon God, every
second of ever y minut e. Ya Allah whose servant lies bleeding do not abandon me now aft er
wat ching oven me so long. Ya Allah show me some sign, some small mark of your f avour , t hat
I may find in myself t he st rengt h t o cur e my ills. O God most beneficent most merciful, be wit h
me in t his my t ime of need, my most grievous need. Then it occurr ed t o him t hat he was being
punished, and for a t ime t hat made it possible t o suffer t he pain, but aft er a t ime he got angr y.
Enough, God, his unspoken words demanded, why must I die when I have not killed, are you
vengeance or ar e you love? The anger wit h God car ried him t hrough anot her day, but t hen it
faded, and in it s place t here came a t err ible empt iness, an isolat ion, as he r ealized he was
t alking t o _t hin air_, t hat t here was nobody t her e at all, and t hen he felt more f oolish t han ever
in his life, and he began t o plead int o t he empt iness, ya Allah, j ust be t her e, damn it , j ust be.
But he felt not hing, not hing not hing, and t hen one day he found t hat he no longer needed
t here t o be anyt hing t o feel. On t hat day of met amorphosis t he illness changed and his
recovery began. And t o pr ove t o himself t he non- exist ence of God, he now st ood in t he dining-
hall of t he cit y' s most famous hot el, wit h pigs falling out of his face.
He looked up f rom his plat e t o find a woman wat ching him. Her hair was so fair t hat it was
almost whit e, and her skin possessed t he colour and t ranslucency of mount ain ice. She laughed
at him and t ur ned away.
"Don' t you get it ?" he shout ed af t er her , spewing sausage fr agment s fr om t he cor ner s of
his mout h. " No t hunderbolt . That ' s t he point . "
She came back t o st and in fr ont of him. " You' re alive, " she t old him. "You got your life
back. _That ' s_ t he point . "
He t old Rekha: t he moment she t ur ned ar ound and st ar t ed walking back I fell in love wit h
her. Alleluia Cone, climber of mount ains, vanquisher of Ever est , blonde yahudan, ice
queen. Her challenge, _change your life, or did you get it back f or not hing_, I couldn' t r esist .
"You and your r eincar nat ion j unk, " Rekha caj oled him. " Such a nonsense head. You come
out of hospit al, back t hrough deat h' s door , and it goes t o your head, crazy boy, at once you
must have some escapade t hing, and t her e she is, hey pr est o, t he blonde mame. Don' t t hink I
don' t know what you' re like, Gibbo, so what now, you want me t o for give you or what ?"
No need, he said. He left Rekha' s apar t ment ( it s mist r ess wept , face- down, on t he floor ) ;
and never ent ered it again.
Three days aft er he met her wit h his mout h full of unclean meat Allie got int o an aer oplane
and left . Three days out of t ime behind a do- not - dist ur b sign, but in t he end t hey agr eed t hat
t he world was real, what was possible was possible and what was impossible was im- - , br ief
encount er, ships t hat pass, love in a t ransit lounge. Aft er she left , Gibr eel r est ed, t r ied t o shut
his ears t o her challenge, r esolved t o get his lif e back t o normal. Just because he' d lost his
belief it didn' t mean he couldn' t do his j ob, and in spit e of t he scandal of t he ham- eat ing
phot ogr aphs, t he fir st scandal ever t o at t ach it self t o his name, he signed movie cont r act s and
went back t o work.
And t hen, one mor ning, a wheelchair st ood empt y and he had gone. A bearded passenger ,
one I smail Naj muddin, boar ded Flight AI - 420 t o London. The 747 was named aft er one of t he
gar dens of Paradise, not Gulist an but _Bost an_. "To be born again, " Gibr ecl Far isht a said t o
Saladin Chamcha much lat er, "fir st you have t o die. Me, I only half - expir ed, but I did it on t wo
occasions, hospit al and plane, so it adds up, it count s. And now, Spoono my f riend, her e I
st and bef or e you in Proper London, Vilayet , r egener at ed, a new man wit h a new life. Spoono, is
t his not a bloody fine t hing?"
Why did he leave?
Because of her , t he challenge of her , t he newness, t he fierceness of t he t wo of t hem
t oget her, t he inexorabilit y of an impossible t hing t hat was insist ing on it s r ight t o become.
And, or , maybe: because aft er he at e t he pigs t he ret ribut ion began, a noct urnal
ret ribut ion, a punishment of dreams.
3
Once t he flight t o London had t aken off , t hanks t o his magic t r ick of cr ossing t wo pair s of
finger s on each hand and rot at ing his t humbs, t he narr ow, for t yish fellow who sat in a non-
smoking window seat wat ching t he cit y of his birt h fall away from him like old snakeskin
allowed a r elieved expr ession t o pass briefly acr oss his face. This f ace was handsome in a
somewhat sour , pat r ician fashion, wit h long, t hick, downt ur ned lips like t hose of a disgust ed
t ur bot , and t hin eyebrows arching sharply over eyes t hat wat ched t he world wit h a kind of alert
cont empt . Mr . Saladin Chamcha had const r uct ed t his face wit h car e - - it had t aken him several
years t o get it j ust r ight - - and for many more year s now he had t hought of it simply as _his
own_ - - indeed, he had forgot t en what he had looked like before it . Fur t her mor e, he had
shaped himself a voice t o go wit h t he f ace, a voice whose languid, almost lazy vowels
cont r ast ed disconcer t ingly wit h t he sawn- - off abr upt ness of t he consonant s. The combinat ion of
face and voice was a pot ent one; but , during his r ecent visit t o his home t own, his fir st such
visit in fif t een years ( t he exact period, I should observe, of Gibreel Farisht a' s f ilm st ar dom) ,
t here had been st range and worr ying development s. I t was unf or t unat ely t he case t hat his
voice ( t he fir st t o go) and, subsequent ly, his f ace it self, had begun t o let him down.
I t st ar t ed - - Chamcha, allowing fingers and t humbs t o relax and hoping, in some
embar rassment , t hat his last remaining super st it ion had gone unobserved by his f ellow-
passenger s, closed his eyes and remembered wit h a delicat e shudder of horr or - - on his flight
east some weeks ago. He had f allen int o a t or pid sleep, high above t he desert sands of t he
Per sian Gulf, and been visit ed in a dr eam by a bizarr e st ranger, a man wit h a glass skin, who
rapped his knuckles mour nfully against t he t hin, brit t le membr ane covering his ent ire body and
begged Saladin t o help him, t o release him fr om t he pr ison of his skin. Chamcha picked up a
st one and began t o bat t er at t he glass. At once a lat t icewor k of blood oozed up t hr ough t he
cracked sur face of t he st ranger' s body, and when Chamcha t ried t o pick of f t he broken shar ds
t he ot her began t o scream, because chunks of his f lesh wer e coming away wit h t he glass. At
t his point an air st ewar dess bent over t he sleeping Chamcha and demanded, wit h t he pit iless
hospit alit y of her t r ibe: _Somet hing t o dr ink, sir ? A dr ink?_, and Saladin, emer ging f rom t he
dr eam, f ound his speech unaccount ably met amorphosed int o t he Bombay lilt he had so
diligent ly ( and so long ago! ) unmade. "Achha, means what ?" he mumbled. " Alcoholic beverage
or what ?" And, when t he st ewar dess reassured him, what ever you wish, sir , all beverages are
gr at is, he hear d, once again, his t r ait or voice: "So, okay, bibi, give one whiskysoda only. "
What a nast y sur prise! He had come awake wit h a j olt , and sat st if fly in his chair, ignor ing
alcohol and peanut s. How had t he past bubbled up, in t r ansmogrified vowels and vocab? What
next ? Would he t ake t o put t ing coconut - oil in his hair ? Would he t ake t o squeezing his nost rils
bet ween t humb and for ef inger, blowing noisily and dr awing fort h a glut inous silver arc of
muck? Would he become a devot ee of pr of essional wr est ling? What fur t her, diabolic
humiliat ions wer e in st ore? He should have known it was a mist ake t o _go home_, aft er so
long, how could it be ot her t han a regression; it was an unnat ur al j ourney; a denial of t ime; a
revolt against hist or y; t he whole t hing was bound t o be a disast er .
_I ' m not myself_, he t hought as a faint flut t er ing f eeling began in t he vicinit y of his hear t .
But what does t hat mean, anyway, he added bit t erly. Aft er all, "les act eur s ne sont pas des
gens" , as t he gr eat ham Frederick had explained in _Les Enfant s du Paradis_. Masks beneat h
masks unt il suddenly t he bar e bloodless skull.
The seat belt light came on, t he capt ain' s voice war ned of air t ur bulence, t hey dr opped in
and out of air pocket s. The deser t lurched about beneat h t hem and t he migrant labourer who
had boar ded at Qat ar clut ched at his giant t r ansist or radio and began t o r et ch. Chamcha
not iced t hat t he man had not fast ened his belt , and pulled himself t oget her, br inging his voice
back t o it s haught iest English pit ch. "Look here, why don' t you. . . " he indicat ed, but t he sick
man, bet ween burst s of heaving int o t he paper bag which Saladin had handed him j ust in t ime,
shook his head, shr ugged, r eplied: "Sahib, f or what ? I f Allah wishes me t o die, I shall die. I f he
does not , I shall not . Then of what use is t he saf et y?"
Damn you, I ndia, Saladin Chamcha cur sed silent ly, sinking back int o his seat . To hell wit h
you, I escaped your clut ches long ago, you won' t get your hooks int o me again, you cannot
dr ag me back.
Once upon a t ime - - _it was and it was not so_, as t he old st ories used t o say, _it
happened and it never did_ - - maybe, t hen, or maybe not , a t en- year- old boy f rom Scandal
Point in Bombay f ound a wallet lying in t he St reet out side his home. He was on t he way home
from school, having j ust descended fr om t he school bus on which he had been obliged t o sit
squashed bet ween t he adhesive sweat iness of boys in shor t s and be deafened by t heir noise,
and because even in t hose days he was a person who r ecoiled fr om raucousness, j ost ling and
t he perspir at ion of st rangers he was feeling faint ly nauseat ed by t he long, bumpy r ide home.
However, when he saw t he black leat her billfold lying at his f eet , t he nausea vanished, and he
bent down excit edly and grabbed, - - opened, - - and found, t o his delight , t hat it was full of
cash, - - and not mer ely rupees, but r eal money, negot iable on black market s and int er nat ional
exchanges, - - pounds! Pounds st er ling, fr om Proper London in t he fabled count r y of Vilayet
acr oss t he black wat er and f ar away. Dazzled by t he t hick wad of foreign cur rency, t he boy
raised his eyes t o make sur e he had not been observed, and for a moment it seemed t o him
t hat a rainbow had ar ched down t o him fr om t he heavens, a r ainbow like an angel' s breat h, like
an answered pr ayer, coming t o an end in t he very spot on which he st ood. His finger s t r embled
as t hey r eached int o t he wallet , t owar ds t he fabulous hoar d.
"Give it . " I t seemed t o him in lat er life t hat his f at her had been spying on him t hroughout
his childhood, and even t hough Changez Chamchawala was a big man, a giant even, t o say
not hing of his wealt h and public st anding, he st ill always had t he light ness of foot and also t he
inclinat ion t o sneak up behind his son and spoil what ever he was doing, whipping t he young
Salahuddin' s bedsheet of f at night t o reveal t he shamef ul penis in t he clut ching, r ed hand. And
he could smell money fr om a hundr ed and one miles away, even t hrough t he st ink of chemicals
and fer t ilizer t hat always hung ar ound him owing t o his being t he count r y' s lar gest
manufact ur er of agricult ural spr ays and fluids and ar t ificial dung. Changez Chamchawala,
philant hr opist , philander er , living legend, leading light of t he nat ionalist movement , sprang
from t he gat eway of his home t o pluck a bulging wallet fr om his son' s fr ust rat ed hand. " Tch
t ch, " he admonished, pocket ing t he pounds st er ling, "you should not pick t hings up fr om t he
st reet . The gr ound is dir t y, and money is dirt ier, anyway. "
On a shelf of Changez Chamchawala' s t eak- lined st udy, beside a t en- volume set of t he
Richard Bur t on t r anslat ion of t he Arabian Night s, which was being slowly devoured by mildew
and bookworm owing t o t he deep- seat ed pr ej udice against books which led Changez t o own
t housands of t he pernicious t hings in or der t o humiliat e t hem by leaving t hem t o rot unr ead,
t here st ood a magic lamp, a bright ly polished copper - - and- - br ass avat ar of Aladdin' s ver y own
genie- cont ainer : a lamp begging t o be rubbed. But Changez neit her rubbed it nor permit t ed it
t o be r ubbed by, for example, his son. "One day, " he assured t he boy, "you' ll have it for
your self. Then r ub and rub as much as you like and see what doesn' t come t o you. Just now,
but , it is mine. " The pr omise of t he magic lamp inf ect ed Mast er Salahuddin wit h t he not ion t hat
one day his t roubles would end and his inner most desir es would be gr at ified, and all he had t o
do was wait it out ; but t hen t her e was t he incident of t he wallet , when t he magic of a r ainbow
had wor ked for him, not for his fat her but for him, and Changez Chamchawala had st olen t he
crock of gold. Af t er t hat t he son became convinced t hat his fat her would smot her all his hopes
unless he got away, and f rom t hat moment he became desperat e t o leave, t o escape, t o place
oceans bet ween t he gr eat man and himself .
Salahuddin Chamchawala had underst ood by his t hir t eent h year t hat he was dest ined f or
t hat cool Vilayet full of t he cr isp pr omises of pounds st er ling at which t he magic billfold had
hint ed, and he grew incr easingly impat ient of t hat Bombay of dust , vulgar it y, policemen in
shor t s, t ransvest it es, movie fanzines, pavement sleepers and t he rumour ed singing whor es of
Gr ant Road who had begun as devot ees of t he Yellamma cult in Karnat aka but ended up her e
as dancer s in t he more pr osaic t emples of t he flesh. He was fed up of t ext ile fact ories and local
t r ains and all t he confusion and super abundance of t he place, and longed for t hat dr eam-
Vilayet of poise and moderat ion t hat had come t o obsess him by night and day. His favour it e
playground r hymes wer e t hose t hat year ned for f or eign cit ies: kit chy- - con kit chy- ki kit chycon
st ant y- eye kit chy- ople kit chy- cople kit chyCon- st ant i - nople. And his favour it e game was t he
ver sion ofgrandmot her ' s foot st eps in which, when he was it , he would t urn his back on
upcreeping playmat es t o gabble out , like a mant r a, like a spell, t he six let t ers of his dr eam- -
cit y, _ellowen deeowen_. I n his secret hear t , he crept silent ly up on London, let t er by let t er ,
j ust as his friends crept up t o him. _Ellowen deeowen London_.
The mut at ion of Salahuddin Chamchawala int o Saladin Chamcha began, it will be seen, in
old Bombay, long before he got close enough t o hear t he lions of Tr afalgar r oar . When t he
England cr icket t eam played I ndia at t he Br abour ne St adium, he pr ayed for an England vict or y,
for t he game' s cr eat ors t o def eat t he local upst ar t s, for t he proper or der of t hings t o be
maint ained. ( But t he games were invar iably dr awn, owing t o t he f eat herbed somnolence of t he
Brabour ne St adium wicket ; t he great issue, cr eat or versus imit at or , colonizer against
colonized, had per force t o r emain unr esolved. )
I n his t hir t eent h year he was old enough t o play on t he r ocks at Scandal Point wit hout
having t o be wat ched over by his ayah, Kast ur ba. And one day ( it was so, it was not so) , he
st rolled out of t he house, t hat ample, cr umbling, salt - caked building in t he Par si st yle, all
columns and shut t er s and lit t le balconies, and t hr ough t he garden t hat was his fat her' s pr ide
and j oy and which in a cer t ain evening light could give t he impression of being inf init e ( and
which was also enigmat ic, an unsolved riddle, because nobody, not his fat her, not t he
gar dener , could t ell him t he names of most of t he plant s and t rees) , and out t hr ough t he main
gat eway, a grandiose folly, a reproduct ion of t he Roman t riumphal arch of Sept imius Sever us,
and acr oss t he wild insanit y of t he st r eet , and over t he sea wall, and so at last on t o t he broad
expanse of shiny black r ocks wit h t heir lit t le shr impy pools. Chr ist ian girls giggled in f rocks,
men wit h f ur led umbr ellas st ood silent and fixed upon t he blue horizon. I n a hollow of black
st one Salahuddin saw a man in a dhot i bending over a pool. Their eyes met , and t he man
beckoned him wit h a single f inger which he t hen laid acr oss his lips. _Shh_, and t he myst ery of
rock- pools dr ew t he boy t owar ds t he st r anger . He was a creat ure of bone. Spect acles f ramed in
what might have been ivory. His f inger curling, curling, like a bait ed hook, come. When
Salahuddin came down t he ot her gr asped him, put a hand ar ound his mout h and forced his
young hand bet ween old and fleshless legs, t o feel t he fleshbone t her e. The dhot i open t o t he
winds. Salahuddin had never known how t o f ight ; he did what he was forced t o do, and t hen
t he ot her simply t ur ned away f rom him and let him go.
Af t er t hat Salahuddin never went t o t he r ocks at Scandal Point ; nor did he t ell anyone what
had happened, knowing t he neur ast henic cr ises it would unleash in his mot her and suspect ing
t hat his fat her would say it was his own fault . I t seemed t o him t hat everyt hing loat hsome,
ever yt hing he had come t o revile about his home t own, had come t oget her in t he st r anger ' s
bony embr ace, and now t hat he had escaped t hat evil skelet on he must also escape Bombay,
or die. He began t o concent r at e fiercely upon t his idea, t o fix his will upon it at all t imes, eat ing
shit t ing sleeping, convincing himself t hat he could make t he mir acle happen even wit hout his
fat her ' s lamp t o help him out . He dreamed of flying out of his bedroom window t o discover t hat
t here, below him, was - - not Bombay - - but Proper London it self , Bigben Nelsonscolumn
Lor dst aver n Bloodyt ower Queen. But as he float ed out over t he great met ropolis he felt himself
beginning t o lose height , and no mat t er how hard he st ruggled kicked swam- in- air he
cont inued t o spir al slowly downwar ds t o ear t h, t hen fast er , t hen fast er st ill, unt il he was
scr eaming headfir st down t owards t he cit y, Saint pauls, Puddinglane, Thr eadneedlest r eet ,
zer oing in on London like a bomb.
o o o
When t he impossible happened, and his f at her , out of t he blue, offer ed him an English
educat ion, _t o get me out of t he way_, he t hought , _ot her wise why, it ' s obvious, but don' t look
a gift hor se andsofor t h_, his mot her Nasreen Chamchawala r efused t o cr y, and volunt eer ed,
inst ead, t he benefit of her advice. "Don' t go dirt y like t hose English, " she war ned him. "They
wipe t heir bee t ee ems wit h paper only. Also, t hey get int o each ot her ' s dir t y bat hwat er. " These
vile slander s pr oved t o Salahuddin t hat his mot her was doing her damnedest t o prevent him
from leaving, and in spit e of t heir mut ual love he replied, "I t is inconceivable, Ammi, what you
say. England is a gr eat civilizat ion, what are you t alking, bunk. "
She smiled her lit t le ner vy smile and did not argue. And, lat er, st ood dry- eyed beneat h t he
t r iumphal arch of a gat eway and would not go t o Sant acr uz airport t o see him off. Her only
child. She heaped garlands around his neck unt il he grew dizzy wit h t he cloying per fumes of
mot her - love.
Nasr een Chamchawala was t he slight est , most fr agile of women, her bones like t inkas, like
minut e slivers of wood. To make up for her physical insignif icance she t ook at an early age
t o dr essing wit h a cert ain out r ageous, excessive verve. Her sari - - pat t er ns wer e dazzling, even
gar ish: lemon silk adorned wit h huge br ocade diamonds, dizzy black- and- whit e Op Ar t swir ls,
gigant ic lipst ick kisses on a bright whit e ground. People forgave her her lurid t ast e because she
wor e t he blinding garment s wit h such innocence; because t he voice emanat ing fr om t hat t ext ile
cacophony was so t iny and hesit ant and pr oper . And because of her soirees.
Each Friday of her mar ried life, Nasr een would fill t he halls of t he Chamchawala residence,
t hose usually t enebr ous chambers like gr eat hollow bur ial vault s, wit h bright light and brit t le
friends. When Salahuddin was a lit t le boy he had insist ed on playing door man, and would greet
t he j ewelled and lacquered guest s wit h gr eat gravit y, permit t ing t hem t o pat him on t he head
and call him _cut eso_ and _chweet ie- pie_. On Fr idays t he house was full of noise; t here wer e
musicians, singer s, dancers, t he lat est West er n hit s as hear d on Radio Ceylon, r aucous puppet -
shows in which paint ed clay raj ahs rode puppet - st allions, decapit at ing enemy mar ionet t es wit h
impr ecat ions and wooden swor ds. During t he rest of t he week, however, Nasreen would st alk
t he house warily, a pigeon of a woman walking on t ipt oed feet t hr ough t he gloom, as if she
wer e afr aid t o dist urb t he shadowed silence; and her son, walking in her foot st eps, also learned
t o light en his foot fall lest he r ouse what ever goblin or af reet might be lying in wait .
But : Nasr een Chamchawala' s caut ion f ailed t o save her life. The horr or seized and
mur der ed her when she believed herself most saf e, clad in a sar i cover ed in cheap newspaper
phot os and headlines, bat hed in chandelier - light , surr ounded by her f riends.
o o o
By t hen five and a half years had passed since young Salahuddin, gar landed and warned,
boar ded a Douglas D C- 8 and j ourneyed int o t he west . Ahead of him, England; beside him, his
fat her , Changez Chamchawala; below him, home and beaut y. Like Nasr een, t he fut ure Saladin
had never found it easy t o cr y.
On t hat fir st aer oplane he r ead science f ict ion t ales of int erplanet ary migrat ion: Asimov' s
_Foundat ion_, Ray Bradbur y' s _Mar t ian Chronicles_. He imagined t he DC- - 8 was t he mot her
ship, bearing t he Chosen, t he Elect of God and man, across unt hinkable dist ances, t ravelling for
gener at ions, br eeding eugenically, t hat t heir seed might one day t ake r oot somewher e in a
br ave new wor ld beneat h a yellow sun. He cor rect ed himself: not t he mot her but t he fat her
ship, because t here he was, aft er all, t he great man, Abbu, Dad. Thirt eenyear- - old
Salahuddin, set t ing aside r ecent doubt s and grievances, ent er ed once again his childish
ador at ion of his fat her , because he had, had, had worshipped him, he was a gr eat fat her unt il
you st art ed gr owing a mind of your own, and t hen t o ar gue wit h him was called a bet rayal of
his love, but never mind t hat now, _I accuse him of becoming my supreme being, so t hat what
happened was like a loss of fait h_ . . . yes, t he f at her ship, an air cr aft was not a flying womb
but a met al phallus, and t he passenger s wer e spermat ozoa wait ing t o be spilt .
Five and a half hour s of t ime zones; t ur n your wat ch upside down in Bombay and you see
t he t ime in London. _My fat her_, Chamcha would t hink, year s lat er , in t he midst of his
bit t erness. _I accuse him of inver t ing Time_.
How f ar did t hey f ly? Five and a half t housand as t he cr ow. Or : fr om I ndianness t o
Englishness, an immeasurable dist ance. Or , not very far at all, because t hey r ose from one
gr eat cit y, fell t o anot her . The dist ance bet ween cit ies is always small; a villager, t ravelling a
hundred miles t o t own, t raver ses empt ier, dar ker, mor e t err ifying space.
What Changez Chamchawala did when t he aer oplane t ook off : t rying not t o let his son see
him doing it , he cr ossed t wo pair s of f inger s on each hand, and r ot at ed bot h his t humbs.
And when t hey were inst alled in a hot el wit hin a f ew feet of t he ancient locat ion of t he
Tyburn t r ee, Changez said t o his son: "Take. This belongs t o you. " And held out , at arm' s
lengt h, a black billfold about whose ident it y t here could be no mist ake. "You are a man now.
Take. "
The ret ur n of t he conf iscat ed wallet , complet e wit h all it s curr ency, pr oved t o be one of
Changez Chamchawala' s lit t le t raps. Salahuddin had been deceived by t hese all his life.
Whenever his fat her want ed t o punish him, he would offer him a pr esent , a bar of import ed
chocolat e or a t in of Kr aft cheese, and would t hen grab him when he came t o get it . "Donkey, "
Changez scor ned his inf ant son. "Always, always, t he carr ot leads you t o my st ick. "
Salahuddin in London t ook t he pr off er ed wallet , accept ing t he gift of manhood; whereupon
his fat her said: "Now t hat you ar e a man, it is f or you t o look af t er your old f at her while we are
in London t own. You pay all t he bills. "
Januar y, 1961. A year you could t urn upside down and it would st ill, unlike your wat ch, t ell
t he same t ime. I t was wint er ; but when Salahuddin Chamchawala began t o shiver in his hot el
room, it was because he was scared halfway out of his wit s; his cr ock of gold had t ur ned,
suddenly, int o a sor cer er ' s cur se.
Those t wo weeks in London before he went t o his boar ding school t ur ned int o a night mar e
of cash- - t ills and calculat ions, because Changez had meant exact ly what he said and never put
his hand int o his own pocket once. Salahuddin had t o buy his own clot hes, such as a double-
br east ed blue ser ge mackint osh and seven blue- and- whit e st r iped Van Heusen shir t s wit h
det achable semi - - st iff collar s which Changez made him wear every day, t o get used t o t he
st uds, and Salahuddin felt as if a blunt knife were being pushed in j ust beneat h his newly
br oken Adam"s- apple; and he had t o make sur e t here would be enough for t he hot el room, and
ever yt hing, so t hat he was t oo ner vous t o ask his f at her if t hey could go t o a movie, not even
one, not even _The Pur e Hell of St Trinians_, or t o eat out , not a single Chinese meal, and in
lat er years he would r emember not hing of his f ir st for t night in his beloved Ellowen Deeowen
except pounds shillings pence, like t he disciple of t he philosopher - - king Chanakya who asked
t he gr eat man what he meant by saying one could live in t he world and also not live in it , and
who was t old t o car ry a br im- full pit cher of wat er t hr ough a holiday crowd wit hout spilling a
dr op, on pain of deat h, so t hat when he r et urned he was unable t o descr ibe t he day' s
fest ivit ies, having been like a blind man, seeing only t he j ug on his head.
Changez Chamchawala became very st ill in t hose days, seeming not t o car e if he at e or
dr ank or did any damn t hing, he was happy sit t ing in t he hot el r oom wat ching t elevision,
especially when t he Flint st ones wer e on, because, he t old his son, t hat Wilma bibi reminded
him of Nasreen. Salahuddin t ried t o prove he was a man by fast ing right along wit h his fat her ,
t r ying t o out last him, but he never managed it , and when t he pangs got t oo st r ong he went out
of t he hot el t o t he cheap j oint near by where you could buy t akeaway r oast chickens t hat hung
gr easily in t he window, t urning slowly on t heir spit s. When he brought t he chicken int o t he
hot el lobby he became embar rassed, not want ing t he st af f t o see, so he st uf fed it inside
doublebr east ed serge and went up in t he lift reeking of spit - - roast , his mackint osh bulging, his
face t urning r ed. Chicken- br east ed beneat h t he gaze of dowagers and lift wallahs he felt t he
bir t h of t hat implacable rage which would bur n wit hin him, undiminished, for over a quar t er of
a cent ur y; which would boil away his childhood fat her - wor ship and make him a secular man,
who would do his best , t hereaft er, t o live wit hout a god of any t ype; which would fuel, per haps,
his det er minat ion t o become t he t hing his f at her was- not - could- never- be, t hat is, a
goodandpr oper Englishman. Yes, an English, even if his mot her had been r ight all along, even if
t here was only paper in t he t oilet s and t epid, used wat er full of mud and soap t o st ep int o aft er
t aking exer cise, even if it meant a lifet ime spent amongst wint er - - naked t r ees whose finger s
clut ched despair ingly at t he few, pale hour s of wat ery, filt ered light . On wint er night s he, who
had never slept beneat h mor e t han a sheet , lay beneat h mount ains of wool and felt like a
figur e in an ancient myt h, condemned by t he gods t o have a boulder pr essing down upon
his chest ; but never mind, he would be English, even if his classmat es giggled at his voice and
excluded him f rom t heir secret s, because t hese exclusions only increased his det erminat ion,
and t hat was when he began t o act , t o find masks t hat t hese fellows would recognize, paleface
masks, clown- masks, unt il he fooled t hem int o t hinking he was _okay_, he was _people- like-
us_. He fooled t hem t he way a sensit ive human being can persuade gor illas t o accept him int o
t heir f amily, t o f ondle and car ess and st uff bananas in his mout h.
( Af t er he had set t led up t he last bill, and t he wallet he had once f ound at a r ainbow' s end
was empt y, his f at her said t o him: "See now. You pay your way. I ' ve made a man of you. " But
what man? That ' s what fat her s never know. Not in advance; not unt il it ' s t oo lat e. )
One day soon aft er he st art ed at t he school he came down t o br eakfast t o find a kipper on
his plat e. He sat t her e st ar ing at it , not knowing where t o begin. Then he cut int o it , and got a
mout hf ul of t iny bones. And aft er ext r act ing t hem all, anot her mout hful, more bones. His
fellow- pupils wat ched him suff er in silence; not one of t hem said, here, let me show you, you
eat it in t his way. I t t ook him ninet y minut es t o eat t he fish and he was not per mit t ed t o r ise
from t he t able unt il it was done. By t hat t ime he was shaking, and if he had been able t o cry he
would have done so. Then t he t hought occur red t o him t hat he had been t aught an import ant
lesson. England was a peculiar - t ast ing smoked fish f ull of spikes and bones, and nobody would
ever t ell him how t o eat it . He discover ed t hat he was a bloody- minded person. "I ' ll show t hem
all, " he swor e. "You see if I don' t . " The eat en kipper was his first vict or y, t he fir st st ep in his
conquest of England.
William t he Conquer or , it is said, began by eat ing a mout hful of English sand.
o o o
Five years lat er he was back home af t er leaving school, wait ing unt il t he English universit y
t er m began, and his t r ansmut at ion int o a Vilayet i was well advanced. "See how well he
complains, " Nasr een t eased him in fr ont of his fat her . "About everyt hing he has such big- big
crit icisms, t he fans ar e fixed t oo. loosely t o t he roof and will f all t o slice our heads off in our
sleep, he says, and t he food is t oo f at t ening, why we don' t cook some t hings wit hout fr ying, he
want s t o know, t he t op- floor balconies are unsafe and t he paint is peeled, why can' t we t ake
pr ide in our sur roundings, isn' t it , and t he gar den is overgr own, we ar e j ust j unglee people, he
t hinks so, and look how coar se our movies ar e, now he doesn' t enj oy, and so much disease you
can' t even drink wat er f rom t he t ap, my god, he really got an educat ion, husband, our lit t le
Sallu, England- - ret ur ned, and t alking so fine and all. "
They were walking on t he lawn in t he evening, wat ching t he sun dive int o t he sea,
wander ing in t he shade of t hose great spreading t r ees, some snaky some bear ded, which
Salahuddin ( who now called himself Saladin aft er t he fashion of t he English school, but would
remain Chamchawala for a while yet , unt il a t heat rical agent shor t ened his name for
commer cial r easons) had begun t o be able t o name, j ackfr uit , banyan, j acaranda, flame of t he
for est , plane. Small chhooi- mooi t ouch- me- not plant s gr ew at t he foot of t he t ree of his own
lif e, t he walnut - t r ee t hat Changez had plant ed wit h his own hands on t he day of t he coming of
t he son. Fat her and son at t he bir t h- t r ee wer e bot h awkwar d, unable t o r espond pr oper ly t o
Nasr een' s gent le fun. Saladin had been seized by t he melancholy not ion t hat t he gar den had
been a bet t er place before he knew it s names, t hat somet hing had been lost which he would
never be able t o r egain. And Changez Chamchawala found t hat he could no longer look his son
in t he eye, because t he bit t er ness he saw came close t o f reezing his hear t . When he spoke,
t ur ning r oughly away f rom t he eight eenyear - old walnut in which, at t imes during t heir long
separat ions, he had imagined his only son' s soul t o r eside, t he wor ds came out incor rect ly and
made him sound like t he rigid, cold figure he had hoped he would never become, and f eared he
could not avoid.
"Tell your son, " Changez boomed at Nasr een, "t hat if he went abroad t o lear n cont empt f or
his own kind, t hen his own kind can f eel not hing but scor n for him. What is he? A faunt ler oy, a
gr and panj andr um? I s t his my fat e: t o lose a son and find a f reak?"
"What ever I am, f at her dear, " Saladin t old t he older man, " I owe it all t o you. "
I t was t heir last f amily chat . All t hat summer f eelings cont inued t o run high, for all
Nasr een' s at t empt s at mediat ion, _you must apologize t o your fat her , dar ling, poor man is
suffering like t he devil but his pr ide won' t let him hug you_. Even t he ayah Kast urba and t he
old bearer Vallabh, her husband, at t empt ed t o mediat e but neit her fat her nor son would bend.
"Same mat er ial is t he pr oblem, " Kast urba t old Nasreen. "Daddy and sonny, same mat erial,
same t o same. "
When t he war wit h Pakist an began t hat Sept ember Nasreen decided, wit h a kind of
defiance, t hat she would not cancel her Fr iday par t ies, "t o show t hat Hindus- - Muslims can love
as well as hat e, " she point ed out . Changez saw a look in her eyes and did not at t empt t o
argue, but set t he servant s t o put t ing blackout cur t ains over all t he windows inst ead. That
night , f or t he last t ime, Saladin Chamchawala played his old role of door man, dr essed up in an
English dinner - j acket , and when t he guest s came - - t he same old guest s, dust ed wit h t he gr ey
powders of age but ot herwise t he same - - t hey best owed upon him t he same old pat s and
kisses, t he nost algic benedict ions of his yout h. " Look how gr own, " t hey wer e saying. "Just a
dar ling, what t o say. " They wer e all t r ying t o hide t heir f ear of t he war , _danger of air - raids_,
t he r adio said, and when t hey ruff led Saladin' s hair t heir hands were a lit t le t oo shaky, or
alt er nat ively a lit t le t oo rough.
Lat e t hat evening t he sirens sang and t he guest s ran f or cover , hiding under beds, in
cupboar ds, anywher e. Nasr een Chamchawala found herself alone by a food- laden t able, and
at t empt ed t o r eassur e t he company by st anding t her e in her newspr int sari, munching a piece
of fish as if not hing wer e t he mat t er. So it was t hat when she st art ed choking on t he fishbone
of her deat h t here was nobody t o help her , t hey wer e all cr ouching in cor ner s wit h t heir eyes
shut ; even Saladin, conquer or of kipper s, Saladin of t he England- ret ur ned upper lip, had lost
his ner ve. Nasr een Chamchawala fell, t wit ched, gasped, died, and when t he all - - clear sounded
t he guest s emerged sheepishly t o find t heir host ess ext inct in t he middle of t he dining- room,
st olen away by t he ext er minat ing angel, khali - - pili khalaas, as Bombay- - t alk has it , finished of f
for no reason, gone for good.
o o o
Less t han a year aft er t he deat h of Nasr een Chamchawala f rom her inabilit y t o t riumph
over fishbones in t he manner of her foreign- educat ed son, Changez mar ried again wit hout a
wor d of warning t o anyone. Saladin in his English college r eceived a let t er fr om his fat her
commanding him, in t he irr it at ingly or ot und and obsolescent phr aseology t hat Changez always
used in cor r espondence, t o be happy. "Rej oice, " t he let t er said, " for what is lost is reborn. " The
explanat ion for t his somewhat crypt ic sent ence came lower down in t he aer ogr amme, and
when Saladin learned t hat his new st epmot her was also called Nasreen, somet hing went wr ong
in his head, and he wrot e his fat her a let t er full of cr uelt y and anger , whose violence was of t he
t ype t hat exist s only bet ween fat hers and sons, and which diff er s f rom t hat bet ween daught er s
and mot her s in t hat t here lurks behind it t he possibilit y of act ual, j aw- - br eaking fist icuf fs.
Changez wr ot e back by ret ur n of post ; a br ief let t er , f our lines of archaic abuse, cad r ot t er
bounder scoundrel varlet whor eson rogue. "Kindly consider all f amily connect ions ir r epar ably
sunder ed, " it concluded. "Consequences your r esponsibilit y. "
Af t er a year of silence, Saladin received a f urt her communicat ion, a let t er of for giveness
t hat was in all par t iculars harder t o t ake t han t he earlier, excommunicat or y t hunder bolt . "When
you become a f at her , O my son, " Changez Chamchawala conf ided, "t hen shall you know t hose
moment s - - ah! Too sweet ! - - when, for love, one dandies t he bonny babe upon one' s
knee; whereupon, wit hout warning or pr ovocat ion, t he blessed creat ure - - may I be fr ank? - - it
_wet s_ one. Per haps f or a moment one feels t he gor ge rising, a t ide of anger swells wit hin t he
blood - - but t hen it dies away, as quickly as it came. For do we not , as adult s, under st and t hat
t he lit t le one is not t o blame? He knows not what he does. "
Deeply off ended at being compared t o a urinat ing baby, Saladin maint ained what he hoped
was a dignif ied silence. By t he t ime of his gr aduat ion he had acquired a Brit ish passport ,
because he had ar r ived in t he count r y j ust bef or e t he laws t ight ened up, so he was able t o
infor m Changez in a brief not e t hat he int ended t o set t le down in London and look f or wor k as
an act or. Changez Chamchawala' s reply came by expr ess mail. " Might as well be a conf ounded
gigolo. I t ' s my belief some devil has got int o you and t ur ned your wit s. You who have been
given so much: do you not feel you owe anyt hing t o anyone? To your count ry? To t he memor y
of your dear mot her? To your own mind? Will you spend your lif e j iggling and preening under
br ight light s, kissing blonde women under t he gaze of st r anger s who have paid t o wat ch your
shame? You ar e no son of mine, but a _ghoul_, a _hoosh_, a demon up fr om hell. An act or !
Answer me t his: what am I t o t ell my f riends?"
And beneat h a signat ur e, t he pat het ic, pet ulant post scr ipt . " Now t hat you have your own
bad dj inni, do not t hink you will inher it t he magic lamp. "
o o o
Af t er t hat , Changez Chamchawala wrot e t o his son at irr egular int er vals, and in every let t er
he r et ur ned t o t he t heme of demons and possession: "A man unt rue t o himself becomes a t wo-
legged lie, and such beast s ar e Shait an' s best wor k, " he wrot e, and also, in mor e sent iment al
vein: " I have your soul kept safe, my son, her e in t his walnut - t r ee. The devil has only your
body. When you are f ree of him, r et ur n and claim your immor t al spir it . I t f lourishes in t he
gar den. "
The handwr it ing in t hese let t ers alt ered over t he year s, changing f rom t he flor id confidence
t hat had made it inst ant ly ident if iable and becoming narr ower , undecorat ed, purif ied.
Event ually t he let t er s st opped, but Saladin heard from ot her sources t hat his f at her' s
pr eoccupat ion wit h t he super nat ur al had cont inued t o deepen, unt il f inally he had become a
recluse, per haps in order t o escape t his world in which demons could st eal his own son' s body,
a world unsaf e for a man of t rue r eligious fait h.
His fat her ' s t ransformat ion disconcert ed Saladin, even at such a great dist ance. His par ent s
had been Muslims in t he lackadaisical, light manner of Bombayit es; Changez Chamchawala had
seemed f ar mor e godlike t o his infant son t han any Allah. That t his fat her , t his profane deit y
( albeit now discr edit ed) , had dr opped t o his knees in his old age and st art ed bowing t owar ds
Mecca was har d f or his godless son t o accept .
"I blame t hat wit ch, " he t old himself, falling for r het orical purposes int o t he same language
of spells and goblins t hat his fat her had commenced t o employ. "That Nasreen Two. I s it I who
have been t he subj ect of devilment , am I t he one possessed? I t ' s not my handwrit ing t hat
changed. "
The let t er s didn' t come any more. Years passed; and t hen Saladin Chamcha, act or, self-
made man, r et urned t o Bombay wit h t he Prosper o Players, t o int er pret t he role of t he I ndian
doct or in _The Millionairess_ by Geor ge Bernar d Shaw. On st age, he t ailored his voice t o t he
requir ement s of t he par t , but t hose long- suppressed locut ions, t hose discarded vowels and
consonant s, began t o leak out of his mout h out of t he t heat re as well. His voice was bet r aying
him; and he discover ed his component par t s t o be capable of ot her t reasons, t oo.
o o o
A man who set s out t o make himself up is t aking on t he Cr eat or ' s role, accor ding t o one
way of seeing t hings; he' s unnat ur al, a blasphemer , an abominat ion of abominat ions. From
anot her angle, you could see pat hos in him, her oism in his st ruggle, in his willingness t o risk:
not all mut ant s sur vive. Or , consider him sociopolit ically: most migrant s lear n, and can become
disguises. Our own f alse descript ions t o count er t he falsehoods invent ed about us, concealing
for r easons of secur it y our secr et selves.
A man who I nvent s himself needs someone t o believe in him, t o prove he' s managed it .
Playing God again, you could say. Or you could come down a f ew not ches, and t hink of
Tinker bell; fairies don' t exist if childr en don' t clap t heir hands. Or you might simply say: it ' s
j ust like being a man.
Not only t he need t o be believed in, but t o believe in anot her. You' ve got it : Love.
Saladin Chamcha met Pamela Lovelace f ive and a half days befor e t he end of t he 1960s,
when women st ill wore bandannas in t heir hair. She st ood at t he cent re of a room full of
Trot skyist act resses and f ixed him wit h eyes so br ight , so br ight . He monopolized her all
evening and she never st opped smiling and she left wit h anot her man. He went home t o dr eam
of her eyes and smile, t he slenderness of her , her skin. He pur sued her for t wo years. England
yields her t r easur es wit h r eluct ance. He was ast onished by his own persever ance, and
underst ood t hat she had become t he cust odian of his dest iny, t hat if she did not relent t hen his
ent ire at t empt at met amor phosis would fail. " Let me, " he begged her , wr est ling polit ely on her
whit e r ug t hat left him, at his midnight bus st ops, covered in guilt y fluff . " Believe me. I ' m t he
one. "
One night , _out of t he blue_, she let him, she said she believed. He marr ied her bef or e she
could change her mind, but never lear ned t o r ead her t hought s. When she was unhappy she
would lock her self in t he bedr oom unt il she felt bet t er. "I t ' s none of your business, " she t old
him. "I don' t want anybody t o see me when I ' m like t hat . " He used t o call her a clam. "Open
up, " he hammer ed on all t he locked door s of t heir lives t oget her , basement f irst , t hen
maisonet t e, t hen mansion. " I love you, let me in. " He needed her so badly, t o reassure himself
of his own exist ence, t hat he never comprehended t he desper at ion in her dazzling, permanent
smile, t he t er ror in t he br ight ness wit h which she faced t he wor ld, or t he r easons why she hid
when she couldn' t manage t o beam. Only when it was t oo lat e did she t ell him t hat her par ent s
had commit t ed suicide t oget her when she had j ust begun t o menst r uat e, over t heir heads in
gambling debt s, leaving her wit h t he ar ist ocr at ic bellow of a voice t hat mar ked her out as a
golden gir l, a woman t o envy, whereas in fact she was abandoned, lost , her parent s couldn' t
even be bot hered t o wait and wat ch her gr ow up, t hat ' s how much _she_ was loved, so of
cour se she had no confidence at all, and every moment she spent in t he world was f ull of panic,
so she smiled and smiled and maybe once a week she locked t he door and shook and felt like a
husk, like an empt y peanut - shell, a monkey wit hout a nut .
They never managed t o have children; she blamed her self. Af t er t en years Saladin
discovered t hat t her e was somet hing t he mat t er wit h some of his own chr omosomes, t wo st icks
t oo long, or t oo shor t , he couldn' t remember . His genet ic inher it ance; appar ent ly he was lucky
t o exist , lucky not t o be some sor t of defor med fr eak. Was it his mot her or his fat her fr om
whom? The doct or s couldn' t say; he blamed, it ' s easy t o guess which one, aft er all, it wouldn' t
do t o t hink badly of t he dead.
They hadn' t been get t ing along lat ely.
He t old himself t hat aft erwar ds, but not during.
Af t er war ds, he t old himself, we were on t he r ocks, maybe it was t he missing babies, maybe
we j ust grew away f rom each ot her , maybe t his, maybe t hat .
Dur ing, he looked away fr om all t he st rain, all t he scr at chiness, all t he f ight s t hat never got
going, he closed his eyes and wait ed unt il her smile came back. He allowed himself t o believe
in t hat smile, t hat br illiant count erfeit of j oy.
He t ried t o invent a happy fut ure f or t hem, t o make it come t r ue by making it up and t hen
believing in it . On his way t o I ndia he was t hinking how lucky he was t o have her , I ' m lucky yes
I am don' t ar gue I ' m t he luckiest bast ard in t he world. And: how wonder ful it was t o have
befor e him t he st r et ching, shady avenue of year s, t he pr ospect of gr owing old in t he pr esence
of her gent leness.
He had worked so hard and come so close t o convincing himself of t he t rut h of t hese palt r y
fict ions t hat when he went t o bed wit h Zeeny Vakil wit hin for t y- eight hours of ar r iving in
Bombay, t he fir st t hing he did, even before t hey made love, was t o faint , t o pass out cold,
because t he messages r eaching his brain wer e in such ser ious disagr eement wit h one anot her ,
as if his r ight eye saw t he world moving t o t he left while his left eye saw it sliding t o t he right .
o o o
Zeeny was t he fir st I ndian woman he had ever made love t o. She barged int o his dressing-
room aft er t he fir st night of _The Millionairess_, wit h her operat ic ar ms and her gravel voice, as
if it hadn' t been year s. _Years_. "Yaar , what a disappoint ment , I swear, I sat t hrough t he whole
t hing j ust t o hear you singing "Goodness Gracious Me" like Pet er Sellers or what , I t hought ,
let ' s find out if t he guy learned t o hit a not e, you remember when you did Elvis imper sonat ions
wit h your squash racket , dar ling, t oo hilarious, complet ely cr acked. But what is t his? Song is
not in drama. The hell. List en, can you escape from all t hese palefaces and come out wit h us
wogs? Maybe you forgot what t hat is like. "
He r emembered her as a st ick- figur e of a t eenager in a lopsided Quant hairst yle and an
equal - but - opposit ely lopsided smile. A r ash, bad girl. Once f or t he hell of it she walked int o a
not or ious adda, a dive, on Falkland Road, and sat t here smoking a cigar et t e and dr inking Coke
unt il t he pimps who ran t he j oint t hreat ened t o cut her f ace, no fr eelances per mit t ed. She
st ared t hem down, finished her cigar et t e, left . Fearless. Maybe cr azy. Now in her middle t hir t ies
she was a qualif ied doct or wit h a consult ancy at Br each Candy Hospit al, who worked wit h t he
cit y' s homeless, who had gone t o Bhopal t he moment t he news br oke of t he invisible Amer ican
cloud t hat at e people' s eyes and lungs. She was an ar t cr it ic whose book on t he confining myt h
of aut hent icit y, t hat folklorist ic st r ait j acket which she sought t o replace by an et hic of
hist or ically validat ed eclect icism, f or was not t he ent ir e nat ional cult ure based on t he pr inciple
of bor rowing what ever clot hes seemed t o fit , Ar yan, Mughal, Brit ish, t ake- - t he- best - and- -
leave- t he- rest ? - - had cr eat ed a predict able st ink, especially because of it s t it le. She had called
it _The Only Good I ndian_. " Meaning, is a dead, " she t old Chamcha when she gave him a copy.
"Why should t her e be a good, right way of being a wog? That ' s Hindu fundament alism.
Act ually, we' re all bad I ndians. Some wor se t han ot hers. "
She had come int o t he fullness of her beaut y, long hair left loose, and she was no st ick- -
figur e t hese days. Five hour s af t er she ent er ed his dressing- room t hey wer e in bed, and he
passed out . When he awoke she explained "I slipped you a mickey finn. " He never wor ked out
whet her or not she had been t elling t he t r ut h.
Zeenat Vakil made Saladin her pr oj ect . "The r eclamat ion of, " she explained. "Mist er , we' r e
going t o get you back. " At t imes he t hought she int ended t o achieve t his by eat ing him alive.
She made love like a cannibal and he was her long por k. "Did you know, " he asked her, "of t he
well - est ablished connect ion bet ween veget arianism and t he man- eat ing impulse?" Zeeny,
lunching on his naked t high, shook her head. "I n cer t ain ext r eme cases, " he went on, "t oo
much veget able consumpt ion can release int o t he syst em biochemicals t hat induce cannibal
fant asies. " She looked up and smiled her slant ing smile. Zeeny, t he beaut if ul vampire. "Come
off it , " she said. "We ar e a nat ion of veget ar ians, and ours is a peaceful, myst ical cult ur e,
ever ybody knows. "
He, f or his par t , was requir ed t o handle wit h car e. The fir st t ime he t ouched her br east s she
spout ed hot ast ounding t ear s t he colour and consist ency of buffalo milk. She had wat ched her
mot her die like a bir d being car ved for dinner , first t he left br east t hen t he r ight , and st ill t he
cancer had spr ead. Her fear of r epeat ing her mot her' s deat h placed her chest of f limit s.
Fear less Zeeny' s secr et t er ror . She had never had a child but her eyes wept milk.
Af t er t heir fir st lovemaking she st art ed r ight in on him, t he t ear s f or got t en now. "You know
what you are, I ' ll t ell you. A desert er is what , more English t han, your Angrez accent wrapped
around you like a flag, and don' t t hink it ' s so perf ect , it slips, baba, like a false moust ache. "
"There' s somet hing st r ange going on, " he want ed t o say, "my voice, " but he didn' t know
how t o put it , and held his t ongue.
"People like you, " she snor t ed, kissing his shoulder . " You come back aft er so long and t hink
godknowswhat of your selves. Well, baby, we got a lower opinion of you. " Her smile was
br ight er t han Pamela' s. "I see, " he said t o her, "Zeeny, you didn' t lose your Binaca smile. "
_Binaca_. Wher e had t hat come from, t he long forgot t en t oot hpast e advert isement ? And
t he vowel sounds, dist inct ly unr eliable. Wat ch out , Chamcha, look out for your shadow. That
black f ellow creeping up behind.
On t he second night she ar rived at t he t heat r e wit h t wo fr iends in t ow, a young Mar xist
film- maker called George Mir anda, a shambling whale of a man wit h rolled- up kurt a sleeves, a
flapping waist coat bearing ancient st ains, and a sur prisingly milit ar y moust ache wit h waxed
point s; and Bhupen Gandhi, poet and j our nalist , who had gone pr emat ur ely grey but whose
face was baby- innocent unt il he unleashed his sly, giggling laugh. "Come on, Salad baba, "
Zeeny announced. " We' r e going t o show you t he t own. " She t ur ned t o her companions. "These
_Asians_ f rom for eign got no shame, " she declar ed. "Saladin, like a bloody let t uce, I ask you. "
"There was a TV r eport er her e some days back, " Geor ge Miranda said. " Pink hair. She said
her name was Ker leeda. I couldn' t wor k it out . "
"List en, Geor ge is t oo unworldly, " Zeeny int er rupt ed. "He doesn' t know what fr eaks you
guys t urn int o. That Miss Singh, out rageous. I t old her, t he name' s Khalida, dear ie, r hymes
wit h Dalda, t hat ' s a cooking medium. But she couldn' t say it . Her own name. Take me t o your
ker leader . You t ypes got no cult ure. Just wogs now. Ain' t it t he t rut h?" she added, suddenly
gay and r ound- eyed, afr aid she' d gone t oo far . " St op bullying him, Zeenat , " Bhupen Gandhi
said in his quiet voice. And Geor ge, awkwardly, mumbled: " No offence, man. Joke- shoke. "
Chamcha decided t o gr in and t hen f ight back. "Zeeny, " he said, "t he ear t h is f ull of I ndians,
you know t hat , we get ever ywhere, we become t inkers in Aust r alia and our heads end up in I di
Amin' s f ridge. Columbus was r ight , maybe; t he wor ld' s made up of I ndies, East , West , Nort h.
Damn it , you should be proud of us, our ent erpr ise, t he way we push against f ront iers. Only
t hing is, we' r e not I ndian like you. You bet t er get used t o us. What was t he name of t hat book
you wrot e?"
"List en, " Zeeny put her arm t hr ough his. "List en t o my Salad. Suddenly he want s t o be
I ndian af t er spending his life t rying t o t urn whit e. All is not lost , you see. Somet hing in
t here st ill alive. " And Chamcha felt himself flushing, f elt t he confusion mount ing. I ndia; it
j umbled t hings up.
"For Pet e' s sake, " she added, knifing him wit h a kiss. " _Chamcha_. I mean, fuck it . You
name your self Mist er Toady and you expect us not t o laugh. "
o o o
I n Zeeny' s beat en- - up Hindust an, a car built f or a servant cult ur e, t he back seat bet t er
upholst er ed t han t he fr ont , he f elt t he night closing in on him like a crowd. I ndia, measur ing
him against her forgot t en immensit y, her sheer pr esence, t he old despised disor der . An
Amazonic hij ra got up like an I ndian Wonder Woman, complet e wit h silver t rident , held up t he
t r aff ic wit h one imper ious arm, saunt er ed in front of t hem. Chamcha st ar ed int o her his glar ing
eyes. Gibreel Farisht a, t he movie st ar who had unaccount ably vanished fr om view, rot t ed on
t he hoar dings. Rubble, lit t er , noise. Cigaret t e adver t isement s smoking past : SCI SSORS - - FOR
THE MAN OF ACTI ON, SATI SFACTI ON. And, more impr obably: PANAMA - - PART OF THE GREAT
I NDI AN SCENE.
"Where ar e we going?" The night had acquir ed t he qualit y of gr een neon st rip- - light ing.
Zeeny par ked t he car . " You' r e lost , " she accused him. "What do you know about Bombay? Your
own cit y, only it never was. To you, it ' s a dr eam of childhood. Gr owing up on Scandal Point is
like living on t he moon. No bust ees t here, no sir r ee, only ser vant s' quart ers. Did Shiv Sena
element s come t her e t o make communal t r ouble? Were your neighbours st ar ving in t he t ext ile
st rike? Did Dat t a Samant st age a r ally in f ront of your bungalows? How old were you when you
met a t rade unionist ? How old t he first t ime you got on a local t r ain inst ead of a car wit h
dr iver? That wasn' t Bombay, dar ling, excuse me. That was Wonder land, Perist an, Never Never,
Oz. "
"And you?" Saladin r eminded her . "Where wer e you back t hen?"
"Same place, " she said f ier cely. "Wit h all t he ot her bloody Munchkins. "
Back st r eet s. A Jain t emple was being re- - paint ed and all t he saint s wer e in plast ic bags t o
pr ot ect t hem f rom t he drips. A pavement magazine vendor displayed newspaper s full of hor ror :
a railway disast er . Bhupcn Gandhi began t o speak in his mild whisper . Af t er t he accident , he
said, t he sur viving passengers swam t o t he shor e ( t he t r ain had plunged of f a br idge) and were
met by local villagers, who pushed t hem under t he wat er unt il t hey drowned and t hen loot ed
t heir bodies.
"Shut your face, " Zeeny shout ed at him. "Why are you t elling him such t hings? Alr eady he
t hinks we' r e savages, a lower for m. "
A shop was selling sandalwood t o burn in a nearby Krishna t emple and set s of enamelled
pink- and- whit e Krishna- - eyes t hat saw ever yt hing. "Too damn much t o see, " Bhupen said.
"That is fact of mat t er . "
o o o
I n a cr owded dhaba t hat Geor ge had st ar t ed f requent ing when he was making cont act , for
movie pur poses, wit h t he dadas or bosses who r an t he cit y' s f lesh t r ade, dar k r um was
consumed at aluminium t ables and Geor ge and Bhupen st ar t ed, a lit t le boozily, t o quar rel.
Zeeny dr ank Thums Up Cola and denounced her fr iends t o Chamcha. " Drinking pr oblems, bot h
of t hem, broke as old pot s, t hey bot h mist r eat t heir wives, sit in dives, wast e t heir st inking
lives. No wonder I fell for you, sugar , when t he local product is so low grade you get t o like
goods f rom foreign. "
Geor ge had gone wit h Zeeny t o Bhopal and was becoming noisy on t he subj ect of t he
cat ast r ophe, int er pret ing it ideologically. " What is Amrika for us?" he demanded. "I t ' s not a r eal
place. Power in it s purest f or m, disembodied, invisible. We can' t see it but it scr ews us t ot ally,
no escape. " He compared t he Union Car bide company t o t he Troj an Horse. "We invit ed t he
bast ards in. " I t was like t he st or y of t he for t y t hieves, he said. Hiding in t heir amphor as and
wait ing f or t he night . " We had no Ali Baba, misfort unat ely, " he cr ied. "Who did we have? Mr .
Raj iv G. "
At t his point Bhupen Gandhi st ood up abr upt ly, unst eadily, and began, as t hough
possessed, as t hough a spirit wer e upon him, t o t est ify. "For me, " he said, "t he issue cannot be
for eign int ervent ion. We always for give our selves by blaming out siders, Amer ica, Pakist an, any
damn place. Excuse me, Geor ge, but for me it all goes back t o Assam, we have t o st ar t wit h
t hat . " The massacr e of t he innocent s. Phot ogr aphs of childr en' s cor pses, ar ranged neat ly in
lines like soldiers on parade. They had been clubbed t o deat h, pelt ed wit h st ones, t heir necks
cut in half by knives. Those neat r anks of deat h, Chamcha r emembered. As if only horr or could
st ing I ndia int o orderliness.
Bhupen spoke for t went y- nine minut es wit hout hesit at ions or pauses. " We ar e all guilt y of
Assam, " he said. "Each per son of us. Unless and unt il we face it , t hat t he childr en' s deat hs
wer e our fault , we cannot call our selves a civilized people. " He drank rum quickly as he spoke,
and his voice got louder , and his body began t o lean danger ously, but alt hough t he room fell
silent nobody moved t owar ds him, nobody t ried t o st op him t alking, nobody called him a dr unk.
I n t he middle of a sent ence, _everyday blindings, or shoot ings, or corr upt ions, who do we t hink
we_, he sat down heavily and st ared int o his glass.
Now a young man st ood up in a far cor ner of t he j oint and argued back. Assam had t o be
underst ood polit ically, he cr ied, t her e wer e economic reasons, and yet anot her f ellow came t o
his feet t o r eply, cash mat t ers do not explain why a gr own man clubs a lit t le girl t o deat h, and
t hen anot her f ellow said, if you t hink t hat , you have never been hungr y, salah, how bloody
romant ic t o suppose economics cannot make men int o beast s. Chamcha clut ched at his glass
as t he noise level r ose, and t he air seemed t o t hicken, gold t eet h flashed in his f ace, shoulder s
rubbed against his, elbows nudged, t he air was t urning int o soup, and in his chest t he irr egular
palpit at ions had begun. Geor ge grabbed him by t he wr ist and dr agged him out int o t he st r eet .
"You okay, man? You were t ur ning gr een. " Saladin nodded his t hanks, gasped in lungfuls of t he
night , calmed down. "Rum and exhaust ion, " he said. "I have t he peculiar habit of get t ing my
nerves af t er t he show. Quit e oft en I get wobbly. Should have known. " Zeeny was looking at
him, and t her e was mor e in her eyes t han sympat hy. A glit t ering look, t riumphant , hard.
_Somet hing got t hr ough t o you_, her expr ession gloat ed. _About bloody t ime_.
Af t er you r ecover fr om t yphoid, Chamcha r eflect ed, you remain immune t o t he disease f or
t en year s or so. But not hing is forever; event ually t he ant ibodies vanish f rom your blood. He
had t o accept t he f act t hat his blood no longer cont ained t he immunizing agent s t hat would
have enabled him t o suffer I ndia' s realit y. Rum, hear t palpit at ions, a sickness of t he spirit .
Time for bed.
She wouldn' t t ake him t o her place. Always and only t he hot el, wit h t he gold- medallioned
young Ar abs st rut t ing in t he midnight cor ridors holding bot t les of cont r aband whisky. He lay on
t he bed wit h his shoes on, his collar and t ie loose, his r ight ar m f lung across his eyes; she, in
t he hot el' s whit e bat hr obe, bent over him and kissed his chin. "I ' ll t ell you what happened t o
you t onight , " she said. "You could say we cracked your shell. "
He sat up, angry. "Well, t his is what ' s inside, " he blazed at her . "An I ndian t r anslat ed int o
English- medium. When I at t empt Hindust ani t hese days, people look polit e. This is me. "
Caught in t he aspic of his adopt ed language, he had begun t o hear , in I ndia' s Babel, an
ominous war ning: don' t come back again. When you have st epped t hr ough t he looking- glass
you st ep back at your peril. The mirr or may cut you t o shr eds.
"I was so pr oud of Bhupen t onight , " Zeeny said, get t ing int o bed. "I n how many count ries
could you go int o some bar and st art up a debat e like t hat ? The passion, t he seriousness, t he
respect . You keep your civilizat ion, Toadj i; I like t his one plent y fine. "
"Give up on me, " he begged her . " I don' t like people dropping in t o see me wit hout
warning, I have forgot t en t he rules of seven- - t iles and kabaddi, I can' t r ecit e my pr ayer s, I
don' t know what should happen at a nikah cer emony, and in t his cit y wher e I gr ew up I get lost
if I ' m on my own. This isn' t home. I t makes me giddy because it feels like home and is not . I t
makes my heart t r emble and my head spin. "
"You' re a st upid, " she shout ed at him. "A st upid. Change back! Damn fool! Of cour se you
can. " She was a vort ex, a sir en, t empt ing him back t o his old self. But it was a dead self, a
shadow, a ghost , and he would not become a phant om. There was a ret ur n t icket t o London in
his wallet , and he was going t o use it .
o o o
"You never mar ried, " he said when t hey bot h lay sleepless in t he small hours. Zeeny
snor t ed. "You' ve r eally been gone t oo long. Can' t you see me? I ' m a blackie. " Arching her back
and t hr owing off t he sheet t o show of f her lavishness. When t he bandit queen Phoolan Devi
came out of t he r avines t o sur render and be phot ogr aphed, t he newspaper s at once uncr eat ed
t heir own myt h of her _legendary beaut y_. She became _plain, a common creat ure,
unappet izing_ where she had been _t oot hsome_. Dark skin in nort h I ndia. "I don' t buy it , "
Saladin said. " You don' t expect me t o believe t hat . "
She laughed. "Good, you' r e not a complet e idiot yet . Who needs t o mar r y? I had work t o
do. "
And aft er a pause, she t hrew his quest ion back at him. _So, t hen. And you?_
Not only marr ied, but rich. "So t ell, na. How you live, you and t he mame. " I n a five- st or ey
mansion in Not t ing Hill. He had st art ed feeling insecur e t here of lat e, because t he most recent
bat ch of burglar s had t aken not only t he usual video and st ereo but also t he wolf hound guar d
dog. I t was not possible, he had begun t o f eel, t o live in a place wher e t he criminal element s
kidnapped t he animals. Pamela t old him it was an old local cust om. I n t he Olden Days, she said
( hist ory, f or Pamela, was divided int o t he Ancient Era, t he Dark Ages, t he Olden Days, t he
Brit ish Empire, t he Modern Age and t he Present ) , pet napping was good business. The poor
would st eal t he canines of t he rich, t rain t hem t o forget t heir names, and sell t hem back t o
t heir gr ieving, helpless owner s in shops on Por t obello Road. Pamela' s local hist or y was always
det ailed and fr equent ly unr eliable. "But , my God, " Zeeny Vakil said, "you must sell up pr ont o
and move. I know t hose English, all t he same, r iff - raff and nawabs. You can' t fight t heir bloody
t r adit ions. "
_My wif e, Pamela Lovelace, fr ail as por celain, gr aceful as gazelles_, he r emember ed. _I put
down r oot s in t he women I love_. The banalit ies of infidelit y. He put t hem away and t alked
about his wor k.
When Zeeny Vakil found out how Saladin Chamcha made his money, she let fly a ser ies of
shrieks t hat made one of t he medallioned Ar abs knock at t he door t o make sur e ever yt hing was
all right . He saw a beaut if ul woman sit t ing up in bed wit h what looked like buff alo milk
running down her face and dripping off t he point of her chin, and, apologizing t o Chamcha f or
t he int rusion, he wit hdr ew hast ily, _sorr y, sport , hey, you' r e some lucky guy_.
"You poor pot at o, " Zeeny gasped bet ween peals of laught er. "Those Angrez bast ar ds. They
really scr ewed you up. "
So now his wor k was funny. "I have a gift f or accent s, " he said haught ily. "Why I shouldn' t
employ?"
"' Why I should not employ?_' " she mimicked him, kicking her legs in t he air. "Mist er act or ,
your moust ache j ust slipped again. "
Oh my God.
What ' s happening t o me?
What t he devil?
Help.
Because he did have t hat gif t , t ruly he did, he was t he Man of a Thousand Voices and a
Voice. I f you want ed t o know how your ket chup bot t le should t alk in it s t elevision commercial,
if you were unsur e as t o t he ideal voice f or your packet of gar licflavour ed crisps, he was your
ver y man. He made car pet s speak in warehouse advert isement s, he did celebrit y
imper sonat ions, baked beans, fr ozen peas. On t he radio he could convince an audience t hat he
was Russian, Chinese, Sicilian, t he Pr esident of t he Unit ed St at es. Once, in a r adio play for
t hir t y- - seven voices, he int er pret ed ever y single par t under a variet y of pseudonyms and
nobody ever wor ked it out . Wit h his f emale equivalent , Mimi Mamoulian, he ruled t he air waves
of Brit ain. They had such a large slice of t he voiceover racket t hat , as Mimi said, "People bet t er
not ment ion t he Monopolies Commission ar ound us, not even in fun. " Her range was
ast onishing; she could do any age, anywher e in t he world, any point on t he vocal r egist er ,
angelic Juliet t o f iendish Mae West . " We should get mar r ied somet ime, when you' re f ree, " Mimi
once suggest ed t o him. "You and me, we could be t he Unit ed Nat ions. "
"You' re Jewish, " he point ed out . " I was brought up t o have views on Jews. "
"So I ' m Jewish, " she shr ugged. "You' r e t he one who' s cir cumcised. Nobody' s per fect . "
Mimi was t iny wit h t ight dark curls and looked like a Michelin post er . I n Bombay, Zeenat
Vakil st r et ched and yawned and drove ot her women f rom his t hought s. "Too much, " she
laughed at him. " They pay you t o imit at e t hem, as long as t hey don' t have t o look at you. Your
voice becomes famous but t hey hide your face. Got any ideas why? War t s on your nose, cr oss-
- eyes, what ? Anyt hing come t o mind, baby? You goddamn let t uce br ain, I swear. "
I t was t rue, he t hought . Saladin and Mimi wer e legends of a sort , but crippled legends,
dar k st ar s. The gravit at ional field of t heir abilit ies dr ew wor k t owards t hem, but t hey remained
invisible, shedding bodies t o put on voices. On t he r adio, Mimi could become t he Bot t icelli
Venus, she could be Olympia, Monr oe, any damn woman she pleased. She didn' t give a damn
about t he way she looked; she had become her voice, she was wor t h a mint , and t hree young
women wer e hopelessly in love wit h her . Also, she bought pr opert y. "Neur ot ic behaviour, " she
would confess unashamedly. " Excessive need for root ing owing t o upheavals of Armenian- -
Jewish hist or y. Some desperat ion owing t o advancing years and small polyps det ect ed in t he
t hr oat . Pr opert y is so soot hing, I do r ecommend it . " She owned a Nor folk vicarage, a
farmhouse in Normandy, a Tuscan bellt ower , a sea- - coast in Bohemia. "All haunt ed, " she
explained. "Clanks, howls, blood on t he rugs, women in night ies, t he wor ks. Nobody gives up
land wit hout a fight . "
Nobody except me, Chamcha t hought , a melancholy clut ching at him as he lay beside
Zeenat Vakil. Maybe I ' m a ghost alr eady. But at least a ghost wit h an airline t icket , success,
money, wife. A shade, but living in t he t angible, mat er ial world. Wit h _asset s_. Yes, sir.
Zeeny st roked t he hair s curling over his ear s. "Somet imes, when you' re quiet , " she
mur mured, " when you ar en' t doing funny voices or act ing gr and, and when you forget people
are wat ching, you look j ust like a blank. You know? An empt y slat e, nobody home. I t makes
me mad, somet imes, I want t o slap you. To st ing you back int o life. But I also get sad about it .
Such a fool, you, t he big st ar whose face is t he wr ong colour f or t heir colour T Vs, who has t o
t r avel t o wogland wit h some t wo- bit company, playing t he babu part on t op of it , j ust t o get
int o a play. They kick you around and st ill you st ay, you love t hem, bloody slave ment alit y, I
swear. Chamcha, " she gr abbed his shoulder s and shook him, sit t ing ast ride him wit h her
for bidden br east s a few inches from his face, "Salad baba, what ever you call your self, for Pet e' s
sake _come home_. "
His big break, t he one t hat could soon make money lose it s meaning, had st ar t ed small:
childr en' s t elevision, a t hing called _The Aliens Show_, by _The Munst er s_ out of _St ar War s_
by way of _Sesame St r eet _. I t was a sit uat ion comedy about a gr oup of ext r at err est rials
ranging from cut e t o psycho, fr om animal t o veget able, and also mineral, because it f eat ured
an art ist ic space- - rock t hat could quar ry it self f or it s raw mat er ial, and t hen regenerat e it self in
t ime f or t he next week' s episode; t his rock was named Pygmalien, and owing t o t he st unt ed
sense of humour of t he show' s pr oducer s t here was also a coarse, belching cr eat ur e like a
puking cact us t hat came fr om a desert planet at t he end of t ime: t his was Mat ilda, t he
Aust r alien, and t her e were t he t hr ee gr ot esquely pneumat ic, singing space sir ens known as t he
Alien Kor ns, maybe because you could lie down among t hem, and t her e was a t eam of
Venusian hip- hopper s and subway spr aypaint er s and soul - br ot hers who called t hemselves t he
Alien Nat ion, and under a bed in t he spaceship t hat was t he programme' s main locat ion t here
lived Bugsy t he giant dung- beet le f rom t he Cr ab Nebula who had run away fr om his fat her, and
in a fish- t ank you could find Brains t he super - int elligent giant abalone who liked eat ing
Chinese, and t hen t her e was Ridley, t he most t er rifying of t he r egular cast , who looked like a
Fr ancis Bacon paint ing" of a mout hful of t eet h waving at t he end of a sight less pod, and who
had an obsession wit h t he act r ess Sigourney Weaver. The st ar s of t he show, it s Kermit and
Miss Piggy, were t he very fashionable, slinkily at t ir ed, st unningly hair st yled duo, Maxim and
Mamma Alien, who year ned t o be - - what else? - - t elevision personalit ies. They wer e played by
Saladin Chamcha and Mimi Mamoulian, and t hey changed t heir voices along wit h t heir clot hes,
t o say not hing of t heir hair, which could go fr om purple t o vermilion bet ween shot s, which
could st and diagonally t hree feet up fr om t heir heads or vanish alt oget her; or t heir feat ur es
and limbs, because t hey wer e capable of changing all of t hem, swit ching legs, ar ms, noses,
ear s, eyes, and ever y swit ch conj ur ed up a diff er ent accent fr om t heir legendar y, prot ean
gullet s. What made t he show a hit was it s use of t he lat est comput er - gener at ed imager y. The
backgr ounds wer e all simulat ed: spaceship, ot her - - wor ld landscapes, int er galact ic gameshow
st udios; and t he act or s, t oo, wer e processed t hr ough machines, obliged t o spend f our hours
ever y day being bur ied under t he lat est in prost het ic make- up which - - once t he
videocomput er s had gone t o wor k - - made t hem look j ust like simulat ions, t oo. Maxim Alien,
space playboy, and Mamma, undefeat ed galact ic wr est ling champion and univer sal all- - corner s
past a queen, wer e over night sensat ions. Pr ime- t ime beckoned; Amer ica, Eur ovision, t he wor ld.
As _The Aliens Show_ got bigger it began t o at t ract polit ical cr it icism. Conser vat ives
at t acked it for being t oo f right ening, t oo sexually explicit ( Ridley could become posit ively er ect
when he t hought t oo hard about Miss Weaver ) , t oo _weir d_. Radical comment at ors began t o
at t ack it s st ereot yping, it s r einfor cement of t he idea of aliens- as- freaks, it s lack of posit ive
images. Char ncha came under pr essur e t o quit t he show; refused; became a t arget .
"Tr ouble wait ing when I go home, " he t old Zeeny. "The damn show isn' t an allegor y. I t ' s an
ent er t ainment . I t aims t o please. "
"To please whom?" she want ed t o know. "Besides, even now t hey only let you on t he air
aft er t hey cover your f ace wit h r ubber and give you a r ed wig. Big deal deluxe, say I . "
"The point is, " she said when t hey awoke t he next morning, "Salad darling, you r eally ar e
good looking, no quesch. Skin like milk, England ret urned. Now t hat Gibreel has done a bunk,
you could be next in line. I ' m serious, yaar. They need a new face. Come home and you could
be t he next , bigger t han Bachchan was, bigger t han Farisht a. Your f ace isn' t as f unny as
t heirs. "
When he was young, he t old her, each phase of his lif e, each self he t r ied on, had seemed
reassur ingly t empor ary. I t s imper fect ions didn' t mat t er, because he could easily r eplace one
moment by t he next , one Saladin by anot her . Now, however , change had begun t o feel painful;
t he ar t er ies of t he possible had begun t o harden. "I t isn' t easy t o t ell you t his, but I ' m mar r ied
now, and not j ust t o wife but life. " _The accent slippage again_. " I r eally came t o Bombay f or
one reason, and it wasn' t t he play. He' s in his lat e sevent ies now, and I won' t have many mor e
chances. He hasn' t been t o t he show; Muhammad must go t o t he mount ain. "
_My f at her , Changez Chamchawala, owner of a magic lamp_. "Changez Chamchawala, ar e
you kidding, don' t t hink you can leave me behind, " she clapped her hands. " I want t o check out
t he hair and t oenails. " His fat her , t he famous recluse. Bombay was a cult ur e of re- - makes. I t s
archit ect ure mimicked t he skyscr aper , it s cinema endlessly re- invent ed _The Magnif icent
Seven_ and _Love St ory_, obliging all it s her oes t o save at least one village fr om murderous
dacoit s and all it s her oines t o die of leukaemia at least once in t heir careers, pr eferably at t he
st art . I t s millionair es, t oo, had t aken t o impor t ing t heir lives. Changez' s invisibilit y was an
I ndian dr eam of t he cr or epat i pent housed wr et ch of Las Vegas; but a dr eam was not a
phot ogr aph, aft er all, and Zeeny want ed t o see wit h her own eyes. " He makes faces at people
if he' s in a bad mood, " Saladin war ned her. "Nobody believes it t ill it happens, but it ' s t r ue.
Such faces! Gar goyles. Also, he' s a prude and he' ll call you a t ar t and anyway I ' ll probably have
a fight wit h him, it ' s on t he cards. "
What Saladin Chamcha had come t o I ndia for: forgiveness. That was his business in his old
home t own. But whet her t o give or t o receive, he was not able t o say.
o o o
Bizar re aspect s of t he pr esent circumst ances of Mr. Changez Chamchawala: wit h his new
wife, Nasr een t he Second, he lived for five days ever y week in a high- walled compound
nicknamed t he Red Fort in t he Pali Hill dist rict beloved of movie st ar s; but ever y weekend he
ret ur ned wit hout his wife t o t he old house at Scandal Point , t o spend his days of r est in t he lost
wor ld of t he past , in t he company of t he fir st , and dead, Nasreen. Furt hermore: it was said t hat
his second wife r ef used t o set foot in t he old place. "Or isn' t allowed t o, " Zeeny hypot hesized in
t he back of t he black- glass- windowed Mercedes limousine which Changez had sent t o collect
his son. As Saladin finished filling in t he background, Zeenat Vakil whist led appr eciat ively.
"Cr azee. "
The Chamchawala f er t ilizer business, Changez' s empir e of dung, was t o be invest igat ed for
t ax fr aud and impor t dut y evasion by a Gover nment commission, but Zeeny wasn' t int erest ed
in t hat . "Now, " she said, "I ' ll get t o find out what you' re r eally like. "
Scandal Point unfur led before t hem. Saladin felt t he past r ush in like a t ide, dr owning him,
filling his lungs wit h it s r evenant salt iness. _I ' m not myself t oday_, he t hought . The heart
flut t ers. Life damages t he living. None of us are our selves. None of us ar e _like t his_.
These days t here wer e st eel gat es, oper at ed by r emot e cont r ol fr om wit hin, sealing t he
crumbling t riumphal ar ch. They opened wit h a slow whir ring sound t o admit Saladin int o t hat
place of lost t ime. When he saw t he walnut - t r ee in which his fat her had claimed t hat his soul
was kept , his hands began t o shake. He hid behind t he neut ralit y of fact s. " I n Kashmir, " he t old
Zeeny, "your bir t h- t r ee is a f inancial invest ment of a sort . When a child comes of age, t he
gr own walnut is compar able t o a mat ur ed insurance policy; it ' s a valuable t ree, it can be sold,
t o pay for weddings, or a st ar t in lif e. The adult chops down his childhood t o help his grown- up
self . The unsent iment alit y is appealing, don' t you t hink?"
The car had st opped under t he ent r ance por ch. Zeeny fell silent as t he t wo of t hem climbed
t he six st air s t o t he fr ont door , wher e t hey wer e greet ed by a composed and ancient bear er in
whit e, br ass- but t oned livery, whose shock of whit e hair Chamcha suddenly recognized, by
t r anslat ing it back int o black, as t he mane of t hat same Vallabh who had presided over t he
house as it s maj or - domo in t he Olden Days. "My God, Vallabhbhai, " he managed, and
embr aced t he old man. The ser vant smiled a diff icult smile. " I gr ow so old, baba, I was t hinking
you would not recognize. " He led t hem down t he cr yst al- heavy corr idor s of t he mansion and
Saladin r ealized t hat t he lack of change was excessive, and plainly deliberat e. I t was t rue,
Vallabh explained t o him, t hat when t he Begum died Changez Sahib had sworn t hat t he house
would be her memorial. As a result not hing had changed since t he day she died, paint ings,
furnit ur e, soap- - dishes, t he red- glass figur es of fight ing bulls and china ballerinas fr om
Dresden, all left in t heir exact posit ions, t he same magazines on t he same t ables, t he same
crumpled balls of paper in t he wast ebasket s, as t hough t he house had died, t oo, and been
embalmed. " Mummified, " Zeeny said, voicing t he unspeakable as usual. "God, but it ' s spooky,
no?" I t was at t his point , while Vallabh t he bearer was opening t he double door s leading int o
t he blue dr awingroom, t hat Saladin Chamcha saw his mot her' s ghost .
He let out a loud cr y and Zeeny whir led on her heel. "Ther e, " he point ed t owar ds t he far ,
dar kened end of t he hallway, "no quest ion, t hat blast ed newsprint sari, t he big headlines, t he
one she wore t he day she, she, " but now Vallabh had begun t o flap his arms like a weak,
flight less bird, you see, baba, it was only Kast ur ba, you have not forgot t en, my wif e, only my
wife. _My ayah Kast ur ba wit h whom I played in r ock- pools. Unt il I gr ew up and went wit hout
her and in a hollow a man wit h ivory glasses_. "Please, baba, not hing t o be cr oss, only when
t he Begum died Changez Sahib donat ed t o my wif e some few gar ment s, you do not obj ect ?
Your mot her was a so- gener ous woman, when alive she always gave wit h an open hand. "
Chamcha, r ecovering his equilibr ium, was feeling foolish. "For God' s sake, Vallabh, " he
mut t ered. " For God' s sake. Obviously I don' t obj ect . " An old st if fness re- ent er ed Vallabh; t he
right t o f ree speech of t he old r et ainer per mit t ed him t o r epr ove, "Excuse, baba, but you should
not blaspheme. "
"See how he' s sweat ing, " Zeeny st age- whisper ed. "He looks scar ed st iff. " Kast urba ent ered
t he r oom, and alt hough her reunion wit h Chamcha was warm enough t her e was st ill a
wrongness in t he air . Vallabh left t o br ing beer and Thums Up, and when Kast ur ba also excused
herself , Zeeny at once said: " Somet hing f ishy. She walks like she owns t he dump. The way she
holds herself . And t he old man was afraid. Those t wo ar e up t o somet hing, I bet . " Chamcha
t r ied t o be r easonable. " They st ay her e alone most of t he t ime, pr obably sleep in t he mast er
bedr oom and eat off t he good plat es, it must get t o feeling like t heir place. " But he was
t hinking how st r ikingly, in t hat old sar i, his ayah Kast urba had come t o r esemble his mot her.
"St ayed away so long, " his fat her ' s voice spoke behind him, "t hat now you can' t t ell a living
ayah fr om your depart ed ma. "
Saladin t urned ar ound t o t ake in t he melancholy sight of a fat her who had shr ivelled like an
old apple, but who insist ed never t heless on wear ing t he expensive I t alian suit s of his
opulent ly f leshy year s. Now t hat he had lost bot h Popeye- for earms and Blut o- belly, he seemed
t o be r oaming about inside his clot hes like a man in sear ch of somet hing he had not quit e
managed t o ident ify. He st ood in t he doorway looking at his son, his nose and lips cur led, by
t he wit her ing sorcer y of t he year s, int o a feeble simulacrum of his former ogr e- - face. Chamcha
had barely begun t o under st and t hat his f at her was no longer capable of f right ening anybody,
t hat his spell had been br oken and he was j ust an old geezer heading f or t he grave; while
Zeeny had not ed wit h some disappoint ment t hat Changez Chamchawala' s hair was
conser vat ively shor t , and since he was wear ing highly polished Oxford lace- ups it didn' t seem
likely t hat t he eleveninch t oenail st ory was t r ue eit her ; when t he ayah Kast ur ba r et urned,
smoking a cigar et t e, and st rolled past t he t hr ee of t hem, fat her son mist r ess, t owards a blue
velour - cover ed but t on- backed Chest erf ield sofa, upon which she arr anged her body as
sensually as any movie st ar let , even t hough she was a woman well advanced in year s.
No sooner had Kast ur ba complet ed her shocking ent r ance t han Changez skipped past his
son and plant ed himself beside t he er st while ayah. Zeeny Vakil, her eyes spar kling wit h
scandalpoint s of light , hissed at Chamcha: "Close your mout h, dear. I t looks bad. " And in t he
doorway, t he bearer Vallabh, pushing a drinks t rolley, wat ched unemot ionally while his
employer of many long years placed an ar m ar ound his uncomplaining wif e.
When t he progenit or, t he creat or is revealed as sat anic, t he child will fr equent ly grow pr im.
Chamcha heard himself inquire: "And my st epmot her, fat her dear ? She is keeping well?"
The old man addr essed Zeeny. " He is not such a goody wit h you, I hope so. Or what a sad
t ime you must have. " Then t o his son in harsher t ones. "You have an int er est in my wife t hese
days? But she has none in you. She won' t meet you now. Why should she forgive? You are no
son t o her. Or , maybe, by now, t o me. "
_I did not come t o fight him. Look, t he old goat . I must n' t fight . But t his, t his is
int oler able_. "I n my mot her' s house, " Chamcha cr ied melodr amat ically, losing his bat t le wit h
himself. "The st at e t hinks your business is cor r upt , and her e is t he corr upt ion of your soul.
Look what you' ve done t o t hem. Vallabh and Kast urba. Wit h your money. How much did it
t ake? To poison t heir lives. You' re a sick man. " He st ood bef or e his fat her, blazing wit h
right eous r age.
Vallabh t he bearer, unexpect edly, int ervened. " Baba, wit h r espect , excuse me but what do
you know? You have left and gone and now you come t o j udge us. " Saladin felt t he f loor giving
way beneat h his feet ; he was st ar ing int o t he inf er no. "I t is t rue he pays us, " Vallabh went on.
"For our wor k, and also for what you see. For t his. " Changez Chamchawala t ight ened his gr ip
on t he ayah' s unr esist ing shoulder s.
"How much?" Chamcha shout ed. "Vallabh, how much did you t wo men decide upon? How
much t o pr ost it ut e your wife?"
"What a f ool, " Kast urba said cont empt uously. " Englandeducat ed and what - all, but st ill wit h
a head full of hay. You come t alking so big- - big, _in your mot her ' s house_ et cet er a, but maybe
you didn' t love her so much. But we loved her, we all. We t hr ee. And in t his manner we may
keep her spirit alive. "
"I t is pooj a, you could say, " came Vallabh' s quiet voice. "An act of wor ship. "
"And you, " Changez Chamchawala spoke as sof t ly as his ser vant , "you come her e t o t his
t emple. Wit h your unbelief . Mist er , you' ve got a ner ve. "
And f inally, t he t reason of Zeenat Vakil. "Come off it , Salad, " she said, moving t o sit on t he
arm of t he Chest erf ield next t o t he old man. "Why be such a sour puss? You' r e no angel, baby,
and t hese people seem t o have worked t hings out okay. "
Saladin' s mout h opened and shut . Changez pat t ed Zeeny on t he knee. " He came t o accuse,
dear . He came t o avenge his yout h, but we have t urned t he t ables and he is confused. Now we
must let him have his chance, and you must r ef er ee. I will not be sent enced by him, but I will
accept t he wor st from you. "
_The bast ard. Old bast ar d. He want ed me off - balance, and her e l am, knocked sideways. I
won' t speak, why should I , not like t his, t he humiliat ion_. "Ther e was, " said Saladin Chamcha,
"a wallet of pounds, and t her e was a r oast ed chicken. "
o o o
Of what did t he son accuse t he fat her? Of everyt hing: espionage on child- self , r ainbow- pot -
st ealing, exile. Of t ur ning him int o what he might not have become. Of making- a- man of . Of
what will - I - t ell- my- friends. Of irr epar able sunder ings and offensive f or giveness. Of succumbing
t o Allah- wor ship wit h new wife and also t o blasphemous wor ship of lat e spouse. Above all, of
magic- lampism, of being an open- sesamist . Everyt hing had come easily t o him, charm,
women, wealt h, power, posit ion. Rub, poof, genie, wish, at once mast er , hey pr est o. He was a
fat her who had promised, and t hen wit hheld, a magic lamp.
o o o
Changez, Zeeny, Vallabh, Kast ur ba r emained mot ionless and silent unt il Saladin Chamcha
came t o a flushed, embar rassed halt . "Such violence of t he spir it aft er so long, " Changez said
aft er a silence. "So sad. A quar t er of a cent ury and st ill t he son begr udges t he peccadilloes of
t he past . O my son. You must st op carr ying me ar ound like a par rot on your shoulder . What am
I ? Finished. I ' m not your Old Man of t he Sea. Face it , mist er: I don' t explain you any mor e. "
Through a window Saladin Chamcha caught sight of a fort yyear - old walnut - t r ee. "Cut it
down, " he said t o his f at her. "Cut it , sell it , send me t he cash. "
Chamchawala r ose t o his feet , and ext ended his r ight hand. Zeeny, also r ising, t ook it like a
dancer accept ing a bouquet ; at once, Vallabh and Kast ur ba diminished int o ser vant s, as if a
clock had silent ly chimed pumpkin- t ime. "Your book, " he said t o Zeeny. "I have somet hing
you' d like t o see. "
The t wo of t hem left t he room; impot ent Saladin, aft er a moment ' s floundering, st amped
pet ulant ly in t heir wake. "Sour puss, " Zeeny called gaily over her shoulder . "Come on, snap out
of it , gr ow up. "
The Chamchawala ar t collect ion, housed her e at Scandal Point , included a lar ge group of
t he legendary _Hamza- nama_ clot hs, members of t hat sixt eent h- cent ury sequence depict ing
scenes fr om t he lif e of a her o who may or may not have been t he same Hamza as t he famous
one, Muhammad' s uncle whose liver was eat en by t he Meccan woman Hind as he lay dead on
t he bat t lef ield of Uhud. " I like t hese pict ures, " Changez Chamchawala t old Zeeny, "because t he
hero is permit t ed t o f ail. See how oft en he has t o be rescued f rom his t r oubles. " The pict ur es
also provided eloquent pr oof of Zeeny Vakil' s t hesis about t he eclect ic, hybridized nat ur e of t he
I ndian ar t ist ic t r adit ion. The Mughals had brought ar t ist s fr om ever y par t of I ndia t o work on
t he paint ings; individual ident it y was submer ged t o cr eat e a manyheaded, many- br ushed
Over art ist who, lit er ally, _was_ I ndian paint ing. One hand would dr aw t he mosaic floor s, a
second t he figur es, a t hir d would paint t he Chinese- looking cloudy skies. On t he backs of t he
clot hs were t he st or ies t hat accompanied t he scenes. The pict ures would be shown like a
movie: held up while someone r ead out t he her o' s t ale. I n t he _Hamza- nama_ you could see
t he Per sian miniat ur e fusing wit h Kannada and Ker alan paint ing st yles, you could see Hindu
and Muslim philosophy f or ming t heir char act erist ically lat e- - Mughal synt hesis.
A giant was t r apped in a pit and his human t or ment ors wer e spearing him in t he for ehead.
A man sliced ver t ically fr om t he t op of his head t o his groin st ill held his swor d as he f ell.
Ever ywhere, bubbling spillages of blood. Saladin Chamcha t ook a gr ip on himself. "The
savager y, " he said loudly in his English voice. "The sheer barbar ic love of pain. "
Changez Chamchawala ignored his son, had eyes only f or Zeeny; who gazed st r aight back
int o his own. " Ours is a government of philist ines, young lady, don' t you agree? I have of fered
t his whole collect ion f ree grat is, did you know? Let t hem only house it proper ly, let t hem build
a place. Condit ion of clot hs is not A- 1, you see . . . t hey won' t do it . No int er est . Meanwhile I
get offer s ever y mont h f rom Amr ika. Of fers of what - what size! You wouldn' t believe. I don' t
sell. Our herit age, my dear , ever y day t he U S A is t aking it away. Ravi Var ma paint ings,
Chandela br onzes, Jaisalmer lat t ices. We sell ourselves, isn' t it ? They drop t heir wallet s on t he
gr ound and we kneel at t heir f eet . Our Nandi bulls end up in some gazebo in Texas. But you
know all t his. You know I ndia is a f ree count r y t oday. " He st opped, but Zeeny wait ed; t her e
was mor e t o come. I t came: " One day I will also t ake t he dollar s. Not for t he money. For t he
pleasur e of being a whor e. Of becoming not hing. Less t han not hing. " And now, at last , t he real
st or m, t he wor ds behind t he words, _less t han not hing_. "When I die, " Changez Chamchawala
said t o Zeeny, "what will I be? A pair of empt ied shoes. That is my fat e, t hat he has made f or
me. This act or . This pr et ender . He has made himself int o an imit at or of non- exist ing men. I
have nobody t o follow me, t o give what I have made. This is his r evenge: he st eals f rom me
my post erit y. " He smiled, pat t ed her hand, r eleased her int o t he care of his son. " I have t old
her, " he said t o Saladin. "You are st ill car rying your t akeaway chicken. I have t old her my
complaint . Now she must j udge. That was t he ar rangement . "
Zeenat Vakil walked up t o t he old man in his out size suit , put her hands on his cheeks, and
kissed him on t he lips.
o o o
Af t er Zeenat bet rayed him in t he house of his fat her' s per versions, Saladin Chamcha
refused t o see her or answer t he messages she left at t he hot el desk. _The Millionairess_ came
t o t he end of it s r un; t he t our was over . Time t o go home. Aft er t he closing- night part y
Chamcha headed f or bed. I n t he elevat or a young and clearly honeymooning couple wer e
list ening t o music on headphones. The young man murmur ed t o his wife: "List en, t ell me. Do I
st ill seem a st ranger t o you somet imes?" The gir l, smiling fondly, shook her head, _can' t hear _,
removed t he headphones. He repeat ed, gravely: "A st r anger , t o you, don' t I st ill somet imes
seem?" She, wit h unfalt ering smile, laid her cheek for an inst ant on his high scr awny shoulder .
"Yes, once or t wice, " she said, and put t he headphones on again. He did t he same, seeming
fully sat isfied by her answer. Their bodies t ook on, once again, t he r hyt hms of t he playback
music. Chamcha got out of t he lift . Zeeny was sit t ing on t he f loor wit h her back against his
door.
o o o
I nside t he r oom, she poured herself a lar ge whisky and soda. " Behaving like a baby, " she
said. " You should be ashamed. "
That aft ernoon he had received a package f rom his f at her . I nside it was a small piece of
wood and a lar ge number of not es, not r upees but st er ling pounds: t he ashes, so t o speak, of a
walnut - t r ee. He was f ull of inchoat e feeling and because Zeenat had t ur ned up she became
t he t ar get . "You t hink I love you?" he said, speaking wit h deliber at e viciousness. "You t hink I ' ll
st ay wit h you? I ' m a mar ried man. "
"I didn' t want you t o st ay for me, " she said. " For some r eason, I want ed it for you. "
A few days ear lier , he had been t o see an I ndian dramat izat ion of a st ory by Sart r e on t he
subj ect of shame. I n t he or iginal, a husband suspect s his wife of infidelit y and set s a t rap t o
cat ch her out . He pret ends t o leave on a business t rip, but ret urns a few hour s lat er t o spy on
her. He is kneeling t o look t hr ough t he keyhole of t heir f ront door. Then he f eels a presence
behind him, t urns wit hout rising, and t her e she is, looking down at him wit h revulsion and
disgust . This t ableau, he kneeling, she looking down, is t he Sart r ean ar chet ype. But in t he
I ndian ver sion t he kneeling husband f elt no presence behind him; was sur prised by t he wife;
st ood t o face her on equal t erms; blust er ed and shout ed; unt il she wept , he embr aced her , and
t hey wer e reconciled.
"You say I should be ashamed, " Chamcha said bit t erly t o Zeenat . " You, who are wit hout
shame. As a mat t er of fact , t his may be a nat ional char act er ist ic. I begin t o suspect t hat
I ndians lack t he necessary mor al r ef inement for a t rue sense of t r agedy, and t her efore cannot
really under st and t he idea of shame. "
Zeenat Vakil f inished her whisky. "Okay, you don' t have t o say any more. " She held up her
hands. "I surr ender. I ' m going. Mr. Saladin Chamcha. I t hought you were st ill alive, only j ust ,
but st ill br eat hing, but I was wr ong. Tur ns out you were dead all t he t ime. "
And one mor e t hing before going milk- eyed t hr ough t he door . "Don' t let people get t oo
close t o you, Mr . Saladin. Let people t hr ough your defences and t he bast ar ds go and knif e you
in t he hear t . "
Af t er t hat t her e had been not hing t o st ay f or . The aer oplane lift ed and banked over t he
cit y. Somewhere below him, his f at her was dressing up a ser vant as his dead wife. The new
t r aff ic scheme had j ammed t he cit y cent r e solid. Polit icians wer e t rying t o build car eer s by
going on padyat ras, pilgrimages on f oot across t he count ry. There wer e graf fit i t hat read:
_Advice t o polit icos. Only st ep t o t ake: padyat ra t o hell_. Or, somet imes: _t o Assam_.
Act or s were get t ing mixed up in polit ics: MGR, N. T. Rama Rao, Bachchan. Dur ga Khot e
complained t hat an act ors' associat ion was a "r ed fr ont ". Saladin Chamcha, on Flight 420,
closed his eyes; and f elt , wit h deep r elief, t he t ell- - t ale shif t ings and set t lings in his t hroat
which indicat ed t hat his voice had begun of it s own accor d t o revert t o it s reliable, English self .
The first dist urbing t hing t hat happened t o Mr . Chamcha on t hat f light was t hat he
recognized, among his f ellow- passenger s, t he woman of his dreams.
4
The dr eam- woman had been short er and less gr aceful t han t he r eal one, but t he inst ant
Chamcha saw her walking calmly up and down t he aisles of _Bost an_ he remember ed t he
night mare. Aft er Zeenat Vakil' s depar t ure he had fallen int o a t r oubled sleep, and t he
pr emonit ion had come t o him: t he vision of a woman bomber wit h an almost inaudibly soft ,
Canadian- accent ed voice whose dept h and melody made it sound like an ocean hear d fr om a
long way away. The dr eam- woman had been so loaded down wit h explosives t hat she was not
so much t he bomber as t he bomb; t he woman walking t he aisles held a baby t hat seemed t o
be sleeping noiselessly, a baby so skilfully swaddled and held so close t o t he br east t hat
Chamcha could not see so much as a lock of new- bor n hair . Under t he influence of t he
remember ed dr eam he conceived t he not ion t hat t he baby was in fact a bundle of dynamit e
st icks, or some sor t of t icking device, and he was on t he verge of crying out when he came t o
his senses and admonished himself sever ely. This was precisely t he t ype of superst it ious
flummer y he was leaving behind. He was a neat man in a but t oned suit heading for London and
an or der ed, cont ent ed life. He was a member of t he r eal wor ld.
He t ravelled alone, shunning t he company of t he ot her members of t he Prosper o Players
t r oupe, who had scat t ered ar ound t he economy class cabin wearing Fancy- a- Donald T- shirt s
and t r ying t o wiggle t heir necks in t he manner of nat yam dancer s and looking absur d in Benar si
sar is and dr inking t oo much cheap air line champagne and import uning t he scor n- - laden
st ewardesses who, being I ndian, underst ood t hat act ors were cheap- t ype per sons; and
behaving, in shor t , wit h nor mal t hespian impropriet y. The woman holding t he baby had a way
of looking t hr ough t he palef ace player s, of t ur ning t hem int o wisps of smoke, heat - mir ages,
ghost s. For a man like Saladin Chamcha t he debasing of Englishness by t he English was a t hing
t oo painf ul t o cont emplat e. He t urned t o his newspaper in which a Bombay "rail roko"
demonst rat ion was being br oken up by police lat hichar ges. The newspaper' s repor t er suf fered a
br oken arm; his camer a, t oo, was smashed. The police had issued a " not e" . _Neit her t he
repor t er nor any ot her per son was assault ed int ent ionally_. Chamcha dr ift ed int o airline sleep.
The cit y of lost hist or ies, felled t rees and unint ent ional assault s faded f rom his t hought s. When
he opened his eyes a lit t le lat er he had his second. sur prise of t hat macabr e j ourney. A man
was passing him on t he way t o t he t oilet . He was bear ded and wor e cheap t int ed spect acles,
but Chamcha recognized him anyway: here, t r avelling incognit o in t he economy class of Flight
A 1- - 420, was t he vanished super st ar , t he living legend, Gibreel Farisht a himself .
"Sleep okay?" He r ealized t he quest ion was addr essed t o him, and t ur ned away fr om t he
appar it ion of t he great movie act or t o st ar e at t he equally ext raor dinar y sight sit t ing next t o
him, an improbable Amer ican in baseball cap, met al - - rim spect acles and a neon- - gr een bush- -
shirt across which t here wr it hed t he int ert wined and luminous golden f or ms of a pair of Chinese
dr agons. Chamcha had edit ed t his ent it y out of his field of vision in an at t empt t o wrap himself
in a cocoon of pr ivacy, but pr ivacy was no longer possible.
"Eugene Dumsday at your ser vice, " t he dragon man st uck out a huge r ed hand. "At yours,
and at t hat of t he Chr ist ian guard. "
Sleep- fuddled Chamcha shook his head. "You ar e a milit ary man?"
"Ha! Ha! Yes, sir, you could say. A humble foot soldier, sir , in t he army of Guard Almight y. "
Oh, _almight y_ guar d, why didn' t you say. " I am a man of science, sir , and it has been my
mission, my mission and let me add my privilege, t o visit your gr eat nat ion t o do bat t le wit h
t he most pernicious devilment ever got folks' br ains by t he balls. "
"I don' t follow. "
Dumsday lowered his voice. " I ' m t alking monkey- crap her e, sir . Darwinism. The
evolut ionary her esy of Mr . Char les Dar win. " His t ones made it plain t hat t he name of
anguished, God- ridden Darwin was as dist ast ef ul as t hat of any ot her f or kt ail fiend, Beelzebub,
Asmodeus or Lucifer himself. "I have been war ning your fellow- men, " Dumsday confided,
"against Mr . Darwin and his works. Wit h t he assist ance of my per sonal fift y- seven- slide
pr esent at ion. I spoke most recent ly, sir, at t he World Underst anding Day banquet of t he Rot ary
Club, Cochin, Ker ala. I spoke of my own count r y, of it s young people. I see t hem lost , sir . The
young people of America: I see t hem in t heir despair, t urning t o nar cot ics, even, for I ' m a
plain- - speaking man, t o pre- marit al sexual relat ions. And I said t his t hen and I say it now t o
you. I f I believed my great - gr anddaddy was a chimpanzee, why, I ' d be pret t y depressed
myself. "
Gibr eel Far isht a was seat ed acr oss t he way, st aring out of t he window. The inflight movie
was st art ing up, and t he aircraft light s were being dimmed. The woman wit h t he baby was st ill
on her f eet , walking up and down, per haps t o keep t he baby quiet . "How did it go down?"
Chamcha asked, sensing t hat some cont ribut ion fr om him was being r equir ed.
A hesit ancy came over his neighbour. "I believe t her e was a glit ch in t he sound syst em, " he
said finally. "That would be my best guess. I can' t see how t hose good people would' ve set t o
t alking amongst t hemselves if t hey hadn' t ' ve t hought I was t hrough. "
Chamcha felt a lit t le abashed. He had been t hinking t hat in a count ry of fer vent believers
t he not ion t hat science was t he enemy of God would have an easy appeal; but t he bor edom of
t he Rot ar ians of Cochin had shown him up. I n t he f lickering light of t he inf light movie,
Dumsday cont inued, in his voice of an innocent ox, t o t ell st or ies against himself wit hout t he
faint est indicat ion of knowing what he was doing. He had been accost ed, at t he end of a cr uise
around t he magnificent nat ur al harbour of Cochin, t o which Vasco da Gama had come in sear ch
of spices and so set in mot ion t he whole ambiguous hist or y of east - and- west , by an urchin f ull
of psst s and hey- mist er - - okays. "Hi t her e, yes! You want hashish, sahib? Hey, mist er amer ica.
Yes, unclesam, you want opium, best qualit y, t op pr ice? Okay, you want _cocaine?_"
Saladin began, helplessly, t o giggle. The incident st r uck him as Dar win' s r evenge: if
Dumsday held poor , Vict or ian, st ar chy Charles r esponsible f or American drug cult ur e, how
delicious t hat he should himself be seen, acr oss t he globe, as r epr esent ing t he very et hic he
bat t led so f er vent ly against . Dumsday fixed him wit h a look of pained reproof . I t was a hard
fat e t o be an Amer ican abr oad, and not t o suspect why you wer e so disliked.
Af t er t he involunt ar y giggle had escaped Saladin' s lips, Dumsday sank int o a sullen, inj ured
dr owse, leaving Chamcha t o his own t hought s. Should t he inflight movie be t hought of as a
par t icularly vile, r andom mut at ion of t he f or m, one t hat would event ually be ext inguished by
nat ural select ion, or were t hey t he fut ur e of t he cinema? A f ut ur e of screwball caper movies
et ernally st arr ing Shelley Long and Chevy Chase was t oo hideous t o cont emplat e; it was a
vision of Hell . . . Chamcha was drift ing back int o sleep when t he cabin light s came on; t he
movie st opped; and t he illusion of t he cinema was replaced by one of wat ching t he t elevision
news, as four ar med, shout ing f igur es came running down t he aisles.
o o o
The passenger s were held on t he hij acked aircraf t for one hundred and eleven days,
marooned on a shimmering r unway ar ound which t here crashed t he great sand- waves of t he
deser t , because once t he four hij ackers, t hr ee men one woman, had for ced t he pilot t o land
nobody could make up t heir minds what t o do wit h t hem. They had come down not at an
int ernat ional air por t but at t he absurd f olly of a j umbo- sized landing st r ip which had been built
for t he pleasur e of t he local sheikh at his f avour it e deser t oasis, t o which t her e now also led a
six- lane highway ver y popular among single young men and women, who would cr uise along it s
vast empt iness in slow car s ogling one anot her t hr ough t he windows . . . once 420 had landed
here, however, t he highway was full of ar mour ed car s, t roop t r ansport s, limousines waving
flags. And while diplomat s haggled over t he airliner ' s fat e, t o st or m or not t o st or m, while t hey
t r ied t o decide whet her t o concede or t o st and fir m at t he expense of ot her people' s lives, a
gr eat st illness set t led ar ound t he air liner and it wasn' t long before t he mirages began.
I n t he beginning t her e had been a const ant f low of event , t he hij acking quart et full of
elect r icit y, j umpy, t rigger - happy. These ar e t he wor st moment s, Chamcha t hought while
childr en scr eamed and fear spr ead like a st ain, here' s where we could all go west . Then t hey
wer e in cont r ol, t hree men one woman, all t all, none of t hem masked, all handsome, t hey wer e
act or s, t oo, t hey wer e st ar s now, shoot ingst ars or f alling, and t hey had t heir own st age- names.
Dara Singh But a Singh Man Singh. The woman was Tavleen. The woman in t he dream had
been anonymous, as if Chamcha' s sleeping fancy had no t ime f or pseudonyms; but , like
her, Tavleen spoke wit h a Canadian accent , smoot h- edged, wit h t hose give- away r ounded O' s.
Af t er t he plane landed at t he oasis of Al - Zamzam it became plain t o t he passenger s, who wer e
obser ving t heir capt ors wit h t he obsessive at t ent ion paid t o a cobra by a t r ansfixed mongoose,
t hat t here was somet hing post uring in t he beaut y of t he t hree men, some amat eurish love of
risk and deat h in t hem t hat made t hem appear fr equent ly at t he open door s of t he airplane and
flaunt t heir bodies at t he professional snipers who must have been hiding amid t he palm- t r ees
of t he oasis. The woman held her self aloof fr om such silliness and seemed t o be r est raining
herself fr om scolding her t hree colleagues. She seemed insensible t o her own beaut y, which
made her t he most dangerous of t he four. I t st r uck Saladin Chamcha t hat t he young men were
t oo squeamish, t oo nar cissist ic, t o want blood on t heir hands. They would f ind it dif ficult t o kill;
t hey wer e her e t o be on t elevision. But Tavleen was here on business. He kept his eyes on her .
The men do not know, he t hought . They want t o behave t he way t hey have seen hij ackers
behaving in t he movies and on TV; t hey arc r ealit y aping a cr ude image of it self , t hey ar e
wor ms swallowing t heir t ails. But she, t he woman, _knows_ . . . while Dar a, But a, Man Singh
st rut t ed and pranced, she became quiet , her eyes t urned inwards, and she scar ed t he
passenger s st iff.
What did t hey want ? Not hing new. An independent homeland, r eligious fr eedom, r elease of
polit ical det ainees, j ust ice, r ansom money, a safe- conduct t o a count ry of t heir choice. Many of
t he passengers came t o sympat hize wit h t hem, even t hough t hey were under const ant t hreat
of execut ion. I f you live in t he t went iet h cent ur y you do not find it hard t o see your self in
t hose, mor e desper at e t han yourself , who seek t o shape it t o t heir will.
Af t er t hey landed t he hij ackers r eleased all but fif t y of t he passengers, having decided t hat
fift y was t he lar gest number t hey could comf or t ably super vise. Women, childr en, Sikhs were all
released. I t t urned out t hat Saladin Chamcha was t he only member of Prospero Player s who
was not given his fr eedom; he found himself succumbing t o t he per verse logic of t he sit uat ion,
and inst ead of feeling upset at having been r et ained he was glad t o have seen t he back of his
badly behaved colleagues; good r iddance t o bad rubbish, he t hought .
The cr eat ionist scient ist Eugene Dumsday was unable t o bear t he r ealizat ion t hat t he
hij acker s did not int end t o release him. He r ose t o his feet , swaying at his gr eat height like a
skyscr aper in a hur ricane, and began shout ing hyst erical incoherences. A st r eam of dr ibble r an
out of t he corner of his mout h; he licked at it f ever ishly wit h his t ongue. _Now j ust hold hard
here, bust er s, now goddamn it enough is ENO UGH, whaddya wheredya get t he idea you can_
and so fort h, in t he grip of his waking night mare he drivelled on and on unt il one of t he four ,
obviously it was t he woman, came up, swung her rif le but t and br oke his flapping j aw. And
wor se: because slobbering Dumsday had been licking his lips as his j aw slammed shut , t he t ip
of his t ongue sheared off and landed in Saladin Chamcha' s lap; f ollowed in quick t ime by it s
for mer owner. Eugene Dumsday fell t ongueless and insensat e int o t he act or ' s ar ms.
Eugene Dumsday gained his fr eedom by losing his t ongue; t he persuader succeeded in
per suading his capt ors by surr ender ing his inst rument of per suasion. They didn' t want t o look
aft er a wounded man, r isk of gangr ene and so on, and so he j oined t he exodus fr om t he plane.
I n t hose fir st wild hours Saladin Chamcha' s mind kept t hrowing up quest ions of det ail, are
t hose aut omat ic rif les or sub- machine guns, how did t hey smuggle all t hat met al on boar d, in
which part s of t he body is it possible t o be shot and st ill sur vive, how scar ed t hey must be, t he
four of t hem, how full of t heir own deat hs. . . once Dumsday had gone, he had expect ed t o sit
alone, but a man came and sat in t he cr eat ionist ' s old seat , saying you don' t mind, yaar , in
such cir cs a guy needs company. I t was t he movie st ar , Gibreel.
o o o
Af t er t he first ner vous days on t he gr ound, dur ing which t he t hr ee t urbaned young
hij acker s went perilously close t o t he edges of insanit y, screaming int o t he deser t night
_you bast ards, come and get us_, or , alt er nat ively, _o god o god t hey' r e going t o send in t he
fucking commandos, t he mot her fucking Amer icans, yaar , t he sist er fucking Br it ish_, - - moment s
dur ing which t he r emaining host ages closed t heir eyes and prayed, because t hey were always
most afr aid when t he hij ackers showed signs of weakness, - - ever yt hing set t led down int o what
began t o feel like nor malit y. Twice a day a solit ar y vehicle carr ied food and dr ink t o _Bost an_
and left it on t he t armac. The host ages had t o br ing in t he car t ons while t he hij ackers wat ched
t hem fr om t he safet y of t he plane. Apar t fr om t his daily visit t her e was no cont act wit h t he
out side world. The radio had gone dead. I t was as if t he incident had been for got t en, as if it
wer e so embarr assing t hat it had simply been er ased f rom t he recor d. "The bast ards ar e
leaving us t o r ot , " scr eamed Man Singh, and t he host ages j oined in wit h a will. "Hij r as!
Choot ias! Shit s! "
They were wr apped in heat and silence and now t he spect r es began t o shimmer out of t he
corner s of t heir eyes. The most highly st r ung of t he host ages, a young man wit h a goat ee
bear d and close- cropped cur ly hair, awoke at dawn, shr ieking wit h f ear because he had seen a
skelet on riding a camel acr oss t he dunes. Ot her host ages saw colour ed globes hanging in t he
sky, or hear d t he beat ing of gigant ic wings. The t hr ee male hij acker s fell int o a deep, fat alist ic
gloom. One day Tavleen summoned t hem t o a conference at t he far end of t he plane; t he
host ages heard angr y voices. "She' s t elling t hem t hey have t o issue an ult imat um, " Gibreel
Far isht a said t o Chamcha. "One of us has t o die, or such. " But when t he men ret ur ned Tavleen
wasn' t wit h t hem and t he dej ect ion in t heir eyes was t inged, now, wit h shame. "They lost t heir
gut s, " Gibreel whispered. " No can do. Now what is lef t for our Tavleen bibi? Zero. St or y
funt oosh. "
What she did:
I n or der t o prove t o her capt ives, and also t o her fellow- capt or s, t hat t he idea of f ailur e, or
surr ender, would never weaken her r esolve, she emer ged from her moment ary ret r eat in t he
first - - class cockt ail lounge t o st and bef or e t hem like a st ewardess demonst r at ing saf et y
pr ocedur es. But inst ead of put t ing on a lifej acket and holding up blow- - t ube whist le et cet er a,
she quickly lif t ed t he loose black dj ellabah t hat was her only gar ment and st ood befor e t hem
st ark naked, so t hat t hey could all see t he ar senal of her body, t he grenades like ext r a breast s
nest ling in her cleavage, t he gelignit e t aped around her t highs, j ust t he way it had been in
Chamcha' s dream. Then she slipped her robe back on and spoke in her faint oceanic voice.
"When a great idea comes int o t he wor ld, a great cause, cer t ain crucial quest ions ar e asked of
it , " she mur mur ed. "Hist ory asks us: what manner of cause ar e we? Ar e we uncompr omising,
absolut e, st rong, or will we show our selves t o be t imeserver s, who compromise, t r im and
yield?" Her body had pr ovided her answer.
The days cont inued t o pass. The enclosed, boiling cir cumst ances of his capt ivit y, at once
int imat e and dist ant , made Saladin Chamcha want t o argue wit h t he woman, unbendingness
can also be monomania, he want ed t o say, it can be t yranny, and also it can be br it t le,
wher eas what is flexible can also be humane, and st r ong enough t o last . But he didn' t say
anyt hing, of cour se, he f ell int o t he t orpor of t he days. Gibr eel Far isht a discover ed in t he seat
pocket in f ront of him a pamphlet wr it t en by t he depar t ed Dumsday. By t his t ime Chamcha had
not iced t he det er minat ion wit h which t he movie st ar r esist ed t he onset of sleep, so it wasn' t
surpr ising t o see him recit ing and memor izing t he lines of t he cr eat ionist ' s leaflet , while his
alr eady heavy eyelids drooped lower and lower unt il he forced t hem t o open wide again. The
leaflet ar gued t hat even t he scient ist s wer e busily r e- - invent ing God, t hat once t hey had
pr oved t he exist ence of a single unified force of which elect romagnet ism, gr avit y and t he
st rong and weak f or ces of t he new physics were all mer ely aspect s, avat ars, one might say, or
angels, t hen what would we have but t he oldest t hing of all, a supreme ent it y cont r olling all
creat ion . . . " You see, what our f riend says is, if you have t o choose bet ween some t ype of
disembodied force- field and t he act ual living God, which one would you go for? Good point , na?
You can' t pr ay t o an elect ric curr ent . No point asking a wave- for m f or t he key t o Par adise. "
He closed his eyes, t hen snapped t hem open again. "All bloody bunk, " he said f ier cely. "Makes
me sick. "
Af t er t he first days Chamcha no longer not iced Gibreel' s bad breat h, because nobody in
t hat wor ld of sweat and appr ehension was smelling any bet t er. But his f ace was impossible t o
ignore, as t he great purple welt s of his wakef ulness spr ead out war ds like oil- - slicks fr om his
eyes. Then at last his r esist ance ended and he collapsed on t o Saladin' s shoulder and slept for
four days wit hout waking once.
When he r et urned t o his senses he f ound t hat Chamcha, wit h t he help of t he mouse- like,
goat eed host age, a cert ain Jalandri, had moved him t o an empt y row of seat s in t he cent r e
block. He went t o t he t oilet t o ur inat e f or eleven minut es and r et urned wit h a look of r eal t er ror
in his eyes. He sat down by Chamcha again, but wouldn' t say a word. Two night s lat er ,
Chamcha heard him f ight ing, once again, against t he onset of sleep. Or , as it t ur ned out : of
dr eams.
"Tent h highest peak in t he wor ld, " Chamcha heard him mut t er, "is Xixabangma Feng, eight
oh one t hr ee met res. Annapur na nint h, eight y sevent y- eight . " Or he would begin at t he ot her
end: "One, Chomolungma, eight eight four eight . Two, K2, eight y- six eleven. Kanchenj unga,
eight y- five ninet y- eight , Makalu, Dhaulagiri, Manaslu. Nanga Par bat , met res eight t housand
one hundred and t went y- six. "
"You count eight t housand met re peaks t o f all asleep?" Chamcha asked him. Bigger t han
sheep, but not so numer ous.
Gibr eel Far isht a glared at him; t hen bowed his head; came t o a decision. "Not t o sleep, my
friend. To st ay awake. "
That was when Saladin Chamcha found out why Gibreel Far isht a had begun t o fear sleep.
Ever ybody needs somebody t o t alk t o and Gibr eel had spoken t o nobody about what had
happened af t er he at e t he unclean pigs. The dreams had begun t hat very night . I n t hese
visions he was always pr esent , not as himself but as his namesake, and I don' t mean
int erpr et ing a r ole, Spoono, I am him, he is me, I am t he bloody ar changel, Gibr eel himself ,
lar ge as bloody life.
_Spoono_. Like Zeenat Vakil, Gibreel had react ed wit h mir t h t o Saladin' s abbreviat ed
name. "Bhai, wow. I ' m t ickled, t r uly. Tickled pink. So if you ar e an English chamcha t hese
days, let it be. Mr . Sally Spoon. I t will be our lit t le j oke. " Gibr eel Far isht a had a way of failing t o
not ice when he made people angr y. _Spoon, Spoono, my old Chumch_: Saladin hat ed t hem all.
But could do not hing. Except hat e.
Maybe it was because of t he nicknames, maybe not , but Saladin . found Gibr eel' s
revelat ions pat het ic, ant iclimact ic, what was so st r ange if his dr eams charact er ized him as t he
angel, dr eams do every damn t hing, did it r eally display mor e t han a banal kind of egomania?
But Gibr eel was sweat ing fr om fear: "Point is, Spoono, " he pleaded, "ever y t ime I go t o sleep
t he dr eam st ar t s up fr om wher e it st opped. Same dr eam in t he same place. As if somebody
j ust paused t he video while I went out of t he room. Or, or . As if he' s t he guy who' s awake and
t his is t he bloody night mare. His bloody dr eam: us. Here. All of it . " Chamcha st ar ed at him.
"Cr azy, r ight , " he said. "Who knows if angels even sleep, never mind dr eam. I sound crazy. Am
I right or what ?"
"Yes. You sound crazy. "
"Then what t he hell, " he wailed, " is going on in my head?"
o o o
The longer he spent wit hout going t o sleep t he mor e t alkat ive he became, he began t o
regale t he host ages, t he hij ackers, as well as t he dilapidat ed cr ew of Flight 420, t hose formerly
scornf ul st ewardesses and shining flight - deck personnel who wer e now looking mour nfully
mot h- eat en in a cor ner of t he plane and even losing t heir ear lier ent husiasm for endless games
of rummy, - - wit h his incr easingly eccent ric reincar nat ion t heories, compar ing t heir soj our n on
t hat air st r ip by t he oasis of Al- Zamzam t o a second period of gest at ion, t elling ever ybody t hat
t hey wer e all dead t o t he world and in t he process of being regener at ed, made anew. This idea
seemed t o cheer him up somewhat , even t hough it made many of t he host ages want t o st r ing
him up, and he leapt up on t o a seat t o explain t hat t he day of t heir release would be t he day
of t heir rebirt h, a piece of opt imism t hat calmed his audience down. "St range but t rue! " he
cried. "That will be day zer o, and because we will all shar e t he birt hday we will all be exact ly
t he same age from t hat day on, for t he rest of our lives. How do you call it when fift y kids come
out of t he same mot her ? God knows. Fift uplet s. Damn! "
Reincar nat ion, f or fr enzied Gibr eel, was a t erm beneat h whose shield many not ions
gat hered a- babeling: phoenix- from- ashes, t he r esur rect ion of Chr ist , t he t ransmigr at ion, at t he
inst ant of deat h, of t he soul of t he Dalai Lama int o t he body of a new- bor n child . . . such
mat t er s got mixed up wit h t he avat ar s of Vishnu, t he met amor phoses of Jupit er , who had
imit at ed Vishnu by adopt ing t he for m of a bull; and so on, including of course t he pr ogr ess of
human beings t hrough successive cycles of life, now as cockroaches, now as kings, t owards t he
bliss of no- mor er et ur ns. _To be bor n again, fir st you have t o die_. Chamcha did not bot her t o
pr ot est t hat in most of t he examples Gibr eel pr ovided in his soliloquies, met amor phosis had not
requir ed a deat h; t he new flesh had been ent er ed int o t hrough ot her gat es. Gibr eel in f ull
flight , his ar ms waving like imperious wings, brooked no int er r upt ions. " The old must die, you
get my message, or t he new cannot be what not . "
Somet imes t hese t ir ades would end in t ear s. Farisht a in his exhaust ion- beyond- exhaust ion
would lose cont rol and place his sobbing head on Chamcha' s shoulder, while Saladin - -
pr olonged capt ivit y er odes cert ain r eluct ances among t he capt ives - - would st roke his f ace and
kiss t he t op of his head, _Ther e, t her e, t her e_. On ot her occasions Chamcha' s irr it at ion would
get t he bet t er of him. The sevent h t ime t hat Far isht a quot ed t he old Gr amsci chest nut , Saladin
shout ed out in fr ust r at ion, maybe t hat ' s what ' s happening t o you, loudmout h, your old self is
dying and t hat dr eam- angel of yours is t rying t o be bor n int o your flesh.
o o o
"You want t o hear somet hing r eally cr azy?" Gibr eel af t er a hundred and one days off er ed
Chamcha more confidences. "You want t o know why I ' m here?" And t old him anyway: " For a
woman. Yes, boss. For t he bloody love of my bloody life. Wit h whom I have spent a sum t ot al
of days t hr ee point five. Doesn' t t hat pr ove I r eally am cracked? QED, Spoono, old Chumch. "
And: " How t o explain it t o you? Thr ee and a half days of it , how long do you need t o know
t hat t he best t hing has happened, t he deepest t hing, t he has- t o- - be- it ? I swear: when I kissed
her t her e wer e mot her - - fucking sparks, yaar , believe don' t believe, she said it was st at ic
elect r icit y in t he car pet but I ' ve kissed chicks in hot el r ooms befor e and t his was a definit e first ,
a def init e one- and- only. Bloody elect ric shocks, man, I had t o j ump back wit h pain. "
He had no words t o expr ess her , his woman of mount ain ice, t o expr ess how it had been in
t hat moment when his lif e had been in pieces at his feet and she had become it s meaning. " You
don' t see, " he gave up. "Maybe you never met a person for whom you' d cross t he wor ld, f or
whom you' d leave ever yt hing, walk out and t ake a plane. She climbed Ever est , man.
Twent y- nine t housand and t wo feet , or maybe t went y- nine one four one. St r aight t o t he t op.
You t hink I can' t get on a j umbo- j et for a woman like t hat ?"
The har der Gibreel Farisht a t r ied t o explain his obsession wit h t he mount ain- - climber
Alleluia Cone, t he more Saladin t r ied t o conj ur e up t he memory of Pamela, but she wouldn' t
come. At fir st it would be Zeeny who visit ed him, her shade, and t hen aft er a t ime t her e was
nobody at all. Gibr eel' s passion began t o dr ive Chamcha wild wit h anger and f rust r at ion, but
Far isht a didn' t not ice it , slapped him on t he back, _cheer up, Spoono, won' t be long now_.
o o o
On t he hundred and t ent h day Tavleen walked up t o t he lit t le goat eed host age, Jalandr i,
and mot ioned wit h her f inger. Our pat ience has been exhaust ed, she announced, we have sent
repeat ed ult imat ums wit h no response, it is t ime for t he fir st sacr ifice. She used t hat word:
sacr ifice. She looked st r aight int o Jalandr i' s eyes and pr onounced his deat h sent ence. "You
first . Apost at e t rait or bast ard. " She or dered t he crew t o pr epare for t ake- off , she wasn' t going
t o r isk a st orming of t he plane aft er t he execut ion, and wit h t he point of her gun she pushed
Jalandr i t owards t he open door at t he fr ont , while he scr eamed and begged for mer cy. "She' s
got shar p eyes, " Gibreel said t o Chamcha. "He' s a cut - sird. " Jalandri had become t he first
t ar get because of his decision t o give up t he t ur ban and cut his hair , which made him a t rait or
t o his fait h, a shor n Sirdar j i. _Cut - Sir d_. A seven- - let t er condemnat ion; no appeal.
Jalandr i had fallen t o his knees, st ains were spreading on t he seat of his t r ouser s, she was
dr agging him t o t he door by his hair. Nobody moved. Dar a But a Man Singh t urned away fr om
t he t ableau. He was kneeling wit h his back t o t he open door ; she made him t urn round, shot
him in t he back of t he head, and he t oppled out on t o t he t armac. Tavleen shut t he door .
Man Singh, youngest and j umpiest of t he quar t et , screamed at her : "Now where do we go?
I n any damn place t hey' ll send t he commandos in for sur e. We' r e gone geese now. "
"Mar t yrdom is a pr ivilege, " she said soft ly. "We shall be like st ars; like t he sun. "
o o o
Sand gave way t o snow. Eur ope in wint er, beneat h it s whit e, t r ansforming carpet , it s
ghost - whit e shining up t hr ough t he night . The Alps, Fr ance, t he coast line of England, whit e
cliffs r ising t o whit ened meadowlands. Mr. Saladin Chamcha j ammed on an ant icipat or y bowler
hat . The world had r ediscovered Flight A 1- 420, t he Boeing 747 _Bost an_. Radar t r acked it ;
radio messages cr ackled. _Do you want per mission t o land?_ But no permission was request ed.
_Bost an_ circled over England' s shore like a gigant ic sea- bir d. Gull. Albat ross. Fuel indicat or s
dipped: t owards zer o.
When t he fight broke out , it t ook all t he passenger s by sur prise, because t his t ime t he
t hr ee male hij acker s didn' t ar gue wit h Tavleen, t her e wer e no fier ce whisper s about t he _fuel_
about _what t he fuck you' re doing_ but j ust a mut e st and- off , t hey wouldn' t even t alk t o one
anot her , as if t hey had given up hope, and t hen it was Man Singh who cr acked and went f or
her. The host ages wat ched t he fight t o t he deat h, unable t o feel involved, because a cur ious
det achment fr om realit y had come over t he air cr aft , a kind of inconsequent ial casualness, a
fat alism, one might say. They fell t o t he floor and her knif e went up t hrough his st omach. That
was all, t he br evit y of it adding t o it s seeming unimpor t ance. Then in t he inst ant when she rose
up it was as if ever ybody awoke, it became clear t o t hem all t hat she r eally meant business,
she was going t hrough wit h it , all t he way, she was holding in her hand t he wir e t hat connect ed
all t he pins of all t he gr enades beneat h her gown, all t hose f at al breast s, and alt hough at t hat
moment But a and Dar a r ushed at her she pulled t he wir e anyway, and t he walls came
t umbling down.
No, not deat h: birt h.
I I
Mahound
1
Gibr eel when he submit s t o t he inevit able, when he slides heavy- lidded t owards visions of
his angeling, passes his loving mot her who has a differ ent name for him, Shait an, she calls
him, j ust like Shait an, same t o same, because he has been fooling around wit h t he t iff ins t o be
car ried int o t he cit y for t he of fice wor kers' lunch, mischeevious imp, she slices t he air wit h her
hand, rascal has been put t ing Muslim meat compart ment s int o Hindu non- veg t if fin- car riers,
cust omer s are up in ar ms. Lit t le devil, she scolds, but t hen f olds him in her ar ms, my lit t le
farisht a, boys will be boys, and he f alls past her int o sleep, gr owing bigger as he f alls and t he
falling begins t o feel like flight , his mot her ' s voice waft s dist ant ly up t o him, baba, look how
you gr ew, enor _mouse_, wahwah, applause. He is gigant ic, wingless, st anding wit h his feet
upon t he horizon and his arms ar ound t he sun. I n t he early dreams he sees beginnings,
Shait an cast down fr om t he sky, making a grab f or a br anch of t he highest Thing, t he lot e- t r ee
of t he ut t er most end t hat st ands beneat h t he Throne, Shait an missing, plummet ing, splat . But
he lived on, was not couldn' t be dead, sang fr om heilbelow his soft seduct ive ver ses. O t he
sweet songs t hat he knew. Wit h his daught er s as his fiendish backing gr oup, yes, t he t hree of
t hem, Lat Manat Uzza, mot her less girls laughing wit h t heir Abba, giggling behind t heir hands at
Gibr eel, what a t rick we got in st ore f or you, t hey giggle, for you and for t hat businessman on
t he hill. But before t he businessman t her e are ot her st ories, her e he is, Archangel Gibr eel,
revealing t he spr ing of Zamzam t o Hagar t he Egypt ian so t hat , abandoned by t he pr ophet
I brahim wit h t heir child in t he deser t , she might dr ink t he cool spring wat er s and so live. And
lat er , aft er t he Jur hum f illed up Zamzam wit h mud and golden gazelles, so t hat it was lost for a
t ime, her e he is again, point ing it out t o t hat one, Mut t alib of t he scarlet t ent s, f at her of t he
child wit h t he silver hair who fat her ed, in t ur n, t he businessman. The businessman: her e he
comes.
Somet imes when he sleeps Gibr eel becomes aware, wit hout t he dr eam, of himself sleeping,
of himself dreaming his own awareness of his dream, and t hen a panic begins, O God, he cries
out , O allgood allahgod, I ' ve had my bloody chips, me. Got bugs in t he br ain, f ull mad, a
looney t une and a gone baboon. Just as he, t he businessman, felt when he f irst saw t he
archangel: t hought he was cracked, want ed t o t hr ow himself down fr om a r ock, from a high
rock, fr om a r ock on which t here gr ew a st unt ed lot e- t r ee, a r ock as high as t he r oof of t he
wor ld.
He' s coming: making his way up Cone Mount ain t o t he cave. Happy bir t hday: he' s f or t y-
four t oday. But t hough t he cit y behind and below him t hrongs wit h f est ival, up he climbs,
alone. No new bir t hday suit for him, neat ly pressed and folded at t he foot of his bed. A man of
ascet ic t ast es. ( What st range manner of businessman is t his?)
Quest ion: What is t he opposit e of fait h?
Not disbelief. Too final, cer t ain, closed. I t self a kind of belief.
Doubt .
The human condit ion, but what of t he angelic? Halfway bet ween Allahgod and homosap,
did t hey ever doubt ? They did: challenging God' s will one day t hey hid mut t er ing beneat h t he
Throne, daring t o ask forbidden t hings: ant iquest ions. I s it right t hat . Could it not be ar gued.
Fr eedom, t he old ant iquest . He calmed t hem down, nat ur ally, employing management skills a
la god. Flat t er ed t hem: you will be t he inst r ument s of my will on ear t h, of t he
salvat iondamnat ion of man, all t he usual et cet er a. And hey pr est o, end of prot est , on wit h t he
haloes, back t o wor k. Angels are easily pacified; t ur n t hem int o inst rument s and t hey' ll play
your harpy t une. Human beings ar e t ougher nut s, can doubt anyt hing, even t he evidence of
t heir own eyes. Of behind- t heir- own eyes. Of what , as t hey sink heavy- lidded, t r anspires
behind closed peepers. . . angels, t hey don' t have much in t he way of a will. To will is t o
disagree; not t o submit ; t o dissent .
I know; devil t alk. Shait an int er rupt ing Gibr eel.
Me?
The businessman: looks as he should, high forehead, eaglenose, br oad in t he shoulders,
nar row in t he hip. Aver age height , br ooding, dressed in t wo pieces of plain clot h, each four ells
in lengt h, one dr aped around his body, t he ot her over his shoulder . Large eyes; long lashes like
a girl' s. His st r ides can seem t oo long for his legs, but he' s a light - foot ed man. Orphans lear n t o
be moving t ar get s, develop a rapid walk, quick r eact ions, hold- your t ongue caut ion. Up t hr ough
t he t hor n- bushes and opobalsam t r ees he comes, scr abbling on boulders, t his is a fit man, no
soft bellied usurer he. And yes, t o st at e it again: t akes an odd sor t of business wallah t o cut off
int o t he wilds, up Mount Cone, somet imes f or a mont h at a st ret ch, j ust t o be alone.
His name: a dream- name, changed by t he vision. Pr onounced cor r ect ly, it means he- for -
whom- t hanks- should- be- given, but he won' t answer t o t hat her e; nor, t hough he' s well aware
of what t hey call him, t o his nickname in Jahilia down below - - _he- who- goes- up- and- down-
old- Coney_. Here he is neit her Mahomet nor MocHammer ed; has adopt ed, inst ead, t he demon-
t ag t he farangis hung around his neck. To t urn insult s int o st r engt hs, whigs, t ories, Blacks all
chose t o wear wit h pr ide t he names t hey wer e given in scorn; likewise, our mount ain- climbing,
pr ophet mot ivat ed solit ary is t o be t he medieval baby- - fright ener, t he Devil' s synonym:
Mahound.
That ' s him. Mahound t he businessman, climbing his hot mount ain in t he Hij az. The mir age
of a cit y shines below him in t he sun.
o o o
The cit y of Jahilia is built ent irely of sand, it s st r uct ur es f or med of t he deser t whence it
rises. I t is a sight t o wonder at : walled, f our - gat ed, t he whole of it a mir acle worked by it s
cit izens, who have lear ned t he t rick of t r ansfor ming t he fine whit e dune- sand of t hose forsaken
par t s, - - t he ver y st uff of inconst ancy, - - t he quint essence of unset t lement , shift ing, t reacher y,
lack- - of - - for m, - - and have t ur ned it , by alchemy, int o t he f abric of t heir newly invent ed
per manence. These people are a mer e t hr ee or four gener at ions removed fr om t heir nomadic
past , when t hey were as r oot less as t he dunes, or r at her r oot ed in t he knowledge t hat t he
j our neying it self was home.
- - Whereas t he migr ant can do wit hout t he j ourney alt oget her ; it ' s no mor e t han a
necessary evil; t he point is t o ar rive. - - .
Quit e recent ly, t hen, and like t he shrewd businessmen t hey wer e, t he Jahilians set t led
down at t he int er sect ion- - point of t he r out es of t he gr eat car avans, and yoked t he dunes t o
t heir will. Now t he sand serves t he might y ur ban merchant s. Beat en int o cobbles, it paves
Jahilia' s t or t uous st reet s; by night , golden flames blaze out f rom br azier s of bur nished
sand. Ther e is glass in t he windows, in t he long, slit like windows set in t he inf init ely high sand-
walls of t he merchant palaces; in t he alleys of Jahilia, donkey- car t s r oll f or war d on smoot h
silicon wheels. I , in my wickedness, somet imes imagine t he coming of a great wave, a high wall
of foaming wat er r oar ing acr oss t he desert , a liquid cat ast r ophe full of snapping boat s and
dr owning ar ms, a t idal wave t hat would r educe t hese vain sandcast les t o t he not hingness, t o
t he gr ains fr om which t hey came. But t her e are no waves her e. Wat er is t he enemy in Jahilia.
Carr ied in ear t hen pot s, it must never be spilled ( t he penal code deals fier cely wit h offender s) ,
for where it dr ops t he cit y er odes alarmingly. Holes appear in r oads, houses t ilt and sway. The
wat er car rier s of Jahilia ar e loat hed necessit ies, par iahs who cannot be ignored and t herefore
can never be for given. I t never r ains in Jahilia; t here ar e no fount ains in t he silicon gardens. A
few palms st and in enclosed cour t yar ds, t heir root s t ravelling far and wide below t he ear t h in
search of moist ur e. The cit y' s wat er comes fr om undergr ound st r eams and springs, one such
being t he f abled Zamzam, at t he heart of t he concent r ic sand- - cit y, next t o t he House of t he
Black St one. Her e, at Zamzam, is a behesht i, a despised wat er - - car rier, drawing up t he vit al,
dangerous f luid. He has a name: Khalid.
A cit y of businessmen, Jahilia. The name of t he t ribe is _Shar k_.
I n t his cit y, t he businessman- t ur ned- pr ophet , Mahound, is founding one of t he wor ld' s
gr eat religions; and has ar rived, on t his day, his birt hday, at t he crisis of his life. Ther e is a
voice whispering in his ear : _What kind of idea ar e you? Man- or - mouse?_
We know t hat voice. We' ve hear d it once befor e.
o o o
While Mahound climbs Coney, Jahilia celebr at es a diff er ent anniversary. I n ancient t ime t he
pat r iarch I brahim came int o t his valley wit h Hagar and I smail, t heir son. Her e, in t his wat er less
wilder ness, he abandoned her. She asked him, can t his be God' s will? He r eplied, it is. And left ,
t he bast ar d. Fr om t he beginning men" used God t o j ust ify t he unj ust if iable. He moves in
myst eri us ways: men say. Small wonder, t hen, t hat women have t ur ned t o me. - - But I ' ll
keep t o t he point ; Hagar wasn' t a wit ch. She was t rust ing: _t hen surely He will not let me
per ish_. Af t er I br ahim left her , she f ed t he baby at her breast unt il her milk ran out . Then she
climbed t wo hills, fir st Saf a t hen Marwah, running f rom one t o t he ot her in her desper at ion,
t r ying t o sight a t ent , a camel, a human being. She saw not hing. That was when he came t o
her, Gibreel, and showed her t he wat er s of Zamzam. So Hagar sur vived; but why now do t he
pilgr ims congr egat e? To celebr at e her sur vival? No, no. They are celebrat ing t he honour done
t he valley by t he visit of, you' ve guessed it , I br ahim. I n t hat loving consort ' s name, t hey
gat her, worship and, above all, spend.
Jahilia t oday is all perfume. The scent s of Araby, of _Ar abia Odor ifer a_, hang in t he air:
balsam, cassia, cinnamon, f rankincense, myrr h. The pilgr ims dr ink t he wine of t he dat e- palm
and wander in t he gr eat fair of t he feast of I br ahim. And, among t hem, one wander s whose
furr owed br ow set s him apart f rom t he cheer ful cr owd: a t all man in loose whit e r obes, he' d
st and almost a f ull head higher t han Mahound. His bear d is shaped close t o his slant ing, high- -
boned face; his gait cont ains t he lilt , t he deadly elegance of power. What ' s he called? - - The
vision yields his name event ually; it , t oo, is changed by t he dream. Her e he is, Kar im Abu
Simbel, Gr andee of Jahilia, husband t o t he f er ocious, beaut if ul Hind. Head of t he ruling council
of t he cit y, r ich beyond numbering, owner of t he lucr at ive t emples at t he cit y gat es, wealt hy in
camels, compt roller of caravans, his wife t he great est beaut y in t he land: what could shake t he
cert aint ies of such a man? And yet , for Abu Simbel, t oo, a cr isis is appr oaching. A name gnaws
at him, and you can guess what it is, Mahound Mahound Mahound.
O t he splendour of t he f airgr ounds of Jahilia! Her e in vast scent ed t ent s are ar rays of
spices, of senna leaves, of fr agrant woods; her e t he per fume vendors can be found,
compet ing for t he pilgrims' noses, and for t heir wallet s, t oo. Abu Simbel pushes his way
t hr ough t he crowds. Mer chant s, Jewish, Monophysit e, Nabat aean, buy and sell pieces of silver
and gold, weighing t hem, bit ing coins wit h knowing t eet h. Ther e is linen fr om Egypt and silk
from China; fr om Basra, arms and gr ain. There is gambling, and drinking, and dance. There ar e
slaves for sale, Nubian, Anat olian, Aet hiop. The four f act ions of t he t ribe of Shark cont rol
separat e zones of t he f air , t he scent s and spices in t he Scar let Tent s, while in t he Black Tent s
t he clot h and leat her. The SilverHaired gr ouping is in charge of pr ecious met als and swor ds.
Ent er t ainment - - dice, belly- dancer s, palm- wine, t he smoking of hashish and afeem - - is t he
pr erogat ive of t he f our t h quar t er of t he t ribe, t he Owner s of t he Dappled Camels, who also r un
t he slave t rade. Abu Simbel looks int o a dance t ent . Pilgrims sit clut ching money- bags in t heir
left hands; ever y so of t en a coin is moved fr om bag t o right - hand palm. The dancers shake and
sweat , and t heir eyes never leave t he pilgr ims' finger t ips; when t he coin t r ansfer ceases, t he
dance also ends. The gr eat man makes a face and let s t he t ent - flap fall.
Jahilia has been built in a ser ies of r ough cir cles, it s houses spr eading out wards fr om t he
House of t he Black St one, appr oximat ely in or der of wealt h and rank. Abu Simbel' s palace is in
t he fir st circle, t he inner most r ing; he makes his way down one of t he r ambling, windy r adial
roads, past t he cit y' s many seers who, in r et urn f or pilgrim money, are chir ping, cooing,
hissing, possessed var iously by dj innis of bir ds, beast s, snakes. A sor ceress, failing for a
moment t o look up, squat s in his pat h: "Want t o capt ure a gir lic' s heart , my dear? Want an
enemy under your t humb? Tr y me out ; t r y my lit t le knot s! " And raises, dangles a knot t y rope,
ensnar er of human lives - - but , seeing now t o whom she speaks, let s fall her disappoint ed arm
and slinks away, mumbling, int o sand.
Ever ywhere, noise and elbows. Poet s st and on boxes and declaim while pilgr ims t hr ow
coins at t heir feet . Some bards speak raj az ver ses, t heir four - - syllable met r e suggest ed,
accor ding t o legend, by t he walking pace of t he camel; ot her s speak t he qasidah, poems of
waywar d mist r esses, desert advent ure, t he hunt ing of t he onager. I n a day or so it will be t ime
for t he annual poet r y compet it ion, aft er which t he seven best ver ses will be nailed up on t he
walls of t he House of t he Black St one. The poet s ar e get t ing int o shape for t heir big day; Abu
Simbel laughs at minst r els singing vicious sat ir es, vit r iolic odes commissioned by one chief
against anot her , by one t r ibe against it s neighbour . And nods in r ecognit ion as one of t he poet s
falls int o st ep beside him, a sharp nar row yout h wit h fr enzied finger s. This young lampoonist
alr eady has t he most feared t ongue in all Jahilia, but t o Abu Simbel he is almost defer ent ial.
"Why so preoccupied, Grandee? I f you were not losing your hair I ' d t ell you t o let it down. " Abu
Simbel gr ins his sloping gr in. "Such a reput at ion, " he muses. "Such f ame, even bef or e your
milk- t eet h have fallen out . Look out or we' ll have t o dr aw t hose t eet h for you. " He is t easing,
speaking light ly, but even t his light ness is laced wit h menace, because of t he ext ent of his
power. The boy is unabashed. Mat ching Abu Simbel st ride for st r ide, he replies: "For ever y one
you pull out , a st ronger one will gr ow, bit ing deeper, drawing hot t er spur t s of blood. " The
Gr andee, vaguely, nods. "You like t he t ast e of blood, " he says. The boy shrugs. "A poet ' s
wor k, " he answers. " To name t he unnamable, t o point at fr auds, t o t ake sides, st art
argument s, shape t he world and st op it f rom going t o sleep. " And if r ivers of blood f low from
t he cut s his ver ses inflict , t hen t hey will nour ish him. He is t he sat irist , Baal.
A cur t ained lit t er passes by; some fine lady of t he cit y, out t o see t he fair, borne on t he
shoulder s of eight Anat olian slaves. Abu Simbel t akes t he young Baal by t he elbow, under t he
pr et ext of st eer ing him out of t he r oad; mur mur s, "I hoped t o find you; if you will, a word. "
Baa! mar vels at t he skill of t he Gr andee. Searching f or a man, he can make his quarr y t hink he
has hunt ed t he hunt er . Abu Simbel' s grip t ight ens; by t he elbow, he st eer s his companion
t owar ds t he holy of holies at t he cent re of t he t own.
"I have a commission for you, " t he Gr andee says. "A lit er ary mat t er . I know my limit at ions;
t he skills of r hymed malice, t he ar t s of met r ical slander, ar e quit e beyond my powers. You
underst and. "
But Baal, t he proud, ar rogant fellow, st iff ens, st ands on his dignit y. "I t isn' t r ight f or t he
art ist t o become t he ser vant of t he st at e. " Simbel' s voice f alls lower, acquires silkier rhyt hms.
"Ah, yes. Whereas t o place yourself at t he disposal of assassins is an ent ir ely honour able
t hing. " A cult of t he dead has been r aging in J ahilia. When a man dies, paid mour ner s beat
t hemselves, scrat ch t heir breast s, t ear hair . A hamst rung camel is left on t he gr ave t o die. And
if t he man has been mur der ed his closest relat ive t akes ascet ic vows and pur sues t he murderer
unt il t he blood has been avenged by blood; wher eupon it is cust omary t o compose a poem of
celebr at ion, but few revenger s are gift ed in rhyme. Many poet s make a living by writ ing
assassinat ion songs, and t her e is gener al agr eement t hat t he finest of t hese blood- - pr aising
ver sif ier s is t he precocious polemicist , Baal. Whose pr of essional pride prevent s him f rom being
br uised, now, by t he Gr andee' s lit t le t aunt . "That is a cult ur al mat t er , " he replies. Abu Simbel
sinks deeper st ill int o silkiness. "Maybe so, " he whisper s at t he gat es of t he House of t he Black
St one, "but , Baal, concede: don' t I have some small claim upon you? We bot h serve, or so I
t hought , t he same mist ress. "
Now t he blood leaves Baal' s cheeks; his confidence cr acks, falls f rom him like a shell. The
Gr andee, seemingly oblivious t o t he alt er at ion, sweeps t he sat ir ist f or ward int o t he House.
They say in Jahilia t hat t his valley is t he navel of t he eart h; t hat t he planet , when it was
being made, went spinning round t his point . Adam came here and saw a mir acle: four emer ald
pillar s bear ing aloft a giant glowing r uby, and beneat h t his canopy a huge whit e st one, also
glowing wit h it s own light , like a vision of his soul. He built st rong walls around t he vision t o
bind it f or ever t o t he ear t h. This was t he f ir st House. I t was r ebuilt many t imes - - once by
I brahim, aft er Hagar' s and I smail' s angel - - assist ed sur vival - - and gradually t he count less
t ouchings of t he whit e st one by t he pilgrims of t he cent ur ies darkened it s colour t o black. Then
t he t ime of t he idols began; by t he t ime of Mahound, t hr ee hundred and sixt y st one gods
clust er ed ar ound God' s own st one.
What would old Adam have t hought ? His own sons ar e her e now: t he colossus of Hubal,
sent by t he Amalekit es fr om Hit , st ands above t he t r easury well, Hubal t he shepherd, t he
waxing cr escent moon; also, glower ing, danger ous Kain. He is t he waning crescent , blacksmit h
and musician; he, t oo, has his devot ees.
Hubal and Kain look down on Gr andee and poet as t hey st roll. And t he Nabat aean prot o-
Dionysus, He- Of - Shar a; t he mor ning st ar, Ast ar t e, and sat ur nine Nakruh. Here is t he sun god,
Manaf! Look, t here f laps t he giant Nasr , t he god in eagleform! See Quzah, who holds t he
rainbow . . . is t his not a glut of gods, a st one flood, t o feed t he glut t on hunger of t he pilgrims,
t o quench t heir unholy t hir st . The deit ies, t o ent ice t he t ravellers, come - - like t he pilgr ims - -
from f ar and wide. The idols, t oo, are delegat es t o a kind of int er nat ional fair .
Ther e is a god here called Allah ( means simply, t he god) . Ask t he Jahilians and t hey' ll
acknowledge t hat t his f ellow has some sort of over all aut horit y, but he isn' t ver y popular : an
all - - rounder in an age of specialist st at ues.
Abu Simbel and newly perspiring Baal have arr ived at t he shrines, placed side by side, of
t he t hree best - beloved goddesses in Jahilia. They bow before all t hr ee: Uzza of t he radiant
visage, goddess of beaut y and love; dar k, obscure Manat , her face aver t ed, her pur poses
myst erious, sift ing sand bet ween her finger s - - she' s in charge of dest iny - - she' s Fat e; and
last ly t he highest of t he t hree, t he mot her - goddess, whom t he Gr eeks called Lat o. I lat , t hey
call her here, or , mor e f requent ly, Al- - Lat . _The goddess_. Even her name makes her Allah' s
opposit e and equal. Lat t he omnipot ent . His f ace showing sudden relief , Baal flings himself t o
t he gr ound and prost r at es himself before her. Abu Simbel st ays on his feet .
The family of t he Grandee, Abu Simbel - - or , t o be more pr ecise, of his wife Hind - -
cont r ols t he f amous t emple of Lat at t he cit y' s sout her n gat e. ( They also dr aw t he r evenues
from t he Manat t emple at t he east gat e, and t he t emple of Uzza in t he nor t h. ) These
concessions ar e t he f oundat ions of t he Grandee' s wealt h, so he is of cour se, Baal underst ands,
t he ser vant of Lat . And t he sat irist ' s devot ion t o t his goddess is well known t hroughout Jahilia.
So t hat was all he meant ! Trembling wit h relief , Baal remains pr ost rat e, giving t hanks t o his
pat r on Lady. Who looks upon him benignly; but a goddess' s expresson is not t o be relied upon.
Baal has made a serious mist ake.
Wit hout war ning, t he Grandee kicks t he poet in t he kidney. At t acked j ust when he has
decided he' s saf e, Baa! squeals, rolls over , and Abu Simbel follows him, cont inuing t o kick.
Ther e is t he sound of a cracking rib. "Runt , " t he Gr andee r emarks, his voice r emaining low and
good nat ur ed. "High- voiced pimp wit h small t est icles. Did you t hink t hat t he mast er of Lat ' s
t emple would claim comr adeship wit h you j ust because of your adolescent passion f or her ?"
And mor e kicks, regular , met hodical. Baal weeps at Abu Simbel' s feet . The House of t he Black
St one is f ar f rom empt y, but who would come bet ween t he Gr andee and his wrat h? Abrupt ly,
Baal' s t or ment or squat s down, gr abs t he poet by t he hair , j erks his head up, whisper s int o his
ear : "Baal, she wasn' t t he mist ress I meant , " and t hen Baal let s out a howl of hideous scif - pit y,
because he knows his life is about t o end, t o end when he has so much st ill t o achieve, t he
poor guy. The Gr andee' s lips br ush his ear . "Shit of a fr ight ened camel, " Abu Simbel breat hes,
"I know you f uck my wife. " He obser ves, wit h int erest , t hat Baal has acquired a prominent
er ect ion, an ir onic monument t o his fear.
Abu Simbel, t he cuckolded Grandce, st ands up, commands, "On your feet ", and Baal,
bewildered, f ollows him out side.
The gr aves of I smail and his mot her Hagar t he Egypt ian lie by t he nort h- - west face of t he
House of t he Black St one, in an enclosure sur rounded by a low wall. Abu Simbel appr oaches
t his area, halt s a lit t le way off . I n t he enclosur e is a small gr oup of men. The wat er - car rier
Khalid is t here, and some sort of bum fr om Per sia by t he out landish name of Salman, and t o
complet e t his t rinit y of scum t here is t he slave Bilal, t he one Mahound fr eed, an enormous
black monst er, t his one, wit h a voice t o mat ch his size. The t hree idler s sit on t he enclosure
wall. "That bunch of rif f - raff , " Abu Simbel says. "Those are your t ar get s. Writ e about t hem; and
t heir leader, t oo. " Baa! , f or all his t er ror, cannot conceal his disbelief . " Gr andee, t hose _goons_
- - t hose f ucking _clowns?_ You don' t have t o wor ry about t hem. What do you t hink? That
Mahound' s one God will bankrupt your t emples? Three- sixt y versus one, and t he one wins?
Can' t happen. " He giggles, close t o hyst eria. Abu Simbel remains calm: "Keep your insult s f or
your ver ses. " Giggling Baa! can' t st op. "A r evolut ion of wat er - - car riers, immigr ant s and slaves .
. . wow, Gr andee. I ' m r eally scared. " Abu Simbel looks car efully at t he t it t er ing poet . " Yes, " he
answers, "t hat ' s r ight , you should be afr aid. Get wr it ing, please, and I expect t hese ver ses t o
be your mast er pieces. " Baa! cr umples, whines. " But t hey are a wast e of my, my small t alent . .
. " He sees t hat he has said t oo much.
"Do as you' re t old, " ar e Abu Simbel' s last words t o him. "You have no choice. "
o o o
The Gr andee lolls in his bedroom while concubines at t end t o his needs. Coconut - - oil for his
t hinning hair , wine for his palat e, t ongues f or his delight . _The boy was r ight . Why do I fear
Mahound?_ He begins, idly, t o count t he concubines, gives up at f ift een wit h a f lap of his hand.
_The boy. Hind will go on seeing him, obviously; what chance does he have against her will?_
I t is a weakness in him, he knows, t hat he sees t oo much, t oler at es t oo much. He has his
appet it es, why should she not have hers? As long as she is discreet ; and as long as he knows.
He must know; knowledge is his nar cot ic, his addict ion. He cannot t oler at e what he does not
know and for t hat r eason, if f or no ot her , Mahound is his enemy, Mahound wit h his raggle-
t aggle gang, t he boy was r ight t o laugh. He, t he Gr andee, laughs less easily. Like his
opponent he is a caut ious man, he walks on t he balls of his feet . He remember s t he big one,
t he slave, Bilal: how his mast er asked him, out side t he Lat t emple, t o enumer at e t he gods.
"One, " he answer ed in t hat huge musical voice. Blasphemy, punishable by deat h. They
st ret ched him out in t he fair ground wit h a boulder on his chest . _How many did you say?_ One,
he r epeat ed, one. A second boulder was added t o t he first . _One one one_. Mahound paid his
owner a large pr ice and set him f ree.
No, Abu Simbel reflect s, t he boy Baal was wr ong, t hese men ar e wort h our t ime. Why do I
fear Mahound? For t hat : one one one, his t er rifying singular it y. Wher eas I am always divided,
always t wo or t hree or f ift een. I can even see his point of view; he is as wealt hy and successful
as any of us, as any of t he councillors, but because he lacks t he r ight sor t of family
connect ions, we haven' t off er ed him a place amongst our gr oup. Excluded by his or phaning
from t he mercant ile elit e, he feels he has been cheat ed, he has not had his due. He always was
an ambit ious f ellow. Ambit ious, but also solit ar y. You don' t r ise t o t he t op by climbing up a hill
all by yourself . Unless, maybe, you meet an angel t her e . . . yes, t hat ' s it . I see what he' s up
t o. He wouldn' t underst and me, t hough. _What kind of idea am I ?_ I bend. I sway. I calculat e
t he odds, t r im my sails, manipulat e, survive. That is why I won' t accuse Hind of adult er y. We
are a good pair, ice and fir e. Her f amily shield, t he fabled red lion, t he many- t oot hed
mant icor e. Let her play wit h her sat ir ist ; bet ween us it was never sex. I ' ll finish him when she' s
finished wit h. Her e' s a great lie, t hinks t he Gr andee of Jahilia dr ift ing int o sleep: t he pen is
might ier t han t he sword.
o o o
The for t unes of t he cit y of Jahilia were built on t he supr emacy of sand over wat er. I n t he
old days it had been t hought safer t o t r anspor t goods acr oss t he desert t han over t he seas,
wher e monsoons could st r ike at any t ime. I n t hose days before met eor ology such mat t er s were
impossible t o pr edict . For t his reason t he car a- - vanser ais pr osper ed. The pr oduce of t he world
came up fr om Zafar t o Sheba, and t hence t oJahilia and t he oasis of Yat hrib and on t o Midian
wher e Moses lived; t hence t o Aqabah and Egypt . Fr om Jahilia ot her t r ails began: t o t he east
and nort h- - east , t owards Mesopot amia and t he gr eat Persian empir e. To Pet ra and t o Palmyr a,
wher e once Solomon loved t he Queen of Sheba. Those wer e fat t ed days. But now t he fleet s
plying t he wat ers ar ound t he peninsula have grown har dier , t heir crews more skilful, t heir
navigat ional inst rument s more accurat e. The camel t rains ar e losing business t o t he boat s.
Deser t - ship and sea- ship, t he old r ivalr y, sees a t ilt in t he balance of power . Jahilia' s r ulers fr et ,
but t here is lit t le t hey can do. Somet imes Abu Simbel suspect s t hat only t he pilgrimage st ands
bet ween t he cit y and it s r uin. The council sear ches t he wor ld for st at ues of alien gods, t o
at t r act new pilgr ims t o t he cit y of sand; but in t his, t oo, t hey have compet it or s. Down in Sheba
a great t emple has been built , a shrine t o rival t he House of t he Black St one. Many pilgr ims
have been t empt ed sout h, and t he numbers at t he Jahilia f airgr ounds are falling.
At t he r ecommendat ion of Abu Simbel, t he r ulers of Jahilia have added t o t heir religious
pr act ices t he t empt ing spices of pr ofanit y. The cit y has become famous f or it s licent iousness,
as a gambling den, a whor ehouse, a place of bawdy songs and wild, loud music. On one
occasion some member s of t he t r ibe of Shar k went t oo far in t heir greed for pilgr im money. The
gat ekeeper s at t he House began demanding br ibes fr om weary voyagers; four of t hem, piqued
at receiving no mor e t han a pit t ance, pushed t wo t r aveller s t o t heir deat hs down t he great ,
st eep f light of st airs. This pract ice backfir ed, discouraging r et urn visit s. . . Today, female
pilgr ims ar e oft en kidnapped for ransom, or sold int o concubinage. Gangs of young Shar ks
pat r ol t he cit y, keeping t heir own kind of law. I t is said t hat Abu Simbel meet s secr et ly wit h t he
gangleader s and or ganizes t hem all. This is t he wor ld int o which Mahound has br ought his
message: one one one, Amid such mult iplicit y, it sounds like a danger ous wor d.
The Gr andee sit s up and at once concubines approach t o r esume t heir oilings and
smoot hings. He waves t hem away, claps his hands. The eunuch ent er s. "Send a messenger
t o t he house of t he kahin Mahound, " Abu Simbel commands. _We will set him a lit t le t est . A
fair cont est : t hree against one_.
o o o
Wat er - car rier immigr ant slave: Mahound' s t hr ee disciples ar e washing at t he well of
Zamzam. I n t he sand- - cit y, t heir obsession wit h wat er makes t hem fr eakish. Ablut ions, always
ablut ions, t he legs up t o t he knees, t he ar ms down t o t he elbows, t he head down t o t he neck.
Dry- t orsoed, wet - limbed and damp- headed, what eccent r ics t hey look! Splish, splosh, washing
and pr aying. On t heir knees, pushing ar ms, legs, heads back int o t he ubiquit ous sand, and t hen
beginning again t he cycle of wat er and prayer . These are easy t arget s f or Baal' s pen. Their
wat er - - loving is a t r eason of a sort ; t he people of Jahilia accept t he omnipot ence of sand. I t
lodges bet ween t heir fingers and t oes, cakes t heir lashes and hair, clogs t heir pores. They open
t hemselves t o t he deser t : come, sand, wash us in ar idit y. That is t he Jahilian way f rom t he
highest cit izen t o t he lowest of t he low. They ar e people of silicon, and wat er - lover s have come
among t hem.
Baal cir cles t hem fr om a safe dist ance - - Bilal is not a man t o t r ifle wit h - - and yells gibes.
"I f Mahound' s ideas were wor t h anyt hing, do you t hink t hey' d only be popular wit h t rash like
you?" Salman r est rains Bilal: "We should be honour ed t hat t he might y Baal has chosen t o
at t ack us, " he smiles, and Bilal r elaxes, subsides. Khalid t he wat er - car rier is j umpy, and when
he sees t he heavy figur e of Mahound' s uncle Hamza approaching he runs t owar ds him
anxiously. Hamza at sixt y is st ill t he cit y' s most renowned fight er and lion- hunt er . Though t he
t r ut h is less glor ious t han t he eulogies: Hamza has many t imes been defeat ed in combat , saved
by fr iends or lucky chances, r escued fr om lions' j aws. He has t he money t o keep such it ems out
of t he news. And age, and sur vival, best ow a sor t of validat ion upon a mar t ial legend. Bilal and
Salman, forget t ing Baal, f ollow Khalid. All t hr ee are nervous, young.
He' s st ill not home, Hamza r eport s. And Khalid, wor ried: But it ' s been hours, what is t hat
bast ard doing t o him, t or t ure, t humbscrews, whips? Salman, once again, is t he calmest : That
isn' t Simbel' s st yle, he says, it ' s somet hing sneaky, depend upon it . And Bilal bellows loyally:
Sneaky or not , I have fait h in him, in t he Prophet . He won' t br eak. Hamza offer s only a gent le
rebuke: Oh, Bilal, how many t imes must he t ell you? Keep your f ait h f or God. The Messenger is
only a man. The t ension bur st s out of Khalid: he squar es up t o old Hamza, demands, Ar e you
saying t hat t he Messenger is weak? You may be his uncle . . . Hamza clout s t he wat er - car rier
on t he side of t he head. Don' t let him see your fear, he says, not even when you' r e scared half
t o deat h.
The four of t hem are washing once mor e when Mahound arr ives; t hey clust er around him,
whowhat why. Hamza st ands back. "Nephew, t his is no damn good, " he snaps in his soldier' s
bar k. "When you come down fr om Coney t here' s a br ight ness on you. Today it ' s somet hing
dar k. "
Mahound sit s on t he edge of t he well and grins. "I ' ve been off er ed a deal. " _By Abu
Simbel?_ Khalid shout s. _Unt hinkable. Refuse_. Fait hful Bilal admonishes him: Do not lect ur e
t he Messenger. Of course, he has r efused. Salman t he Persian asks: What sort of deal.
Mahound smiles again. "At least one of you want s t o know. "
"I t ' s a small mat t er , " he begins again. "A gr ain of sand. Abu Simbel asks Allah t o gr ant him
one lit t le favour . " Hamza sees t he exhaust ion in him. As if he had been wr est ling wit h a demon.
The wat er - - car rier is shout ing: "Not hing! Not a j ot ! " Hamza shut s him up.
"I f our great God could f ind it in his hear t t o concede - - he used t hat wor d, _concede_ - -
t hat t hree, only t hree of t he t hr ee hundred and sixt y idols in t he house ar e wor t hy of
wor ship . . . "
"There is no god but God! " Bilal shout s. And his fellows j oin in: " Ya Allah! " Mahound looks
angr y. "Will t he fait hful hear t he Messenger?" They f all silent , scuffing t heir feet in t he dust .
"He asks for Allah' s appr oval of Lat , Uzza and Manat . I n ret ur n, he gives his guarant ee t hat
we will be t olerat ed, even officially recognized; as a mark of which, I am t o be elect ed t o t he
council of Jahilia. That ' s t he offer . "
Salman t he Per sian says: " I t ' s a t r ap. I f you go up Coney and come down wit h such a
Message, he' ll ask, how could you make Gibr eel pr ovide j ust t he r ight r evelat ion? He' ll be able
t o call you a char lat an, a f ake. " Mahound shakes his head. " You know, Salman, t hat I have
lear ned how t o list en. This _list ening_ is not of t he or dinar y kind; it ' s also a kind of asking.
Oft en, when Gibr eel comes, it ' s as if he knows what ' s in my heart . I t feels t o me, most t imes,
as if he comes fr om wit hin my heart : fr om wit hin my deepest places, fr om my soul. "
"Or it ' s a dif fer ent t r ap, " Salman persist s. "How long have we been recit ing t he creed you
br ought us? There is no god but God. What ar e we if we abandon it now? This weakens us,
render s us absur d. We cease t o be dangerous. Nobody will ever t ake us ser iously again. "
Mahound laughs, genuinely amused. "Maybe you haven' t been her e long enough, " he says
kindly. "Haven' t you not iced? The people do not t ake us ser iously. Never more t han fift y in t he
audience when I speak, and half of t hose ar e t ourist s. Don' t you r ead t he lampoons t hat Baal
pins up all over t own?" He r ecit es:
_Messenger , do please lend a_
_car eful ear . Your monophilia_,
_your one one one, ain' t f or Jahilia_.
_Ret urn t o sender _.
"They mock us ever ywher e, and you call us dangerous, " he cried.
Now Hamza looks worr ied. "You never wor ried about t heir opinions befor e. Why now? Why
aft er speaking t o Simbel?"
Mahound shakes his head. "Somet imes I t hink I must make it easier for t he people t o
believe. "
An uneasy silence covers t he disciples; t hey exchange looks, shif t t heir weight . Mahound
cries out again. "You all know what has been happening. Our f ailur e t o win conver t s. The
people will not give up t heir gods. They will not , not . " He st ands up, st rides away from t hem,
washes by himself on t he f ar side of t he Zamzam well, kneels t o pray.
"The people are sunk in darkness, " says Bilal, unhappily. "But t hey will see. They will hear .
God is one. " Misery inf ect s t he four of t hem; even Hamza is br ought low. Mahound has been
shaken, and his f ollowers quake.
He st ands, bows, sighs, comes r ound t o r ej oin t hem. " List en t o me, all of you, " he says,
put t ing one ar m ar ound Bilal' s shoulders, t he ot her around his uncle' s. "List en: it is an
int erest ing offer. "
Unembraced Khalid int err upt s bit t er ly: "I t is a _t empt ing_ deal. " The ot hers look hor rified.
Hamza speaks very gent ly t o t he wat er - - car rier. "Wasn' t it you, Khalid, who want ed t o fight me
j ust now because you wrongly assumed t hat , when I called t he Messenger a man, I was r eally
calling him a weakling? Now what ? I s it my t urn t o challenge you t o a f ight ?"
Mahound begs for peace. "I f we quar rel, t here' s no hope. " He t ries t o r aise t he discussion
t o t he t heological level. "I t is not suggest ed t hat Allah accept t he t hr ee as his equals. Not even
Lat . Only t hat t hey be given some sort of int ermediary, lesser st at us. "
"Like devils, " Bilal bur st s out .
"No, " Salman t he Per sian get s t he point . " Like ar changels. The Gr andee' s a clever man. "
"Angels and devils, " Mahound says. "Shait an and Gibr eel. We all, alr eady, accept t heir
exist ence, half way bet ween God and man. Abu Simbel asks t hat we admit j ust t hr ee mor e t o
t his great company. Just t hree, and, he indicat es, all Jahilia' s souls will be our s. "
"And t he House will be cleansed of st at ues?" Salman asks. Mahound r eplies t hat t his was
not specif ied. Salman shakes his head. "This is being done t o dest roy you. " And Bilal adds:
"God cannot be four . " And Khalid, close t o t ear s: " Messenger , what are you saying? Lat , Manat ,
Uzza - - t hey' re all _f emales! _ For pit y' s sake! Are we t o have goddesses now? Those old
cranes, her ons, hags?"
Misery st r ain fat igue, et ched deeply int o t he Pr ophet ' s face. Which Hamza, like a soldier on
a bat t lefield comfor t ing a wounded fr iend, cups bet ween his hands. "We can' t sor t t his out for
you, nephew, " he says. "Climb t he mount ain. Go ask Gibreel. "
o o o
Gibr eel: t he dr eamer , whose point of view is somet imes t hat of t he camera and at ot her
moment s, spect at or . When he' s a camer a t he pee oh vee is always on t he move, he hat es
st at ic shot s, so he' s float ing up on a high cr ane looking down at t he f or eshor t ened figures of
t he act or s, or he' s swooping down t o st and invisibly bet ween t hem, t ur ning slowly on his heel
t o achieve a t hr eehundr ed- and- sixt y- degr ee pan, or maybe he' ll t r y a dolly shot , t racking along
beside Baal and Abu Simbel as t hey walk, or hand- - held wit h t he help of a st eadicam he' ll
pr obe t he secret s of t he Grandee' s bedchamber. But most ly he sit s up on Mount Cone like a
paying cust omer in t he dress cir cle, and Jahilia is his silver scr een. He wat ches and weighs up
t he act ion like any movie fan, enj oys t he fight s infidelit ies moral crises, but t her e ar en' t enough
gir ls f or a real hit , man, and wher e are t he goddamn songs? They should have built up t hat
fairgr ound scene, maybe a cameo r ole f or Pimple Billimor ia in a show- t ent , wiggling her famous
bazooms.
And t hen, wit hout war ning, Hamza says t o Mahound: " Go ask Gibreel, " and he, t he
dr eamer , feels his heart leaping in alarm, who, me? I ' m supposed t o know t he answers here?
I ' m sit t ing here wat ching t his pict ur e and now t his act or point s his finger out at me, who ever
hear d t he like, who asks t he bloody audience of a "t heological" t o solve t he bloody plot ? - - But
as t he dream shif t s, it ' s always changing for m, he, Gibr eel, is no longer a mer e spect at or but
t he cent ral player , t he st ar . Wit h his old weakness for t aking t oo many r oles: yes, yes, . he' s
not j ust playing t he archangel but also him, t he businessman, t he Messenger, Mahound,
coming up t he mount ain when he comes. Nif t y cut t ing is r equir ed t o pull off t his double role,
t he t wo of t hem can never be seen in t he same shot , each must speak t o empt y air , t o t he
imagined incar nat ion of t he ot her , and t r ust t o t echnology t o cr eat e t he missing vision, wit h
scissors and Scot ch t ape or, more exot ically, wit h t he help of a t r avelling mat . Not t o be
conf used ha ha wit h any magic car pet .
He has underst ood: t hat he is afr aid of t he ot her , t he businessman, isn' t it cr azy? The
archangel quaking bef or e t he mort al man. I t ' s t r ue, but : t he kind of fear you feel when you' r e
on a f ilm set for t he ver y first t ime and t her e, about t o make his ent r ance, is one of t he living
legends of t he cinema; you t hink, I ' ll disgrace myself, I ' ll dr y, I ' ll cor pse, you want like mad t o
be _wor t hy_. You will be sucked along in t he slipst r eam of his genius, he can make you look
good, like a high flier, but you will know if you aren' t pulling your weight and even worse so will
he Gibreel' s fear, t he f ear of t he self his dream creat es, makes him st ruggle against Mahound' s
arr ival, t o t r y and put it off, but he' s coming now, no quesch, and t he ar changel holds his
br eat h.
Those dr eams of being pushed out on st age when you' ve no business being t here, you
don' t know t he st ory haven' t learned any lines, but t here' s a full house wat ching, wat ching:
feels like t hat . Or t he t rue st ory of t he whit e act ress playing a black woman in Shakespear e.
She went on st age and t hen r ealized she st ill had her glasses on, eck, but she had f or got t en t o
blacken her hands so she couldn' t reach up t o t ake t he specs of f, double eek: like t hat also.
_Mahound comes t o me for revelat ion, asking me t o choose bet ween monot heist and
henot heist alt er nat ives, and I ' m j ust some idiot act or having a bhaenchud night mar e, what t he
fuck do I know, yaar, what t o t ell you, help. Help_.
o o o
To reach Mount Cone f rom Jahilia one must walk int o dark ravines wher e t he sand is not
whit e, not t he pur e sand filt ered long ago t hr ough t he bodies of sea- cucumbers, but black and
dour, sucking light f rom t he sun. Coney cr ouches over you like an imaginary beast . You ascend
along it s spine. Leaving behind t he last t r ees, whit e- - flower ed wit h t hick, milky leaves, you
climb among t he boulders, which get larger as you get higher , unt il t hey r esemble huge walls
and st art blot t ing out t he sun. The lizards ar c blue as shadows. Then you ar e on t he peak,
Jahilia behind you, t he feat ureless deser t ahead. You descend on t he desert side, and about
five hundr ed feet down you r each t he cave, which is high enough t o st and upr ight in, and
whose f loor is cover ed in miraculous albino sand. As you climb you hear t he deser t doves
calling your name, and t he rocks gr eet you, t oo, in your own language, crying Mahound,
Mahound. When you reach t he cave you are t ir ed, you lie down, you fall asleep.
o o o
But when he has r est ed he ent er s a differ ent sor t of sleep, a sort of not - - sleep, t he
condit ion t hat he calls his _list ening_, and he feels a dr agging pain in t he gut , like somet hing
t r ying t o be bor n, and now Gibr eel, who has been hovering- above- looking- down, feels a
conf usion, _who am I _, in t hese moment s it begins t o seem t hat t he archangel is act ually
_inside t he Pr ophet _, I am t he dr agging in t he gut , I am t he angel being ext r uded from t he
sleeper' s navel, I emer ge, Gibreel Farisht a, while my ot her self, Mahound, lies _list ening_,
ent ranced, I am bound t o him, navel t o navel, by a shining cor d of light , not possible t o say
which of us is dr eaming t he ot her. We flow in bot h dir ect ions along t he umbilical cor d.
Today, as well as t he over whelming int ensit y of Mahound, Gibreel feels his despair : his
doubt s. Also, t hat he is in gr eat need, but Gibr eel st ill doesn' t know his lines . . . he list ens t o
t he list ening- which- is- also- an- asking. Mahound asks: They wer e shown miracles but t hey didn' t
believe. They saw you come t o me, in f ull view of t he cit y, and open my breast , t hey saw you
wash my hear t in t he wat er s of Zamzam and r eplace it inside my body. Many of t hem saw t his,
but st ill t hey wor ship st ones. And when you came at night and flew me t o Jerusalem and I
hovered above t he holy cit y, didn' t I r et urn and describe it exact ly as it is, accur at e down t o
t he last det ail? So t hat t her e could be no doubt ing t he miracle, and st ill t hey went t o Lat .
Haven' t I already done my best t o make t hings simple for t hem? When you carr ied me up
t o t he Throne it self , and Allah laid upon t he fait hful t he great burden of fort y prayer s a day. On
t he r et urn j our ney I met Moses and he said, t he burden is t oo heavy, go back and plead for
less. Four t imes I went back, f our t imes Moses said, st ill t oo many, go back again. But by t he
four t h t ime Allah had r educed t he dut y t o five pr ayers and I r efused t o ret urn. I felt ashamed
t o beg any mor e. I n his bount y he asks for five inst ead of f or t y, and st ill t hey love Manat , t hey
want Uzza. What can I do? What shall I r ecit e?
Gibr eel r emains silent , empt y of answer s, for Pet e' s sake, bhai, don' t go asking me.
Mahound' s anguish is awf ul. He _asks_: is it possible t hat t hey _ar e_ angels? Lat , Manat ,
Uzza . . . can I call t hem angelic? Gibr eel, have you got sist ers? Ar e t hese t he daught ers of
God? And he cast igat es himself, O my vanit y, I am an arr ogant man, is t his weakness, is it j ust
a dream of power ? Must I bet ray myself for a seat on t he council? I s t his sensible and wise or
is it hollow and self - loving? I don' t even know if t he Gr andee is sincere. Does he know? Per haps
not even he. I am weak and he' s st rong, t he of fer gives him many ways of r uining me. But I ,
t oo, have much t o gain. The souls of t he cit y, of t he wor ld, sur ely t hey ar e wor t h t hr ee angels?
I s Allah so unbending t hat he will not embrace t hr ee mor e t o save t he human r ace? - - I don' t
know anyt hing. - - Should God be pr oud or humble, maj est ic or simple, yielding or un- ? _What
kind of idea is he? What kind am I ?_
o o o
Halfway int o sleep, or halfway back t o wakefulness, Gibr eel Far isht a is of t en f illed wit h
resent ment by t he non- - appear ance, in his per secut ing visions, of t he One who is supposed t o
have t he answer s, _He_ never t ur ns up, t he one who kept away when I was dying, when I
needed needed him. The one it ' s all about , Allah lshvar God. Absent as ever while we writ he
and suffer in his name.
The Supr eme Being keeps away; what keeps ret ur ning is t his scene, t he ent ranced
Prophet , t he ext r usion, t he cor d of light , and t hen Gibreel in his dual r ole is bot h above-
looking- down and below- st aring- up. And bot h of t hem scared out of t heir minds by t he
t r anscendence of it . Gibreel feels paralysed by t he pr esence of t he Pr ophet , by his gr eat ness,
t hinks I can' t make a sound I ' d seem such a goddamn fool. Hamza' s advice: never show your
fear: ar changels need such advice as well as wat er - car riers. An ar changel must look composed,
what would t he Pr ophet t hink if God' s Exalt ed began t o gibber wit h st age fr ight ?
I t happens: r evelat ion. Like t his: Mahound, st ill in his not sicep, becomes r igid, veins bulge
in his neck, he clut ches at his cent re. No, no, not hing like an epilept ic fit , it can' t be explained
away t hat easily; what epilept ic f it ever caused day t o t urn t o night , caused clouds t o mass
over head, caused t he air t o t hicken int o soup while an angel hung, scar ed silly, in t he sky
above t he suff er er, held up like a kit e on a golden t hr ead? The dr agging again t he dragging and
now t he miracle st ar t s in his my our gut s, he is st raining wit h all his might at somet hing,
for cing somet hing, and Gibr eel begins t o feel t hat st rengt h t hat f or ce, here it is _at my own
j aw_ working it , opening shut t ing; and t he power, st ar t ing wit hin Mahound, reaching up t o _my
vocal cor ds_ and t he voice comes.
_Not my voice_ I ' d never know such wor ds I ' m no classy speaker never was never will be
but t his isn' t my voice it ' s a Voice.
Mahound' s eyes open wide, he' s seeing some kind of vision, st aring at it , oh, t hat ' s r ight ,
Gibr eel r emembers, me. He' s seeing me. My lips moving, being moved by. What , whom? Don' t
know, can' t say. Never t heless, her e t hey are, coming out of my mout h, up my t hroat , past my
t eet h: t he Words.
Being God' s post man is no fun, yaar .
But but but : God isn' t in t his pict ur e.
God knows whose post man I ' ve been.
o o o
I n Jahilia t hey ar e wait ing for Mahound by t he well. Khalid t he wat er - - car rier, as ever t he
most impat ient , r uns off t o t he cit y gat e t o keep a look- - out . Hamza, like all old soldiers
accust omed t o keeping his own company, squat s down in t he dust and plays a game wit h
pebbles. Ther e is no sense of ur gency; somet imes he is away for days, even weeks. And t oday
t he cit y is all but deser t ed; everybody has gone t o t he great t ent s at t he fair gr ound t o hear t he
poet s compet e. I n t he silence, t her e is only t he noise of Hamza' s pebbles, and t he gur gles of a
pair of r ock- doves, visit or s f rom Mount Cone. Then t hey hear t he running f eet .
Khalid ar rives, out of breat h, looking unhappy. The Messenger has ret ur ned, but he isn' t
coming t o Zamzam. Now t hey ar e all on t heir feet , per plexed by t his depart ur e f rom
est ablished pr act ice. Those who have been wait ing wit h palm- fronds and st eles ask Hamza:
Then t here will be no Message? But Khalid, st ill cat ching his breat h, shakes his head. " I t hink
t here will be. He looks t he way he does when t he Word has been given. But he didn' t speak t o
me and walked t owards t he f airgr ound inst ead. "
Hamza t akes command, for est alling discussion, and leads t he way. The disciples - - about
t went y have gat hered - - follow him t o t he fleshpot s of t he cit y, wearing expr essions of pious
disgust . Hamza alone seems t o be looking forward t o t he fair.
Out side t he t ent s of t he Owner s of t he Dappled Camels t hey find Mahound, st anding wit h
his eyes closed, st eeling himself t o t he t ask. They ask anxious quest ions; he doesn' t answer .
Af t er a few moment s, he ent ers t he poet r y t ent .
o o o
I nside t he t ent , t he audience react s t o t he ar rival of t he unpopular Pr ophet and his
wret ched follower s wit h derision. But as Mahound walks forward, his eyes f irmly closed, t he
boos and cat calls die away and a silence falls. Mahound does not open his eyes for an inst ant ,
but his st eps ar e sur e, and he reaches t he st age wit hout st umblings or collisions. He climbs t he
few st eps up int o t he light ; st ill his eyes st ay shut . The assembled lyric poet s, composers of
assassinat ion eulogies, narr at ive versifier s and sat ir ist s - - Baal is her e, of cour se - - gaze wit h
amusement , but also wit h a lit t le unease, at t he sleepwalking Mahound. I n t he cr owd his
disciples j ost le for r oom. The scribes f ight t o be near him, t o t ake down what ever he might say.
The Gr andee Abu Simbel rest s against bolst ers on a silken carpet posit ioned beside t he
st age. Wit h him, resplendent in golden Egypt ian neckwear, is his wife Hind, t hat famous
Gr ecian profile wit h t he black hair t hat is as long as her body. Abu Simbel rises and calls t o
Mahound, "Welcome. " He is all ur banit y. "Welcome, Mahound, t he seer , t he kahin. " I t ' s a public
declar at ion of respect , and it impresses t he assembled cr owd. The Prophet ' s disciples are no
longer shoved aside, but allowed t o pass. Bewildered, half - pleased, t hey come t o t he fr ont .
Mahound speaks wit hout opening his eyes.
"This is a gat hering of many poet s, " he says clear ly, "and I cannot claim t o be one of t hem.
But I am t he Messenger, and I br ing verses fr om a gr eat er One t han any her e assembled. "
The audience is losing pat ience. Religion is for t he t emple; J ahilians and pilgrims alike ar e
here f or ent er t ainment . Silence t he fellow! Throw him out ! - - But Abu Simbel speaks again.
"I f your God has really spoken t o you, " he says, " t hen all t he wor ld must hear it . " And in an
inst ant t he silence in t he gr eat t ent is complet e.
"_The St ar_, " Mahound cries out , and t he scribes begin t o wr it e.
"I n t he name of Allah, t he Compassionat e, t he Merciful!
"By t he Pleiades when t hey set : Your companion is not in er ror; neit her is he deviat ing.
"Nor does he speak fr om his own desires. I t is a r evelat ion t hat has been r evealed: one
might y in power has t aught him.
"He st ood on t he high hor izon: t he lord of st r engt h. Then he came close, closer t han t he
lengt h of t wo bows, and revealed t o his servant t hat which is r evealed.
"The servant ' s hear t was t rue when seeing what he saw. Do you, t hen, dar e t o quest ion
what was seen?
"I saw him also at t he lot e- - t r ee of t he ut t er most end, near which lies t he Gar den of
Repose. When t hat t ree was cover ed by it s cover ing, my eye was not aver t ed, neit her did my
gaze wander; and I saw some of t he great est signs of t he Lor d. "
At t his point , wit hout any t race of hesit at ion or doubt , he recit es t wo f ur t her ver ses.
"Have you t hought upon Lat and Uzza, and Manat , t he t hir d, t he ot her?" - - Aft er t he fir st
ver se, Hind get s t o her f eet ; t he Gr andee of Jahilia is already st anding ver y st raight . And
Mahound, wit h silenced eyes, recit es: " They ar e t he exalt ed birds, and t heir int er cession is
desir ed indeed. "
As t he noise - - shout s, cheers, scandal, cries of devot ion t o t he goddess Al- Lat - - swells
and bur st s wit hin t he mar quee, t he already ast onished congregat ion beholds t he doubly
sensat ional spect acle of t he Gr andee Abu Simbel placing his t humbs upon t he lobes of his ear s,
fanning out t he fingers of bot h hands and ut t ering in a loud voice t he formula: "Allahu Akbar . "
Af t er which he falls t o his knees and pr esses a deliberat e f or ehead t o t he gr ound. His wife,
Hind, immediat ely follows his lead.
The wat er - car rier Khalid has remained by t he open t ent - flap t hroughout t hese event s. Now
he st ares in horr or as everyone gat her ed t here, bot h t he cr owd in t he t ent and t he over flow of
men and women out side it , begins t o kneel, r ow by r ow, t he movement r ippling out wards fr om
Hind and t he Gr andee as t hough t hey wer e pebbles t hr own int o a lake; unt il t he ent ire
gat hering, out side t he t ent as well as in, kneels bot t om- - in- - air before t he shut eye Prophet who
has r ecognized t he pat ron deit ies of t he t own. The Messenger himself r emains st anding, as if
lot h t o j oin t he assembly in it s devot ions. Bur st ing int o t ears, t he wat er - - car rier flees int o t he
empt y hear t of t he cit y of t he sands. His t ear drops, as he r uns, burn holes in t he ear t h, as if
t hey cont ain some harsh corr osive acid.
Mahound remains mot ionless. No t r ace of moist ur e can be det ect ed on t he lashes of his
unopened eyes.
o o o
On t hat night of t he desolat ing t r iumph of t he businessman in t he t ent of t he unbelievers,
t here t ake place cert ain mur der s f or which t he fir st lady of Jahilia will wait year s t o t ake her
t er rible revenge.
The Prophet ' s uncle Hamza has been walking home alone, his head bowed and gr ey in t he
t wilight of t hat melancholy vict ory, when he hear s a roar and looks up, t o see a gigant ic scar let
lion poised t o leap at him f rom t he high bat t lement s of t he cit y. He knows t his beast , t his fable.
_The ir idescence of it s scarlet hide blends int o t he shimmer ing br ight ness of t he deser t sands.
Through it s nost r ils it exhales t he hor r or of t he lonely places of t he ear t h. I t spit s out
pest ilence, and when ar mies vent ur e int o t he deser t , it consumes t hem ut t er ly_. Through t he
blue last light of evening he shout s at t he beast , pr eparing, unar med as he is, t o meet his
deat h. " Jump, you bast ar d, mant icore. I ' ve st rangled big cat s wit h my bare hands, in my t ime. "
When I was younger. When I was young.
Ther e is laught er behind him, and dist ant laught er echoing, or so it seems, from t he
bat t lement s. He looks around him; t he mant icore has vanished fr om t he r ampart s. He is
surr ounded by a gr oup of Jahilians in fancy dress, r et ur ning f rom t he fair and giggling. " Now
t hat t hese myst ics have embr aced our Lat , t hey ar e seeing new gods round ever y cor ner , no?"
Hamza, underst anding t hat t he night will be full of t err ors, r et urns home and calls f or his bat t le
sword. "More t han anyt hing in t he world, " he growls at t he paper y valet who has served him in
war and peace for f or t y- four year s, "I hat e admit t ing t hat my enemies have a point . Damn
sight bet t er t o kill t he bast ar ds, I ' ve always t hought . Neat est bloody solut ion. " The swor d has
remained sheat hed in it s leat her scabbard since t he day of his conver sion by his nephew, but
t onight , he confides t o t he valet , " The lion is loose. Peace will have t o wait . "
I t is t he last night of t he fest ival of I br ahim. Jahilia is masquerade and madness. The oiled
fat t y bodies of t he wrest lers have complet ed t heir writ hings and t he seven poems have been
nailed t o t he walls of t he House of t he Black St one. Now singing whor es r eplace t he poet s, and
dancing whor es, also wit h oiled bodies, are at wor k as well; night - wrest ling r eplaces t he
dayt ime var iet y. The court esans dance and sing in golden, bir d- beaked masks, and t he gold is
reflect ed in t heir client s' shining eyes. Gold, gold ever ywhere, in t he palms of t he profit eer ing
Jahilians and t heir libidinous guest s, in t he flaming sand- - br azier s, in t he glowing walls of t he
night cit y. Hamza walks dolor ously t hrough t he st r eet s of gold, past pilgr ims who lie
unconscious while cut purses ear n t heir living. He hears t he wine- - blur red carousing t hr ough
ever y golden- gleaming door way, and feels t he song and howling laught er and coin- chinkings
hur t ing him like mort al insult s. But he doesn' t find what he' s looking for, not here, so he moves
away f rom t he illuminat ed revelry of gold and begins t o st alk t he shadows, hunt ing t he
appar it ion of t he lion.
And f inds, af t er hour s of searching, what he knew would be wait ing, in a dark corner of t he
cit y' s out er walls, t he t hing of his vision, t he r ed mant icor e wit h t he t r iple row of t eet h. The
mant icor c has blue eyes and a mannish face and it s voice is half - - t rumpet and half - flut e. I t is
fast as t he wind, it s nails ar e corkscr ew t alons and it s t ail hurls poisone& quills. I t loves t o feed
on human flesh . . . a br awl is t aking place. Knives hissing in t he silence, at t imes t he clash of
met al against met al. Hamza recognizes t he men under at t ack: Khalid, Salman, Bilal. A lion
himself now, Hamza draws his sword, r oar s t he silence int o shreds, runs for war d as fast as
sixt y- - year- - old legs will go. His fr iends' assailant s ar e unr ecognizable behind t heir masks.
I t has been a night of masks. Walking t he debauched Jahilian st reet s, his hear t full of bile,
Hamza has seen men and women in t he guise of eagles, j ackals, horses, gr yphons,
salamander s, war t - - hogs, r ocs; welling up fr om t he murk of t he alleys have come t wo- headed
amphisbaenae and t he winged bulls known as Assyr ian sphinxes. Dj inns, houris, demons
populat e t he cit y on t his night of phant asmagoria and lust . But only now, in t his dar k place,
does he see t he red masks he' s been looking for. The manlion masks: he r ushes t owards his
fat e.
o o o
I n t he gr ip of a self - dest r uct ive unhappiness t he t hree disciples had st ar t ed dr inking, and
owing t o t heir unf amiliar it y wit h alcohol t hey were soon not j ust int oxicat ed but st upid- dr unk.
They st ood in a small piazza and st art ed abusing t he passer s- - by, and af t er a while t he wat er - -
car rier Khalid br andished his wat er - - skin, boast ing. He could dest r oy t he cit y, he carr ied t he
ult imat e weapon. Wat er: it would cleanse Jahilia t he f ilt hy, wash it away, so t hat a new st art
could be made f rom t he pur ified whit e sand. That was when t he lion- - men st art ed chasing
t hem, and aft er a long pursuit t hey wer e cornered, t he booziness dr aining out of t hem on
account of t heir fear, t hey were st aring int o t he red masks of deat h when Hamza ar rived j ust in
t ime.
. . . Gibreel float s above t he cit y wat ching t he fight . I t ' s quickly over once Hamza get s t o
t he scene. Two masked assailant s run away, t wo lie dead. Bilal, Khalid and Salman have been
cut , but not t oo badly. Gr aver t han t heir wounds is t he news behind t he lion- - masks of t he
dead. "Hind' s br ot hers, " Hamza r ecognizes. "Things ar e finishing for us now. "
Slayer s of mant icor es, wat er - t er rorist s, t he follower s of Mahound sit and weep in t he
shadow of t he cit y wall.
o o o
As f or him, Prophet Messenger Businessman: his eyes ar e open now. He paces t he inner
cour t yar d of his house, his wife' s house, and will not go in t o her. She is almost sevent y and
feels t hese days mor e like a mot her t han a. She, t he rich woman, who employed him t o
manage her car avans long ago. His management skills were t he first t hings she liked about
him. And aft er a t ime, t hey were in love. I t isn' t easy t o be a brilliant , successful woman in a
cit y where t he gods ar e female but t he females ar e merely goods. Men had eit her been af raid
of her , or had t hought her so st r ong t hat she didn' t need t heir consider at ion. He hadn' t been
afraid, and had given her t he feeling of const ancy she needed. While he, t he or phan, found in
her many women in one: mot her sist er lover sibyl fr iend. When he t hought himself cr azy she
was t he one who believed in his visions. "I t is t he ar changel, " she t old him, "not some fog out
of your head. I t is Gibr eel, and you are t he Messenger of God. "
He can' t won' t see her now. She wat ches him t hr ough a st onelat t iced window. He can' t
st op walking, moves around t he court yard in a random sequence of unconscious geomet r ies,
his foot st eps t racing out a ser ies of ellipses, t rapeziums, r homboids, ovals, rings. While she
remember s how he would ret ur n fr om t he caravan t rails full of st or ies hear d at wayside oases.
A prophet , I sa, bor n t o a woman named Mar yam, bor n of no man under a palm- - t r ee in t he
deser t . St ories t hat made his eyes shine, t hen f ade int o a dist ant ness. She recalls his
excit abilit y: t he passion wit h which he' d argue, all night if necessary, t hat t he old nomadic
t imes had been bet t er t han t his cit y of gold where people exposed t heir baby daught ers in t he
wilder ness. I n t he old t ribes even t he poorest or phan would be car ed for. God is in t he deser t ,
he' d say, not here in t his miscar riage of a place. And she' d reply, Nobody' s arguing, my love,
it ' s lat e, and t omorr ow t her e are t he account s.
She has long ears; has alr eady heard what he said about Lat , Uzza, Manat . So what ? I n t he
old days he want ed t o pr ot ect t he baby daught ers of Jahilia; why shouldn' t he t ake t he
daught er s of Allah under his wing as well? But af t er asking her self t his quest ion she shakes her
head and leans heavily on t he cool wall beside her st one- scr eened window. While below her,
her husband walks in pent agons, par allelograms, six- - point ed st ars, and t hen in abst ract and
increasingly labyrint hinc pat t er ns for which t her e are no names, as t hough unable t o f ind a
simple line.
When she looks int o t he cour t yar d some moment s lat er , however , he has gone.
o o o
The Prophet wakes bet ween silk sheet s, wit h a burst ing headache, in a r oom he has never
seen. Out side t he window t he sun is near it s savage zenit h, and silhouet t ed against t he
whit eness is a t all f igur e in a black hooded cloak, singing sof t ly in a st rong, low voice. The song
is one t hat t he women of Jahilia chorus as t hey drum t he men t o war .
_Advance and we embrace you_,
_embr ace you, embr ace you_,
_advance and we embrace you_
_and soft car pet s spread_.
_Turn back and we deser t you_,
_we leave you, deser t you_,
_r et reat and we' ll not love you_,
_not in love' s bed_.
He r ecognizes Hind' s voice, sit s up, and finds himself naked beneat h t he creamy sheet . He
calls t o her: " Was I at t acked?" Hind t ur ns t o him, smiling her Hind smile. "At t acked?" she
mimics him, and claps her hands f or br eakfast . Minions ent er, bring, serve, remove, scurr y off .
Mahound is helped int o a silken r obe of black and gold; Hind, exagger at edly, aver t s her eyes.
"My head, " he asks again. " Was I st ruck?" She st ands at t he window, her head hung low,
playing t he demur e maid. "Oh, Messenger, Messenger , " she mocks him. " What an ungallant
Messenger it is. Couldn' t you have come t o my r oom consciously, of your own will? No, of
cour se not , I r epel you, I ' m sure. " He will not play her game. "Am I a pr isoner ?" he asks, and
again she laughs at him. "Don' t be a fool. " And t hen, shrugging, r elent s: "I was walking t he cit y
st reet s last night , masked, t o see t he fest ivit ies, and what should I st umble over but your
unconscious body? Like a drunk in t he gut t er , Mahound. I sent my ser vant s f or a lit t er and
br ought you home. Say t hank you. "
"Thank you. "
"I don' t t hink you were r ecognized, " she says. "Or you' d be dead, maybe. You know how
t he cit y was last night . People overdo it . My own br ot hers haven' t come home yet . "
I t comes back t o him now, his wild anguished walk in t he cor rupt cit y, st aring at t he souls
he had supposedly saved, looking at t he simur gh- eff igies, t he devil- masks, t he behemot hs and
hippogr iff s. The fat igue of t hat long day on which he climbed down fr om Mount Cone, walked t o
t he t own, under went t he st r ain of t he event s in t he poet ry mar quee, - - and aft erwards, t he
anger of t he disciples, t he doubt , - - t he whole of it had over whelmed him. "I f aint ed, " he
remember s.
She comes and sit s close t o him on t he bed, ext ends a finger, finds t he gap in his r obe,
st rokes his chest . "Faint ed, " she murmur s. "That ' s weakness, Mahound. Are you becoming
weak?"
She places t he st roking finger over his lips befor e he can reply. "Don' t say anyt hing,
Mahound. I am t he Gr andee' s wife, and neit her of us is your fr iend. My husband, however, is a
weak man. I n Jahilia t hey t hink he' s cunning, but I know bet t er. He knows I t ake lover s and he
does not hing about it , because t he t emples are in my family' s care. Lat ' s, Uzza' s, Manat ' s. The
- - shall I call t hem _mosques?_ - - of your new angels. " She of fer s him melon cubes f rom a
dish, t r ies t o feed him wit h her finger s. He will not let her put t he f ruit int o his mout h, t akes t he
pieces wit h his own hand, eat s. She goes on. "My last lover was t he boy, Baal. " She sees t he
rage on his face. "Yes, " she says cont ent edly. " I heard he had got under your skin. But he
doesn' t mat t er. Neit her he nor Abu Simbel is your equal. But I am. "
"I must go, " he says. " Soon enough, " she r eplies, ret urning t o t he window. At t he
per imet er of t he cit y t hey ar e packing away t he t ent s, t he long camel - - t r ains ar e prepar ing t o
depar t , convoys of car t s are alr eady heading away across t he deser t ; t he carnival is over. She
t ur ns t o him again.
"I am your equal, " she r epeat s, "and also your opposit e. I don' t want you t o become weak.
You shouldn' t have done what you did. "
"But you will profit , " Mahound r eplies bit t erly. "Ther e' s no t hreat now t o your t emple
revenues. "
"You miss t he point , " she says soft ly, coming closer t o him, bringing her face very close t o
his. "I f you ar e for Allah, I am f or Al - Lat . And she doesn' t believe your God when he recognizes
her. Her opposit ion t o him is implacable, irr evocable, engulfing. The war bet ween us cannot
end in t ruce. And what a t r uce! Your s is a pat r onizing, condescending lord. Al - Lat hasn' t t he
slight est wish t o be his daught er. She is his equal, as I am yours. Ask BaaI : he knows her. As
he knows me. "
"So t he Grandee will bet r ay his pledge, " Mahound says.
"Who knows?" scoffs Hind. "He doesn' t even know himself. He has t o wor k out t he odds.
Weak, as I t old you. But you know I ' m t elling t he t r ut h. Bet ween Allah and t he Thr ee t here can
be no peace. I don' t want it . I want t he fight . To t he deat h; t hat is t he kind of idea I am. What
kind are you?"
"You are sand and I am wat er , " Mahound says. "Wat er washes sand away. "
"And t he desert soaks up wat er, " Hind answers him. "Look around you. "
Soon aft er his depar t ur e t he wounded men ar r ive at t he Gr andee' s palace, having scr ewed
up t heir cour age t o inform Hind t hat old Hamza has killed her br ot hers. But by t hen t he
Messenger is nowhere t o be found; is heading, once again, slowly t owards Mount Cone.
o o o
Gibr eel, when he' s t ir ed, want s t o mur der his mot her f or giving him such a damn fool
nickname, _angel_, what a wor d, he begs _what ? whom?_ t o be spar ed t he dr eam- - cit y of
crumbling sandcast les and lions wit h t hree- t iered t eet h, no mor e heart - - washing of prophet s or
inst r uct ions t o recit e or pr omises of par adise, let t her e be an end t o r evelat ions, finit o,
khat t am- shud. What he longs for: black, dreamless sleep. Mot her - fucking dr eams, cause of all
t he t rouble in t he human race, movies, t oo, if I was God I ' d cut t he imaginat ion r ight out of
people and t hen maybe poor bast ar ds like me could get a good night ' s r est . Fight ing against
sleep, he f or ces his eyes t o st ay open, unblinking, unt il t he visual pur ple fades off t he r et inas
and sends him blind, but he' s only human, in t he end he falls down t he r abbit - hole and t here
he is again, in Wonder land, up t he mount ain, and t he businessman is waking up, and once
again his want ing, his need, goes t o wor k, not on my j aws and voice t his t ime, but on my
whole body; he diminishes me t o his own size and pulls me in t owar ds him, his gr avit at ional
field is unbelievable, as power ful as a goddamn megast ar . . . and t hen Gibr eel and t he Pr ophet
are wr est ling, bot h naked, rolling over and over , in t he cave of t he f ine whit e sand t hat r ises
around t hem like a veil. _As if he' s lear ning me, searching me, as if I ' m t he one undergoing t he
t est _.
I n a cave five hundr ed feet below t he summit of Mount Cone, Mahound wrest les t he
archangel, hurling him fr om side t o side, and let me t ell you he' s get t ing in _everywher e_, his
t ongue in my ear his fist around my balls, t her e was never a per son wit h such a rage in him, he
has t o has t o know he has t o K N OW and I have not hing t o t ell him, he' s t wice as physically fit
as I am and four t imes as knowledgeable, minimum, we may bot h have t aught ourselves by
list ening a lot but as is plaint osee he' s even a bet t er list ener t han me; so we r oll kick scrat ch,
he' s get t ing cut up quit e a bit but of course my skin st ays smoot h as a baby, you can' t snag an
angel on a bloody t horn- bush, you can' t bruise him on a r ock. And t hey have an audience,
t here ar e dj inns and afreet s and all sort s of spooks sit t ing on t he boulder s t o wat ch t he f ight ,
and in t he sky ar e t he t hr ee winged cr eat ur es, looking like her ons or swans or j ust women
depending on t he t r icks of t he light . . . Mahound finishes it . He t hr ows t he fight .
Af t er t hey had wr est led for hour s or even weeks Mahound was pinned down beneat h t he
angel, it ' s what he want ed, it was his will filling me up and giving me t he st r engt h t o hold him
down, because archangels can' t lose such fight s, it wouldn' t be r ight , it ' s only devils who get
beat en in such circs, so t he moment I got on t op he st ar t ed weeping for j oy and t hen he did his
old t r ick, forcing my mout h open and making t he voice, t he Voice, pour out of me once again,
made it pour all over him, like sick.
o o o
At t he end of his wrest ling mat ch wit h t he Archangel Gibr eel, t he Prophet Mahound falls
int o his cust omar y, exhaust ed, post revelat or y sleep, but on t his occasion he r evives mor e
quickly t han usual. When he comes t o his senses in t hat high wilder ness t her e is nobody t o be
seen, no winged cr eat ur es crouch on r ocks, and hej umps t o his feet , filled wit h t he ur gency of
his news. "I t was t he Devil, " he says aloud t o t he empt y air, making it t rue by giving it voice.
"The last t ime, it was Shait an. " This is what he has _heard_ in his _list ening_, t hat he has been
t r icked, t hat t he Devil came t o him in t he guise of t he archangel, so t hat t he ver ses he
memorized, t he ones he r ecit ed in t he poet r y t ent , were not t he r eal t hing but it s diabolic
opposit e, not godly, but sat anic. He r et urns t o t he cit y as quickly as he can, t o expunge t he
foul ver ses t hat r eek of br imst one and sulphur, t o st rike t hem fr om t he r ecord f or ever and
ever , so t hat t hey will survive in j ust one or t wo unreliable collect ions of old t radit ions and
or t hodox int er pret er s will t ry and unwr it e t heir st ory, but Gibr eel, hover ing- wat ching fr om his
highest camer a angle, knows one small det ail, j ust one t iny t hing t hat ' s a bit of a problem her e,
namely t hat _it was me bot h t imes, baba, me fir st and second also me_. From my mout h, bot h
t he st at ement and t he r epudiat ion, ver ses and converses, universes and r ever ses, t he whole
t hing, and we all know how my mout h got wor ked.
"First it was t he Devil, " Mahound mut t ers as he r ushes t o Jahilia. "But t his t ime, t he angel,
no quest ion. He wr est led me t o t he ground. "
o o o
The disciples st op him in t he ravines near t he foot of Mount Cone t o war n him of t he fury of
Hind, who is wearing whit e mour ning gar ment s and has loosened her black hair , let t ing it f ly
about her like a st or m, or t r ail in t he dust , er asing her foot st eps so t hat she seems like an
incarnat ion of t he spir it of vengeance it self . They have all fled t he cit y, and Hamza, t oo, is lying
low; but t he wor d is t hat Abu Simbel has not , as yet , acceded t o his wif e' s pleas for t he
blood t hat washes away blood. He is st ill calculat ing t he odds in t he mat t er of Mahound and t he
goddesses Mahound, against his follower s' advice, ret ur ns t o Jahilia, going st raight t o t he
House of t he Black St one. The disciples follow him in spit e of t heir fear. A crowd gat her s in t he
hope of furt her scandal or dismember ment or some such ent ert ainment . Mahound does not
disappoint t hem.
He st ands in fr ont of t he st at ues of t he Three and announces t he abr ogat ion of t he ver ses
which Shait an whisper ed in his ear. These ver ses ar e banished from t he t rue r ecit at ion, _al -
qur "an_. New verses ar e t hundered in t heir place.
"Shall He have daught er s and you sons?" Mahound recit es. "That would be a f ine division!
"These ar e but names you have dr eamed of , you and your fat her s. Allah vest s no aut hor it y
in t hem. "
He leaves t he dumbfounded House before it occur s t o anybody t o pick up, or t hr ow, t he
first st one.
o o o
Af t er t he repudiat ion of t he Sat anic verses, t he Pr ophet Mahound r et ur ns home t o find a
kind of punishment await ing him. A kind of vengeance - - whose? Light or dark? Goodguy
badguy? - - wr ought , as is not unusual, upon t he innocent . The Pr ophet ' s wife, sevent y years
old, sit s by t he foot of a st one- - lat t iced window, sit s upr ight wit h her back t o t he wall, dead.
Mahound in t he gr ip of his miser y keeps himself t o himself, har dly says a wor d for weeks.
The Gr andee of Jahilia inst it ut es a policy of per secut ion t hat advances t oo slowly for Hind. The
name of t he new r eligion is _Submission_; now Abu Simbel decr ees t hat it s adherent s must
submit t o being sequest er ed in t he most wret ched, hovel - filled quar t er of t he cit y; t o a curfew;
t o a ban on employment . And t here ar e many physical assault s, women spat upon in shops,
t he manhandling of t he fait hful by t he gangs of young t urks whom t he Gr andee secret ly
cont r ols, fir e t hr own at night t hr ough a window t o land amongst unwar y sleepers. And, by one
of t he f amiliar par adoxes of hist ory, t he numbers of t he fait hful mult iply, like a cr op t hat
mir aculously f lourishes as condit ions of soil and climat e gr ow worse and worse.
An off er is received, from t he cit izens of t he oasis- - set t lement of Yat hrib t o t he nort h:
Yat hr ib will shelt er t hose- - who- submit , if t hey wish t o leave Jahilia. Hamza is of t he opinion
t hat t hey must go. "You' ll never finish your Message her e, nephew, t ake my wor d. Hind won' t
be happy t ill she' s r ipped out your t ongue, t o say not hing of my balls, excuse me. " Mahound,
alone and full of echoes in t he house of his bereavement , gives his consent , and t he f ait hf ul
depar t t o make t heir plans. Khalid t he wat er - car rier hangs back and t he hollow- eyed Prophet
wait s f or him t o speak. Awkwardly, he says: "Messenger , I doubt ed you. But you were wiser
t han we knew. First we said, Mahound will never compromise, and you compr omised. Then we
said, Mahound has bet rayed us, but you were br inging us a deeper t rut h. You br ought us t he
Devil himself , so t hat we could wit ness t he wor kings of t he Evil One, and his overt hr ow by t he
Right . You have enriched our f ait h. I am sorr y for what I t hought . "
Mahound moves away fr om t he sunlight falling t hrough t he window. "Yes. " Bit t er ness,
cynicism. " I t was a wonder ful t hing I did. Deeper t r ut h. Bringing you t he Devil. Yes, t hat
sounds like me. "
o o o
Fr om t he peak of Mount Cone, Gibreel wat ches t he fait hful escaping Jahilia, leaving t he cit y
of aridit y f or t he place of cool palms and wat er , wat er , wat er . I n small gr oups, almost empt y- -
handed, t hey move acr oss t he empire of t he sun, on t his f irst day of t he fir st year at t he new
beginning of Time, which has it self been born again, as t he old dies behind t hem and t he new
wait s ahead. And one day Mahound himself slips away. When his escape is discover ed, Baal
composes a valedict ory ode:
_What kind of idea_
_does " Submission" seem t oday?_
_One full of fear _.
_An idea t hat r uns away_.
Mahound has r eached his oasis; Gibr eel is not so lucky. Of t en, now, he f inds himself alone
on t he summit of Mount Cone, washed by t he cold, f alling st ars, and t hen t hey f all upon him
from t he night sky, t he t hr ee winged cr eat ur es, Lat Uzza Manat , flapping around his head,
clawing at his eyes, bit ing, whipping him wit h t heir hair , t heir wings. He put s up his hands t o
pr ot ect himself , but t heir r evenge is t ir eless, cont inuing whenever he rest s, whenever he drops
his guard. He st ruggles against t hem, but t hey are f ast er, nimbler , winged.
He has no devil t o repudiat e. Dr eaming, he cannot wish t hem away.
I I I
Ellowen Deeowen
1
I know what a ghost is, t he old woman affir med silent ly. Her name was Rosa Diamond; she
was eight y- eight years old; and she was squint ing beakily t hr ough her salt - caked bedroom
windows, wat ching t he full moon' s sea. And I know what it isn' t , t oo, she nodded fur t her , it
isn' t a scar ificat ion or a flapping sheet , so pooh and pish t o all _t hat _ bunkum. What ' s a ghost ?
Unf inished business, is what . - - At which t he old lady, six f eet t all, st raight - - backed, her hair
hacked short as any man' s, j er ked t he corners of her mout h downwar ds in a sat isf ied, t ragedy-
mask pout , - - pulled a knit t ed blue shawl t ight around bony shoulder s, - - and closed, f or a
moment , her sleepless eyes, t o pr ay f or t he past ' s ret urn. Come on, you Nor man ships, she
begged: let ' s have you, Willie- t he- Conk.
Nine hundred year s ago all t his was under wat er , t his por t ioned shor e, t his pr ivat e beach,
it s shingle rising st eeply t owar ds t he lit t le r ow of flaky- paint villas wit h t heir peeling boat houses
crammed full of deckchair s, empt y pict ure f rames, ancient t uckboxes st uf fed wit h bundles of
let t er s t ied up in r ibbons, mot hballed silk- - and- lace lingerie, t he t earst ained r eading mat t er of
once- - young girls, lacrosse st icks, st amp albums, and all t he bur ied t reasur e- - chest s of
memories and lost t ime. The coast line had changed, had moved a mile or mor e out t o sea,
leaving t he fir st Nor man cast le st randed far fr om wat er, lapped now by mar shy land t hat
afflict ed wit h all manner of dank and boggy agues t he poor who lived t here on t heir
what st heword _est at es_. She, t he old lady, saw t he cast le as t he ruin of a f ish bet rayed by an
ant ique ebbing t ide, as a sea- monst er pet r ified by t ime. Nine hundr ed years! Nine cent ur ies
past , t he Norman fleet had sailed r ight t hr ough t his Englishwoman' s home. On clear night s
when t he moon was full, she wait ed f or it s shining, revenant ghost .
Best place t o see ' em come, she reassured herself, grandst and view. Repet it ion had
become a comfor t in her ant iquit y; t he well- wor n phrases, _unfinished business,
gr andst and view_, made her feel solid, unchanging, sempit er nal, inst ead of t he cr eat ure of
cracks and absences she knew her self t o be. - - When t he full moon set s, t he dar k before t he
dawn, t hat ' s t heir moment . Billow of sail, flash of oars, and t he Conqueror himself at t he
flagship' s prow, sailing up t he beach bet ween t he barnacled wooden br eakwat ers and a f ew
inver t ed sculls. - - O, I ' ve seen t hings in my t ime, always had t he gift , t he phant om- sight . - -
The Conquer or in his point y met al - nosed hat , passing t hrough her fr ont door , gliding bet wixt
t he cakest ands and ant imacassar ed sofas, like an echo r esounding faint ly t hr ough t hat house of
remembr ances and yearnings; t hen f alling silent ; _as t he gr ave_.
- - Once as a gir l on Bat t le Hill, she was fond of recount ing, always in t he same t ime- -
polished words, - - once as a solit ar y child, I f ound myself , quit e suddenly and wit h no sense of
st rangeness, in t he middle of a war. Longbows, maces, pikes. The f laxen- Saxon boys, cut down
in t heir sweet yout h. Har old Ar roweye and William wit h his mout h full of sand. Yes, always t he
gif t , t he phant om- sight . - - The st ory of t he day on which t he child Rosa had seen a vision of
t he bat t le of Hast ings had become, for t he old woman, one of t he defining landmar ks of her
being, t hough it had been t old so oft en t hat nobody, not even t he t eller, could confident ly
swear t hat it was t r ue. _I long for t hem somet imes_, r an Rosa' s pr act ised t hought s. _Les
beaux j our s: t he dear, dead days_. She closed, once more, her reminiscent eyes. When she
opened t hem, she saw, down by t he wat er ' s edge, no denying it , somet hing beginning t o
move.
What she said aloud in her excit ement : "I don' t believe it ! " - - "I t isn' t t rue! " - - "He' s never
_here! _" - - On unst eady f eet , wit h bumping chest , Rosa went for her hat , cloak, st ick. While,
on t he wint er seashore, Gibr eel Far isht a awoke wit h a mout h full of , no, not sand.
Snow.
o o o
Pt ui!
Gibr eel spat ; leapt up, as if propelled by expect or at ed slush; wished Chamcha - - as has
been repor t ed - - many happy ret ur ns of t he day; and commenced t o beat t he snow fr om
sodden purple sleeves. "God, yaar , " he shout ed, hopping fr om foot t o foot , "no wonder t hese
people gr ow hear t s of bloody ice. "
Then, however, t he pur e delight of being surr ounded by such a quant it y of snow quit e
over came his f irst cynicism - - for he was a t r opical man - - and he st art ed caper ing about ,
sat urnine and soggy, making snowballs and hurling t hem at his pr one companion, envisioning a
snowman, and singing a wild, swooping r endit ion of t he carol "Jingle Bells" . The f irst hint of
light was in t he sky, and on t his cosy sea- coast danced Lucifer, t he mor ning' s st ar .
His breat h, it should be ment ioned, had somehow or ot her wholly ceased t o smell . . .
"Come on, baby, " cr ied invincible Gibreel, in whose behaviour t he r eader may, not
unr easonably, per ceive t he delir ious, dislocat ing ef fect s of his r ecent f all. "Rise "n" shine! Let ' s
t ake t his place by st orm. " Tur ning his back on t he sea, blot t ing out t he bad memor y in order t o
make room for t he next t hings, passionat e as always f or newness, he would have plant ed ( had
he owned one) a flag, t o claim in t he name of whoknowswho t his whit e count ry, his new- found
land. "Spoono, " he pleaded, "shift , baba, or are you bloody dead?" Which being ut t er ed
br ought t he speaker t o ( or at least t owards) his senses. He bent over t he ot her' s pr ost rat e
for m, did not dar e t o t ouch. " Not now, old Chumch, " he urged. " Not when we came so f ar. "
Saladin: was not dead, but weeping. The t ears of shock fr eezing on his face. And all his
body cased in a fine skin of ice, smoot h as glass, like a bad dr eam come t rue. I n t he miasmic
semi- - consciousness induced by his low body t emper at ur e he was possessed by t he night mare-
fear of cr acking, of seeing his blood bubbling up fr om t he ice- br eaks, of his flesh coming away
wit h t he shar ds. He was f ull of quest ions, did we t ruly, I mean, wit h your hands flapping, and
t hen t he wat er s, you don' t mean t o t ell me t hey _act ually_, like in t he movies, when Char lt on
Hest on st r et ched out his st af f, so t hat we could, acr oss t he ocean- - floor, it never happened,
couldn' t have, but if not t hen how, or did we in some way under wat er, escor t ed by t he
mer maids, t he sea passing t hr ough us as if we were f ish or ghost s, was t hat t he t r ut h, yes or
no, I need t o have t o. . . but when his eyes opened t he quest ions acquir ed t he indist inct ness of
dr eams, so t hat he could no longer grasp t hem, t heir t ails f licked befor e him and vanished like
submarine fins. He was looking up at t he sky, and not iced t hat it was t he wr ong colour ent ir ely,
blood- or ange f lecked wit h green, and t he snow was blue as ink. He blinked hard but t he colour s
refused t o change, giving r ise t o t he not ion t hat he had fallen out of t he sky int o some
wrongness, some ot her place, not England or per haps not - England, some count er feit zone,
rot t en borough, alt er ed st at e. Maybe, he consider ed briefly: Hell? No, no, he r eassur ed himself
as unconsciousness t hr eat ened, t hat can' t be it , not yet , you aren' t dead yet ; but dying.
Well t hen: a t r ansit lounge.
He began t o shiver ; t he vibrat ion grew so int ense t hat it occur red t o him t hat he might
br eak up under t he st r ess, like a, like a, plane.
Then not hing exist ed. He was in a void, and if he were t o sur vive he would have t o
const ruct ever yt hing f rom scr at ch, would have t o invent t he ground beneat h his feet befor e he
could t ake a st ep, only t her e was no need now t o wor ry about such mat t ers, because here in
front of him was t he inevit able: t he t all, bony f igur e of Deat h, in a wide- br immed st r aw hat ,
wit h a dark cloak flapping in t he br eeze. Deat h, leaning on a silver headed cane, wearing olive-
gr een Wellingt on boot s.
"What do you imagine your selves t o be doing here?" Deat h want ed t o know. "This is
pr ivat e pr opert y. There' s a sign. " Said in a woman' s voice t hat was somewhat t r emulous and
mor e t han somewhat t hrilled.
A few moment s lat er , Deat h bent over him - - _t o kiss me_, he panicked silent ly. _To suck
t he br eat h fr om my body_. He made small, fut ile movement s of pr ot est .
"He' s alive all r ight , " Deat h r emar ked t o, who was it , Gibreel. " But , my dear . His breat h:
what a pong. When did he last clean his t eet h?"
o o o
One man' s breat h was sweet ened, while anot her' s, by an equal and opposit e myst er y, was
sour ed. What did t hey expect ? Falling like t hat out of t he sky: did t hey imagine t her e would be
no sideeffect s? Higher Powers had t aken an int er est , it should have been obvious t o t hem bot h,
and such Powers ( I am, of cour se, speaking of myself) have a mischievous, almost a want on
at t it ude t o t umbling flies. And anot her t hing, let ' s be clear : great falls change people. You t hink
_t hey_ f ell a long way? I n t he mat t er of t umbles, I yield pr ide of place t o no personage,
whet her mort al or im- - . Fr om clouds t o ashes, down t he chimney you might say, fr om
heavenlight t o hellfir e. . . under t he st r ess of a long plunge, I was saying, mut at ions are t o be
expect ed, not all of t hem random. Unnat ural select ions. Not much of a pr ice t o pay for sur vival,
for being rebor n, f or becoming new, and at t heir age at t hat .
What ? I should enumer at e t he changes?
Good br eat h/ bad br eat h.
And around t he edges of Gibr eel Far isht a' s head, as he st ood wit h his back t o t he dawn, it
seemed t o Rosa Diamond t hat she discer ned a faint , but dist inct ly golden, _glow_.
And wer e t hose bumps, at Chamcha' s t emples, under his sodden and st ill- in- place bowler
hat ?
And, and, and.
o o o
When she laid eyes on t he bizarr e, sat yrical figure of Gibreel Farisht a prancing and
dionysiac in t he snow, Rosa Diamond did not t hink of _say it _ angels. Sight ing him f rom her
window, t hr ough salt - - cloudy glass and age- - clouded eyes, she felt her hear t kick out , t wice, so
painfully t hat she f ear ed it might st op; because in t hat indist inct for m she seemed t o discer n
t he incar nat ion of her soul' s most deeply buried desire. She f or got t he Norman invader s as if
t hey had never been, and st ruggled down a slope of t r eacher ous pebbles, t oo quickly f or t he
safet y of her not - quit enonagenar ian limbs, so t hat she could pr et end t o scold t he impossible
st ranger for t r espassing on her land.
Usually she was implacable in defence of her beloved fr agment of t he coast , and when
summer weekender s st rayed above t he high t ide line she descended upon t hem _like a wolf on
t he fold_, her phr ase f or it , t o explain and t o demand: - - This is my garden, do you see. - - And
if t hey grew br azen, - - get out ofit sillyoldmoo, it st hesoddingbeach, - - she would ret ur n home t o
br ing out a long gr een garden hose and t ur n it r emorselessly upon t heir t art an blanket s and
plast ic cricket bat s and bot t les of sun- - t an lot ion, she would smash t heir childr en' s sandcast les
and soak t heir liver - - sausage sandwiches, smiling sweet ly all t he while: _You won' t mind if I
fust wat er my lawn?_ . . . O, she was a One, known in t he village, t hey couldn' t lock her away
in any old folks' home, sent her whole family packing when t hey dared t o suggest it , never
dar ken her door st ep, she t old t hem, cut t he whole lot of f wit hout a penny or a by your leave.
All on her own now, she was, never a visit or f rom week t o blessed week, not even Dora
Shuff lebot ham who went in and did for her all t hose years, Dor a passed over Sept ember last ,
may she r est , st ill it ' s a wonder at her age how t he old t r out manages, all t hose st airs, she may
be a bit of a bee but give t he devil her due, t here' s many"s' d go bar my being t hat alone.
For Gibr eel t here was neit her a hosepipe nor t he _sharp end_ of her t ongue. Rosa ut t er ed
t oken words of r epr oof, held her nost r ils while examining t he fallen and newly sulphurous
Saladin ( who had not , at t his point , removed his bowler hat ) , and t hen, wit h an access of
shyness which she greet ed wit h nost algic ast onishment , st ammer ed an invit at ion, yyou bbet t er
br ing your f friend in out of t he cccold, and st amped back up t he shingle t o put t he ket t le on,
gr at eful t o t he bit e of t he wint er air f or r eddening her cheeks and _saving_, in t he old
comfor t ing phr ase, _her blushes_.
o o o
As a young man Saladin Chamcha had possessed a face of quit e except ional innocence, a
face t hat did not seem ever t o have encount er ed disillusion or evil, wit h skin as soft and
smoot h as a pr incess' s palm. I t had ser ved him well in his dealings wit h women, and had, in
point of fact , been one of t he f irst reasons his fut ur e wife Pamela Lovelace had given for falling
in love wit h him. " So round and cher ubic, " she mar velled, cupping her hands under his chin.
"Like a rubber ball. "
He was offended. "I ' ve got bones, " he pr ot est ed. " Bone _st r uct ure_. "
"Somewhere in t her e, " she conceded. "Everybody does. "
Af t er t hat he was haunt ed for a t ime by t he not ion t hat he looked like a f eat ur eless
j ellyfish, and it was in large par t t o assuage t his feeling t hat he set about developing t he
nar row, haught y demeanour t hat was now second nat ure t o him. I t was, t her ef or e, a mat t er of
some consequence when, on ar ising fr om a long slumber r acked by a series of int oler able
dr eams, prominent among which wer e images of Zeeny Vakil, t r ansf or med int o a mer maid,
singing t o him fr om an iceberg in t ones of agonizing sweet ness, lament ing her inabilit y t o j oin
him on dr y land, calling him, calling; - - but when he went t o her she shut him up fast in t he
hear t of her ice- mount ain, and her song changed t o one of t riumph and r evenge. . . it was, I
say, a ser ious mat t er when Saladin Chamcha woke up, looked int o a mirr or fr amed in blue-
and- gold Japonaiser ie lacquer , and found t hat old cherubic f ace st ar ing out at him once again;
while, at his t emples, he obser ved a brace of fearf ully discolour ed swellings, indicat ions t hat he
must have suff er ed, at some point in his r ecent advent ur es, a couple of might y blows.
Looking int o t he mir ror at his alt ered face, Chamcha at t empt ed t o remind himself of
himself. I am a r eal man, he t old t he mir ror, wit h a r eal hist or y and a planned- out fut ure. I am
a man t o whom cert ain t hings ar e of impor t ance: rigour , self - - discipline, reason, t he pursuit of
what is noble wit hout recour se t o t hat old cr ut ch, God. The ideal of beaut y, t he possibilit y of
exalt at ion, t he mind. I am: a mar ried man. But in spit e of his lit any, perver se t hought s insist ed
on visit ing him. As f or inst ance: t hat t he wor ld did not exist beyond t hat beach down t her e,
and, now, t his house. That if he wer en' t car ef ul, if he r ushed mat t er s, he would fall off t he
edge, int o clouds. Things had t o be _made_. Or again: t hat if he were t o t elephone his home,
right now, as he should, if he wer e t o inf or m his loving wife t hat he was not dead, not blown t o
bit s in mid- air but r ight here, on solid gr ound, if he wer e t o do t his eminent ly sensible t hing,
t he person who answer ed t he phone would not r ecognize his name. Or t hir dly: t hat t he sound
of foot st eps ringing in his ears, dist ant foot st eps, but coming closer , was not some t emporar y
t innit us caused by his f all, but t he noise of some appr oaching doom, dr awing closer, let t er by
let t er , ellowen, deeowen, London. _Here I am, in Grandmot her ' s house. Her big eyes, hands,
t eet h_.
Ther e was a t elephone ext ension on his bedside t able. There, he admonished himself. Pick
it up, dial, and your equilibrium will be r est or ed. Such maunder ings: t hey ar en' t like you, not
wor t hy of you. Think of her gr ief ; call her now.
I t was night - t ime. He didn' t know t he hour. There wasn' t a clock in t he r oom and his
wrist wat ch had disappear ed somewhere along t he line. Should he shouldn' t he? - - He dialled
t he nine number s. A man' s voice answered on t he f ourt h r ing.
"What t he hell?" Sleepy, unident if iable, familiar.
"Sor ry, " Saladin Chamcha said. "Excuse, please. Wrong number . "
St ar ing at t he t elephone, he found himself r emember ing a drama product ion seen in
Bombay, based on an English or iginal, a st or y by, by, he couldn' t put his finger on t he name,
Tennyson? No, no. Somerset Maugham? - - To hell wit h it . - - I n t he or iginal and now aut hor less
t ext , a man, long t hought dead, r et urns aft er an absence of many years, like a living phant om,
t o his for mer haunt s. He visit s his former home at night , sur rept it iously, and looks in t hrough
an open window. He finds t hat his wif e, believing herself widowed, has r e- marr ied. On t he
window- sill he sees a child' s t oy. He spends a period of t ime st anding in t he dar kness, wr est ling
wit h his feelings; t hen picks t he t oy of f t he ledge; and depar t s for ever, wit hout making his
pr esence known. I n t he I ndian ver sion, t he st ory had been r at her different . The wif e had
marr ied her husband' s best friend. The r et ur ning husband ar rived at t he door and mar ched in,
expect ing not hing. Seeing his wife and his old fr iend sit t ing t oget her, he failed t o under st and
t hat t hey wer e marr ied. He t hanked his f riend for comfor t ing his wife; but he was home now,
and so all was well. The mar r ied couple did not know how t o t ell him t he t r ut h; it was,
finally, a servant who gave t he game away. The husband, whose long absence was appar ent ly
due t o a bout of amnesia, r eact ed t o t he news of t he mar riage by announcing t hat he, t oo,
must sur ely have re- marr ied at some point during his long absence fr om home; unfor t unat ely,
however, now t hat t he memor y of his for mer life had r et ur ned he had forgot t en what had
happened dur ing t he year s of his disappearance. He went off t o ask t he police t o t r ace his new
wife, even t hough he could r emember not hing about her , not her eyes, not t he simple fact of
her exist ence.
The curt ain fell.
Saladin Chamcha, alone in an unknown bedr oom in unfamiliar red- and- whit e st r iped
pyj amas, lay f ace downwards on a narr ow bed and wept . "Damn all I ndians, " he cried int o t he
muf fling bedclot hes, his fist s punching at frilly- - edged pillowcases from Har rods in Buenos Aires
so fiercely t hat t he fif t y- year - - old fabr ic was ripped t o shreds. "_What t he hell_. The vulgarit y
of it , t he _sod it sod it _ indelicacy. _What t he hell_. That bast ar d, t hose bast ar ds, t heir lack of
_bast ard_ t ast e. "
I t was at t his moment t hat t he police ar r ived t o ar r est him.
o o o
On t he night aft er she had t aken t he t wo of t hem in fr om t he beach, Rosa Diamond st ood
once again at t he noct ur nal window of her old woman' s insomnia, cont emplat ing t he nine-
hundredyear - - old sea. The smelly one had been sleeping ever since t hey put him t o bed, wit h
hot - wat er bot t les packed in t ight ly ar ound him, best t hing for him, let him get his st rengt h. She
had put t hem upst airs, Chamcha in t he spare r oom and Gibr eel in her lat e husband' s old st udy,
and as she wat ched t he gr eat shining plain of t he sea she could hear him moving up t her e,
amid t he ornit hological pr int s and bird- call whist les of t he for mer Henr y Diamond, t he bolas
and bullwhip and aerial phot ogr aphs of t he Los Alamos est ancia f ar away and long ago, a man' s
foot st eps in t hat r oom, how r eassur ing t hey f elt . Farisht a was pacing up and down, avoiding
sleep, for r easons of his own. And below his foot fall Rosa, looking up at t he ceiling, called him
in a whisper by a long- unspoken name. Mar t in she said. His last name t he same as t hat of his
count ry' s deadliest snake, t he viper. The vibora, _de la Cr uz_.
At once she saw t he shapes moving on t he beach, as if t he forbidden name had conj ured
up t he dead. Not again, she t hought , and went for her opera- glasses. She ret ur ned t o f ind t he
beach full of shadows, and t his t ime she was afr aid, because wher eas t he Norman f leet came
sailing, when it came, pr oudly and openly and wit hout r ecour se t o subt erfuge, t hese shades
wer e sneaky, emit t ing st if led impr ecat ions and alarming, mut ed yaps and bar ks, t hey seemed
headless, cr ouching, arms and legs a- - dangle like giant , unshelled crabs. Scut t ling, sidelong,
heavy boot s cr unching on shingle. Lot s of t hem. She saw t hem r each her boat house on which
t he fading image of an eyepat ched pirat e gr inned and brandished a cut lass, and t hat was t oo
much, _I ' m not having it _, she decided, and, st umbling downst airs for war m clot hing, she
fet ched t he chosen weapon of her ret ribut ion: a long coil of gr een garden hose. At her f ront
door she called out in a clear voice. "I can see you quit e plainly. Come out , come out , whoever
you ar e. "
They swit ched on seven suns and blinded her , and t hen she panicked, illuminat ed by t he
seven blue- whit e floodlight s ar ound which, like fir ef lies or sat ellit es, t here buzzed a host of
smaller light s: lant er ns t orches cigar et t es. Her head was spinning, and for a moment she lost
her abilit y t o dist inguish bet ween _t hen_ and _now_, in her const ernat ion she began t o say Put
out t hat light , don' t you know t here' s a blackout , you' ll be having Jer ry down on us if you carr y
on so. "I ' m raving, " she r ealized disgust edly, and banged t he t ip of her st ick int o her door mat .
Wher eupon, as if by magic, policemen mat erialized in t he dazzling circle of light .
I t t ur ned out t hat somebody had repor t ed a suspicious per son on t he beach, r emember
when t hey used t o come in fishingboat s, t he illegals, and t hanks t o t hat single anonymous
t elephone call t her e were now fif t y- seven uniformed const ables combing t he beach, t heir
flashlight s swinging cr azily in t he dark, const ables f rom as far away as Hast ings East bourne
Bexhill - upon- Sea, even a deput at ion f rom Br ight on because nobody want ed t o miss t he fun,
t he t hrill of t he chase. Fift y- seven beachcomber s wer e accompanied by t hirt een dogs, all
sniffing t he sea air and lift ing excit ed legs. While up at t he house away fr om t he gr eat posse of
men and dogs, Rosa Diamond found herself gazing at t he f ive const ables guarding t he exit s,
front door, gr ound- floor windows, sculler y door, in case t he put at ive miscreant at t empt ed an
alleged escape; and at t he t hr ee men in plain clot hes, plain coat s and plain hat s wit h faces t o
mat ch; and in fr ont of t he lot of t hem, not daring t o look her in t he eye, young I nspect or Lime,
shuf fling his feet and rubbing his nose and looking older and more bloodshot t han his fort y
years. She t apped him on t he chest wit h t he end of her st ick, _at t his t ime of night , Fr ank,
u" hat ' s t he meaning of_, but he wasn' t going t o allow her t o boss him around, not t onight , not
wit h t he men fr om t he immigr at ion wat ching his ever y move, so he dr ew himself up and pulled
in his chins.
"Begging your pardon, Mr s. D. - - cert ain allegat ions, - - inf or mat ion laid before us, - -
reason t o believe, - - merit invest igat ion, - - necessar y t o sear ch your, - - a war r ant has been
obt ained. "
"Don' t be absurd, Frank dear, " Rosa began t o say, but j ust t hen t he t hr ee men wit h t he
plain f aces dr ew t hemselves up and seemed t o st iffen, each of t hem wit h one leg slight ly
raised, like point er dogs; t he fir st began t o emit an unusual hiss of what sounded like pleasur e,
while a soft moan escaped fr om t he lips of t he second, and t he t hir d commenced t o r oll his
eyes in an oddly cont ent ed way. Then t hey all point ed past Rosa Diamond, int o her floodlit
hallway, where Mr. Saladin Chamcha st ood, his left hand holding up his pyj amas because a
but t on had come off when he hurled himself on t o his bed. Wit h his right hand he was r ubbing
at an eye.
"Bingo, " said t he hissing man, while t he moaner clasped . his hands beneat h his chin t o
indicat e t hat all his pr ayer s had been answered, and t he r oller of eyes shoulder ed past Rosa
Diamond, wit hout st anding on cer emony, except t hat he did mut t er, "Madam, par don _me_. "
Then t here was a f lood, and Rosa was j ammed int o a cor ner of her own sit t ing- room by
t hat bobbing sea of police helmet s, so t hat she could no longer make out Saladin Chamcha or
hear what he was saying. She never hear d him explain about t he det onat ion of t he _Bost an_ - -
t here' s been a mist ake, he cried, I ' m not one of your fishingboat sneaker s- in, not one of your
ugandokenyat t as, me. The policemen began t o gr in, I see, sir , at t hirt y t housand f eet , and t hen
you swam ashor e. You have t he right t o remain silent , t hey t it t er ed, but quit e soon t hey bur st
out int o upr oar ious guf faws, we' ve got a right one here and no mist ake. But Rosa couldn' t
make out Saladin' s pr ot est s, t he laughing policemen got in t he way, you' ve got t o believe me,
I ' m a Brit ish, he was saying, wit h r ight of abode, t oo, but when he couldn' t pr oduce a passpor t
or any ot her ident ifying document t hey began t o weep wit h mirt h, t he t ears st r eaming down
even t he blank faces of t he plain- clot hes men fr om t he immigr at ion ser vice. Of course, don' t
t ell me, t hey giggled, t hey fell out of your j acket dur ing your t umble, or did t he mer maids pick
your pocket in t he sea? Rosa couldn' t see, in t hat laught er - heaving sur ge of men and dogs,
what uniformed ar ms might be doing t o Chamcha' s ar ms, or fist s t o his st omach, or boot s t o
his shins; nor could she be sur e if it was his voice cr ying out or j ust t he howling of t he dogs.
But she did, finally, hear his voice rise in a last , despair ing shout : " Don' t any of you wat ch TV?
Don' t you see? I ' m Maxim. Maxim Alien. "
"So you are, " said t he popeyed officer . " And I am Kermit t he Fr og. "
What Saladin Chamcha never said, not even when it was clear t hat somet hing had gone
badly wr ong: "Here is a London number, " he neglect ed t o inform t he ar r est ing policemen.
"At t he ot her end of t he line you will find, t o vouch f or me, f or t he t rut h of what I ' m saying, my
lovely, whit e, English wif e. " No, sir . _What t he hell_.
Rosa Diamond gat hered her st rengt h. "Just one moment , Fr ank Lime, " she sang out . " You
look here, " but t he t hree plain men had begun t heir bizar re r out ine of hiss moan r oll - - eye once
again, and in t he sudden silence of t hat room t he eye- roller point ed a t r embling finger at
Chamcha and said, "Lady, if it ' s proof you' r e aft er, you couldn' t do bet t er t han _t hose_. "
Saladin Chamcha, f ollowing t he line of Popeye' s point ing finger, raised his hands t o his
for ehead, and t hen he knew t hat he had woken int o t he most f ear some of night mar es, a
night mare t hat had only j ust begun, because t her e at his t emples, gr owing longer by t he
moment , and shar p enough t o dr aw blood, wer e t wo new, goat y, unarguable horns.
o o o
Bef or e t he ar my of policemen t ook Saladin Chamcha away int o his new lif e, t her e was one
mor e unexpect ed occur rence. Gibreel Farisht a, seeing t he blaze of light s and hear ing t he
delirious laught er of t he law- - enforcement officer s, came downst air s in a maroon smoking
j acket and j odhpur s, chosen fr om Henry Diamond' s wardr obe. Smelling faint ly of mot hballs, he
st ood on t he f ir st - floor landing and observed t he pr oceedings wit hout comment . He st ood t here
unnot iced unt il Chamcha, handcuf fed and on his way out t o t he Black Maria, barefoot , st ill
clut ching his pyj amas, caught sight of him and cried out , "Gibreel, for t he love of God t ell t hem
what ' s what . "
Hisser Moaner Popeye t urned eager ly t owar ds Gibreel. "And who might t his be?" inquired
I nspect or Lime. "Anot her skydiver ?"
But t he words died on his lips, because at t hat moment t he f loodlight s were swit ched off ,
t he order t o do so having been given when Chamcha was handcuf fed and t aken in char ge, and
in t he aft ermat h of t he seven suns it became clear t o ever yone t here t hat a pale, golden light
was emanat ing fr om t he dir ect ion of t he man in t he smoking j acket , was in fact st r eaming
soft ly out wards fr om a point immediat ely behind his head. I nspect or Lime never r eferr ed t o
t hat light again, and if he had been asked about it would have denied ever having seen such a
t hing, a halo, in t he lat e t went iet h cent ury, pull t he ot her one.
But at any r at e, when Gibr eel asked, "What do t hese men want ?", every man t her e was
seized by t he desir e t o answer his quest ion in lit er al, det ailed t erms, t o r eveal t heir secr et s, as
if he were, as if, but no, ridiculous, t hey would shake t heir heads for weeks, unt il t hey had all
per suaded t hemselves t hat t hey had done as t hey did f or purely logical r easons, he was Mr s.
Diamond' s old fr iend, t he t wo of t hem had found t he rogue Chamcha halfdr owned on t he beach
and t aken him in f or humanit ar ian reasons, no call t o harass eit her Rosa or Mr . Far isht a any
furt her , a more r eput able looking gent leman you couldn' t wish t o see, in his smoking j acket
and his, his, well, eccent ricit y never was a cr ime, anyhow.
"Gibr eel, " said Saladin Chamcha, " help. "
But Gibr eel' s eye had been caught by Rosa Diamond. He looked at her, and could not look
away. Then he nodded, and went back upst air s. No at t empt was made t o st op him.
When Chamcha reached t he Black Mar ia, he saw t he t r ait or , Gibr eel Far isht a, looking down
at him fr om t he lit t le balcony out side Rosa' s bedroom, and t her e wasn' t any light shining
around t he bast ar d' s head.
2
_Kan an ma kan/ Fi qadim azzaman_ . . . I t was so, it was not , in a t ime long forgot , t hat
t here lived in t he silver - land of Argent ina a cert ain Don Enr ique Diamond, who knew much
about birds and lit t le about women, and his wife, Rosa, who knew not hing about men but a
good deal about love. One day it so happened t hat when t he seor a was out r iding, sit t ing
sidesaddle and wearing a hat wit h a feat her in it , she ar rived at t he Diamond est ancia' s gr eat
st one gat es, which st ood insanely in t he middle of t he empt y pampas, t o f ind an ost r ich
running at her as har d as it could, running for it s life, wit h all t he t ricks and var iat ions it could
t hink of; f or t he ost r ich is a craf t y bir d, diff icult t o cat ch. A lit t le way behind t he ost rich was a
cloud of dust full of t he noises of hunt ing men, and when t he ost rich was wit hin six f eet of her
t he cloud sent bolas t o wr ap around it s legs and br ing it cr ashing t o t he gr ound at her gr ey
mare' s feet . The man who dismount ed t o kill t he bird never t ook his eyes of f Rosa' s face. He
t ook a silver - haf t ed knif e from a scabbard at his belt and plunged it int o t he bir d' s t hroat , all
t he way up t o t he hilt , and he did it wit hout once looking at t he dying ost rich, st ar ing int o Rosa
Diamond' s eyes while he knelt on t he wide yellow ear t h. His name was Mar t in de I a Cr uz.
Af t er Chamcha had been t aken away, Gibreel Farisht a oft en wonder ed about his own
behaviour . I n t hat dr eamlike moment when he had been t rapped by t he eyes of t he old
Englishwoman it had seemed t o him t hat his will was no longer his own t o command, t hat
somebody else' s needs were in char ge. Owing t o t he bewilder ing nat ur e of recent event s, and
also t o his det erminat ion t o st ay awake as much as possj ble, it was a f ew days bef or e he
connect ed what was going on t o t he wor ld behind his eyelids, and only t hen did he under st and
t hat he had t o get away, because t he universe of his night mares had begun t o leak int o his
waking life, and if he was not car eful he would never manage t o begin again, t o be r ebor n wit h
her, t hrough her, Alleluia, who had seen t he roof of t he world.
He was shocked t o r ealize t hat he had made no at t empt t o cont act Allie at all; or t o help
Chamcha in his t ime of need. Nor had he been at all pert urbed by t he appearance on Saladin' s
head of a pair of fine new horns, a t hing t hat should sur ely have occasioned some concer n. He
had been in some sort of t r ance, and when he asked t he old dame what she t hought of it all
she smiled weirdly and t old him t hat t her e was not hing new under t he sun, she had seen
t hings, t he appar it ions of men wit h horned helmet s, in an ancient land like England t here was
no r oom for new st ories, ever y blade of t ur f had alr eady been walked over a hundred t housand
t imes. For long per iods of t he day her t alk became r ambling and conf used, but at ot her t imes
she insist ed on cooking him huge heavy meals, shepherd' s pies, rhubarb cr umble wit h t hick
cust ar d, t hick- - gr avied hot pot s, all manner of weight y soups. And at all t imes she wor e an air
of inexplicable cont ent ment , as if his presence had sat isfied her in some deep, unlookedfor
way. He went shopping in t he village wit h her ; people st ar ed; she ignored t hem, waving her
imper ious st ick. The days passed. Gibreel did not leave.
"Blast ed English mame, " he t old himself . "Some t ype of ext inct species. What t he hell am I
doing her e?" But st ayed, held by unseen chains. While she, at every opport unit y, sang an old
song, in Spanish, he couldn' t underst and a word. Some sor cer y t her e? Some ancient Mor gan Le
Fay singing a young Merlin int o her cr yst al cave? Gibr eel headed for t he door; Rosa piped up;
he st opped in his t racks. " Why not , af t er all, " he shr ugged. "The old woman needs company.
Faded gr andeur, I swear! Look what she' s come t o here. Anyhow, I need t he r est . Gat her my
for ces. Just a coupla days. "
I n t he evenings t hey would sit in t hat dr awingroom st uffed wit h silver ornament s,
including on t he wall a cert ain silver - haf t ed knif e, beneat h t he plast er bust of Henr y Diamond
t hat st ared down fr om t he t op of t he corner cabinet , and when t he grandfat her clock st ruck six
he would pour t wo glasses of sher ry and she would begin t o t alk, but not bef or e she said, as
pr edict ably as clockwor k, _Grandfat her is always f our minut es lat e, f or good manners, he
doesn' t like t o be t oo punct ual_. Then she began wit hout bot hering wit h onceuponat ime, and
whet her it was all t r ue or all false he could see t he fierce energy t hat was going int o t he
t elling, t he last desperat e r eser ves of her will t hat she was put t ing int o her st ory, _t he only
br ight t ime I can r emember _, she t old him, so t hat he perceived t hat t his memory- j umbled
rag- bag of mat erial was in fact t he very hear t of her, her self- por t r ait , t he way she looked in
t he mir ror when nobody else was in t he r oom, and t hat t he silver land of t he past was her
pr eferr ed abode, not t his dilapidat ed house in which she was const ant ly bumping int o t hings, - -
knocking over coff ee- t ables, bruising herself on doorknobs - - bur st ing int o t ears, and crying
out : _Ever yt hing shr inks_.
When she sailed t o Ar gent ina in 1935 as t he br ide of t he Anglo- Ar gent ine Don Enr ique of
Los Alamos, he point ed t o t he ocean and said, t hat ' s t he pampa. You can' t t ell how big it is by
looking at it . You have t o t ravel t hr ough it , t he unchangingness, day af t er day. I n some par t s
t he wind is st r ong as a f ist , but it ' s complet ely silent , it ' ll knock you f lat but you' ll never hear a
t hing. No t r ees is why: not an omb, not a poplar, nada. And you have t o wat ch out for omb
leaves, by t he way. Deadly poison. The wind won' t kill you but t he leaf - j uice can. She clapped
her hands like a child: Honest ly, Henr y, silent winds, poisonous leaves. You make it sound like
a fair y- st or y. Henry, f airhaired, soft - bodied, wide- eyed and ponder ous, looked appalled. _Oh,
no_, he said. _I t ' s not so bad as t hat _.
She ar rived in t hat immensit y, beneat h t hat infinit e blue vault of sky, because Henr y
popped t he quest ion and she gave t he only answer t hat a f or t y- year- old spinst er could. But
when she ar rived she asked herself a bigger quest ion: of what was she capable in all t hat
space? What did she have t he courage for , how could she _expand?_ To be good or bad, she
t old her self: but t o be _new_. Our neighbour Doct or Jor ge Babingt on, she t old Gibr eel, never
liked me, you know, he would t ell me t ales of t he Br it ish in Sout h America, always such gay
blades, he said cont empt uously, spies and br igands and loot ers. _Ar e you such exot ics in your
cold England?_ he asked her , and answer ed his own quest ion, _seor a, I don' t t hink so.
Crammed int o t hat cof fin of an island, you must find wider hor izons t o expr ess t hese secret
selves_.
Rosa Diamond' s secr et was a capacit y for love so great t hat it soon became plain t hat her
poor pr osaic Henry would never fulfil it , because what ever romance t here was in t hat j ellied
frame was r eserved for bir ds. Marsh hawks, scr eamer s, snipe. I n a small r owing boat on t he
local lagunas he spent his happiest days amid t he buirushes wit h his fieldglasses t o his eyes.
Once on t he t r ain t o Buenos Aires he embar rassed Rosa by demonst r at ing his favour it e bir d-
calls in t he dining- car , cupping his hands around his mout h: sleepyhead bir d, vandur ia ibis,
t r upial. Why can' t you love me t his way, she want ed t o ask. But never did, because for Henr y
she was a good sor t , and passion was an eccent ricit y of ot her races. She became t he
gener alissimo of t he homest ead, and t ried t o st ifle her wicked longings. At night she t ook t o
walking out int o t he pampa and lying on her back t o look at t he galaxy above, and somet imes,
under t he influence of t hat br ight f low of beaut y, she would begin t o t remble all over, t o
shudder wit h a deep delight , and t o hum an unknown t une, and t his st ar - music was as close as
she came t o j oy.
Gibr eel Far isht a: felt her st ories winding r ound him like a web, holding him in t hat lost
wor ld where _fif t y sat down t o dinner every day, what men t hey wer e, our gauchos, not hing
servile t her e, ver y f ier ce and pr oud, very. Pur e car nivor es; you can see it in t he pict ures_.
Dur ing t he long night s of t heir insomnia she t old him about t he heat - haze t hat would come
over t he pampa so t hat t he f ew t rees st ood out like islands and a rider looked like a
myt hological being, galloping acr oss t he sur face of t he ocean. _I t was like t he ghost of t he
sea_. She t old him campfir e st ories, for example about t he at heist gaucho who disproved
Paradise, when his mot her died, by calling upon her spir it t o r et ur n, every night f or seven
night s. On t he eight h night he announced t hat she had obviously not heard him, or she would
cert ainly have come t o console her beloved son; t her ef or e, deat h must be t he end. She snar ed
him in descript iSns of t he days when t he Per n people came in t heir whit e suit s and slicked
down hair and t he peons chased t hem off, she t old him how t he r ailr oads wer e built by t he
Anglos t o ser vice t heir est ancias, and t he dams, t oo, t he st or y, for example, of her fr iend
Claudet t e, "a real hear t breaker , my dear, marr ied an engineer chap name of Gr anger ,
disappoint ed half t he Hurlingham. Off t hey went t o some dam he was building, and next t hing
t hey heard, t he r ebels were coming t o blow it up. Granger went wit h t he men t o guar d t he
dam, leaving Claudet t e alone wit h t he maid, and wouldn' t you know, a few hour s lat er , t he
maid came r unning, seor a, ees one hombre at t he door , ees as beeg as a house. What else? A
rebel capt ain. - - "And your spouse, madame?" - - "Wait ing for you at t he dam, as he should
be. " - - "Then since he has not seen fit t o pr ot ect you, t he r evolut ion will. " And he left guar ds
out side t he house, my dear, quit e a t hing. But in t he fight ing bot h men wer e killed, husband
and capt ain and Claudet t e insist ed on a j oint funer al, wat ched t he t wo cof fins going side by
side int o t he ground, mour ned f or t hem bot h. Af t er t hat we knew she was a dangerous lot ,
_t r op fat ale_, eh? What ? _Tr op_ j olly _f at ale_. " I n t he t all st ory of t he beaut iful Clau- - det t e,
Gibr eel hear d t he music of Rosa' s own longings. At such moment s he would cat ch sight of her
looking at him fr om t he cor ner s of her eyes, and he would feel a t ugging in t he region of his
navel, as if somet hing wer e t r ying t o come out . Then she looked away, and t he sensat ion
faded. Perhaps it was only a sideeffect of st r ess.
He asked her one night if she had seen t he hor ns growing on Chamcha' s head, but she
went deaf and, inst ead of answer ing, t old him how she would sit on a camp st ool by t he galpn
or bull - pen at Los Alamos and t he prize bulls would come up and lay t heir horned heads in her
lap. One af t er noon a girl named Aur or a del Sol, who was t he f iance of Mart in de la Cruz, let
fall a saucy remark: I t hought t hey only did t hat in t he laps of vir gins, she st age- whisper ed t o
her giggling fr iends, and Rosa t ur ned t o her sweet ly and replied, Then per haps, my dear, you
would like t o t ry? Fr om t hat t ime Aur or a del Sol, t he best dancer at t he est ancia and t he most
desir able oi all t he peon women, became t he deadly enemy of t he t oo- t all, t oo- bony woman
from over t he sea.
"You look j ust like him, " Rosa Diamond said as t hey st ood at her night - t ime window, side
by side, looking out t o sea. "His double. Mart in de la Cruz. " At t he ment ion of t he cowboy' s
name Gibreel felt so violent a pain in his navel, a pulling pain, as if somebody had st uck a hook
in his st omach, t hat a cr y escaped his lips. Rosa Diamond appeared not t o hear. "Look, " she
cried happily, "over t here. "
Running along t he midnight beach in t he dir ect ion of t he Mar t ello t ower and t he holiday
camp, - - running along t he wat er ' s edge so t hat t he incoming t ide washed away it s foot pr int s, -
- swer ving and feint ing, r unning for it s life, t here came a f ullgr own, large- - as- - lif e ost r ich.
Down t he beach it f led, and Gibr eel' s eyes f ollowed it in wonder, unt il he could no longer make
it out in t he dar k.
o o o
The next t hing t hat happened t ook place in t he village. They had gone int o t own t o collect a
cake and a bot t le of champagne, because Rosa had remember ed t hat it was her eight y- nint h
bir t hday. Her family had been expelled fr om her life, so t here had been no cards or t elephone
calls. Gibr eel insist ed t hat t hey should hold some sor t of celebrat ion, and showed her t he secr et
inside his shirt , a fat money- belt full of pounds st er ling acquir ed on t he black mar ket bef or e
leaving Bombay. "Also credit cards galor e, " he said. "I am no indigent fellow. Come, let us go.
My t r eat . " He was now so deeply in t hr all t o Rosa' s nar r at ive sorcer y t hat he hardly
remember ed from day t o day t hat he had a life t o go t o, a woman t o sur pr ise by t he simple
fact of his being alive, or any such t hing. Tr ailing behind her meekly, he carr ied Mr s. Diamond' s
shopping- bags.
He was loafing around on a St r eet cor ner while Rosa chat t ed t o t he baker when he felt ,
once again, t hat dr agging hook in his st omach, and he fell against a lamp- - post and gasped for
air . He heard a clip- clopping hoise, and t hen ar ound t he corner came an ar chaic pony- t r ap,
full of young people in what seemed at f ir st sight t o be f ancy dr ess: t he men in t ight black
t r ouser s st udded at t he calf wit h silver but t ons, t heir whit e shirt s open almost t o t he waist ; t he
women in wide skirt s of fr ills and layer s and br ight colours, scar let , emer ald, gold. They were
Singing in a for eign language and t heir gaiet y made t he st r eet look dim and t awdr y, but Gibr eel
realized t hat somet hing weir d was afoot , because nobody else in t he st r eet t ook t he slight est
not ice of t he ponyt r ap. Then Rosa emerged fr om t he baker ' s wit h t he cake- box dangling by it s
ribbon f rom t he index finger of her left hand, and exclaimed: "Oh, t her e t hey ar e, ar riving for
t he dance. We always had dances, you know, t hey like it , it ' s in t heir blood. " And, aft er a
pause: " That was t he dance at which he killed t he vult ure. "
That was t he dance at which a cer t ain Juan Julia, nicknamed The Vult ur e on account of his
cadaver ous appear ance, dr ank t oo much and insult ed t he honour of Auror a del Sol, and didn' t
st op unt il Mar t in had no opt ion but t o fight , _hey Mar t in, why you enj oy fi4cking wit h t his one,
I t hought she was pret t y dull_. " Let us go away fr om t he dancing, " Mar t in said, and in t he
dar kness, silhouet t ed against t he fairy- light s hung fr om t he t r ees around t he dancefloor, t he
t wo men wr apped ponchas ar ound t heir forear ms, drew t heir knives, circled, fought . Juan died.
Mart in de I a Cruz picked up t he dead man' s hat and t hr ew it at t he feet of Aurora del Sol. She
picked up t he hat and wat ched him walk away.
Rosa Diamond at eight y- nine in a long silver sheat h dr ess wit h a cigar et t e holder in one
gloved hand and a silver t urban on her head drank gin- and- sin fr om a gr een glass t riangle and
t old st ories of t he good old days. "I want t o dance, " she announced suddenly. " I t ' s my bir t hday
and I haven' t danced once. "
o o o
The exer t ions of t hat night on which Rosa and Gibreel danced unt il dawn pr oved t oo much
for t he old lady, who collapsed int o bed t he next day wit h a low fever t hat induced ever mor e
delirious appar it ions: Gibreel saw Mar t in de la Cruz and Aur or a del Sol dancing flamenco on t he
t iled and gabled roof of t he Diamond house, and Per onist as in whit e suit s st ood on t he
boat house t o addr ess a gat hering of peons about t he fut ure: "Under Per n t hese lands will be
expr opr iat ed and dist ribut ed among t he people. The Br it ish r ailr oads also will become t he
pr oper t y of t he st at e. Let ' s chuck t hem out , t hese br igands, t hese pr ivat eer s . . . " The plast er
bust of Henry Diamond hung in mid- air , obser ving t he scene, and a whit e- - suit ed agit at or
point ed a finger at him and cried, That ' s him, your oppressor ; t her e is t he enemy. Gibreel' s
st omach ached so badly t hat he f ear ed for his life, but at t he very moment t hat his r at ional
mind was consider ing t he possibilit y of an ulcer or appendicit is, t he r est of his brain whisper ed
t he t rut h, which was t hat he was being held pr isoner and manipulat ed by t he force of Rosa' s
will, j ust as t he Angel Gibr eel had been obliged t o speak by t he overwhelming need of t he
Prophet , Mahound.
"She' s dying, " he realized. "Not long t o go, eit her . " Tossing in her bed in t he fever' s gr ip
Rosa Diamond mut t ered about omb poison and t he enmit y of her neighbour Doct or Babingt on,
who asked Henr y, is your wife perhaps quiet enough for t he past oral lif e, and who gave her ( as
a present for recovering f rom t yphus) a copy of Amer igo Vespucci' s account of his voyages.
"The man was a not or ious fant asist , of course, " Babingt on smiled, "but fant asy can be st ronger
t han fact ; aft er all, he had cont inent s named aft er him. " As she grew weaker she poured more
and mor e of her r emaining st r engt h int o her own dr eam of Ar gent ina, and Gibreel' s navel f elt
as if it had been set on fir e. He lay slumped in an ar mchair at her bedside and t he appar it ions
mult iplied by t he hour. Woodwind music f illed t he air, and, most wonder ful of all, a small whit e
island appear ed j ust of f t he shore, bobbing on t he waves like a r aft ; it was whit e as snow, wit h
whit e sand sloping up t o a clump of albino t r ees, which wer e whit e, chalk- - whit e, paper - - whit e,
t o t he very t ips of t heir leaves.
Af t er t he arr ival of t he whit e island Gibr eel was over come by a deep let har gy. Slumped in
an armchair in t he bedr oom of t he dying woman, his eyelids drooping, he f elt t he weight of his
body increase unt il all movement became impossible. Then he was in anot her bedroom, in t ight
black t r ouser s, wit h silver but t ons along t he calves and a heavy silver buckle at t he waist . _You
sent f or me, Don Enrique_, he was saying t o t he soft , heavy man wit h a face like a whit e
plast er bust , but he knew who had asked for him, and he never t ook his eyes f rom her f ace,
even when he saw t he colour r ising fr om t he whit e fr ill around her neck.
Henry Diamond had refused t o per mit t he aut horit ies t o become involved in t he mat t er of
Mart in de la Cr uz, _t hese people are my r esponsibilit y_, he t old Rosa, _it is a quest ion of
honour_. I nst ead he had gone t o some lengt hs t o demonst r at e his cont inuing t rust in t he killer,
de la Cruz, for example by making him t he capt ain of t he est ancia polo t eam. But Don Enrique
was never really t he same once Mar t in had killed t he Vult ur e. He was more and more easily
exhaust ed, and became list less, unint er est ed even in bir ds. Things began t o come apar t at Los
Alamos, impercept ibly at first , t hen mor e obviously. The men in t he whit e suit s ret ur ned and
wer e not chased away. When Rosa Diamond cont ract ed t yphus, t her e were many at t he
est ancia who t ook it f or an allegor y of t he old est at e' s decline.
_What am I doing her e_, Gibreel t hought in gr eat alarm, as he st ood before Don Enr ique in
t he r ancher ' s st udy, while Doa Rosa blushed in t he background, _t his is someone else' s
place_. - - Gr eat conf idence in you, Henr y was saying, not in English but Gibreel could st ill
underst and. - - My wif e is t o under t ake a mot or t our , for her convalescence, and you will
accompany . . . Responsibilit ies at Los Alamos prevent me fr om going along. _Now I must
speak, what t o say_, but when his mout h opened t he alien words emer ged, it will be my
honour, Don Enr ique, click of heels, swivel, exit .
Rosa Diamond in her eight y- nine- year - old weakness had begun t o dr eam her st ory of
st or ies, which she had guarded for mor e t han half a cent ury, and Gibreel was on a hor se
behind her Hispano- Suiza, driving fr om est ancia t o est ancia, t hr ough a wood of ar ayana t r ees,
beneat h t he high cordiller a, arr iving at gr ot esque homest eads built in t he st yle of Scot t ish
cast les or I ndian palaces, visit ing t he land of Mr. Cadwallader Evans, he of t he seven wives who
wer e happy enough t o have only one night of dut y each per week, and t he t err it or y of t he
not or ious MacSween who had become enamour ed of t he ideas arr iving in Argent ina from
Germany, and had st art ed flying, from his est ancia' s flagpole, a r ed flag at whose heart a
crooked black cr oss danced in a whit e circle. I t was on t he MacSween est ancia t hat t hey came
acr oss t he lagoon, and Rosa saw for t he fir st t ime t he whit e island of her fat e, and insist ed on
rowing out for a picnic luncheon, accompanied neit her by maid nor by chauffeur, t aking only
Mart in de la Cr uz t o row t he boat and t o spread a scar let clot h upon t he whit e sand and t o
serve her wit h meat and wine.
_As whit e as snow and as red as blood and as black as ebony_. As she r eclined in black
skir t and whit e blouse, lying upon scarlet which it self lay over whit e, while he ( also wearing
black and whit e) pour ed red wine int o t he glass in her whit e- gloved hand, - - and t hen, t o his
own ast onishment , _bloody goddamn_, as he caught at her hand and began t o kiss, - -
somet hing happened, t he scene grew blurr ed, one minut e t hey wer e lying on t he scar let clot h,
rolling all over it so t hat cheeses and cold cut s and salads and pat s wer e cr ushed beneat h t he
weight of t heir desir e, and when t hey ret ur ned t o t he Hispano- Suiza it was impossible t o
conceal anyt hing fr om chauffeur or maid on account of t he foodst ains all over t heir clot hes, - -
while t he next minut e she was r ecoiling fr om him, not cruelly but in sadness, dr awing her hand
away and making a t iny gest ure of t he head, no, and he st ood, bowed, ret reat ed, leaving her
wit h virt ue and lunch int act , - - t he t wo possibilit ies kept alt er nat ing, while dying Rosa t ossed
on her bed, did- she- didn' t - she, making t he last ver sion of t he st or y of her life, unable t o decide
what she want ed t o be t r ue.
o o o
"I ' m going cr azy, " Gibr eel t hought . "She' s dying, but I ' m losing my mind. " The moon was
out , and Rosa' s br eat hing was t he only sound in t he room: snor ing as she breat hed in and
exhaling heavily, wit h small gr unt ing noises. Gibreel t ried t o rise f rom his chair, and found he
could not . Even in t hese int ervals bet ween t he visions his body remained impossibly heavy. As
if a boulder had been placed upon his chest . And t he images, when t hey came, cont inued t o be
conf used, so t hat at one moment he was in a haylof t at Los Alamos, making love t o her while
she mur mured his name, over and over, _Mar t in of t he Cr oss_, - - and t he next moment she
was ignoring him in broad daylight beneat h t he wat ching eyes of a cert ain Auror a del Sol, - - so
t hat it was not possible t o dist inguish memory fr om wishes, or guilt y r econst r uct ions fr om
conf essional t r ut hs, - - because even on her deat hbed Rosa Diamond did not know how t o look
her hist or y in t he eye.
Moonlight st r eamed int o t he room. As it st r uck Rosa' s face it appear ed t o pass r ight
t hr ough her , and indeed Gibr eel was beginning t o be able t o make out t he pat t ern of t he lace
embr oidery on her pillowcase. Then he saw Don Enr ique and his friend, t he pur it anical and
disapproving Dr . Babingt on, st anding on t he balcony, as solid as you could wish. I t occur red t o
him t hat as t he apparit ions increased in clarit y Rosa gr ew faint er and faint er, fading away,
exchanging places, one might say, wit h t he ghost s. And because he had also under st ood t hat
t he manifest at ions depended on him, his st omach- - ache, his st one- - like weight iness, he began
t o f ear for his own life as well.
"You want ed me t o falsify Juan Julia' s deat h cert ificat e, " Dr . Babingt on was saying. " I did
so out of our old f riendship. But it was wr ong t o do so; and I see t he r esult before me. You
have shelt ered a killer and it is, perhaps, your conscience t hat is eat ing you away. Go home,
Enrique. Go home, and t ake t hat wife of yours, before somet hing wor se happens. "
"I am home, " Henry Diamond said. " And I t ake except ion t o your ment ion of my wife. "
"Wherever t he English set t le, t hey never leave England, " Dr. Babingt on said as he faded
int o t he moonlight . " Unless, like Doa Rosa, t hey f all in love. "
A cloud passed across t he moonlight , and now t hat t he balcony was empt y Gibreel Farisht a
finally managed t o f or ce himself out of t he chair and on t o his f eet . Walking was like dragging a
ball and chain acr oss t he floor , but he r eached t he window. I n every direct ion, and as far as he
could see, t her e wer e giant t hist les waving in t he breeze. Wher e t he sea had been t her e was
now an ocean of t hist les, ext ending as f ar as t he hor izon, t hist les as high as a full - gr own man.
He heard t he disembodied voice of Dr. Babingt on mut t er in his ear : "The fir st plague of t hist les
for f if t y year s. The past , it seems, ret ur ns. " He saw a woman r unning t hr ough t he t hick,
rippling gr owt h, bar ef oot , wit h loose dark hair . "She did it , " Rosa' s voice said clear ly behind
him. "Aft er bet r aying him wit h t he Vult ure and making him int o a mur der er . He wouldn' t look
at her aft er t hat . Oh, she did it all r ight . Ver y dangerous one, t hat one. Ver y. " Gibr eel lost sight
of Aur ora del Sol in t he t hist les; one mirage obscur ed anot her .
He felt somet hing gr ab him fr om behind, spin him around and fling him flat on his back.
Ther e was nobody t o be seen, but Rosa Diamond was sit t ing bolt upright in bed, st aring at him
wide- eyed, making him under st and t hat she had given up hope of clinging on t o life, and
needed him t o help her complet e t he last r evelat ion. As wit h t he businessman of his dr eams,
he felt helpless, ignorant . . . she seemed t o know, however , how t o draw t he images fr om
him. Linking t he t wo of t hem, navel t o navel, he saw a shining cor d.
Now he was by a pond in t he infinit y of t he t hist les, allowing his horse t o dr ink, and she
came r iding up on her mar e. Now he was embracing her , loosening her gar ment s and her hair,
and now t hey wer e making love. Now she was whisper ing, how can you like me, I am so much
older t han you, and he spoke comf or t ing wor ds.
Now she r ose, dressed, r ode away, while he remained t her e, his body languid and war m,
failing t o not ice t he moment when a woman' s hand st ole out of t he t hist les and t ook hold of his
silver - - haf t ed knif e. . .
No! No! No, t his way!
Now she r ode up t o him by t he pond, and t he moment she dismount ed, looking nervously
at him, he fell upon her , he t old her he couldn' t bear her r ej ect ions any longer , t hey f ell t o t he
gr ound t oget her, she screamed, he t or e at her clot hes, and her hands, clawing at his body,
came upon t he handle of a knife. . .
No! No, never , no! This way: her e!
Now t he t wo of t hem wer e making love, t enderly, wit h many slow caresses; and now a
t hir d rider ent ered t he clearing by t he pool, and t he lovers r ushed apar t ; now Don Enr ique
dr ew his small pist ol and aimed at his rival' s heart , - - .
- - and he f elt Auror a st abbing him in t he heart , over and over , t his is for Juan, and t his is
for abandoning me, and t his is f or your gr and English whor e, - - .
- - and he f elt his vict im' s knife ent er ing his hear t , as Rosa st abbed him, once, t wice, and
again, - - .
- - and aft er Henr y' s bullet had killed him t he Englishman t ook t he dead man' s knif e and
st abbed him, many t imes, in t he bleeding wound.
Gibr eel, scr eaming loudly, lost consciousness at t his point .
When he r egained his senses t he old woman in t he bed was speaking t o herself, so sof t ly
t hat he could barely make out t he words. " The pamper o came, t he sout h- west wind, f lat t ening
t he t hist les. That ' s when t hey found him, or was it before. " The last of t he st or y. How Aur or a
del Sol spat in Rosa Diamond' s f ace at t he funer al of Mart in de la Cr uz. How it was arr anged
t hat nobody was t o be charged for t he mur der , on condit ion t hat Don Enrique t ook Doa Rosa
and ret ur ned t o England wit h all speed. How t hey boar ded t he t rain at t he Los Alamos st at ion
and t he men in whit e suit s st ood on t he plat for m, wearing borsalino hat s, making sur e t hey
really left . How, once t he t rain had st art ed moving, Rosa Diamond opened t he holdall on t he
seat beside her , and said def iant ly, _I br ought somet hing. A lit t le souvenir _. And unwr apped a
clot h bundle t o r eveal a gaucho' s silver - haf t ed knif e.
"Henry died t he f ir st wint er home. Then not hing happened. The war . The end. " She paused.
"To diminish int o t his, aft er being in t hat vast ness. I t isn' t t o be bor ne. " And, af t er a f ur t her
silence: " Ever yt hing shrinks. "
Ther e was a change in t he moonlight , and Gibreel felt a weight lift ing from him, so r apidly
t hat he t hought he might float up t owards t he ceiling. Rosa Diamond lay st ill, eyes closed, her
arms rest ing on t he pat chwor k count er pane. She looked: _nor mal_. Gibreel realized t hat t here
was not hing t o prevent him fr om walking out of t he door .
He made his way downst air s carefully, his legs st ill a lit t le unst eady; found t he heavy
gabar dine over coat t hat had once belonged t o Henry Diamond, and t he grey f elt t r ilby inside
which Don Enr ique' s name had been sewn by his wif e' s own hand; and left , wit hout looking
back. The moment he got out side a wind snat ched his hat and sent it skipping down t he beach.
He chased it , caught it , j ammed it back on. _London shareef , here I come_. He had t he cit y in
his pocket : Geographers' London, t he whole dog- ear ed met r opolis, A t o Z.
"What t o do?" he was t hinking. "Phone or not phone? No, j ust t urn up, ring t he bell and
say, baby, your wish came t r ue, fr om sea bed t o your bed, t akes more t han a plane cr ash t o
keep me away f rom you. - - Okay, maybe not quit e, but words t o t hat effect . - - Yes. Sur prise is
t he best policy. Allie Bibi, boo t o you. "
Then he hear d t he singing. I t was coming fr om t he old boat house wit h t he one- eyed pir at e
paint ed on t he out side, and t he song was f or eign, but f amiliar : a song t hat Rosa Diamond had
oft en hummed, and t he voice, t oo, was f amiliar, alt hough a lit t le diff er ent , less quaver y;
_younger _. The boat house door was unaccount ably unlocked, and banging in t he wind. He
went t owar ds t he song.
"Take your coat off, " she said. She was dressed as she had been on t he day of t he whit e
island: black skir t and boot s, whit e silk blouse, hat less. He spread t he coat on t he boat house
floor, it s br ight scarlet lining glowing in t he confined, moonlit space. She lay down amid t he
random clut t er of an English life, cricket st umps, a yellowed lampshade, chipped vases, a
folding t able, t runks; and ext ended an ar m t owards him. He lay down by her side.
"How can you like me?" she murmur ed. "I am so much older t han you. "
3
When t hey pulled his pyj amas down in t he windowless police van and he saw t he t hick,
t ight ly cur led dark hair cover ing his t highs, Saladin Chamcha broke down for t he second t ime
t hat night ; t his t ime, however , he began t o giggle hyst erically, infect ed, per haps, by t he
cont inuing hilarit y of his capt or s. The t hr ee immigr at ion off icers were in par t icularly high
spirit s, and it was one of t hese - - t he popeyed f ellow whose name, it t r anspired, was St ein - -
who had " de- - bagged" Saladin wit h a mer r y cry of , " Opening t ime, Packy; let ' s see what
you' re made of! " Red- and- whit e st r ipes wer e dragged of f t he prot est ing Chamcha, who was
reclining on t he floor of t he van wit h t wo st out policemen holding each ar m and a f if t h
const able' s boot placed firmly upon his chest , and whose pr ot est s went unhear d in t he general
mir t hful din. His horns kept banging against t hings, t he wheel - - arch, t he uncar pet ed f loor or a
policeman' s shin - - on t hese last occasions he was soundly buffet ed about t he face by t he
underst andably irat e law- - enforcement officer - - and he was, in sum, in as miser ably low spirit s
as he could recall. Never t heless, when he saw what lay beneat h his borr owed pyj amas, he
could not prevent t hat disbelieving giggle from escaping past his t eet h.
His t highs had grown uncommonly wide and powerf ul, as well as hair y. Below t he knee t he
hair iness came t o a halt , and his legs nar rowed int o t ough, bony, almost f leshless calves,
t er minat ing in a pair of shiny, cloven hoofs, such as one might find on any billy- goat . Saladin
was also t aken aback by t he sight of his phallus, great ly enlarged and embarr assingly erect , an
or gan t hat he had t he great est difficult y in acknowledging as his own. "What ' s t his, t hen?"
j oked Novak - - t he f or mer " Hisser" - - giving it a playf ul t weak. " Fancy one of us, maybe?"
Wher eupon t he " moaning" immigr at ion officer , Joe Bruno, slapped his t high, dug Novak in t he
ribs, and shout ed, " Nah, t hat ain' t it . Seems like we r eally got his goat . " "I get it , " Novak
shout ed back, as his f ist accident ally punched Saladin in his newly enlar ged t est icles. "Hey!
Hey! " howled St ein, wit h t ear s in his eyes. " List en, here' s an even bet t er . . . no wonder he' s so
fucking _hor ny_. "
At which t he t hr ee of t hem, r epeat ing many t imes "Got his goat . . . hor ny. . . " fell int o one
anot her ' s arms and howled wit h delight . Chamcha want ed t o speak, but was afr aid t hat he
would find his voice mut at ed int o goat - - bleat s, and, besides, t he policeman' s boot had begun
t o pr ess har der t han ever on his chest , and it was har d t o for m any words. What puzzled
Chamcha was t hat a circumst ance which st r uck him as ut t erly bewildering and unprecedent ed -
- t hat is, his met amor phosis int o t his super nat ur al imp - - was being t r eat ed by t he ot her s as if
it wer e t he most banal and familiar mat t er t hey could imagine. "This isn' t England, " he t hought ,
not for t he f ir st or last t ime. How could it be, af t er all; where in all t hat moder at e and
common- - sensical land was t her e r oom for such a police van in whose int erior such event s as
t hese might plausibly t r anspire? He was being forced t owar ds t he conclusion t hat he had
indeed died in t he exploding aeroplane and t hat everyt hing t hat followed had been some sort of
aft er - lif e. I f t hat wer e t he case, his long- - st anding r ej ect ion of t he Et ernal was beginning t o
look pr et t y foolish. - - But wher e, in all t his, was any sign of a Supreme Being, whet her
benevolent or malign? Why did Pur gat or y, or Hell, or what ever t his place might be, look so
much like t hat Sussex of rewar ds and f airies which ever y schoolboy knew? - - Perhaps, it
occurr ed t o him, he had not act ually per ished in t he _Bost an_ disast er , but was lying gr avely ill
in some hospit al war d, plagued by delirious dr eams? This explanat ion appealed t o him, not
least because it unmade t he meaning of a cer t ain lat e- night t elephone call, and a man' s voice
t hat he was t rying, unsuccessfully, t o f or get . . . He felt a sharp kick land on his ribs, painful
and realist ic enough t o make him doubt t he t r ut h of all such hallucinat ion- t heor ies. He r et urned
his at t ent ion t o t he act ual, t o t his pr esent compr ising a sealed police van cont aining t hr ee
immigr at ion officer s and five policemen t hat was, for t he moment at any rat e, all t he univer se
he possessed. I t was a univer se of f ear .
Novak and t he r est had snapped out of t heir happy mood. " Animal, " St ein cursed him as he
administ er ed a series of kicks, and Br uno j oined in: "You' re all t he same. Can' t expect animals
t o observe civilized st andards. Eh?" And Novak t ook up t he t hr ead: "We' r e t alking about
fucking personal hygiene here, you lit t le fuck. "
Chamcha was myst ified. Then he not iced t hat a lar ge number of soft , pellet y obj ect s had
appear ed on t he floor of t he Black Mar ia. He felt consumed by bit t er ness and shame. I t seemed
t hat even his nat ural pr ocesses were goat ish now. The humiliat ion of it ! He was - - had gone t o
some lengt hs t o become - - a sophist icat ed man! Such degr adat ions might be all very well for
riff - raff fr om villages in Sylhet or t he bicycle- repair shops of Guj r anwala, but he was cut fr om
dif ferent clot h! " My good fellows, " he began, at t empt ing a t one of aut horit y t hat was pret t y
dif ficult t o bring off from t hat undignified posit ion on his back wit h his hoof y legs wide apart
and a soft t umble of his own excrement all about him, " my good fellows, you had best
underst and your mist ake befor e it ' s t oo lat e. "
Novak cupped a hand behind an ear . "What ' s t hat ? What was t hat noise?" he inquired,
looking about him, and St ein said, "Search me. " " Tell you what it sounded like, " Joe Br uno
volunt eered, and wit h his hands ar ound his mout h he bellowed: " Maaaa- aa! " Then t he t hree of
t hem all laughed once more, so t hat Saladin had no way of t elling if t hey were simply insult ing
him or if his vocal cor ds had t r uly been infect ed, as he fear ed, by t his macabr e demoniasis t hat
had over come him wit hout t he slight est warning. He had begun t o shiver again. The night was
ext r emely cold.
The off icer, St ein, who appear ed t o be t he leader of t he t r init y, or at least t he pr imus int er
par es, ret urned abrupt ly t o t he subj ect of t he pellet y refuse r olling ar ound t he floor of t he
moving van. "I n t his count r y, " he informed Saladin, "we clean up our messes. "
The policemen st opped holding him down and pulled him int o a kneeling posit ion. "That ' s
right , " said Novak, " clean it up. " Joe Bruno placed a lar ge hand behind Chamcha' s neck and
pushed his head down t owards t he pellet - lit t ered floor . "Of f you go, " he said, in a
conver sat ional voice. "Sooner you st ar t , sooner you' ll polish it of f. "
o o o
Even as he was per forming ( having no opt ion) t he lat est and basest rit ual of his
unwar rant ed humiliat ion, - - or , t o put it anot her way, as t he cir cumst ances of his mir aculously
spared life gr ew ever mor e inf er nal and out r - - Saladin Chamcha began t o not ice t hat t he
t hr ee immigr at ion officer s no longer looked or act ed near ly as st r angely as at first . For one
t hing, t hey no longer r esembled one anot her in t he slight est . Officer St ein, whom his
colleagues called "Mack" or "Jockey", t ur ned out t o be a lar ge, bur ly man wit h a t hick roller - -
coast er of a nose; his accent , it now t r anspired, was exagger at edly Scot t ish. "Tha' s t he t icket , "
he r emarked appr ovingly as Chamcha munched miserably on. "An act or , was it ? I ' m par t ial t o
wat chin" a guid man perf or m. "
This observat ion pr ompt ed Of ficer Novak - - t hat is, "Kim" - - who had acquir ed an
alarmingly pallid colour ing, an ascet ically bony face t hat reminded one of medieval icons, and a
frown suggest ing some deep inner t orment , t o burst int o a shor t perorat ion about his f avour it e
t elevision soap- - opera st ars and gameshow host s, while Off icer Bruno, who st r uck Chamcha as
having gr own exceedingly handsome all of a sudden, his hair shiny wit h st yling gel and
cent r ally divided, his blond beard cont r ast ing dramat ically wit h t he darker hair on his head, - -
Bruno, t he youngest of t he t hr ee, asked lasciviously, what about wat chin" girls, t hen, t hat ' s my
game. This new not ion set t he t hr ee of t hem off int o all manner of half - complet ed anecdot es
pr egnant wit h suggest ions of a cert ain t ype, but when t he five policemen at t empt ed t o j oin in
t hey j oined r anks, grew st er n, and put t he const ables in t heir places. "Lit t le children, " Mr . St ein
admonished t hem, "should be seen an" no hearr ud. "
By t his t ime Chamcha was gagging violent ly on his meal, f or cing himself not t o vomit ,
knowing t hat such an er r or would only pr olong his miser y. He was crawling about on t he floor
of t he van, seeking out t he pellet s of his t or t ure as t hey rolled from side t o side, and t he
policemen, needing an out let for t he fr ust rat ion engender ed by t he immigrat ion off icer' s
rebuke, began t o abuse Saladin r oundly and pull t he hair on his r ump t o incr ease bot h his
discomfort and his discomfit ure. Then t he five policemen def iant ly st art ed up t heir own ver sion
of t he immigr at ion officer s' conversat ion, and set t o analysing t he merit s of divers movie st ar s,
dar t s player s, pr ofessional wrest lers and t he like; but because t hey had been put int o a bad
humour by t he loft iness of "Jockey" St ein, t hey wer e unable t o maint ain t he abst r act and
int ellect ual t one of t heir super ior s, and fell t o quar r elling over t he relat ive merit s of t he
Tot t enham Hot spur "double" t eam of t he early 1960s and t he might y Liver pool side of t he
pr esent day, - - in which t he Liverpool suppor t er s incensed t he Spurs fans by alleging t hat t he
gr eat Danny Blanchf lower was a "luxur y" player , a cr eam puff, fldwer by name, pansy by
nat ure; - - wher eupon t he off ended claque responded by shout ing t hat in t he case of Liverpool
it was t he support ers who were t he bum- boys, t he Spurs mob could t ake t hem apar t wit h t heir
arms t ied behind t heir backs. Of cour se all t he const ables wer e familiar wit h t he t echniques of
foot ball hooligans, having spent many Sat ur days wit h t heir backs t o t he game wat ching t he
spect at or s in t he var ious st adiums up and down t he count r y, and as t heir argument gr ew
heat ed t hey reached t he point of wishing t o demonst r at e, t o t heir opposing colleagues, exact ly
what t hey meant by "t earing apar t " , " bollocking", "bot t ling" and t he like. The angry fact ions
glar ed at one anot her and t hen, all t oget her, t hey t ur ned t o gaze upon t he per son of Saladin
Chamcha.
Well, t he r uckus in t hat police van grew noisier and noisier, - - and it ' s t rue t o say t hat
Chamcha was par t ly t o blame, because he had st ar t ed squealing like a pig, - - and t he young
bobbies wer e t humping and gouging var ious part s of his anat omy, using him bot h as a guinea-
pig and a saf et y- valve, r emaining careful, in spit e of t heir excit at ion, t o confine t heir blows t o
his soft er, mor e fleshy part s, t o minimize t he risk of br eakages and br uises; and when Jockey,
Kim and Joey saw what t heir j unior s wer e get t ing up t o, t hey chose t o be t oler ant , because
boys would have t heir fun.
Besides, all t his t alk of wat ching had br ought St ein, Bruno and Novak round t o an
examinat ion of weight ier mat t er s, and now, wit h solemn f aces and j udicious voices, t hey were
speaking of t he need, in t his day and age, for an incr ease in obser vat ion, not mer ely in t he
sense of "spect at ing", but in t hat of " wat chfulness" , and "surveillance". The young const ables'
exper ience was ext r emely relevant , St ein int oned: wat ch t he cr owd, not t he game. "Et er nal
vigilance is t he price o" liber t y, " he pr oclaimed.
"Eek, " cried Chamcha, unable t o avoid int er rupt ing. "Aar gh, unnhh, owoo. "
o o o
Af t er a t ime a curious mood of det achment fell upon Saladin. He no longer had any idea of
how long t hey had been t ravelling in t he Black Maria of his har d fall f rom gr ace, nor could he
have hazar ded a guess as t o t he pr oximit y of t heir ult imat e dest inat ion, even t hough t he
t innit us in his ears was gr owing gr adually louder, t hose phant asmal grandmot her' s f oot st eps,
ellowen, deeowen, London. The blows raining down on him now felt as soft as a lover' s
car esses; t he grot esque sight of his own met amor phosed body no longer appalled him; even
t he last pellet s of goat excr ement failed t o st ir his much- - abused st omach. Numbly, he cr ouched
down in his lit t le world, t r ying t o make himself smaller and smaller, in t he hope t hat he might
event ually disappear alt oget her, and so r egain his fr eedom.
The t alk of sur veillance t echniques had r eunit ed immigr at ion officer s and policemen,
healing t he br each caused by Jockey St ein' s words of purit anical r epr oof. Chamcha, t he insect
on t he floor of t he van, heard, as if t hrough a t elephone scrambler, t he far away voices of his
capt or s speaking eager ly of t he need f or more video equipment at public event s and of t he
benef it s of comput erized inf or mat ion, and, in what appeared t o be a complet e cont r adict ion, of
t he efficacy of placing t oo r ich a mixt ur e in t he nosebags of police horses on t he night befor e a
big mat ch, because when equine st omach- - upset s led t o t he mar cher s being showered wit h
shit it always pr ovoked t hem int o violence, _an" t hen we can r eally get amongst t hem, can' t we
j ust _. Unable t o find a way of making t his universe of soap oper as, mat choft heday, cloaks and
dagger s cohere int o any r ecognizable whole, Chamcha closed his ear s t o t he chat t er and
list ened t o t he foot st eps in his ear s.
Then t he penny dr opped.
"Ask t he Comput er ! "
Three immigrat ion off icers and five policemen fell silent as t he foul - - smelling creat ure sat
up and holler ed at t hem. "What ' s he on about ?" asked t he youngest policeman - - one of t he
Tot t enham suppor t er s, as it happened - - doubt fully. "Shall I fet ch him anot her whack?"
"My name is Salahuddin Chamchawala, pr ofessional name Saladin Chamcha, " t he demi-
goat gibbered. " I am a member of Act or s' Equit y, t he Aut omobile Associat ion and t he Gar rick
Club. My car r egist r at ion number is suchandsuch. Ask t he Comput er. Please. "
"Who' re you t r ying t o kid?" inquired one of t he Liverpool f ans, but he, t oo, sounded
uncer t ain. "Look at your self. You' r e a f ucking Packy billy. Sally- who? - - What kind of name is
t hat f or an Englishman?"
Chamcha found a scrap of anger fr om somewher e. "And what about t hem?" he demanded,
j erking his head at t he immigr at ion officer s. "They don' t sound so Anglo- Saxon t o me. "
For a moment it seemed t hat t hey might all fall upon him and t ear him limb fr om limb for
such t emer it y, but at lengt h t he skull- faced Officer Novak merely slapped his face a few t imes
while r eplying, "I ' m fr om Weybr idge, you cunt . Get it st raight : Weybr idge, wher e t he f ucking
_Beat les_ used t o live. "
St ein said: " Bet t er check him out . " Three and a half minut es lat er t he Black Mar ia came t o
a halt and t hr ee immigr at ion officer s, five const ables and one police driver held a cr isis
conf er ence - - _her e' s a pret t y eff ing pickle_ - - and Chamcha not ed t hat in t heir new mood all
nine had begun t o look alike, render ed equal and ident ical by t heir t ension and fear. Nor was it
long befor e he underst ood t hat t he call t o t he Police Nat ional Comput er, which had
pr ompt ly ident ified him as a Br it ish Cit izen fir st class, had not improved his sit uat ion, but had
placed him, if anyt hing, in gr eat er danger t han bef or e.
- - We could say, - - one of t he nine suggest ed, - - t hat he was lying unconscious on t he
beach. - - Won' t work, - - came t he reply, on account of t he old lady and t he ot her geezer . - -
Then he r esist ed arr est and t urned nast y and in t he ensuing alt ercat ion he kind of f aint ed. - - Or
t he old bag was gaga, made no sense t o any of us, and t he ot her guy wossname never spoke
up, and as for t his bugger, you only have t o clock t he bleeder, looks like t he very devil, what
wer e we supposed t o t hink? - - And t hen he went and passed out on us, so what could we do, in
all fairness, I ask you, your honour, but bring him in t o t he medical facilit y at t he Det ent ion
Cent re, for pr oper car e followed by obser vat ion and quest ioning, using our r eason- t o- believe
guidelines; what do you r eckon on somet hing of t hat nat ur e? - - I t ' s nine against one, but t he
old biddy and t he second bloke make it a bit of a bast ar d. - - Look, we can fix t he t ale lat er,
first t hing like I keep saying is t o get him unconscious. - - Right .
o o o
Chamcha woke up in a hospit al bed wit h green slime coming up fr om his lungs. His bones
felt as if somebody had put t hem in t he icebox for a long while. He began t o cough, and when
t he fit ended ninet een and a half minut es lat er he fell back int o a shallow, sickly sleep wit hout
having t aken in any aspect of his present whereabout s. When he surf aced again a f riendly
woman' s f ace was looking down at him, smiling reassuringly. " You goin t o be fine, " she said,
pat t ing him on t he shoulder . " A lickle pneumonia is all you got . " She int r oduced her self as his
physiot herapist , Hyacint h Phillips. And added, " I never j udge a person by appear ances. No, sir.
Don' t you go t hinking I do. "
Wit h t hat , she rolled him over on t o his side, placed a small car dboar d box by his lips,
hit ched up her whit e housecoat , kicked off her shoes, and leaped at hlet ically on t o t he bed t o
sit ast r ide him, for all t he wor ld as if he were a horse t hat she meant t o r ide r ight t hr ough t he
scr eens surr ounding his bed and out int o goodness knew what manner of t ransmogr ified
landscape. " Doct or ' s or ders, " she explained. " Thir t y- - minut e sessions, t wice a day. " Wit hout
furt her pr eamble, she began pummelling him br iskly about t he middle body, wit h fight ly
clenched, but evident ly expert , fist s.
For poor Saladin, fr esh fr om his beat ing in t he police van, t his new assault was t he last
st raw. He began t o st r uggle beneat h her pounding f ist s, cr ying loudly, "Let me out of here; has
anybody inf or med my wife?" The eff or t of shout ing out induced a second coughing spasm t hat
last ed sevent een and t hr ee- - quar t er minut es and earned him a t elling off fr om t he
physiot herapist , Hyacint h. " You wast in my t ime, " she said. "I should be done wit h your right
lung by now and inst ead I hardly get st art ed. You go behave or not ?" She had remained on t he
bed, st raddling him, bouncing up and down as his body convulsed, like a r odeo r ider hanging
on for t he nine- second bell. He subsided in defeat , and allowed her t o beat t he gr een fluid out
of his inflamed lungs. When she finished he was obliged t o admit t hat he felt a good deal
bet t er . She r emoved t he lit t le box which was now half - full of slime and said cheer ily, " You be
st andin up f irm in no t ime, " and t hen, colour ing in conf usion, apologized, " Excuse _me_, " and
fled wit hout remember ing t o pull back t he encircling scr eens.
"Time t o t ake st ock of t he sit uat ion, " he t old himself . A quick physical examinat ion
infor med him t hat his new, mut ant condit ion had r emained unchanged. This cast his spir it s
down, and he r ealized t hat he had been half - hoping t hat t he night mar e would have ended while
he slept . He was dr essed in a new pair of alien pyj amas, t his t ime of an undif ferent iat ed pale
gr een colour, which mat ched bot h t he fabr ic of t he scr eens and what he could see of t he walls
and ceiling of t hat crypt ic and anonymous ward. His legs st ill ended in t hose dist r essing hoofs,
and t he hor ns on his head were as shar p as befor e . . . he was dist ract ed f rom t his mor ose
invent or y by a man' s voice from nearby, crying out in hear t - rending dist r ess: "Oh, if ever a
body suffer ed . . . ! "
"What on ear t h?" Chamcha t hought , and det er mined t o invest igat e. But now he was
becoming awar e of many ot her sounds, as unset t ling as t he fir st . I t seemed t o him t hat he
could hear all sort s of animal noises: t he snor t ing of bulls, t he chat t er ing of monkeys, even t he
pr et t y- - polly mimic- squawks of par rot s or t alking budger igar s. Then, fr om anot her dir ect ion, he
hear d a woman gr unt ing and shrieking, at what sounded like t he end of a painful labour;
followed by t he yowling of a new- bor n baby. However, t he woman' s cr ies did not subside when
t he baby' s began; if anyt hing, t hey r edoubled in t heir int ensit y, and perhaps fift een minut es
lat er Chamcha dist inct ly hear d a second infant ' s voice j oining t he first . St ill t he woman' s bir t h-
agony r efused t o end, and at int er vals ranging fr om fift een t o t hir t y minut es for what seemed
like an endless t ime she cont inued t o add new babies t o t he already impr obable number s
marching, like conquering ar mies, f rom her womb.
His nose informed him t hat t he sanat or ium, or what ever t he place called it self, was also
beginning t o st ink t o t he heavens; j ungle and f armyard odour s mingled wit h a r ich ar oma
similar t o t hat of exot ic spices sizzling in clar ified but t er - - coriander, t ur meric, cinnamon,
car damoms, cloves. " This is t oo much, " he t hought f irmly. "Time t o get a f ew t hings sort ed
out . " He swung his legs out of bed, t ried t o st and up, and pr ompt ly fell t o t he floor , being
ut t erly unaccust omed t o his new legs. I t t ook him ar ound an hour t o over come t his problem - -
lear ning t o walk by holding on t o t he bed and st umbling around it unt il his confidence gr ew. At
lengt h, and not a lit t le unst eadily, he made his way t o t he nearest screen; whereupon t he face
of t he immigr at ion officer St ein appear ed, Cheshir e- Cat - - like, bet ween t wo of t he scr eens t o his
left , followed r apidly by t he r est of t he fellow, who drew t he screens t oget her behind him wit h
suspicious r apidit y.
"Doing all right ?" St ein asked, his smile remaining wide.
"When can I see t he doct or ? When can I go t o t he t oilet ? When can I leave?" Chamcha
asked in a r ush. St ein answer ed equably: t he doct or would be round pr esent ly; Nurse Phillips
would br ing him a bedpan; he could leave as soon as he was well. "Damn decent of you t o
come down wit h t he lung t hing, " St ein added, wit h t he gr at it ude of an aut hor whose char act er
had unexpect edly solved a t icklish t echnical pr oblem. " Makes t he st or y much mor e convincing.
Seems you wer e t hat sick, you did pass out on us aft er all. Nine of us remember it well.
Thanks. " Chamcha could not find any wor ds. "And anot her t hing, " St ein went on. "The old
bur d, Mrs. Diamond. Tur ns out t o be dead in her bed, cold as mut t on, and t he ot her gent leman
vanished clear away. The possibilit y of f oul play has no as yet been eliminat ed. "
"I n conclusion, " he said befor e disappear ing forever fr om Saladin' s new life, " I suggest , Mr.
Cit izen Saladin, t hat you dinna t r ouble wit h a complaint . You' ll f or give me for speaking plain,
but wit h your wee hor ns and your gr eat hoofs you wouldna look t he most reliable of wit nesses.
Good day t o you now. "
Saladin Chamcha closed his eyes and when he opened t hem his t or ment or had t ur ned int o
t he nurse and physiot herapist , Hyacint h Phillips. " Why you wan go walking?" she asked.
"What ever your hear t desires, you j us ask me, Hyacint h, and we' ll see what we can f ix. "
o o o
"Ssst . "
That night , in t he greeny light of t he myst erious inst it ut ion, Saladin was awakened by a
hiss out of an I ndian bazaar.
"Ssst . You, Beelzebub. Wake up. "
St anding in fr ont of him was a figure so impossible t hat Chamcha want ed t o bury his head
under t he sheet s; yet could not , for was not he himself . . . ? "That ' s r ight , " t he cr eat ur e said.
"You see, you' r e not alone. "
I t had an ent ir ely human body, but it s head was t hat of a fer ocious t iger, wit h t hree rows
of t eet h. "The night guar ds of t en doze off , " it explained. "That ' s how we manage t o get t o t alk. "
Just t hen a voice from one of t he ot her beds - - each bed, as Chamcha now knew, was
pr ot ect ed by it s own r ing of screens - - wailed loudly: " Oh, if ever a body suff er ed! " and t he
man- t iger, or mant icor e, as it called it self, gave an exasperat ed gr owl. "That Moaner Lisa, " it
exclaimed. "All t hey did t o him was make him blind. "
"Who did what ?" Chamcha was confused.
"The point is, " t he mant icor e cont inued, "ar e you going t o put up wit h it ?"
Saladin was st ill puzzled. The ot her seemed t o be suggest ing t hat t hese mut at ions were t he
responsibilit y of - - of whom? How could t hey be? - - "I don' t see, " he vent ured, "who can be
blamed . . . "
The mant icor e ground it s t hr ee rows of t eet h in evident f rust r at ion. " Ther e' s a woman over
t hat way, " it said, "who is now most ly wat er - buff alo. There ar e businessmen fr om Niger ia who
have grown st urdy t ails. There is a group of holidaymakers fr om Senegal who were doing no
mor e t han changing planes when t hey wer e t urned int o slippery snakes. I myself am in t he rag
t r ade; for some years now I have been a highly paid male model, based in Bombay, wear ing a
wide r ange of suit ings and shir t ings also. But who will employ me now?" he bur st int o sudden
and unexpect ed t ear s. "There, t her e, " said Saladin Chamcha, aut omat ically. "Everyt hing will be
all right , I ' m sur e of it . Have cour age. "
The cr eat ure composed it self. "The point is, " it said f ier cely, "some of us aren' t going t o
st and for it . We' r e going t o bust out of her e bef or e t hey t ur n us int o anyt hing worse. Every
night I f eel a dif ferent piece of me beginning t o change. I ' ve st ar t ed, for example, t o break
wind cont inually . . . I beg your pardon you see what I mean? By t he way, t r y t hese, " he slipped
Chamcha a packet of ext r a- st rengt h peppermint s. "They' ll help your breat h. I ' ve bribed one of
t he guards t o bring in a supply. "
"But how do t hey do it ?" Chamcha want ed t o know.
"They describe us, " t he ot her whisper ed solemnly. "That ' s all. They have t he power of
descr ipt ion, and we succumb t o t he pict ur es t hey const r uct . "
"I t ' s hard t o believe, " Chamcha argued. "I ' ve lived her e for many year s and it never
happened before . . . " His wor ds dr ied up because he saw t he mant icor e looking at him t hr ough
nar row, dist rust ful eyes. " Many year s?" it asked. " How could t hat be? - - Maybe you' r e an
infor mer ? - - Yes, t hat ' s it , a spy?"
Just t hen a wail came f rom a f ar corner of t he war d. "Lemme go, " a woman' s voice howled.
"OJesus I want t o go. Jesus Mar y I got t a go, lemme go, O God, O Jesus God. " A ver y
lecherouslooking wolf put it s head t hr ough Saladin' s screens and spoke urgent ly t o t he
mant icor e. "The guar ds' ll be here soon, " it hissed. "I t ' s her again, Glass Ber t ha. "
"Glass . . . ?" Saladin began. "Her skin t urned t o glass, " t he mant icor e explained
impat ient ly, not knowing t hat he was bringing Chamcha' s wor st dr eam t o lif e. "And t he
bast ards smashed it up for her. Now she can' t even walk t o t he t oilet . "
A new voice hissed out acr oss t he gr eeny night . "For God' s sake, woman. Go in t he fucking
bedpan. "
The wolf was pulling t he mant icor e away. "I s he wit h us or not ?" it want ed t o know. The
mant icor e shrugged. "He can' t make up his mind, " it answer ed. "Can' t believe his own eyes,
t hat ' s his t r ouble. "
They fled, hearing t he approaching cr unch of t he guar ds' heavy boot s.
o o o
The next day t her e was no sign of a doct or, or of Pamela, and Chamcha in his ut t er
bewilderment woke and slept as if t he t wo condit ions no longer r equir ed t o be t hought of as
opposit es, but as st at es t hat f lowed int o and out of one anot her t o cr eat e a kind of unending
delirium of t he senses. . . he found himself dr eaming of t he Queen, of making t ender love t o t he
Monar ch. She was t he body of Br it ain, t he avat ar of t he St at e, and he had chosen her , j oined
wit h her; she was his Beloved, t he moon of his delight .
Hyacint h came at t he appoint ed t imes t o r ide and pummel him, and he submit t ed wit hout
any fuss. But when she f inished she whisper ed int o his ear: "You in wit h t he r est ?" and he
underst ood t hat she was involved in t he great conspir acy, t oo. "I f you are, " he heard himself
saying, " t hen you can count me in. " She nodded, looking pleased. Chamcha felt a war mt h
filling him up, and he began t o wonder about t aking hold of one of t he physiot herapist ' s
exceedingly daint y, albeit powerful, lit t le fist s; but j ust t hen a shout came fr om t he direct ion of
t he blind man: "My st ick, I ' ve lost my st ick. "
"Poor old bugger, " said Hyacint h, and hopping off Chamcha she dar t ed acr oss t o t he
sight less fellow, picked up t he fallen st ick, rest ored it t o it s owner , and came back t o Saladin.
"Now, " she said. "I ' ll see you t his pm; okay, no pr oblems?"
He want ed her t o st ay, but she act ed br isk. "I ' m a busy woman, Mr. Chamcha. Things t o
do, people t o see. "
When she had gone he lay back and smiled for t he f irst t ime in a long while. I t did not
occur t o him t hat his met amorphosis must be cont inuing, because he was act ually ent er t aining
romant ic not ions about a black woman; and bef or e he had t ime t o t hink such complex
t hought s, t he blind man next door began, once again, t o speak.
"I have not iced you, " Chamcha hear d him say, " I have not iced you, and come t o appr eciat e
your kindness and underst anding. " Saladin r ealized t hat he was making a f or mal speech of
t hanks t o t he empt y space where he clear ly believed t he physiot her apist was st ill st anding. " I
am not a man who forget s a kindness. One day, per haps, I may be able t o r epay it , but for t he
moment , please know t hat it is remember ed, and fondly, t oo. . . " Chamcha did not have t he
cour age t o call out , _she isn' t t here, old man, she lef t some t ime back_. He list ened unhappily
unt il at lengt h t he blind man asked t he t hin air a quest ion: " I hope, per haps, you may also
remember me? A lit t le? On occasion?" Then came a silence; a dr y laugh; t he sound of a man
sit t ing down, heavily, all of a sudden. And finally, af t er an unbear able pause, bat hos: "Oh, " t he
soliloquist bellowed, " oh, if ever a body suff er ed. . . ! "
We st r ive for t he height s but our nat ur es bet r ay us, Chamcha t hought ; clowns in sear ch of
crowns. The bit t er ness over came him. _Once I was light er , happier, war m. Now t he black
wat er is in my veins_.
St ill no Pamela. _What t he hell_. That night , he t old t he mant icore and t he wolf t hat he
was wit h t hem, all t he way.
o o o
The gr eat escape t ook place some night s lat er, when Saladin' s lungs had been all but
empt ied of slime by t he minist r at ions of Miss Hyacint h Phillips. I t t ur ned out t o be a well-
or ganized aff air on a pr et t y large scale, involving not only t he inmat es of t he sanat or ium but
also t he det enus, as t he mant icore called t hem, held behind wir e fences in t he Det ent ion
Cent re nearby. Not being one of t he grand st rat egist s of t he escape, Chamcha simply wait ed by
his bed as inst r uct ed unt il Hyacint h br ought him word, and t hen t hey ran out of t hat war d of
night mares int o t he clar it y of a cold, moonlit sky, past sever al bound, gagged men: t heir
for mer guar ds. There were many shadowy figur es r unning t hrough t he glowing night , and
Chamcha glimpsed beings he could never have imagined, men and women who were also
par t ially plant s, or giant insect s, or even, on occasion, built par t ly of br ick or st one; t her e wer e
men wit h r hinoceros hor ns inst ead of noses and women wit h necks as long as any giraffe. The
monst ers r an quickly, silent ly, t o t he edge of t he Det ent ion Cent re compound, wher e t he
mant icor e and ot her sharp- t oot hed mut ant s were wait ing by t he lar ge holes t hey had bit t en
int o t he f abric of t he cont aining fence, and t hen t hey wer e out , f ree, going t heir separat e ways,
wit hout hope, but also wit hout shame. Saladin Chamcha and Hyacint h Phillips ran side by side,
his goat - hoof s clip- clopping on t he har d pavement s: _east _ she t old him, as he heard his own
foot st eps r eplace t he t innit us in his ears, east east east t hey r an, t aking t he low roads t o
London t own.
4
Jumpy Joshi had become Pamela Chamcha' s lover by what she aft er wards called "sheer
chance" on t he night she lear ned of her husband' s deat h in t he _Bost an_ explosion, so t hat t he
sound of his old college fr iend Saladin' s voice speaking fr om beyond t he grave in t he middle of
t he night , ut t ering t he five gnomic wor ds _sor ry, excuse please, wr ong number_, - - speaking,
mor eover, less t han t wo hour s aft er Jumpy and Pamela had made, wit h t he assist ance of t wo
bot t les of whisky, t he t wo- - backed beast , - - put him in a t ight spot . "Who was _t hat ?_"
Pamela, st ill most ly asleep, wit h a blackout mask over her eyes, r olled over t o inquir e, and he
decided t o reply, "Just a breat her , don' t wor ry about it , " which was all ver y well, except t hen
he had t o do t he wor rying all by himself, sit t ing up in bed, naked, and sucking, for comfort , as
he had all his lif e, t he t humb on his r ight hand.
He was a small person wit h wir e coat hanger shoulders and an enor mous capacit y for
nervous agit at ion, evidenced by his pale, sunken- - eyed f ace; his t hinning hair - - st ill ent ir ely
black and curly - - which had been r uffled so oft en by his fr enzied hands t hat it no longer t ook
t he slight est not ice of brushes or combs, but st uck out every which way and gave it s owner t he
per pet ual air of having j ust woken up, lat e, and in a hurr y; and his endear ingly high, shy and
self - depr ecat ing, but also hiccoughy and over - - excit ed, giggle; all of which had helped t urn his
name, Jamshed, int o t his Jumpy t hat ever ybody, even f ir st - t ime acquaint ances, now
aut omat ically used; ever ybody, t hat is, except Pamela Chamcha. Saladin' s wife, he t hought ,
sucking away f ever ishly. - - Or widow? - - Or , God help me, wife, aft er all. He f ound himself
resent ing Chamcha. A r et ur n fr om a wat ery grave: so oper at ic an event , in t his day and age,
seemed almost indecent , an act of bad fait h.
He had r ushed over t o Pamela' s place t he moment he heard t he news, and found her dry-
eyed and composed. She led him int o her clut t er - lover ' s st udy on whose walls wat er colour s of
rose- gar dens hung bet ween clenched- - fist post ers r eading _Par t ido Socialist a_, phot ographs of
friends and a clust er of Afr ican masks, and as he picked his way across t he f loor bet ween
asht rays and t he _Voice_ newspaper and feminist science- - fict ion novels she said, f lat ly,
"The sur pr ising t hing is t hat when t hey t old me I t hought , well, shr ug, his deat h will act ually
make a pr et t y small hole in my life. " Jumpy, who was close t o t ears, and bur st ing wit h
memories, st opped in his t racks and flapped his ar ms, looking, in his great shapeless black
coat , and wit h his pallid, t er ror - - st ricken face, like a vampir e caught in t he unexpect ed and
hideous light of day. Then he saw t he empt y whisky bot t les. Pamela had st ar t ed dr inking, she
said, some hours back, and since t hen she had been going at it st eadily, rhyt hmically, wit h t he
dedicat ion of a long- dist ance runner . He sat down beside her on her low, squashy sofa- bed,
and off er ed t o act as a pacemaker. "What ever you want , " she said, and passed him t he bot t le.
Now, sit t ing up in bed wit h a t humb inst ead of a bot t le, his secr et and his hangover
banging equally painf ully inside his head ( he had never been a dr inking or a secret ive man) ,
Jumpy felt t ear s coming on once again, and decided t o get up and walk himself ar ound. Wher e
he went was upst airs, t o what Saladin had insist ed on calling his " den", a lar ge loft - - space wit h
skylight s and windows looking down on an expanse of communal gardens dot t ed wit h
comfor t able t rees, oak, lar ch, even t he last of t he elms, a sur vivor of t he plague years. _Fir st
t he elms, now us_, Jumpy reflect ed. _Maybe t he t r ees were a warning_. He shook himself t o
banish such small- hour mor bidit ies, and per ched on t he edge of his fr iend' s mahogany desk.
Once at a college par t y he had per ched, j ust so, on a t able soggy wit h spilled wine and beer
next t o an emaciat ed girl in black lace minidr ess, purple feat her boa and eyelids like silver
helmet s, unable t o pluck up t he cour age t o say hello. Finally he did t ur n t o her and st ut t er out
some banalit y or ot her; she gave him a look of absolut e cont empt and said wit hout moving her
black- - lacquer lips, _conversat ion' s dead, man_. He had been pr et t y upset , so upset t hat he
blur t ed out , _t ell me, why are all t he girls in t his t own so r ude?_, and she answer ed, wit hout
pausing t o t hink, _because most of t he boys ar e like you_. A f ew moment s lat er Chamcha
came up, r eeking of pat chouli, wear ing a whit e kurt a, ever ybody' s goddamn car t oon of t he
myst eries of t he East , and t he gir l left wit h him five minut es lat er. The bast ar d, Jumpy Joshi
t hought as t he old bit t er ness surged back, he had no shame, he was r eady t o be anyt hing t hey
want ed t o buy, t hat r ead- your - palm bedspread- j acket Har eKr ishna dharma- bum, you wouldn' t
have caught me dead. That st opped him, t hat word r ight t here. Dead. Face it , Jamshed, t he
gir ls never went f or you, t hat ' s t he t r ut h, and t he rest is envy. Well, maybe so, he half -
conceded, and t hen again. Maybe dead, he added, and t hen again, maybe not .
Chamcha' s room st r uck t he sleepless int ruder as cont r ived, and t her ef or e sad: t he
car icat ure of an act or ' s room full of signed phot ographs of colleagues, handbills, fr amed
pr ogr ammes, product ion st ills, cit at ions, awar ds, volumes of movie- - st ar memoir s, a r oom
bought off t he peg, by t he yar d, an imit at ion of lif e, a mask' s mask. Novelt y it ems on every
surf ace: asht rays in t he shape of pianos, china pier rot s peeping out fr om behind a shelf of
books. And everywher e, on t he walls, in t he movie post ers, in t he glow of t he lamp bor ne by
br onze Eros, in t he mir ror shaped like a heart , oozing up t hr ough t he blood- red car pet , dr ipping
from t he ceiling, Saladin' s need for love. I n t he t heat r e everybody get s kissed and ever ybody is
dar ling. The act or ' s lif e of fers, on a daily basis, t he simulacr um of love; a mask can be
sat isfied, or at least consoled, by t he echo of what it seeks. The desper at ion t her e was in him,
Jumpy recognized, he' d do anyt hing, put on any damnfool cost ume, change int o any shape, if it
ear ned him a loving wor d. Saladin, who wasn' t by any means unsuccessful wit h women, see
above. The poor st umblebum. Even Pamela, wit h all her beaut y and br ight ness, hadn' t been
enough.
I t was clear he' d been get t ing t o be a long way f rom enough for her. Somewher e around
t he bot t om of t he second whisky bot t le she leaned her head on his shoulder and said boozily,
"You can' t imagine t he r elief of being wit h someone wit h whom I don' t have t o have a fight
ever y t ime I expr ess an opinion. Someone on t he side of t he goddamn angels. " He wait ed;
aft er a pause, t her e was mor e. " Him and his Royal Family, you wouldn' t believe. Cr icket , t he
Houses of Parliament , t he Queen. The place never st opped being a pict ur e post car d t o him. You
couldn' t get him t o look at what was really r eal. " She closed her eyes and allowed her hand, by
accident , t o rest on his. "He was a r eal Saladin, " Jumpy said. "A man wit h a holy land t o
conquer, his England, t he one he believed in. You wer e part of it , t oo. " She rolled away f rom
him and st ret ched out on t op of magazines, cr umpled balls of wast e paper , mess. "Par t of it ? I
was bloody Br it annia. War m beer , mince pies, common- sense and me. But I ' m really real, t oo,
J. J. ; I r eally r eally am. " She reached over t o him, pulled him acr oss t o where her mout h was
wait ing, kissed him wit h a great un- Pamela- like slurp. "See what I mean?" Yes, he saw.
"You should have heard him on t he Falklands war , " she said lat er , disengaging her self and
fiddling wit h her hair . " ' Pamela, suppose you hear d a noise downst air s in t he middle of t he
night and went t o invest igat e and found a huge man in t he livingroom wit h a shot gun, and he
said, Go back upst airs, what would you do?' I ' d go upst air s, I said. ' Well, it ' s like t hat . I nt ruders
in t he home. I t won' t do. ' Jumpy not iced her f ist s had clenched and her knuckles wer e bone-
whit e. " I said, if you must use t hese blast ed cosy met aphors, t hen get t hem right . What it ' s
_like_ is if t wo people claim t hey own a house, and one of t hem is squat t ing t he place, and
_t hen_ t he ot her t urns up wit h t he shot gun. That ' s what it ' s _like_. " " That ' s what ' s really r eal, "
Jumpy nodded, ser iously. " _Right _, " she slapped his knee. " That ' s really r ight , Mr . Real Jam . .
. it ' s r eally t r uly like t hat . Act ually. Anot her drink. "
She leaned over t o t he t ape deck and pushed a but t on. Jesus, Jumpy t hought , _Boney M?_
Give me a break. For all her t ough, r ace- - pr ofessional at t it udes, t he lady st ill had a lot t o lear n
about music. Her e it came, boomchickaboom. Then, wit hout war ning, he was crying, provoked
int o real t ears by count erf eit emot ion, by a disco- beat imit at ion of pain. I t was t he one hundr ed
and t hir t y- sevent h psalm, "Super flumina" . King David calling out across t he cent uries. How
shall we sing t he Lord' s song in a st range land.
"I had t o lear n t he psalms at school, " Pamela Chamcha said, sit t ing on t he f loor, her head
leaning against t he sof a- bed, her eyes shut t ight . _By t he r iver of Babylon, where we sat down,
oh oh we wept _ . . . she st opped t he t ape, leaned back again, began t o r ecit e. "I f I forget t hee,
O j erusalem, let my r ight hand for get it s cunning; if I do not r emember t hee, let my t ongue
cleave t o t he r oof of my mout h; yea, if I prefer not Jerusalem in my mir t h. "
Lat er , asleep in bed, she dreamed of her convent school, of mat ins and evensong, of t he
chant ing of psalms, when Jumpy rushed in and shook her awake, shout ing, "I t ' s no good, I ' ve
got t o t ell you. He isn' t dead. Saladin: he' s bloody well alive. "
o o o
She came wide awake at once, plunging her hands int o her t hick, curly, hennaed hair, in
which t he f irst st r ands of whit e were j ust beginning t o be not iceable; she knelt on t he bed,
naked, wit h her hands in her hair , unable t o move, unt il Jumpy had f inished speaking, and
t hen, wit hout warning, she began t o hit out at him, punching him on t he chest and ar ms and
shoulder s and even his face, as har d as she could hit . He sat down on t he bed beside her ,
looking ridiculous in her f rilly dr essing- gown, while she beat him; he allowed his body t o go
loose, t o r eceive t he blows, t o submit . When she ran out of punches her body was cover ed in
per spirat ion and he t hought she might have br oken one of his ar ms. She sat down beside him,
pant ing, and t hey wer e silent .
Her dog ent er ed t he bedroom, looking wor ried, and padded over t o offer her his paw, and
t o lick at her left leg. Jumpy st ir red, caut iously. "I t hought he got st olen, " he said event ually.
Pamela j er ked her head for _yes, but _. "The t hieves got in t ouch. I paid t he r ansom. He now
answers t o t he name of Glenn. That ' s okay; I could never pr onounce Sher Khan pr oper ly,
anyway. "
Af t er a while, Jumpy found t hat he want ed t o t alk. "What you did, j ust now, " he began.
"Oh, God. "
"No. I t ' s like a t hing I once did. Maybe t he most sensible t hing I ever did. " I n t he summer
of 1967, he had bullied t he "apolit ical" t went y- year - old Saladin along on an ant i- war
demonst rat ion. "Once in your lif e, Mist er Snoot ; I ' m going t o dr ag you down t o my level. "
Har old Wilson was coming t o t own, and because of t he Labour Gover nment ' s suppor t of U S
involvement in Viet nam, a mass prot est had been planned. Chamcha went along, "out of
curiosit y, " he said. "I want t o see how allegedly int elligent people t ur n t hemselves int o a mob. "
That day it r ained an ocean. The demonst r at or s in Market Squar e wer e soaked t hrough.
Jumpy and Chamcha, swept along by t he cr owd, found t hemselves pushed up against t he st eps
of t he t own hail; _grandst and view_, Chamcha said wit h heavy ir ony. Next t o t hem st ood t wo
st udent s disguised as Russian assassins, in black f edoras, gr eat coat s and dar k glasses, car rying
shoeboxes filled wit h ink- dipped t omat oes and labelled in large block let t er s, bombs. Short ly
befor e t he Pr ime Minist er ' s ar rival, one of t hem t apped a policeman on t he shoulder and said:
"Excuse, please. When Mr . Wilson, self - - st yled Pr ime Meenst er, comes in long car , kindly
request t o wind down weendow so my f riend can t hr ow wit h him t he bombs. " The policeman
answered, " Ho, ho, sir. Very good. Now I ' ll t ell you what . You can t hr ow eggs at him, sir ,
"cause t hat ' s all r ight wit h me. And you can t hrow t omat oes at him, sir, like what you' ve got
t here in t hat box, paint ed black, labelled bombs, "cause t hat ' s all r ight wit h me. You t hr ow
anyt hing hard at him, sir , and my mat e here' ll get you wit h his gun. " O days of innocence when
t he world was young . . . when t he car arr ived t her e was a sur ge in t he cr owd and Chamcha
and Jumpy were separ at ed. Then Jumpy appeared, climbed on t o t he bonnet of Har old Wilson' s
limousine, and began t o j ump up and down on t he bonnet , cr eat ing lar ge dent s, leaping like a
wild man t o t he r hyt hm of t he crowd' s chant ing: _We shall f ight , we shall win, long live Ho Chi
Minh_.
"Saladin st ar t ed yelling at me t o get off , par t ly because t he cr owd was full of Special
Branch t ypes converging on t he limo, but mainly because he was so damn embar rassed. " But
he kept leaping, up higher and down har der , drenched t o t he bone, long hair f lying: Jumpy t he
j umper, leaping int o t he myt hology of t hose ant ique years. And Wilson and Marcia cowered in
t he back seat . _Ho! Ho! Ho Chi Minh! _ At t he last possible moment Jumpy t ook a deep breat h,
and dived head- first int o a sea of wet and fr iendly faces; and vanished. They never caught him:
fuzz pigs filt h. "Saladin wouldn' t speak t o me f or over a week, " Jumpy remembered. " And when
he did, all he said was, ' I hope you r ealize t hose cops could have shot you t o pieces, but t hey
didn' t . '
They were st ill sit t ing side by side on t he edge of t he bed. Jumpy t ouched Pamela on t he
for earm. "I j ust mean I know how it feels. Wham, bar n. I t f elt incr edible. I t felt necessar y. "
"Oh, my God, " she said, t ur ning t o him. " Oh, my God, I ' m sorr y, but yes, it did. "
o o o
I n t he morning it t ook an hour t o get t hrough t o t he airline on account of t he volume of
calls st ill being gener at ed by t he cat ast r ophe, and t hen anot her t went y- five minut es of
insist ence - - _but he t elephoned, it was his voice_ - - while at t he ot her end of t he phone a
woman' s voice, professionally t r ained t o deal wit h human beings in crisis, underst ood how she
felt and sympat hized wit h her in t his awful moment and remained very pat ient , but clear ly
didn' t believe a wor d she said. _I ' m sorr y, madam, I don' t mean t o be br ut al, but t he plane
br oke up in mid- air at t hir t y t housand f eet _. By t he end of t he call Pamela Chamcha, nor mally
t he most cont rolled of women, who locked her self in a bat hr oom when she want ed t o cry, was
shrieking down t he line, for God' s sake, woman, will you shut up wit h your lit t le good-
samar it an speeches and list en t o what I ' m saying? Finally she slammed down t he r eceiver and
rounded on Jumpy Joshi, who saw t he expr ession in her eyes and spilled t he coffee he had
been bringing her because his limbs began t o t r emble in fr ight . "You fucking cr eep, " she
cursed him. "St ill alive, is he? I suppose he flew down f rom t he sky on fucking _wings_ and
headed st r aight f or t he near est phone boot h t o change out of his f ucking Super man cost ume
and ring t he lit t le wife. " They wer e in t he kit chen and Jumpy not iced a group of kit chen knives
at t ached t o a magnet ic st rip on t he wall next t o Pamela' s left arm. He opened his mout h t o
speak, but she wouldn' t let him. "Get out before I do somet hing, " she said. "I can' t believe I
fell for it . You and voices on t he phone: I should have fucking known. "
I n t he early 1970S Jumpy had r un a t r avelling disco out of t he back of his yellow mini- van.
He called it Finn' s Thumb in honour of t he legendar y sleeping giant of I r eland, Finn MacCool,
anot her sucker, as Chamcha used t o say. One day Saladin had played a pr act ical j oke on
Jumpy, by ringing him up, put t ing on a vaguely Medit err anean accent , and r equest ing t he
services of t he musical Thumb on t he island of Skor pios, on behalf of Mr s. Jacqueline Kennedy
Onassis, of fering a f ee of t en t housand dollars and t ranspor t at ion t o Gr eece, in a pr ivat e
air cr aft , for up t o six persons. This was a t err ible t hing t o do t o a man as innocent and upr ight
as Jamshed Joshi. "I need an hour t o t hink, " he had said, and t hen fallen int o an agony of t he
soul. When Saladin r ang back an hour lat er and heard t hat Jumpy was t ur ning down Mr s.
Onassis' s offer for polit ical r easons, he under st ood t hat his f riend was in t raining t o be a saint ,
and it was no good t r ying t o pull his leg. "Mr s. Onassis will be br oken in t he hear t for sure, " he
had concluded, and Jumpy had worr iedly replied, "Please t ell her it ' s not hing per sonal, as a
mat t er of fact personally I admire her a great deal. "
We have all known one anot her t oo long, Pamela t hought as Jumpy lef t . We can hur t each
ot her wit h memories t wo decades old.
o o o
On t he subj ect of mist akes wit h voices, she t hought as she dr ove much t oo f ast down t he
M4 t hat aft ernoon in t he old MG har dt op f rom which she got a degr ee of pleasur e t hat was, as
she had always cheer fully confessed, "quit e ideologically unsound", - - on t hat subj ect , I really
ought t o be more charit able.
Pamela Chamcha, ne Lovelace, was t he possessor of a voice for which, in many ways, t he
rest of her lif e had been an effor t t o compensat e. I t was a voice composed of t weeds,
headscarves, summer pudding, hockeyst icks, t hat ched houses, saddle- soap, house- - par t ies,
nuns, family pews, lar ge dogs and philist inism, and in spit e of all her at t empt s t o reduce it s
volume it was loud as a dinner - j acket ed dr unk t hrowing bread r olls in a Club. I t had been t he
t r agedy of her younger days t hat t hanks t o t his voice she had been endlessly pur sued by t he
gent lemen far mers and debs' delight s and somet hings in t he cit y whom she despised wit h all
her hear t , while t he gr eenies and peacemar chers and world- - changer s wit h whom she
inst inct ively felt at home t r eat ed her wit h deep suspicion, bor der ing on r esent ment . How could
one be _on t he side of t he angels_ when one sounded like a no- goodnik ever y t ime one moved
one' s lips? Accelerat ing past Reading, Pamela gr it t ed her t eet h. One of t he r easons she had
decided t o _admit it _ end her mar riage befor e fat e did it f or her was t hat she had woken up
one day and r ealized t hat Chamcha was not in love wit h her at all, but wit h t hat voice st inking
of Yorkshir e pudding and heart s of oak, t hat hear t y, r ubicund voice of ye olde dr eam- England
which he so desper at ely want ed t o inhabit . I t had been a mar riage of crossed pur poses, each of
t hem r ushing t owar ds t he very t hing f rom which t he ot her was in flight .
_No survivors_. And in t he middle of t he night , Jumpy t he idiot and his st upid f alse alar m.
She was so shaken up by it t hat she hadn' t even got round t o being shaken up by having gone
t o bed wit h Jumpy and made love in what _admit it _ had been a pret t y sat isfying fashion,
_spare me your nonchalance_, she rebuked her self, _when did you last have so much f un_.
She had a lot t o deal wit h and so her e she was, dealing wit h it by r unning away as fast as she
could go. A few days of pamper ing oneself in an expensive count r y hot el and t he world may
begin t o seem less like a fucking hellhole. Therapy by luxur y: okayokay, she allowed, I
know: I ' m _r evert ing t o class_. Fuck it ; wat ch me go. I f you' ve got any obj ect ions, blow t hem
out of your ass. Ar se. Ass.
One hundred miles an hour past Swindon, and t he weat her t ur ned nast y. Sudden, dark
clouds, light ning, heavy rain; she kept her foot on t he acceler at or . _No sur vivors_. People wer e
always dying on her, leaving her wit h a mout h full of words and nobody t o spit t hem at . Her
fat her t he classical scholar who could make puns in ancient Greek and f rom whom she
inherit ed t he Voice, her legacy and cur se; and her mot her who pined for him during t he War ,
when he was a Pat hfinder pilot , obliged t o fly home fr om Ger many one hundred and eleven
t imes in a slow aer oplane t hr ough a night which his own flares had j ust illuminat ed for t he
benef it of t he bombers, - - and who vowed, when he r et ur ned wit h t he noise of t he ack- ack in
his ears, t hat she would never leave him, - - and so followed him ever ywhere, int o t he slow
hollow of depr ession fr om which he never r eally emer ged, - - and int o debt , because he didn' t
have t he face for poker and used her money when he r an out of his own, - - and at last t o t he
t op of a t all building, where t hey found t heir way at last . Pamela never f or gave t hem, especially
for making it impossible for her t o t ell t hem of her unf or giveness. To get her own back, she set
about r ej ect ing ever yt hing of t hem t hat r emained wit hin her . Her br ains, for example: she
refused t o go t o college. And because she could not shake off her voice, she made it speak
ideas which her conser vat ive suicides of par ent s would have anat hemat ized. She mar ried an
I ndian. And, because he t ur ned out t o be t oo much like t hem, would have lef t him. Had decided
t o leave. When, once again, she was cheat ed by a deat h.
She was overt aking a fr ozen- food r oad t r ain, blinded by t he spr ay kicked up by it s wheels,
when she hit t he expanse of wat er t hat had been wait ing f or her in a slight declivit y, and t hen
t he M G was aquaplaning at t er r if ying speed, swerving out of t he f ast lane and spinning round
so t hat she saw t he headlight s of t he r oad t rain st aring at her like t he eyes of t he
ext er minat ing angel, Azrael. " Curt ains, " she t hought ; but her car swung and skidded out of t he
pat h of t he j ugger naut , slewing right acr oss all t hr ee lanes of t he mot or way, all of t hem
mir aculously empt y, and coming t o rest wit h r at her less of a t hump t han one might have
expect ed against t he cr ash barr ier at t he edge of t he hard shoulder, aft er spinning t hrough a
furt her one hundred and eight y degr ees t o face, once again, int o t he west , where wit h all t he
corny t iming of r eal lif e, t he sun was breaking up t he st orm.
o o o
The fact of being alive compensat ed for what lif e did t o one. That night , in an oak- panelled
dining- room decor at ed wit h medieval f lags, Pamela Chamcha in her most dazzling gown at e
venison and dr ank a bot t le of Chat eau Talbot at a t able heavy wit h silver and cr yst al,
celebr at ing a new beginning, an escape f rom t he j aws of, a fr esh st ar t , t o be born again fir st
you have t o: well, almost , anyway. Under t he lascivious eyes of Amer icans and salesmen she
at e and dr ank alone, ret iring early t o a pr incess' s bedroom in a st one t ower t o t ake a long bat h
and wat ch old movies on t elevision. I n t he aft ermat h of her brush wit h deat h she felt t he past
dr opping away f rom her : her adolescence, f or example, in t he car e of her wicked uncle Harr y
Higham, who lived in a sevent eent h- cent ury manor house once owned by a dist ant relat ive,
Mat t hew Hopkins, t he Wit chf inder - Gener al, who had named it Gremlins in, no doubt , a
macabr e at t empt at humour . Remember ing Mr . Just ice Higham in order t o f or get him, she
mur mured t o t he absent Jumpy t hat she, t oo, had her Viet nam st or y. Aft er t he fir st big
Gr osvenor Square demonst r at ion at which many people t hrew marbles under t he feet of
charging police hor ses, t her e occurr ed t he one and only inst ance in Br it ish law in which t he
marble was deemed t o be a let hal weapon, and young persons wer e j ailed, even depor t ed, for
possessing t he small glass spher es. The pr esiding j udge in t he case of t he Grosvenor Marbles
was t his same Henr y ( t hereaft er known as "Hang"em") Higham, and t o be his niece had been a
furt her burden for a young woman already weighed down by her r ight - wing voice. Now, war m
in bed in her t empor ar y cast le, Pamela Chamcha r id her self of t his old demon, _goodbye,
Hang"eni, I ' ve no mor e t ime f or you_; and of her par ent s' ghost s; and pr epar ed t o be f ree
of t he most r ecent ghost of all.
Sipping cognac, Pamela wat ched vampires on TV and allowed herself t o t ake pleasur e in,
well, in her self. Had she not invent ed her self in her own image? I am t hat I am, she t oast ed
herself in Napoleon br andy. I wor k in a communit y relat ions council in t he borough of Brickhall,
London, NET; deput y communit y r elat ions officer and damn good at it , ifisaysomyself. Cheers!
We j ust elect ed our f irst black Chair and all t he vot es cast against him wer e whit e. Down t he
hat ch! Last week a r espect ed Asian st r eet t rader , f or whom M Ps of all part ies had int erceded,
was deport ed aft er eight een year s in Br it ain because, f if t een years ago, he post ed a cer t ain
for m f or t y- eight hours lat e. Chin- chin! Next week in Br ickhall Magist rat es' Cour t t he police will
be t r ying t o fit up a f ift y- year- old Niger ian woman, accusing her of assault , having pr eviously
beat en her senseless. Skol! This is my head: see it ? What I call my j ob: bashing my head
against Brickhall.
Saladin was dead and she was alive.
She dr ank t o t hat . There wer e t hings I was wait ing t o t ell you, Saladin. Some big t hings:
about t he new high- rise off ice building in Br ickhall High St r eet , acr oss from McDonald" s; - -
t hey built it t o be per fect ly sound- pr oof, but t he wor kers were so dist urbed by t he silence t hat
now t hey play t apes of whit e noise on t he t annoy syst em. - - You' d have liked t hat , eh? - - And
about t his Par si woman I know, Bapsy, t hat ' s her name, she lived in Ger many f or a while and
fell in love wit h a Turk. - - Tr ouble was, t he only language t hey had in common was German;
now Bapsy has forgot t en almost all she knew, while his get s bet t er and bet t er ; he wr it es her
increasingly poet ic let t ers and she can hardly reply in nurser y r hyme. - - Love dying, because of
an inequalit y of language, what do you t hink of t hat ? - - Love dying. There' s a subj ect for us,
eb? Saladin? What do you say?
And a couple of t iny lit t le t hings. There' s a killer on t he loose in my pat ch, specializes in
killing old women; so don' t wor ry, I ' m safe. Plent y older t han me.
One mor e t hing: I ' m leaving you. I t ' s over. We' r e t hr ough.
I could never say anyt hing t o you, not r eally, not t he least t hing. I f I said you wer e put t ing
on weight you' d yell for an hour, as if it would change what you saw in t he mir ror , what t he
t ight ness of your own t rousers was t elling you. You int er rupt ed me in public. People not iced it ,
what you t hought of me. I f or gave you, t hat was my fault ; I could see t he cent r e of you, t hat
quest ion so fr ight ful t hat you had t o prot ect it wit h all t hat post ur ing cer t aint y. That empt y
space.
Goodbye, Saladin. She drained her glass and set it down beside her . The r et ur ning r ain
knocked at her leaded windows; she drew her cur t ains shut and t urned out t he light .
Lying t her e, dr ift ing t owar ds sleep, she t hought of t he last t hing she needed t o t ell her lat e
husband. "I n bed, " t he words came, "you never seemed int er est ed in me; not in my pleasur e,
what I needed, not really ever . I came t o t hink you want ed, not a lover. A ser vant . " There.
Now r est in peace.
She dr eamed of him, his face, f illing t he dream. "Things ar e ending, " he t old her . " This
civilizat ion; t hings are closing in on it . I t has been quit e a cult ure, brilliant and foul, cannibal
and Chr ist ian, t he glor y of t he wor ld. We should celebrat e it while we can; unt il night falls. "
She didn' t agr ee, not even in t he dr eam, but she knew, as she dr eamed, t hat t her e was no
point t elling him now.
o o o
Af t er Pamela Chamcha t hrew him out , Jumpy Joshi went over t o Mr . Suf yan' s Shaandaar
Caf in Brickhall High St reet and sat t here t r ying t o decide if he was a fool. I t was early in t he
day, so t he place was almost empt y, apar t fr om a fat lady buying a box of pist a bar fi and
j alebis, a couple of bachelor garment worker s drinking chaloo chai and an elder ly Polish woman
from t he old days when it was t he Jews who r an t he sweat shops r ound her e, who sat all day in
a corner wit h t wo veget able samosas, one pun and a glass of milk, announcing t o ever yone
who came in t hat she was only t here because " it was next best t o kosher and t oday you must
do t he best you can". Jumpy sat down wit h his coff ee beneat h t he lur id paint ing of a bare-
br east ed myt h- woman wit h several heads and wisps of clouds obscur ing her nipples, done life-
size in salmon pink, neon- gr een and gold, and because t he r ush hadn' t st ar t ed yet Mr. Sufyan
not iced he was down in t he dumps.
"Hey, Saint Jumpy, " he sang out , "why you br inging your bad weat her int o my place? This
count ry isn' t full enough of clouds?"
Jumpy blushed as Sufyan bounced over t o him, his lit t le whit e cap of devot ion pinned in
place as usual, t he moust acheless beard hennaed r ed aft er it s owner ' s recent pilgrimage t o
Mecca. Muhammad Sufyan was a burly, t hick- for earmed fellow wit h a belly on him, as godly
and as unfanat ic a believer as you could meet , and Joshi t hought of himas a sort of elder
relat ive. "List en, Uncle, " he said when t he caf pr opr iet or was st anding over him, " you t hink
I ' m a real idiot or what ?"
"You ever make any money?" Sufyan asked.
"Not me, Uncle. "
"Ever do any business? I mpor t - expor t ? Off - licence? Corner shop?"
"I never under st ood figures. "
"And wher e your f amily members are?"
"I ' ve got no family, Uncle. Ther e' s only me. "
"Then you must be praying t o God cont inually for guidance in your loneliness?"
"You know me, Uncle. I don' t pray. "
"No quest ion about it , " Sufyan concluded. "You' re an even bigger f ool t han you know. "
"Thanks, Uncle, " Jumpy said, finishing his coff ee. "You' ve been a great help. "
Suf yan, knowing t hat t he af fect ion in his t easing was cheer ing t he ot her man up in spit e of
his long f ace, called acr oss t o t he light - skinned, blue- eyed Asian man who had j ust come in
wear ing a snappy check over coat wit h ext r a- wide lapels. "You, Hanif Johnson, " he called out ,
"come her e and solve a myst ery. "Johnson, a smar t lawyer and local boy made good, who
maint ained an of fice above t he Shaandaar Caf , t ore himself away fr om Suf yan' s t wo beaut iful
daught er s and headed over t o Jumpy' s t able. "You explain t his f ellow, " Suf yan said. "Beat s me.
Doesn' t drink, t hinks of money like a disease, owns maybe t wo shirt s and no V C R, fort y years
old and isn' t marr ied, works for t wo pice in t he sport s cent re t eaching mart ial ar t s and what - -
all, lives on air , behaves like a rishi or pir but doesn' t have any fait h, going nowher e but looks
like he knows some secr et . All t his and a college educat ion, you wor k it out . "
Hanif Johnson punched Jumpy on t he shoulder . " He hears voices, " he said. Suf yan t hrew
up his hands in mock amazement . "Voices, oop- baba! Voices fr om wher e? Telephone? Sky?
Sony Walkman hidden in his coat ?"
"I nner voices, " Hanif said solemnly. "Upst air s on his desk t her e' s a piece of paper wit h
some verses wr it t en on it . And a t it le: _The River of Blood_. "
Jumpy j umped, knocking over his empt y cup. " I ' ll kill you, " he shout ed at Hanif , who
skipped quickly acr oss t he r oom, singing out , "We got a poet in our midst , Sufyan Sahib. Treat
wit h r espect . Handle wit h car e. He says a st reet is a river and we ar e t he flow; humanit y is a
river of blood, t hat ' s t he poet ' s point . Also t he individual human being, " he broke off t o r un
around t o t he far side of an eight - - seat er t able as Jumpy came af t er him, blushing furiously,
flapping his arms. "I n our ver y bodies, does t he river of blood not flow?" _Like t he Roman_, t he
fer r et y Enoch Powell had said, _I seem t o see t he river Tiber foaming wit h much blood_.
Reclaim t he met aphor , Jumpy Joshi had t old himself. Turn it ; make it a t hing we can use. "This
is like r ape, " he pleaded wit h Hanif. "For God' s sake, st op. "
"Voices t hat one hears are out side, but , " t he caf pr opr iet or was musing. " Joan of Ar c, na.
Or t hat what ' s his name wit h t he cat : Tur n- again Whit t ingt on. But wit h such voices one
becomes gr eat , or rich at least . This one however is not gr eat , and poor . "
"Enough. " Jumpy held bot h ar ms above his head, grinning wit hout really want ing t o. "I
surr ender. "
For t hr ee days aft er t hat , in spit e of all t he eff or t s of Mr. Sufyan, Mrs. Sufyan, t heir
daught er s Mishal and Anahit a, and t he lawyer Hanif Johnson, Jumpy Joshi was not really
himself, "Mor e a Dumpy t han a Jumpy, " as Sufyan said. He went about his business, at t he
yout h clubs, at t he of fices of t he f ilm co- operat ive t o which he belonged, and in t he st reet s,
dist ribut ing leaflet s, selling cert ain newspapers, hanging out ; but his st ep was heavy as he
went his way. Then, on t he fourt h evening, t he t elephone r ang behind t he count er of t he
Shaandaar Caf .
"Mr. Jamshed Joshi, " Anahit a Sufyan car olled, doing her imit at ion of an upper - - class
English accent . "Will Mr. Joshi please come t o t he inst rument ? Ther e is a per sonal call. "
Her fat her t ook one look at t he j oy burst ing out on Jumpy' s face and mur mured soft ly t o
his wife, "Mr s, t he voice t his boy is want ing t o hear is not inner by any manner of means. "
o o o
The impossible t hing came bet ween Pamela and Jamshed aft er t hey had spent seven days
making love t o one anot her wit h inexhaust ible ent husiasm, infinit e t ender ness and such
freshness of spir it t hat you' d have t hought t he pr ocedure had only j ust been invent ed. For
seven days t hey remained undressed wit h t he cent r al heat ing t ur ned high, and pret ended t o be
t r opical lover s in some hot br ight count ry t o t he sout h. Jamshed, who had always been clumsy
wit h women, t old Pamela t hat he had not felt so wonderful since t he day in his eight eent h year
when he had finally learned how t o ride a bicycle. The moment t he wor ds wer e out he became
afraid t hat he had spoiled ever yt hing, t hat t his compar ison of t he gr eat love of his life t o t he
ricket y bike of his st udent days would be t aken f or t he insult it undeniably was; but he needn' t
have wor ried, because Pamela kissed him on t he mout h and t hanked him for saying t he most
beaut iful t hing any man had ever said t o any woman. At t his point he underst ood t hat he could
do no wr ong, and for t he fir st t ime in his life he began t o. feel genuinely safe, safe as houses,
safe as a human being who is loved; and so did Pamela Chamcha.
On t he sevent h night t hey were awakened fr om dreamless sleep by t he unmist akable
sound of somebody t r ying t o br eak int o t he house. "I ' ve got a hockeyst ick under my bed, "
Pamela whispered, t err ified. " Give it t o me, " Jumpy, who was equally scared, hissed back. " I ' m
coming wit h you, " quaked Pamela, and Jumpy quavered, " Oh, no you don' t . " I n t he end t hey
bot h cr ept downst air s, each wear ing one of Pamela' s fr illy dr essing- gowns, each wit h a hand on
t he hockeyst ick t hat neit her felt brave enough t o use. Suppose it ' s a man wit h a shot gun,
Pamela found herself t hinking, a man wit h a shot gun saying, Go back upst air s . . . They
reached t he f oot of t he st airs. Somebody t ur ned on t he light s.
Pamela and Jumpy scr eamed in unison, dropped t he hockeyst ick and r an upst air s as fast as
t hey could go; while down in t he fr ont hail, st anding br ight ly illuminat ed by t he front door wit h
t he glass panel it had smashed in order t o t ur n t he knob of t he t ongue- and- gr oove lock
( Pamela in t he t hroes of her passion had forgot t en t o use t he secur it y locks) , was a f igur e out
of a night mar e or a lat e- night TV movie, a figure cover ed in mud and ice and blood, t he hairiest
creat ure you ever saw, wit h t he shanks and hoofs of a giant goat , a man' s t orso cover ed in
goat ' s hair, human arms, and a hor ned but ot herwise human head cover ed in muck and gr ime
and t he beginnings of a bear d. Alone and unobserved, t he impossible t hing pit ched f or war d on
t o t he floor and lay st ill.
Upst airs, at t he ver y t op of t he house, t hat is t o say in Saladin' s "den", Mrs. Pamela
Chamcha was wr it hing in her lover' s arms, crying her hear t out , and bawling at t he t op of her
voice: "I t isn' t t r ue. My husband exploded. No survivor s. Do you hear me? I am t he widow
Chamcha whose spouse is beast ly dead. "
5
Mr. Gibr eel Far isht a on t he r ailway t rain t o London was once again seized as who would not
be by t he f ear t hat God had decided t o punish him for his loss of fait h by dr iving him insane.
He had seat ed himself by t he window in a f irst - class non- smoking compart ment , wit h his back
t o t he engine because unf or t unat ely anot her fellow was alr eady in t he ot her place, and
j amming his t r ilby down on his head he sat wit h his f ist s deep in scarlet - - lined gabardine and
panicked. The t err or of losing his mind t o a par adox, of being unmade by what he no longer
believed exist ed, of t urning in his madness int o t he avat ar of a chimer ical ar changel, was so big
in him t hat it was impossible t o look at it for long; yet how else was he t o account f or t he
mir acles, met amor phoses and appar it ions of r ecent days? "I t ' s a st r aight choice, " he t rembled
silent ly. "I t ' s A, I ' m off my head, or B, baba, somebody went and changed t he r ules. "
Now, however , t here was t he comfort ing cocoon of t his r ailway compart ment in which t he
mir aculous was r eassur ingly absent , t he arm- rest s were fr ayed, t he r eading light over his
shoulder didn' t wor k, t he mir ror was missing f rom it s frame, and t hen t her e were t he
regulat ions: t he lit t le cir cular red- - and- - whit e signs for bidding smoking, t he st ickers penalizing
t he improper use of t he chain, t he ar r ows indicat ing t he point s t o which - - and not beyond! - - it
was per mit t ed t o open t he lit t le sliding windows. Gibr eel paid a visit t o t he t oilet and here, t oo,
a small series of prohibit ions and inst ruct ions gladdened his hear t . By t he t ime t he conduct or
arr ived wit h t he aut hor it y of his cr escent - cut t ing t icket - punch, Gibr eel had been somewhat
soot hed by t hese manif est at ions of law, and began t o per k up and invent r at ionalizat ions. He
had had a lucky escape f rom deat h, a subsequent delir ium of some sort , and now, r est or ed t o
himself, could expect t he t hr eads of his old life - - t hat is, his old new lif e, t he new life he had
planned bef or e t he er int err upt ion - - t o be picked up again. As t he t r ain car ried him fur t her and
furt her away fr om t he t wilight zone of his arr ival and subsequent myst er ious capt ivit y, bear ing
him along t he happy predict abilit y of par allel met al lines, he f elt t he pull of t he gr eat cit y
beginning t o work it s magic on him, and his old gift of hope reasser t ed it self , his t alent for
embr acing r enewal, f or blinding himself t o past hardships so t hat t he fut ur e could come int o
view. He spr ang up fr om his seat and t humped down on t he opposit e side of t he
compart ment , wit h his f ace symbolically t owards London, even t hough it meant giving up t he
window. What did he car e for windows? All t he London he want ed was right t her e, in his mind' s
eye. He spoke her name aloud: "Alleluia. "
"Alleluia, br ot her, " t he compart ment ' s only ot her occupant aff irmed. " Hosanna, my good
sir, and amen. "
o o o
"Alt hough I must add, sir , t hat my beliefs are st rict ly non- - denominat ional, " t he st ranger
cont inued. "Had you said ' La- - ilaha' , I would gladly have responded wit h a full- t hr oat ed
' illallah' . "
Gibr eel r ealized t hat his move acr oss t he compar t ment and his inadver t ent t aking of Allie' s
unusual name had been mist aken by his companion for over t ur es bot h social and t heological.
"John Maslama, " t he f ellow cried, snapping a car d out of a lit t le cr ocodile- skin case and
pr essing it upon Gibr eel. " Personally, I follow my own variant of t he univer sal f ait h invent ed by
t he Emper or Akbar. God, I would say, is somet hing akin t o t he Music of t he Spher es. "
I t was plain t hat Mr. Maslama was burst ing wit h wor ds, and t hat , now t hat he had popped,
t here was not hing for it but t o sit it out , t o permit t he t orr ent t o run it s or ot und course. As t he
fellow had t he build of a pr ize- fight er, it seemed inadvisable t o ir r it at e him. I n his eyes Far isht a
spot t ed t he glint of t he Tr ue Believer, a light which, unt il recent ly, he had seen in his own
shaving- mir r or every day.
"I have done well f or myself , sir, " Maslama was boast ing in his well- modulat ed Oxf or d
dr awl. "For a brown man, except ionally well, consider ing t he quiddit y of t he circumst ances in
which we live; as I hope you will allow. " Wit h a small but eloquent sweep of his t hick ham of a
hand, he indicat ed t he opulence of his at t ire: t he bespoke t ailoring of his t hr ee- piece pin- st ripe,
t he gold wat ch wit h it s fob and chain, t he I t alian shoes, t he cr est ed silk t ie, t he j ewelled links
at his st ar ched whit e cuffs. Above t his cost ume of an English milord t here st ood a head of
st art ling size, cover ed wit h t hick, slicked- down hair , and sprout ing implausibly luxur iant
eyebr ows beneat h which blazed t he f er ocious eyes of which Gibr eel had alr eady t aken careful
not e. "Pr et t y fancy, " Gibr eel now conceded, some r esponse being clearly required. Maslama
nodded. "I have always t ended, " he admit t ed, "t owar ds t he or nat e. "
He had made what he called his _f irst pile_ pr oducing adver t ising j ingles, "t hat ol" devil
music", leading women int o linger ie and lip- gloss and men int o t empt at ion. Now he owned
record st or es all over t own, a successful night club called Hot Wax, and a st ore full of gleaming
musical inst r ument s t hat was his special pr ide and j oy. He was an I ndian fr om Guyana, "but
t here' s not hing lef t in t hat place, sir . People are leaving it f ast er t han planes can fly. " He had
made good in quick t ime, " by t he grace of God Almight y. I ' m a regular Sunday man, sir ; I
conf ess t o a weakness f or t he English Hymnal, and I sing t o raise t he r oof. "
The aut obiogr aphy was concluded wit h a brief ment ion of t he exist ence of a wife and some
dozen childr en. Gibr eel off er ed his congrat ulat ions and hoped for silence, but now Maslama
dr opped his bombshell. " You don' t need t o t ell me about your self, " he said j ovially. " Nat urally I
know who you ar e, even if one does not expect t o see such a personage on t he East bour ne-
Vict or ia line. " He winked leeringly and placed a finger alongside his nose. " Mum' s t he wor d. I
respect a man' s privacy, no quest ion about it ; no quest ion at all. "
"I ? Who am I ?" Gibreel was st ar t led int o absurdit y. The ot her nodded weight ily, his
eyebr ows waving like soft ant ler s. "The pr ize quest ion, in my opinion. These are pr oblemat ic
t imes, sir , for a mor al man. When a man is unsur e of his essence, how may he know if he
be good or bad? But you are f inding me t edious. I answer my own quest ions by my f ait h in I t ,
sir, " - - her e Maslama point ed t o t he ceiling of t he r ailway compart ment - - "and of cour se you
are not in t he least confused about your ident it y, for you are t he famous, t he may I say
legendar y Mr. Gibr eel Far isht a, st ar of screen and, incr easingly, I ' m sor ry t o add, of pir at e
video; my t welve children, one wif e and I ar e all long- st anding, unr eser ved admir er s of your
divine heroics. " He grabbed, and pumped Gibreel' s r ight hand.
"Tending as I do t owar ds t he pant heist ic view, " Maslama t hunder ed on, "my own sympat hy
for your work arises out of your willingness t o por t ray deit ies of ever y conceivable wat er . You,
sir, ar e a rainbow coalit ion of t he celest ial; a walking Unit ed Nat ions of gods! You ar e, in short ,
t he fut ure. Per mit me t o salut e you. " He was beginning t o give off t he unmist akable odour of
t he genuine cr azy, and even t hough he had not yet said or done anyt hing beyond t he merely
idiosyncrat ic, Gibreel was get t ing alarmed and measur ing t he dist ance t o t he door wit h anxious
lit t le glances. "I incline, sir , " Maslama was saying, "t owards t he opinion t hat what ever name
one calls I t by is no mor e t han a code; a cypher , Mr. Farisht a, behind which t he t rue name lies
concealed. "
Gibr eel r emained silent , and Maslama, making no at t empt t o hide his disappoint ment , was
obliged t o speak for him. "What is t hat t rue name, I hear you inquir e, " he said, and t hen
Gibr eel knew he was r ight ; t he man was a full - fledged lunat ic, and his aut obiogr aphy was ver y
likely as much of a concoct ion as his "f ait h". Fict ions were walking around wher ever he went ,
Gibr eel r ef lect ed, fict ions masquerading as r eal human beings. " I have br ought him upon me, "
he accused himself. "By fearing f or my own sanit y I have br ought for t h, fr om God knows what
dar k recess, t his voluble and maybe dangerous nut . "
"You don' t know it ! " Maslama yelled suddenly, j umping t o his feet . "Char lat an! Poser! Fake!
You claim t o be t he scr een immort al, avat ar of a hundr ed and one gods, and you haven' t a
_f oggy! _ How is it possible t hat I , a poor boy made good f rom Bar t ica on t he Essequibo, can
know such t hings while Gibr eel Far isht a does not ? Phoney! Phooey t o you! "
Gibr eel got t o his feet , but t he ot her was filling almost all t he available st anding r oom, and
he, Gibr eel, had t o lean over awkwar dly t o one side t o escape Maslama' s windmilling arms, one
of which knocked off his gr ey t rilby. At once Maslama' s mout h fell open. He seemed t o shrink
several inches, and aft er a few f rozen moment s, he fell t o his knees wit h a t hud.
What ' s he doing down t here, Gibr eel wonder ed, picking up my hat ? But t he madman was
begging for for giveness. "I never doubt ed you would come, " he was saying. " Pardon my clumsy
rage. " The t r ain ent ered a t unnel, and Gibr eel saw t hat t hey wer e surr ounded by a warm
golden light t hat was coming fr om a point j ust behind his head. I n t he glass of t he sliding door ,
he saw t he reflect ion of t he halo around his hair.
Maslama was st ruggling wit h his shoelaces. "All my lif e, sir , I knew I had been chosen, " he
was saying in a voice as humble as it had ear lier been menacing. "Even as a child in Bar t ica, I
knew. " He pulled off his r ight shoe and began t o r oll down his sock. "I was given, " he said, "a
sign. " The sock was r emoved, revealing what looked t o be a perf ect ly ordinary, if out size, f oot .
Then Gibreel count ed and count ed again, from one t o six. "The same on t he ot her f oot , "
Maslama said pr oudly. "I never doubt ed t he meaning f or a minut e. " He was t he self - - appoint ed
helpmat e of t he Lor d, t he sixt h t oe on t he foot of t he Univer sal Thing. Somet hing was badly
amiss wit h t he spir it ual life of t he planet , t hought Gibr eel Far isht a. Too many demons inside
people claiming t o believe in God.
The t r ain emer ged fr om t he t unnel. Gibreel t ook a decision. "St and, six- t oed John, " he
int oned in his best Hindi movie manner . "Maslama, ar ise. "
The ot her scr ambled t o his feet and st ood pulling at his finger s, his head bowed. "What I
want t o know, sir , " he mumbled, " is, which is it t o be? Annihilat ion or salvat ion? Why have you
ret ur ned?"
Gibr eel t hought rapidly. "I t is for j udging, " he finally answered. " Fact s in t he case must be
sift ed, due weight given pr o and cont r a. Here it is t he human r ace t hat is t he under t r ial, and it
is a defendant wit h a r ot t en r ecord: a hist or y- sheet er , a bad egg. Careful evaluat ions must be
made. For t he present , ver dict is reser ved; will be promulgat ed in due cour se. I n t he
meant ime, my presence must remain a secret , f or vit al securit y reasons. " He put his hat back
on his head, f eeling pleased wit h himself .
Maslama was nodding furiously. "You can depend on me, " he pr omised. "I ' m a man who
respect s a person' s pr ivacy. Mum" - - for t he second t ime! - - "is t he wor d. "
Gibr eel fled t he compart ment wit h t he lunat ic' s hymns in hot pursuit . As he r ushed t o t he
far end of t he t rain Maslama' s paeans remained f aint ly audible behind him. "Alleluia! Alleluia! "
Appar ent ly his new disciple had launched int o select ions fr om Handel' s _Messiah_.
However: Gibreel wasn' t followed, and t here was, for t unat ely, a fir st - - class carr iage at t he
rear of t he t r ain, t oo. This one was of open- - plan design, wit h comfort able or ange seat s
arr anged in f ours ar ound t ables, and Gibreel set t led down by a window, st aring t owards
London, wit h his chest t humping and his hat j ammed down on his head. He was t r ying t o come
t o t erms wit h t he undeniable fact of t he halo, and failing t o do so, because what wit h t he
der angement of John Maslama behind him and t he excit ement of Alleluia Cone ahead it was
har d t o get his t hought s st r aight . Then t o his despair Mrs. Rekha Mer chant float ed up alongside
his window, sit t ing on her flying Bokhar a, evident ly imper vious t o t he snowst or m t hat was
building up out t her e and making England look like a t elevision set aft er t he day' s programmes
end. She gave him a lit t le wave and he f elt hope ebbing fr om him. Ret r ibut ion on a levit at ing
rug: he closed his eyes and concent r at ed on t rying not t o shake.
o o o
"I know what a ghost is, " Allie Cone said t o a classroom of t eenage girls whose faces were
illuminat ed by t he sof t inner light of wor ship. "I n t he high Himalayas it is oft en t he case t hat
climber s find t hemselves being accompanied by t he ghost s of t hose who f ailed in t he at t empt ,
or t he sadder , but also prouder , ghost s of t hose who succeeded in r eaching t he summit , only t o
per ish on t he way down. "
Out side, in t he Fields, t he snow was set t ling on t he high, bar e t rees, and on t he flat
expanse of t he par k. Bet ween t he low, dark snow- clouds and t he whit e- car pet ed cit y t he light
was a dirt y yellow colour, a nar row, foggy light t hat dulled t he heart and made it impossible t o
dr eam. Up _t here_, Allie r emembered, up t here at eight t housand met res, t he light was of such
clarit y t hat it seemed t o r esonat e, t o sing, like music. Her e on t he flat eart h t he light , t oo, was
flat and eart hbound. Here not hing flew, t he sedge was wit her ed, and no birds sang. Soon it
would be dar k.
"Ms Cone?" The girls' hands, waving in t he air, drew her back int o t he classr oom. " Ghost s,
miss? St raight up?" "You' r e pulling our legs, right ?" Scept icism wrest led wit h adorat ion in t heir
faces. She knew t he quest ion t hey r eally want ed t o ask, and pr obably would not : t he quest ion
of t he mir acle of her skin. She had heard t hem whispering excit edly as she ent er ed t he
classroom, ' s t r ue, look, how _pale_, ' s incredible. Alleluia Cone, whose iciness could resist t he
heat of t he eight - t housand- met r e sun. Allie t he snow maiden, t he icequeen. _Miss, how come
you never get a t an?_ When she went up Ever est wit h t he t riumphant Collingwood expedit ion,
t he papers called t hem Snow Whit e and t he Seven Dwar fs, t hough she was no Disneyish cut ie,
her full lips pale r at her t han rose- - red, her hair ice- blonde inst ead of black, her eyes not
innocent ly wide but nar rowed, out of habit , against t he high snowglar e. A memory of Gibreel
Far isht a welled up, cat ching her unawares: Gibreel at some point dur ing t heir t hr ee and a half
days, booming wit h his usual f oot - in- mout h lack of r est r aint , "Baby, you' re no iceber g,
what ever t hey say. You' r e a passionat e lady, bibi. Hot , like a kachor i. " He had pr et ended t o
blow on scalded finger t ips, and shook his hand f or emphasis: _O, t oo hot . O, t hrow wat er _.
Gibr eel Far isht a. She cont r olled herself: Hi ho, it ' s off t o wor k.
"Ghost s, " she r epeat ed fir mly. "On t he Everest climb, aft er I came t hrough t he ice- fall, I
saw a man sit t ing on an out cr op in t he lot us posit ion, wit h his eyes shut and a t ar t an t am- - o" - -
shant er on his head, chant ing t he old mant r a: om mani padm hum. " She had guessed at
once, from his archaic clot hing and surpr ising behaviour, t hat t his was t he spect re of Maurice
Wilson, t he yogi who had pr epared for a solo ascent of Ever est , back in 1934, by st arving
himself for t hr ee weeks in or der t o cement so deep a union bet ween his body and soul t hat t he
mount ain would be t oo weak t o t ear t hem apart . He had gone up in a light air cr aft as high as it
would t ake him, cr ash- landed deliber at ely in a snowfield, headed upwar ds, and never r et urned.
Wilson opened his eyes as Allie approached, and nodded light ly in greet ing. He st rolled beside
her for t he r est of t hat day, or hung in t he air while she wor ked her way up a face. Once he
belly- flopped int o t he snow of a sharp incline and glided upwards as if he were r iding on an
invisible ant i - gr avit y t oboggan. Allie had found herself behaving quit e nat ur ally, as if she' d j ust
bumped int o an old acquaint ance, f or r easons aft erwards obscure t o her.
Wilson chat t er ed on a fair bit - - " Don' t get a lot of company t hese days, one way and
anot her " - - and expr essed, among ot her t hings, his deep ir rit at ion at having had his body
discovered by t he Chinese expedit ion of 1960. " Lit t le yellow bugger s act ually had t he gall, t he
sheer face, t o film my corpse. " Alleluia Cone was st r uck by t he bright , yellow- and- black t ar t an
of his immaculat e knicker bockers. All t his she t old t he girls at Br ickhall Fields Girls' School, who
had writ t en so many let t er s pleading for her t o address t hem t hat she had not been able t o
refuse. " You' ve got t o, " t hey pleaded in wr it ing. "You even live her e. " Fr om t he window of t he
classroom she could see her flat acr oss t he park, j ust visible t hr ough t he t hickening fall of
snow.
What she did not t ell t he class was t his: as Maur ice Wilson' s ghost descr ibed, in pat ient
det ail, his own ascent , and also his post humous discoveries, for example t he slow, cir cuit ous,
infinit ely delicat e and invariably unpr oduct ive mat ing r it ual of t he yet i, which he had wit nessed
recent ly on t he Sout h Col, - - so it occur red t o her t hat her vision of t he eccent ric of 1934, t he
first human being ever t o at t empt t o scale Everest on his own, a sor t of abominable snowman
himself, had been no accident , but a kind of signpost , a declarat ion of kinship. A prophecy of
t he fut ure, per haps, f or it was at t hat moment t hat her secr et dr eam was bor n, t he impossible
t hing: t he dr eam of t he unaccompanied climb. I t was possible, also, t hat Maur ice Wilson was
t he angel of her deat h.
"I want ed t o t alk about ghost s, " she was saying, " because most mount aineer s, when t hey
come down f rom t he peaks, grow embar rassed and leave t hese st or ies out of t heir account s.
But t hey do exist , I have t o admit it , even t hough I ' m t he t ype who' s always kept her feet on
solid gr ound. "
That was a laugh. Her f eet . Even before t he ascent of Everest she had begun t o suff er fr om
shoot ing pains, and was informed by her gener al pract it ioner , a no- nonsense Bombay woman
called Dr. Mist r y, t hat she was suff er ing fr om fallen ar ches. "I n common par lance, flat f eet . "
Her arches, always weak, had been furt her weakened by year s of wearing sneaker s and ot her
unsuit able shoes. Dr . Mist r y couldn' t r ecommend much: t oe- clenching exercises, running
upst air s barefoot , sensible foot wear . "You' r e young enough, " she said. "I f you t ake car e, you' ll
live. I f not , you' ll be a cr ipple at f or t y. " When Gibr eel - - damn it ! - - hear d t hat she had climbed
Ever est wit h spear s in her feet he t ook t o calling her his silkie. He had r ead a Bumper Book of
fairy- t ales in which he found t he st ory of t he sea- woman who left t he ocean and t ook on
human for m for t he sake of t he man she loved. She had feet inst ead of f ins, but every st ep she
t ook was an agony, as if she were walking over br oken glass; yet she went on walking,
for war d, away f rom t he sea and over land. You did it for a bloody mount ain, he said. Would
you do it f or a man?
She had concealed her foot - ache fr om her fellow- mount aineer s because t he lur e of Ever est
had been so overwhelming. But t hese days t he pain was st ill t here, and gr owing, if anyt hing,
wor se. Chance, a congenit al weakness, was pr oving t o be her foot binder . Advent ur e' s end, Allie
t hought ; bet rayed by my feet . The image of foot binding st ayed wit h her . _Goddamn Chinese_,
she mused, echoing Wilson' s ghost .
"Life is so easy for some people, " she had wept int o Gibr eel Far isht a' s arms. "Why don' t
_t heir_ blast ed feet give out ?" He had kissed her f or ehead. " For you, it may always be a
st ruggle, " he said. "You want it t oo damn much. "
The class was wait ing for her , gr owing impat ient wit h all t his t alk of phant oms. They
want ed _t he_ st ory, her st or y. They want ed t o st and on t he mount ain- t op. _Do you know how
it feels_, she want ed t o ask t hem, _t o have t he whole of your life concent rat ed int o one
moment , a f ew hour s long? Do you know what it ' s like when t he only dir ect ion is down?_ "I
was in t he second pair wit h Sher pa Pemba, " she said. "The weat her was perf ect , perf ect . So
clear you f elt you could look right t hrough t he sky int o what ever lay beyond. The f irst pair must
have reached t he summit by now, I said t o Pemba. Condit ions ar e holding and we can go.
Pemba grew ver y serious, quit e a change, because he was one of t he expedit ion clowns. He
had never been t o t he summit bef or e, eit her. At t hat st age I had no plans t o go wit hout
oxygen, but when I saw t hat Pemba int ended it , I t hought , okay, me t oo. I t was a st upid whim,
unprofessional, really, but I suddenly want ed t o be a woman sit t ing on t op of t hat bast ard
mount ain, a human being, not a br eat hing machine. Pemba said, Allie Bibi, don' t do, but I j ust
st art ed up. I n a while we passed t he ot hers coming down and I could see t he wonderf ul t hing
in t heir eyes. They wer e so high, possessed of such an exalt at ion, t hat t hey didn' t even not ice I
wasn' t wear ing t he oxygen equipment . Be careful, t hey shout ed over t o us, Look out f or t he
angels. Pemba had fallen int o a good breat hing pat t ern and I fell int o st ep wit h it , breat hing in
wit h his in, out wit h his out . I could feel somet hing lift ing of f t he t op of my head and I was
gr inning, j ust gr inning fr om ear t o ear , and when Pemba looked my way I could see he was
doing t he same. I t looked like a gr imace, like pain, but it was j ust f oolish j oy. " She was a
woman who had been brought t o t ranscendence, t o t he miracles of t he soul, by t he hard
physical labour of hauling her self up an icebound height of r ock. " At t hat moment , " she t old t he
gir ls, who were climbing beside her every st ep of t he way, "I believed it all: t hat t he universe
has a sound, t hat you can lif t a veil and see t he face of God, ever yt hing. I saw t he Himalayas
st ret ching below me and t hat was God' s face, t oo. Pemba must have seen somet hing in my
expr ession t hat bot hered him because he called across, Look out , Allie Bibi, t he height . I r ecall
sort of f loat ing over t he last overhang and up t o t he t op, and t hen we were t here, wit h t he
gr ound f alling away on ever y side. Such light ; t he universe pur ified int o light . I want ed t o t ear
off my clot hes and let it soak int o my skin. " Not a t it t er fr om t he class; t hey wer e dancing
naked wit h her on t he roof of t he world. "Then t he visions began, t he r ainbows looping and
dancing in t he sky, t he r adiance pour ing down like a wat er fall f rom t he sun, and t here wer e
angels, t he ot her s hadn' t been j oking. I saw t hem and so did Sher pa Pemba. We were on our
knees by t hen. His pupils looked pur e whit e and so did mine, I ' m sure. We would pr obably have
died t her e, I ' m sur e, snow- blind and mount ain- foolish, but t hen I hear d a noise, a loud, sharp
repor t , like a gun. That snapped me out of it . I had t o yell at Pem unt il he, t oo, shook himself
and we st ar t ed down. The weat her was changing r apidly; a blizzard was on t he way. The air
was heavy now, heaviness inst ead of t hat light , t hat light ness. We j ust made it t o t he meet ing
point and t he f our of us piled int o t he lit t le t ent at Camp Six, t went y- seven t housand feet . You
don' t t alk much up t her e. We all had our Ever est s t o r e- climb, over and over , all night . But at
some point I asked: "What was t hat noise? Did anyone fir e a gun?" They looked at me as if I
was t ouched. Who' d do such a damnfool t hing at t his alt it ude, t hey said, and anyway, Allie,
you know damn well t here isn' t a gun anywhere on t he mount ain. They wer e r ight , of cour se,
but I hear d it , I know t hat much: wham bam, shot and echo. That ' s it , " she ended abrupt ly.
"The end. St or y of my life. " She picked up a silver - headed cane and prepar ed t o depart . The
t eacher, Mr s. Bury, came forward t o ut t er t he usual plat it udes. But t he girls were not t o be
denied. "So what was it , t hen, Allie?" t hey insist ed; and she, looking suddenly t en years older
t han her t hirt y- t hr ee, shrugged. "Can' t say, " she t old t hem. "Maybe it was Maur ice Wilson' s
ghost . "
She left t he classr oom, leaning heavily on her st ick.
o o o
The cit y - - Pr oper London, yaar, no bloody less! - - was dressed in whit e, like a mour ner at
a funer al. - - Whose bloody f uneral, mist er, Gibr eel Farisht a asked himself wildly, not mine, I
bloody hope and t r ust . When t he t r ain pulled int o Vict or ia st at ion he plunged out wit hout
wait ing f or it t o come t o a complet e halt , t ur ned his ankle and went sprawling beneat h t he
baggage t r olleys and sneer s of t he wait ing Londoners, clinging, as he fell, on t o his incr easingly
bat t ered hat . Rekha Merchant was nowher e t o be seen, and seizing t he moment Gibr eel r an
t hr ough t he scat t ering crowd like a man possessed, only t o f ind her by t he t icket bar rier,
float ing pat ient ly on her carpet , invisible t o all eyes but his own, t hree feet off t he gr ound.
"What do you want , " he bur st out , "what ' s your business wit h me?" "To wat ch you fall, " she
inst ant ly replied. "Look ar ound, " she added, "I ' ve already made you look like a pret t y big fool. "
People were clear ing a space around Gibr eel, t he wild man in an out size over coat and
t r ampy hat , _t hat man' s t alking t o himself_, a child' s voice said, and it s mot her answered
_shh, dear, it ' s wicked t o mock t he af flict ed_. Welcome t o London. Gibr eel Far isht a rushed
t owar ds t he st air s leading down t owar ds t he Tube. Rekha on her carpet let him go.
But when he arr ived in a gr eat rush at t he nort hbound plat form of t he Vict oria Line he saw
her again. This t ime she was a colour phot ograph in a 48- - sheet adver t ising post er on t he wall
acr oss t he t rack, advert ising t he merit s of t he int er nat ional direct - - dialling syst em. _Send your
voice on a magic- car pet r ide t o I ndia_, she advised. _No dj inns or lamps requir ed_. He gave a
loud cr y, once again causing his f ellow- t r aveller s t o doubt his sanit y, and fled over t o t he
sout hbound plat form, wher e a t r ain was j ust pulling in. He leapt aboar d, and t here was Rekha
Mer chant facing him wit h her car pet rolled up and lying acr oss her knees. The door s closed
behind him wit h a bang.
That day Gibreel Farisht a fled in ever y dir ect ion ar ound t he Under ground of t he cit y of
London and Rekha Merchant f ound him wherever he went ; she sat beside him on t he endless
up- escalat or at Oxf or d Cir cus and in t he t ight ly packed elevat ors of Tufnell Par k she r ubbed up
against him fr om behind in a manner t hat she would have t hought quit e out r ageous during her
lif et ime. On t he out er r eaches of t he Met r opolit an Line she hur led t he phant oms of her childr en
from t he t ops of claw- - like t r ees, and when he came up for air out side t he Bank of England she
flung herself hist rionically f rom t he apex of it s neo- - classical pediment . And even t hough he did
not have any idea of t he t rue shape of t hat most pr ot ean and chameleon of cit ies he gr ew
convinced t hat it kept changing shape as he ran ar ound beneat h it , so t hat t he st at ions on t he
Undergr ound changed lines and followed one anot her in apparent ly r andom sequence. Mor e
t han once he emer ged, suffocat ing, f rom t hat subt err anean wor ld in which t he laws of space
and t ime had ceased t o operat e, and t r ied t o hail a t axi; not one was willing t o st op, however,
so he was obliged t o plunge back int o t hat hellish maze, t hat labyr int h wit hout a solut ion, and
cont inue his epic flight . At last , exhaust ed beyond hope, he surr endered t o t he f at al logic of his
insanit y and got out arbit r arily at what he conceded must be t he last , meaningless st at ion of
his prolonged and fut ile j ourney in sear ch of t he chimera of renewal. He came out int o t he
hear t br eaking indiff er ence of a lit t er - blown st r eet by a lorr y- - infest ed r oundabout .
Darkness had alr eady fallen as he walked unst eadily, using t he last reser ves of his opt imism,
int o an unknown par k made spect ral by t he ect oplasmic qualit y of t he t ungst en lamps. As he
sank t o his knees in t he isolat ion of t he wint er night he saw t he figure of a woman moving
slowly t owards him across t he snow- shrouded gr ass, and surmised t hat it must be his nemesis,
Rekha Mer chant , coming t o deliver her deat h- kiss, t o drag him down int o a deeper underwor ld
t han t he one in which she had br oken his wounded spir it . He no longer car ed, and by t he t ime
t he woman r eached him he had fallen forward on t o his forear ms, his coat dangling loosely
about him and giving him t he look of a large, dying beet le who was wear ing, for obscure
reasons, a dirt y grey t r ilby hat .
As if fr om a great dist ance he heard a shocked cry escape t he woman' s lips, a gasp in
which disbelief, j oy and a st range resent ment wer e all mixed up, and j ust before his senses left
him he under st ood t hat Rekha had permit t ed him, f or t he t ime being, t o reach t he illusion of a
safe haven, so t hat her t riumph over him could be t he sweet er when it came at t he last .
"You' re alive, " t he woman said, r epeat ing t he f irst words she had ever spoken t o his f ace.
"You got your life back. That ' s t he point . ,
Smiling, he fell asleep at Allie' s flat feet in t he f alling snow.
I V
Ayesha
Even t he serial visions have migr at ed now; t hey know t he cit y bet t er t han he. And in t he
aft er mat h of Rosa and Rekha t he dr eam- wor lds of his ar changelic ot her self begin t o seem as
t angible as t he shift ing r ealit ies he inhabit s while he' s awake. This, for inst ance, has st ar t ed
coming: a mansion block built in t he Dut ch st yle in a par t of London which he will subsequent ly
ident if y as Kensingt on, t o which t he dream f lies him at high speed past Bar kers depart ment
st or e and t he small gr ey house wit h double bay windows where Thackeray wr ot e _Vanit y Fair _
and t he squar e wit h t he convent wher e t he lit t le girls in unifor m ar e always going in, but never
come out , and t he house where Talleyrand lived in his old age when aft er a t housand and one
chameleon changes of allegiance and principle he t ook on t he out ward f or m of t he French
ambassador t o London, and ar rives at a seven- - st or ey cor ner block wit h gr een wrought - - ir on
balconies up t o t he four t h, and now t he dr eam r ushes him up t he out er wall of t he house and
on t he four t h floor it pushes aside t he heavy curt ains at t he livingroom window and f inally
t here he sit s, unsleeping as usual, eyes wide in t he dim yellow light , st ar ing int o t he fut ur e, t he
bear ded and t ur baned I mam.
Who is he? An exile. Which must not be conf used wit h, allowed t o r un int o, all t he ot her
wor ds t hat people t hrow around: migr , expat r iat e, r efugee, immigrant , silence, cunning.
Exile is a dr eam of glor ious ret urn. Exile is a vision of revolut ion: Elba, not St Helena. I t is an
endless paradox: looking f or war d by always looking back. The exile is a ball hurled high int o
t he air . He hangs t her e, fr ozen in t ime, t ranslat ed int o a phot ograph; denied mot ion,
suspended impossibly above his nat ive eart h, he await s t he inevit able moment at which t he
phot ogr aph must begin t o move, and t he eart h r eclaim it s own. These are t he t hings t he I mam
t hinks. His home is a rent ed f lat . I t is a wait ing- - room, a phot ograph, air.
The t hick wallpaper, olive st ripes on a cr eam ground, has f aded a lit t le, enough t o
emphasize t he bright er r ect angles and ovals t hat indicat e wher e pict ures used t o hang. The
I mam is t he enemy of images. When he moved in t he pict ures slid noiselessly fr om t he walls
and slunk fr om t he r oom, removing t hemselves fr om t he r age of his unspoken disapproval.
Some r epr esent at ions, however , are permit t ed t o remain. On t he mant elpiece he keeps a small
gr oup of post car ds bearing convent ional images of his homeland, which he calls simply
Desh: a mount ain looming over a cit y; a pict uresque village scene beneat h a might y t r ee; a
mosque. But in his bedr oom, on t he wall f acing t he har d cot where he lies, t here hangs a mor e
pot ent icon, t he port r ait of a woman of except ional force, famous f or her pr of ile of a Grecian
st at ue and t he black hair t hat is as long as she is high. A power ful woman, his enemy, his
ot her : he keeps her close. Just as, f ar away in t he palaces of her omnipot ence she will be
clut ching his por t rait beneat h her royal cloak or hiding it in a locket at her t hr oat . She is t he
Empr ess, and her name is - - what else? - - Ayesha. On t his island, t he exiled I mam, and at
home in Desh, She. They plot each ot her ' s deat hs.
The curt ains, t hick golden velvet , are kept shut all day, because ot her wise t he evil t hing
might creep int o t he apart ment : foreignness, Abr oad, t he alien nat ion. The har sh fact t hat he is
here and not There, upon which all his t hought s are f ixed. On t hose r are occasions when t he
I mam goes out t o t ake t he Kensingt on air , at t he cent r e of a squar e formed by eight young
men in sunglasses and bulging suit s, he f olds his hands before him and fixes his gaze upon
t hem, so t hat no element or par t icle of t his hat ed cit y, - - t his sink of iniquit ies which humiliat es
him by giving him sanct uar y, so t hat he must be beholden t o it in spit e of t he lust fulness,
gr eed and vanit y of it s ways, - - can lodge it self, like a dust - - speck, in his eyes. When he leaves
t his loat hed exile t o r et urn in t r iumph t o t hat ot her cit y beneat h t he post car d- mount ain, it will
be a point of pr ide t o be able t o say t hat he r emained in complet e ignor ance of t he Sodom in
which he had been obliged t o wait ; ignorant , and t her ef or e unsullied, unalt er ed, pur e.
And anot her reason f or t he dr awn cur t ains is t hat of course t here ar e eyes and ear s ar ound
him, not all of t hem fr iendly. The orange buildings are not neut ral. Somewhere across t he
st reet t her e will be zoom lenses, video equipment , j umbo mikes; and always t he risk of
sniper s. Above and below and beside t he I mam ar e t he safe apar t ment s occupied by his
guar ds, who st roll t he Kensingt on st r eet s disguised as women in shr ouds and silver y beaks; but
it is as well t o be t oo car eful. Par anoia, for t he exile, is a pr er equisit e of survival.
A fable, which he heard f rom one of his favour it es, t he Amer ican conver t , former ly a
successful singer, now known as Bilal X. I n a cer t ain night club t o which t he I mam is in t he
habit of sending his lieut enant s t o list en in t o cer t ain ot her per sons belonging t o cer t ain
opposed fact ions, Bilal met a young man fr om Desh, also a singer of sort s, so t hey f ell t o
t alking. I t t urned out t hat t his Mahmood was a badly scar ed individual. He had r ecent ly
_shacked up_ wit h a gor i, a long r ed woman wit h a big figure, and t hen it t ur ned out t hat t he
pr evious lover of his beloved Renat a was t he exiled boss of t he S A V A K t ort ure or ganizat ion
of t he Shah of I r an. The number one Gr and Panj andr um himself, not some minor sadist wit h a
t alent for ext r act ing t oenails or set t ing fire t o eyelids, but t he great haramzada in per son. The
day aft er Mahmood and Renat a moved in t o t heir new apar t ment a let t er arr ived for Mahmood.
_Okay, shit - eat er, you' re f ucking my woman, I j ust want ed t o say hello_. The next day a
second let t er ar rived. _By t he way, pr ick, I for got t o ment ion, here is your new t elephone
number_. At t hat point Mahmood and Renat a had asked for an exdir ect ory list ing but had not
as yet been given t heir new number by t he t elephone company. When it came t hr ough t wo
days lat er and was exact ly t he same as t he one on t he let t er , Mahmood' s hair f ell out all at
once. Then, seeing it lying on t he pillow, he j oined his hands t oget her in f ront of Renat a and
begged, "Baby, I love you, but you' re t oo hot for me, please go somewher e, far far. " When t he
I mam was t old t his st ory he shook his head and said, t hat whore, who will t ouch her now, in
spit e of her lust cr eat ing body? She put a st ain on herself worse t han leprosy; t hus do human
beings mut ilat e t hemselves. But t he t r ue mor al of t he fable was t he need for et ernal vigilance.
London was a cit y in which t he ex- boss of S A V A K had gr eat connect ions in t he t elephone
company and t he Shah' s ex- chef ran a t hriving r est aur ant in Hounslow. Such a welcoming cit y,
such a r efuge, t hey t ake all t ypes. Keep t he cur t ains drawn.
Floor s t hr ee t o five of t his block of mansion f lat s ar e, for t he moment , all t he homeland t he
I mam possesses. Her e t here ar e rif les and short - wave r adios and rooms in which t he shar p
young men in suit s sit and speak ur gent ly int o sever al t elephones. Ther e is no alcohol here,
nor are playing cards or dice anywher e in evidence, and t he only woman is t he one hanging on
t he old man' s bedr oom wall. I n t his sur r ogat e homeland, which t he insomniac saint t hinks of as
his wait ing- room or t ransit lounge, t he cent r al heat ing is at full blast night and day, and t he
windows are t ight ly shut . The exile cannot forget , and must t her ef or e simulat e, t he dr y heat of
Desh, t he once and f ut ur e land wher e even t he moon is hot and dr ipping like a fr esh, but t er ed
chapat i. O t hat longed- - for par t of t he wor ld where t he sun and moon ar e male but t heir hot
sweet light is named wit h female names. At night t he exile part s his curt ains and t he alien
moonlight sidles int o t he r oom, it s coldness st r iking his eyeballs like a nail. He winces, nar rows
his eyes. Loose- robed, fr owning, ominous, awake: t his is t he I mam.
Exile is a soulless count ry. I n exile, t he fur nit ure is ugly, expensive, all bought at t he same
t ime in t he same st or e and in t oo much of a hur ry: shiny silver sof as wit h f ins like old Buicks
DeSot os Oldsmobiles, glass- front ed bookcases cont aining not books but clippings files. I n exile
t he shower goes scalding hot whenever anybody t ur ns on a kit chen t ap, so t hat when t he
I mam goes t o bat he his ent ire r et inue must r emember not t o fill a ket t le or r inse a dir t y plat e,
and when t he I mam goes t o t he t oilet his disciples leap scalded fr om t he shower . I n exile no
food is ever cooked; t he dar k- spect acled bodyguards go out for t akeaway. I n exile all at t empt s
t o put down root s look like t reason: t hey are admissions of defeat .
The I mam is t he cent r e of a wheel.
Movement radiat es fr om him, around t he clock. His son, Khalid, ent ers his sanct um bearing
a glass of wat er, holding it in his r ight hand wit h his lef t palm under t he glass. The I mam
dr inks wat er const ant ly, one glass every five minut es, t o keep himself clean; t he wat er it self is
cleansed of impur it ies, before he sips, in an Amer ican filt rat ion machine. All t he young men
surr ounding him are well awar e of his famous Monogr aph on Wat er , whose pur it y, t he I mam
believes, communicat es it self t o t he dr inker , it s t hinness and simplicit y, t he ascet ic pleasur es of
it s t ast e. " The Empr ess, " he point s out , "drinks wine. " Bur gundies, clar et s, hocks mingle t heir
int oxicat ing cor rupt ions wit hin t hat body bot h f air and f oul. The sin is enough t o condemn her
for all t ime wit hout hope of redempt ion. The pict ur e on his bedr oom wall shows t he Empr ess
Ayesha holding, in bot h hands, a human skull filled wit h a dark r ed f luid. The Empress drinks
blood, but t he I mam is a wat er man. "Not f or not hing do t he peoples of our hot lands of fer it
reverence, " t he Monogr aph proclaims. " Wat er, preserver of lif e. No civilized individual can
refuse it t o anot her. A grandmot her , be her limbs ever so art hrit ically st iff , will rise at once and
go t o t he t ap if a small child should come t o her and ask, pani, nani. Beware all t hose who
blaspheme against it . Who pollut es it , dilut es his soul. "
The I mam has of t en vent ed his rage upon t he memory of t he lat e Aga Khan, as a result of
being shown t he t ext of an int erview in which t he head of t he I smailis was observed dr inking
vint age champagne. _O, sir , t his champagne is only for out ward show. The inst ant it t ouches
my lips, it t urns t o wat er _. Fiend, t he I mam is wont t o t hunder. Apost at e, blasphemer , f raud.
When t he fut ur e comes such individuals will be j udged, he t ells his men. Wat er will have it s day
and blood will flow like wine. Such is t he miraculous nat ure of t he fut ure of exiles: what is fir st
ut t ered in t he impot ence of an over heat ed apar t ment becomes t he fat e of nat ions. Who has not
dr eamed t his dream, of being a king for a day? - - But t he I mam dreams of more t han a day;
feels, emanat ing f rom his finger t ips, t he arachnid st rings wit h which he will cont r ol t he
movement of hist or y.
No: not hist ory.
His is a st r anger dream.
o o o
His son, wat er - car rying Khalid, bows bef or e his fat her like a pilgr im at a shr ine, infor ms
him t hat t he guard on dut y out side t he sanct um is Salman Far si. Bilal is at t he r adio
t r ansmit t er , broadcast ing t he day' s message, on t he agr eed f requency, t o Desh.
The I mam is a massive st illness, an immobilit y. He is living st one. His gr eat gnarled hands,
gr anit e- - gr ey, rest heavily on t he wings of his high- backed chair . His head, looking t oo lar ge for
t he body beneat h, lolls ponder ously on t he sur prisingly scrawny neck t hat can be glimpsed
t hr ough t he gr ey- black wisps of bear d. The I mam' s eyes ar e clouded; his lips do not move. He
is pure f or ce, an element al being; he moves wit hout mot ion, act s wit hout doing, speaks
wit hout ut t ering a sound. He is t he conj ur er and hist or y is his t r ick.
No, not hist or y: somet hing st r anger .
The explanat ion of t his conundr um is t o be hear d, at t his very moment , on cer t ain
surr ept it ious radio waves, on which t he voice of t he American conver t Bilal is singing t he
I mam' s holy song. Bilal t he muezzin: his voice ent er s a ham radio in Kensingt on and emer ges
in dr eamed- of Desh, t r ansmut ed int o t he t hunder ous speech of t he I mam himself. Beginning
wit h r it ual abuse of t he Empr ess, wit h list s of her crimes, murders, br ibes, sexual relat ions wit h
lizar ds, and so on, he proceeds event ually t o issue in ringing t ones t he I mam' s night ly call t o
his people t o rise up against t he evil of her St at e. "We will make a r evolut ion, " t he I mam
pr oclaims t hr ough him, " t hat is a r evolt not only against a t yrant , but against hist or y. " For
t here is an enemy beyond Ayesha, and it is Hist or y herself. Hist or y is t he blood- - wine t hat
must no longer be dr unk. Hist or y t he int oxicant , t he cr eat ion and possession of t he Devil, of
t he gr eat Shait an, t he great est of t he lies - - progress, science, r ight s - - against which t he
I mam has set his f ace. Hist ory is a deviat ion fr om t he Pat h, knowledge is a delusion, because
t he sum of knowledge was complet e on t he day AlLah f inished his revelat ion t o Mahound. "We
will unmake t he veil of hist ory, " Bilal declaims int o t he list ening night , " and when it is
unr avelled, we will see Par adise st anding t her e, in all it s glor y and light . " The I mam chose Bilal
for t his t ask on account of t he beaut y of his voice, which in it s pr evious incarnat ion succeeded
in climbing t he Everest of t he hit par ade, not once but a dozen t imes, t o t he very t op. The
voice is r ich and aut hor it at ive, a voice in t he habit of being list ened t o; well - - nourished, highly
t r ained, t he voice of Amer ican confidence, a weapon of t he West t ur ned against it s maker s,
whose might upholds t he Empr ess and her t yranny. I n t he ear ly days Bilal X prot est ed at such
a descr ipt ion of his voice. He, t oo, belonged t o an oppr essed people, he insist ed, so t hat it was
unj ust t o equat e him wit h t he Yankee imper ialist s. The I mam answer ed, not wit hout
gent leness: Bilal, your suffer ing is our s as well. But t o be r aised in t he house of power is t o
lear n it s ways, t o soak t hem up, t hrough t hat ver y skin t hat is t he cause of your oppression.
The habit of power, it s t imbr e, it s post ur e, it s way of being wit h ot hers. I t is a disease, Bilal,
infect ing all who come t oo near it . I f t he powerf ul t r ample over you, you are infect ed by t he
soles of t heir feet .
Bilal cont inues t o address t he darkness. " Deat h t o t he t yranny of t he Empr ess Ayesha, of
calendar s, of America, of t ime! We seek t he et ernit y, t he t imelessness, of God. His st ill wat er s,
not her flowing wines. " Burn t he books and t rust t he Book; shr ed t he papers and hear t he
Wor d, as it was r evealed by t he Angel Gibr eel t o t he Messenger Mahound and explicat ed by
your int er pret er and I mam. "Ameen, " Bilal said, concluding t he night ' s proceedings. While, in
his sanct um, t he I mam sends a message of his own: and summons, conj ur es up, t he
archangel, Gibreel.
o o o
He sees himself in t he dr eam: no angel t o look at , j ust a man in his or dinar y st reet clot hes,
Henry Diamond' s post humous handme- downs: gabardine and t r ilby over out size t rousers held
up by br aces, a fisher man' s woollen pullover , billowy whit e shir t . This dr eam- Gibr eel, so like
t he waking one, st ands quaking in t he sanct um of t he I mam, whose eyes are whit e as clouds.
Gibr eel speaks quer ulously, t o hide his fear.
"Why insist on archangels? Those days, you should know, ar e gone. "
The I mam closes his eyes, sighs. The car pet ext rudes long hair y t endrils, which wrap
t hemselves around Gibreel, holding him f ast .
"You don' t need me, " Gibreel emphasizes. "The r evelat ion is complet e. Let me go. "
The ot her shakes his head, and speaks, except t hat his lips do not move, and it is Bilal' s
voice t hat f ills Gibreel' s ear s, even t hough t he broadcast er is nowhere t o be seen, _t onight ' s
t he night _, t he voice says, _and you must fly me t o Jerusalem_.
Then t he apart ment dissolves and t hey are st anding on t he r oof beside t he wat er - - t ank,
because t he I mam, when he wishes t o move, can remain st ill and move t he wor ld ar ound him.
His bear d is blowing in t he wind. I t is longer now; if it were not for t he wind t hat cat ches at it
as if it were a flowing chif fon scarf, it would t ouch t he ground by his feet ; he has r ed eyes, and
his voice hangs ar ound him in t he sky. Take me. Gibreel argues, Seems you can do it easily by
your self: but t he I mam, in a single movement of ast onishing r apidit y, slings his bear d over his
shoulder , hoist s up his skirt s t o reveal t wo spindly legs wit h an almost monst rous cover ing of
hair , and leaps high int o t he night air , t wirls himself about , and set t les on Gibr eel' s shoulders,
clut ching on t o him wit h finger nails t hat have grown int o long, curved claws. Gibr eel f eels
himself rising int o t he sky, bearing t he old man of t he sea, t he I mam wit h hair t hat gr ows
longer by t he minut e, st r eaming in every direct ion, his eyebr ows like pennant s in t he wind.
Jer usalem, he wonders, which way is t hat ? - - And t hen, it ' s a slipper y wor d, Jerusalem, it
can be an idea as well as a place: a goal, an exalt at ion. Where is t he I mam' s Jer usalem? " The
fall of t he har lot , " t he disembodied voice r esounds in his ear s. "Her crash, t he Babylonian
whor e. "
They zoom t hrough t he night . The moon is heat ing up, beginning t o bubble like cheese
under a grill; he, Gibreel, sees pieces of it falling of f f rom t ime t o t ime, moon- dr ips t hat hiss
and bubble on t he sizzling griddle of t he sky. Land appear s below t hem. The heat grows
int ense.
I t is an immense landscape, r eddish, wit h flat - t opped t rees. They fly over mount ains t hat
are also f lat - t opped; even t he st ones, her e, ar e flat t ened by t he heat . Then t hey come t o a
high mount ain of almost per fect ly conical dimensions, a mount ain t hat also sit s post car ded on
a mant elpiece far away; and in t he shadow of t he mount ain, a cit y, sprawling at it s feet like a
supplicant , and on t he mount ain' s lower slopes, a palace, t he palace, her place: t he Empr ess,
whom r adio messages have unmade. This is a r evolut ion of radio hams.
Gibr eel, wit h t he I mam r iding him like a carpet , swoops lower , and in t he st eaming night it
looks as if t he st reet s ar e alive, t hey seem t o be wr it hing, like snakes; while in fr ont of t he
palace of t he Empr ess' s defeat a new hill seems t o be gr owing, _while we wat ch, baba, what ' s
going on here?_ The I mam' s voice hangs in t he sky: " Come down. I will show you Love. "
They are at roof t op- - level when Gibr eel r ealizes t hat t he st r eet s are swar ming wit h people.
Human beings, packed so densely int o t hose snaking pat hs t hat t hey have blended int o a
lar ger, composit e ent it y, r elent less, serpent ine. The people move slowly, at an even pace,
down alleys int o lanes, down lanes int o side st r eet s, down side st r eet s int o highways, all of
t hem converging upon t he grand avenue, t welve lanes wide and lined wit h giant eucalypt us
t r ees, t hat leads t o t he palace gat es. The avenue is packed wit h humanit y; it is t he cent ral
or gan of t he new, manyheaded being. Sevent y abreast , t he people walk gr avely t owards t he
Empr ess' s gat es. I n fr ont of which her household guar ds are wait ing in t hree ranks, lying,
kneeling and st anding, wit h machine- guns at t he r eady. The people are walking up t he slope
t owar ds t he guns; sevent y at a t ime, t hey come int o r ange; t he guns babble, and t hey die, and
t hen t he next sevent y climb over t he bodies of t he dead, t he guns giggle once again, and t he
hill of t he dead grows higher. Those behind it commence, in t heir t urn, t o climb. I n t he dar k
doorways of t he cit y t her e are mot her s wit h cover ed heads, pushing t heir beloved sons int o t he
par ade, _go, be a mart yr, do t he needful, die_. "You see how t hey love me, " says t he
disembodied voice. "No t yranny on eart h can wit hst and t he power of t his slow, walking love. "
"This isn' t love, " Gibreel, weeping, replies. " I t ' s hat e. She has driven t hem int o your arms. "
The explanat ion sounds t hin, super ficial.
"They love me, " t he I mam' s voice says, " because I am wat er. I am fert ilit y and she is
decay. They love me for my habit of smashing clocks. Human beings who t ur n away fr om God
lose love, and cert aint y, and also t he sense of His boundless t ime, t hat encompasses past ,
pr esent and fut ur e; t he t imeless t ime, t hat has no need t o move. We long f or t he et ernal, and I
am et er nit y. She is not hing: a t ick, or t ock. She looks in her mirr or every day and is t err or ized
by t he idea of age, of t ime passing. Thus she is t he prisoner of her own nat ure; she, t oo, is in
t he chains of Time. Af t er t he revolut ion t here will be no clocks; we' ll smash t he lot . The wor d
_clock_ will be expunged fr om our dict ionar ies. Aft er t he r evolut ion t here will be no birt hdays.
We shall all be born again, all of us t he same unchanging age in t he eye of Almight y God. "
He falls silent , now, because below us t he great moment has come: t he people have
reached t he guns. Which ar e silenced in t heir t ur n, as t he endless serpent of t he people, t he
gigant ic pyt hon of t he risen masses, embraces t he guar ds, suff ocat ing t hem, and silences t he
let hal chuckling of t heir weapons. The I mam sighs heavily. "Done. "
The light s of t he palace are ext inguished as t he people walk t owar ds it , at t he same
measur ed pace as before. Then, f rom wit hin t he dar kened palace, t her e r ises a hideous sound,
beginning as a high, t hin, piercing wail, t hen deepening int o a howl, an ululat ion loud enough
t o f ill ever y cranny of t he cit y wit h it s r age. Then t he golden dome of t he palace burst s open
like an egg, and rising from it , glowing wit h blackness, is a myt hological appar it ion wit h vast
black wings, her hair st r eaming loose, as long and black as t he I mam' s is long and whit e: Al- -
Lat , Gibreel under st ands, bur st ing out of Ayesha' s shell.
"Kill her, " t he I mam commands.
Gibr eel set s him down on t he palace' s ceremonial balcony, his arms out st r et ched t o
encompass t he j oy of t he people, a sound t hat dr owns even t he howls of t he goddess and r ises
up like a song. And t hen he is being pr opelled int o t he air , having no opt ion, he is a mar ionet t e
going t o war; and she, seeing him coming, t ur ns, cr ouches in air, and, moaning dr eadfully,
comes at him wit h all her might . Gibr eel under st ands t hat t he I mam, fight ing by proxy as
usual, will sacr ifice him as readily as he did t he hill of cor pses at t he palace gat e, t hat he is a
suicide soldier in t he service of t he cler ic' s cause. I am weak, he t hinks, I am no mat ch for her ,
but she, t oo, has been weakened by her defeat . The I mam' s st r engt h moves Gibreel, places
t hunder bolt s in his hands, and t he bat t le is j oined; he hurls light ning spear s int o her feet and
she plunges comet s int o his gr oin, _we are killing each ot her _, he t hinks, _we will die and
t here will be t wo new const ellat ions in space: Al - Lat , and Gibreel_. Like exhaust ed warr ior s on
a corpse- - lit t ered f ield, t hey t ot t er and slash. Bot h ar e failing f ast .
She falls.
Down she t umbles, Al- Lat queen of t he night ; crashes upsidedown t o ear t h, crushing her
head t o bit s; and lies, a headless black angel, wit h her wings ripped of f, by a lit t le wicket gat e
in t he palace gar dens, all in a cr umpled heap. - - And Gibr eel, looking away fr om her in
horr or, sees t he I mam gr own monst r ous, lying in t he palace forecourt wit h his mout h yawning
open at t he gat es; as t he people march t hrough t he gat es he swallows t hem whole.
The body of Al- Lat has shrivelled on t he gr ass, leaving behind only a dar k st ain; and now
ever y clock in t he capit al cit y of Desh begins t o chime, and goes on unceasingly, beyond
t welve, beyond t went y- four , beyond one t housand and one, announcing t he end of Time, t he
hour t hat is beyond measur ing, t he hour of t he exile' s ret ur n, of t he vict or y of wat er over wine,
of t he commencement of t he Unt imc of t he I mam.
o o o
When t he noct ur nal st ory changes, when, wit hout warning, t he progress of event s inj ahilia
and Yat hr ib gives way t o t he st r uggle of I mam and Empress, Gibreel briefly hopes t hat t he
curse has ended, t hat his dreams have been r est or ed t o t he r andom eccent r icit y of ordinar y
lif e; but t hen, as t he new st ory, t oo, falls int o t he old pat t ern, cont inuing each t ime he dr ops
off fr om t he pr ecise point at which it was int er rupt ed, and as his own image, t r anslat ed int o an
avat ar of t he ar changel, r e- ent er s t he f rame, so his hope dies, and he succumbs once mor e t o
t he inexor able. Things have r eached t he point at which some of his night - sagas seem mor e
bear able t han ot her s, and aft er t he apocalypse of t he I mam he feels almost pleased when t he
next nar rat ive begins, ext ending his int er nal reper t or y, because at least it suggest s t hat t he
deit y whom he, Gibreel, has t ried unsuccessfully t o kill can be a God of love, as well as one of
vengeance, power, dut y, r ules and hat e; and it is, t oo, a nost algic sor t of t ale, of a lost
homeland; it f eels like a r et urn t o t he past . . . what st or y is, t his? Coming right up. To begin at
t he beginning: On t he mor ning of his for t iet h birt hday, in a r oom full of but t er flies, Mirza Saeed
Akht ar wat ched his sleeping wif e.
o o o
On t he fat eful mor ning of his fort iet h birt hday, in a room full of but t er flies, t he zamindar
Mirza Saeed Akht ar wat ched over his sleeping wif e, and felt his heart f ill up t o t he bur st ing-
point wit h love. He had awoken ear ly for once, rising befor e dawn wit h a bad dr eam souring his
mout h, his r ecurr ing dream of t he end of t he wor ld, in which t he cat ast rophe was invar iably his
fault . He had been reading Niet zsche t he night befor e - - "t he pit iless end of t hat small,
over ext ended species called Man" - - and had fallen asleep wit h t he book rest ing face
downwar ds on his chest . Waking t o t he r ust le of but t erf ly wings in t he cool, shadowy bedr oom,
he was angry wit h himself f or being so foolish in his choice of bedside reading mat t er . He was,
however, wide awake now. Get t ing up quiet ly, he slipped his f eet int o chappals and st r olled idly
along t he verandas of t he gr eat mansion, st ill in darkness on account of t heir lowered blinds,
and t he but t er flies bobbed like cour t ier s at his back. I n t he far dist ance, someone was playing a
flut e. Mirza Saecd drew up t he chick blinds and fast ened t heir cor ds. The gardens wer e deep in
mist , t hr ough which t he but t erf ly clouds wer e swir ling, one mist int ersect ing anot her . This
remot e r egion had always been r enowned for it s lepidopt er a, for t hese miraculous squadrons
t hat f illed t he air by day and night , but t er flies wit h t he gift of chameleons, whose wings
changed colour as t hey set t led on ver milion flowers, ochr e curt ains, obsidian goblet s or amber
finger - rings. I n t he zamindar' s mansion, and also in t he nearby village, t he miracle of t he
but t erflies had become so f amiliar as t o seem mundane, but in f act t hey had only r et urned
ninet een years ago, as t he servant women would recall. They had been t he familiar spir it s, or
so t he legend r an, of a local saint , t he holy woman known only as Bibij i, who had lived t o t he
age of t wo hundred and for t y- t wo and whose gr ave, unt il it s locat ion was forgot t en, had t he
pr oper t y of curing impot ence and war t s. Since t he deat h of Bibij i one hundr ed and t went y
years ago t he but t er flies had vanished int o t he same realm of t he legendary as Bibij i herself , so
t hat when t hey came back exact ly one hundred and one year s aft er t heir depar t ur e it looked,
at first , like an omen of some imminent , wonderf ul t hing. Af t er Bibij i' s deat h - - it should quickly
be said - - t he village had cont inued t o prosper, t he pot at o cr ops r emained plent iful, but t her e
had been a gap in many hear t s, even t hough t he villager s of t he pr esent had no memory of
t he t ime of t he old saint . So t he r et ur n of t he but t er flies lift ed many spirit s, but when t he
expect ed wonder s failed t o mat er ialize t he locals sank back, lit t le by lit t le, int o t he insufficiency
of t he day- t o- day. The name of t he zamindar' s mansion, _Per ist an_, may have had it s or igins
in t he magical cr eat ures' f air y wings, and t he village' s name, _Tit lipur _, cert ainly did. But
names, once t hey are in common use, quickly become mere sounds, t heir et ymology being
bur ied, like so many of t he ear t h' s mar vels, beneat h t he dust of habit . The human inhabit ant s
of Tit lipur , and it s but t erf ly hordes, moved amongst one anot her wit h a kind of mut ual disdain.
The villager s and t he zamindar' s f amily had long ago abandoned t he at t empt t o exclude t he
but t erflies from t heir homes, so t hat now whenever a t r unk was opened, a bat ch of wings
would fly out of it like Pandor a' s imps, changing colour as t hey r ose; t her e wer e but t erf lies
under t he closed lids of t he t hunder boxes in t he t oilet s of Perist an, and inside ever y wardr obe,
and bet ween t he pages of books. When you awoke you found t he but t er flies sleeping on your
cheeks.
The commonplace event ually becomes invisible, and Mir za Saeed had not really not iced t he
but t erflies for a number of years. On t he mor ning of his fort iet h bir t hday, however, as t he fir st
light of dawn t ouched t he house and t he but t er flies began inst ant ly t o glow, t he beaut y of t he
moment t ook his breat h away. He ran at once t o t he bedr oom in t he zenana wing in which his
wife Mishal lay sleeping, veiled in a mosquit o- - net . The magic but t er flies wer e rest ing on her
exposed t oes, and a mosquit o had evident ly found it s way inside as well, because t her e was a
line of lit t le bit es along t he raised edge of her collar - - bone. He want ed t o lift t he net , cr awl
inside and kiss t he bit es unt il t hey faded away. How inf lamed t hey looked! How, when she
awoke, t hey would it ch! But he held himself back, pr ef er r ing t o enj oy t he innocence of her
sleeping form. She had soft , red- br own hair, whit e whit e skin, and her eyes, behind t he closed
lids, wer e silky grey. Her fat her was a direct or of t he st at e bank, so it had been an irr esist ible
mat ch, an ar r anged mar riage which rest ored t he for t unes of t he Mirza' s ancient , decaying
family and t hen ripened, over t ime and in spit e of t heir failure t o have childr en, int o a union of
real love. Full of emot ion, Mir za Saeed wat ched Mishal sleep and chased t he last shreds of his
night mare f rom his mind. "How can t he world be done f or , " he r easoned cont ent edly t o himself,
"if it can of fer up such inst ances of per fect ion as t his lovely dawn?"
Cont inuing down t he line of t hese happy t hought s, he formulat ed a silent speech t o his
rest ing wife. "Mishal, I ' m for t y year s old and as cont ent ed as a for t y- day babe. I see now t hat
I ' ve been falling deeper and deeper int o our love over t he year s, and now I swim, like some
fish, in t hat war m sea. " How much she gave him, he mar velled; how much he needed her !
Their mar riage t ranscended mer e sensualit y, was so int imat e t hat a separ at ion was
unt hinkable. "Growing old beside you, " he t old her while she slept , " will be, Mishal, a pr ivilege. "
He permit t ed himself t he sent iment alit y of blowing a kiss in her dir ect ion and t hen t ipt oeing
from t he room. Out once mor e on t he main veranda of his privat e quar t er s on t he mansion' s
upper st or ey, he glanced across t o t he gar dens, which wer e coming int o view as t he dawn lift ed
t he mist , and saw t he sight t hat would dest roy his peace of mind for ever , smashing it beyond
hope of repair at t he very inst ant in which he had become cer t ain of it s invulner abilit y t o t he
ravages of fat e.
A young woman was squat t ing on t he lawn, holding out her left palm. But t er flies wer e
set t ling on t his sur face while, wit h her right hand, she picked t hem up and put t hem in her
mout h. Slowly, met hodically, she breakfast ed on t he acquiescent wings.
Her lips, cheeks, chin wer e heavily st ained by t he many diff er ent colours t hat had rubbed
off t he dying but t erflies.
When Mir za Saeed Akht ar saw t he young woman eat ing her gossamer br eakfast on his
lawn, he felt a sur ge of lust so powerf ul t hat he inst ant ly felt ashamed. "I t ' s impossible, " he
scolded himself , " I am not an animal, af t er all. " The young woman wor e a saf fr on yellow sari
wrapped ar ound her nakedness, aft er t he fashion of t he poor women of t hat r egion, and as
she st ooped over t he but t erf lies t he sari, hanging loosely forwards, bar ed her small br east s t o
t he gaze of t he t r ansfixed zamindar . Mir za Saeed st r et ched out his hands t o grip t he balcony
railing, and t he slight movement of his whit e kur t a must have caught her eye, because she
lif t ed her head quickly and looked r ight int o his f ace.
And did not immediat ely look down again. Nor did she get up and run away, as he had half
expect ed.
What she did: wait ed for a few seconds, as t hough t o see if he int ended t o speak. When he
did not , she simply r esumed her st r ange meal wit hout t aking her eyes f rom his f ace. The
st rangest aspect of it was t hat t he but t erflies seemed t o be funnelling downwar ds from t he
br ight ening air, going willingly t owards her out st ret ched palms and t heir own deat hs. She held
t hem by t he wingt ips, t hr ew her head back and flicked t hem int o her mout h wit h t he t ip of her
nar row t ongue. Once she kept her mout h open, t he dar k lips part ed defiant ly, and Mir za Saced
t r embled t o see t he but t erf ly flut t er ing wit hin t he dark cavern of it s deat h, yet making no
at t empt t o escape. When she was sat isf ied t hat he had seen t his, she br ought her lips t oget her
and began t o chew. They remained t hus, peasant woman below, landowner above, unt il her
eyes unexpect edly r olled upwar ds in t heir socket s and she f ell heavily, t wit ching violent ly, on t o
her lef t side.
Af t er a few seconds of t r ansf ixed panic, t he Mir za shout ed, " Oh, house! Oh, wake up,
emergency! " At t he same t ime he ran t owards t he st at ely mahogany st air case from England,
br ought her e fr om some unimaginable War wickshire, some fant ast ic locat ion in which, in a
damp and light less priory, King Charles I had ascended t hese same st eps, before losing his
head, in t he sevent eent h cent ur y of anot her syst em of t ime. Down t hese st air s hurt led Mir za
Saeed Akht ar , last of his line, t rampling over t he ghost ly impr essions of beheaded feet as he
sped t owar ds t he lawn.
The gir l was having convulsions, crushing but t er flies beneat h her r olling, kicking body.
Mirza Saeed got t o her first , alt hough t he servant s and Mishal, awakened by his cr y, wer e not
far behind. He grasped t he girl by t he j aw and forced it open, inser t ing a near by t wig, which
she at once bit in half. Blood t r ickled f rom her cut mout h, and he feared f or her t ongue, but t he
sickness left her j ust t hen, she became calm, and slept . Mishal had her car ried t o her own
bedr oom, and now Mir za Saeed was obliged t o gaze on a second sleeping beaut y in t hat bed,
and was st ricken for a second t ime by what seemed t oo r ich and deep a sensat ion t o be called
by t he cr ude name, _lust _. He f ound t hat he was at once sickened by his own impur e designs
and also elat ed by t he f eelings t hat were coursing wit hin him, fr esh feelings whose newness
excit ed him gr eat ly. Mishal came t o st and beside her husband. "Do you know her?" Saeed
asked, and she nodded. "An orphan gir l. She makes small enamel animals and sells t hem at
t he t runk road. She has had t he falling sickness since she was ver y lit t le. " Mir za Saeed was
awed, not f or t he first t ime, by his wife' s gift of involvement wit h ot her human beings. He
himself could har dly r ecognize more t han a handful of t he villager s, but she knew each person' s
pet names, family hist or ies and incomes. They even t old her t heir dr eams, alt hough f ew of
t hem dr eamed more t han once a mont h on account of being t oo poor t o affor d such luxur ies.
The over flowing f ondness he had f elt at dawn ret urned, and he placed his ar m ar ound her
shoulder s. She leaned her head against him and said soft ly: " Happy birt hday. " He kissed t he
t op of her hair . They st ood embr acing, wat ching t he sleeping gir l. Ayesha: his wife t old him t he
name.
o o o
Af t er t he or phan gir l Ayesha arr ived at puber t y and became, on account of her dist r act ed
beaut y and her air of st ar ing int o anot her wor ld, t he obj ect of many young men' s desires, it
began t o be said t hat she was looking f or a lover fr om heaven, because she t hought herself t oo
good for mor t al men. Her r ej ect ed suit or s complained t hat in pract ical t erms she had no
business act ing so choosy, in t he first place because she was an or phan, and in t he second,
because she was possessed by t he demon of epilepsy, who would cer t ainly put off any
heavenly spir it s who might ot herwise have been int er est ed. Some embit t ered yout hs went so
far as t o suggest t hat as Ayesha' s defect s would pr event her fr om ever finding a husband she
might as well st ar t t aking lovers, so as not t o wast e t hat beaut y, which ought in all f airness t o
have been given t o a less pr oblemat ic individual. I n spit e of t hese at t empt s by t he young men
of Tit lipur t o t ur n her int o t heir whor e, Ayesha r emained chast e, her defence being a look of
such fier ce concent r at ion on pat ches of air immediat ely above people' s left shoulder s t hat it
was regular ly mist aken for cont empt . Then people hear d about her new habit of swallowing
but t erflies and t hey r evised t heir opinion of her , convinced t hat she was t ouched in t he head
and t herefore dangerous t o lie wit h in case t he demons cr ossed over int o her lovers. Aft er t his
t he lust ful males of her village lef t her alone in her hovel, alone wit h her t oy animals and her
peculiar flut t er ing diet . One young man, however , t ook t o sit t ing a lit t le dist ance f rom her
doorway, f acing discreet ly in t he opposit e dir ect ion, as if he wer e on guar d, even t hough she no
longer had any need of pr ot ect or s. He was a former unt ouchable fr om t he neighbour ing village
of Chat napat na who had been conver t ed t o I slam and t aken t he name of Osman. Ayesha never
acknowledged Osman' s pr esence, nor did he ask for such acknowledgement . The leafy
br anches of t he village waved over t heir heads in t he br eeze.
The village of Tit lipur had gr own up in t he shade of an immense ban yan- - t r ee, a single
monar ch t hat ruled, wit h it s mult iple root s, over an ar ea mor e t han half a mile in diamet er. By
now t he growt h of t r ee int o village and village int o t ree had become so int r icat e t hat it was
impossible t o diff er ent iat e bet ween t he t wo. Cert ain dist r ict s of t he t r ee had become well-
known lovers' nooks; ot her s wer e chicken r uns. Some of t he poorer labour er s had const ruct ed
rough- and- ready shelt ers in t he angles of st out br anches, and act ually lived inside t he dense
foliage. Ther e were br anches t hat were used as pat hways acr oss t he village, and childr en' s
swings made out of t he old t r ee' s beards, and in places where t he t r ee st ooped low down
t owar ds t he eart h it s leaves formed r oofs for many a hut ment t hat seemed t o hang from t he
gr eenery like t he nest of a weaver bird. When t he village panchayat assembled, it sat on t he
might iest br anch of all. The villager s had gr own accust omed t o r efer ring t o t he t r ee by t he
name of t he village, and t o t he village simply as "t he t ree". The banyan' s non- human
inhabit ant s - - honey ant s, squirr els, owls - - wer e accor ded t he r espect due t o f ellow- cit izens.
Only t he but t erf lies were ignor ed, like hopes long since shown t o be f alse.
I t was a Muslim village, which was why t he conver t Osman had come her e wit h his clown' s
out fit and his " boom- boom" bullock af t er he had embr aced t he fait h in an act of desper at ion,
hoping t hat changing t o a Muslim name would do him more good t han earlier re- namings, for
example when unt ouchables wer e renamed " children of God". As a child of God in Chat napat na
he had not been permit t ed t o dr aw wat er fr om t he t own well, because t he t ouch of an out cast e
would have pollut ed t he dr inking wat er. . Landless and, like Ayesha, an or phan, Osman earned
his living as a clown. His bullock wore br ight r ed paper cones over it s hor ns and much t inselly
dr apery over it s nose and back. He went fr om village t o village per forming an act , at mar r iages
and ot her celebrat ions, in which t he bullock was his essent ial part ner and f oil, nodding in
answer t o his quest ions, one nod for no, t wice for yes.
"I sn' t t his a nice village we' ve come t o?" Osman would ask.
Boom, t he bullock disagr eed.
"I t isn' t ? Oh yes it is. Look: ar en' t t he people good?"
Boom.
"What ? Then it ' s a village f ull of sinner s?"
Boom, boom.
"Baapu- r ! Then, will ever ybody go t o hell?"
Boom, boom.
"But , bhaij an. I s t here any hope for t hem?"
Boom, boom, t he bullock of fered salvat ion. Excit edly, Osman bent down, placing his ear by
t he bullock' s mout h. "Tell, quickly. What should t hey do t o be saved?" At t his point t he bullock
plucked Osman' s cap off his head and car r ied it ar ound t he cr owd, asking for money, and
Osman would nod, happily: Boom, boom.
Osman t he conver t and his boom- boom bullock were well liked in Tit lipur, but t he young
man only want ed t he approval of one per son, and she would not give it . He had admit t ed t o
her t hat his conversion t o I slam had been largely t act ical, "Just so I could get a drink, bibi,
what ' s a man t o do?" She had been out r aged by his conf ession, informed him t hat he was no
Muslim at all, his soul was in peril and he could go back t o Chat napat na and die of t hir st f or all
she car ed. Her face colour ed, as she spoke, wit h an unaccount ably st r ong disappoint ment in
him, and it was t he vehemence of t his disappoint ment t hat gave him t he opt imism t o r emain
squat t ing a dozen paces f rom her home, day aft er day, but she cont inued t o st alk past him,
nose in air , wit hout so much as a good mor ning or hope- you"r e- well.
Once a week, t he pot at o car t s of Tit lipur t rundled down t he rut t ed, narr ow, f our - hour t r ack
t o Chat napat na, which st ood at t he point at which t he t r ack met t he gr and t r unk r oad. I n
Chat napat na st ood t he high, gleaming aluminium silos of t he pot at o wholesaler s, but t his had
not hing t o do wit h Ayesha' s r egular visit s t o t he t own. She would hit ch a ride on a pot at o cart ,
clut ching a lit t le sackclot h bundle, t o t ake her t oys t o mar ket . Chat napat na was known
t hr oughout t he region f or it s kiddies' knick- knacks, carved wooden t oys and enamelled
figur ines. Osman and his bullock st ood at t he edge of t he banyan- t r ee, wat ching her bounce
about on t op of t he pot at o sacks unt il she had diminished t o a dot .
I n Chat napat na she made her way t o t he premises of Sri Srinivas, owner of t he biggest t oy
fact ory in t own. On it s walls were t he polit ical gr affit i of t he day: _Vot e for Hand_. Or , mor e
polit ely: _Please t o vot e f or CP ( M) _. Above t hese exhor t at ions was t he proud announcement :
_Sr inivas' s Toy Univas. Our Mot o: Sincer iet y & Cr eat ivit y_. Sr inivas was inside: a lar ge j elly of
a man, his head a hair less sun, a fift yish fellow whom a lif et ime of selling t oys had failed t o
sour . Ayesha owed him her livelihood. He had been so t aken wit h t he art ist r y of her whit t ling
t hat he had agr eed t o buy as many as she could pr oduce. But in spit e of his habit ual bonhomie
his expression dar kened when Ayesha undid her bundle t o show him t wo dozen f igur es of a
young man in a clown hat , accompanied by a decorat ed bullock t hat could dip it s t inselled
head. Underst anding t hat Ayesha had for given Osman his conver sion, Sri Srinivas cr ied, "That
man is a t r ait or t o his bir t h, as you well know. What kind of a person will change gods as easily
as his dhot is? God knows what got int o you, daught er , but I don' t want t hese dolls. " On t he
wall behind his desk hung a fr amed cert ificat e which read, in elaborat ely cur - - licued print :
_This is t o cert ify t hat MR SRI S. SRI NI VAS is an Exper t on t he Geological Hist or y of t he Planet
Ear t h, having flown t hrough Gr and Canyon wit h SCENI C AI RLI NES_. Srinivas closed his eyes
and folded his arms, an unlaughing Buddha wit h t he indisput able aut hor it y of one who had
flown. "That boy is a devil, " he said wit h f inalit y, and Ayesha f olded t he dolls int o her piece of
sackclot h and t ur ned t o leave, wit hout ar guing. Srinivas' s eyes f lew open. "Damn you, " he
shout ed, "ar en' t you going t o give me a har d t ime? You t hink I don' t know you need t he
money? Why you did such a damn st upid t hing? What are you going t o do now? j ust go and
make some FP dolls, double quick, and I will buy at best rat e plus, because I am gener ous t o a
fault . " Mr . Srinivas' s per sonal invent ion was t he Family Planning doll, a socially r esponsible
variant of t he old Russian- - doll not ion. I nside a suit ed- and- boot ed Abba- doll was a demure,
sar i- clad Amma, and inside her a daught er cont aining a son. Two childr en are plent y: t hat
was t he message of t he dolls. "Make quickly quickly, " Srinivas called aft er t he depart ing
Ayesha. " FP dolls have high t ur nover . " Ayesha t urned, and smiled. "Don' t worr y about me,
Sr inivasj i, " she said, and lef t .
Ayesha t he or phan was ninet een years old when she began her walk back t o Tit lipur along
t he r ut t ed pot at o t rack, but by t he t ime she t ur ned up in her village some for t y- - eight hours
lat er she had at t ained a kind of agelessness, because her hair had t urned as whit e as snow
while her skin had r egained t he luminous per fect ion of a new- bor n child' s, and alt hough she
was complet ely naked t he but t erf lies had set t led upon her body in such t hick swarms t hat she
seemed t o be wearing a dr ess of t he most delicat e mat er ial in t he universe. The clown Osman
was pr act ising rout ines wit h t he boom- boom bullock near t he t rack, because even t hough he
had been worr ied sick by her ext ended absence, and had spent t he whole of t he previous night
searching f or her , it was st ill necessar y t o earn a living. When he laid eyes on her , t hat young
man who had never respect ed God because of having been bor n unt ouchable was filled wit h
holy t err or, and did not dar e t o appr oach t he gir l wit h whom he was so helplessly in love.
She went int o her hut and slept f or a day and a night wit hout waking up. Then she went t o
see t he village headman, Sar panch Muhammad Din, and informed him mat t er - of - fact ly t hat t he
Ar changel Gibr eel had appear ed t o her in a vision and had lain down beside her t o r est .
"Gr eat ness has come among us, " she infor med t he alar med Sarpanch, who had unt il t hen been
mor e concer ned wit h pot at o quot as t han t r anscendence. "Everyt hing will be r equir ed of us, and
ever yt hing will be given t o us also. "
I n anot her par t of t he t r ee, t he Sar panch' s wife Khadij a was consoling a weeping clown,
who was f inding it hard t o accept t hat he had lost his beloved Ayesha t o a higher being, f or
when an ar changel lies wit h a woman she is lost t o men f or ever . Khadij a was old and forget ful
and frequent ly clumsy when she t r ied t o be loving, and she gave Osman cold comfort : " The sun
always set s when t her e is f ear of t igers, " she quot ed t he old saying: bad news always comes all
at once.
Soon aft er t he st ory of t he miracle got out , t he gir l Ayesha was summoned t o t he big
house, and in t he following days she spent long hours closet ed wit h t he zamindar' s wif e,
Begum Mishal Akht ar, whose mot her had also ar rived on a visit , and f allen for t he ar changel' s
whit e- - hair ed wife.
o o o
The dr eamer , dreaming, want s ( but is unable) t o prot est : I never laid a finger on her , what
do you t hink t his is, some kind of wet dream or what ? Damn me if I know fr om wher e t hat gir l
was get t ing her infor mat ion/ inspirat ion. Not f rom t his quar t er , t hat ' s for sure.
This happened: she was walking back t o her village, but t hen she seemed t o gr ow weary all
of a sudden, and went of f t he pat h t o lie in t he shade of a t amar ind- - t r ee and rest . The
moment her eyes closed he was t here beside her , dr eaming Gibr eel in coat and hat , swelt er ing
in t he heat . She looked at him but he couldn' t say what she saw, wings maybe, haloes, t he
wor ks. Then he was lying t her e and finding he could not get up, his limbs had become heavier
t han ir on bar s, it seemed as if his body might be cr ushed by it s own weight int o t he eart h.
When she f inished looking at him she nodded, gr avely, as if he had spoken, and t hen she t ook
off her scr ap of a sar i and st r et ched out beside him, nude. Then in t he dream he fell asleep, out
cold as if somebody pulled out t he plug, and when dreamed himself awake again she was
st anding in f ront of him wit h t hat loose whit e hair and t he but t erf lies clot hing her : t r ansformed.
She was st ill nodding, wit h a r apt expression on her face, r eceiving a message from somewhere
t hat she called Gibr eel. Then she left him lying t here and r et urned t o t he village t o make her
ent rance.
So now I have a dream- wife, t he dreamer becomes conscious enough t o t hink. What t he
hell t o do wit h her? - - But it isn' t up t o him. Aycsha and Mishal Akht ar ar e t oget her in t he big
house.
o o o
Ever since his birt hday Mirza Saeed had been full of passionat e desir es, "as if life r eally
does begin at fort y", his wife mar velled. Their marr iage became so ener get ic t hat t he ser vant s
had t o change t he bedsheet s t hree t imes per day. Mishal hoped secret ly t hat t his height ening
of her husband' s libido would lead her t o conceive, because she was of t he fir m opinion t hat
ent husiasm mat t ered, what ever doct or s might say t o t he cont r ar y, and t hat t he year s of t aking
her t emperat ur e ever y mor ning before get t ing out of bed, and t hen plot t ing t he result s on
gr aph paper in order t o est ablish her pat t er n of ovulat ion, had act ually dissuaded t he babies
from being bor n, par t ly because it was diff icult t o be pr oper ly ar dent when science got int o bed
along wit h you, and par t ly, t oo, in her view, because no self - - respect ing foet us would wish t o
ent er t he womb of so mechanically programmed a mot her; Mishal st ill pr ayed for a child,
alt hough she no longer ment ioned t he fact t o Saeed so as t o spar e him t he sense of having
failed her in t his respect . Eyes shut , feigning sleep, she would call on God for a sign, and when
Saeed became so loving, so fr equent ly, she wonder ed if maybe t his might not be it . As a r esult ,
his st r ange r equest t hat f rom now on, whenever t hey came t o st ay at Periscan, she should
adopt t he "old ways" and r et r eat int o purdah, was not t r eat ed by her wit h t he cont empt it
deser ved. I n t he cit y, where t hey kept a lar ge and hospit able house, t he zamindar and his wif e
wer e known as one of t he most "moder n" and "go- - go" couples on t he scene; t hey collect ed
cont empor ar y ar t and t hrew wild par t ies and invit ed fr iends round f or fumbles in t he dark on
sofas while wat ching sof t - por no VCRs. So when Mir za Saeed said, "Would it not be sort of
delicious, Mishu, if we t ailor ed our behaviour t o f it t his old house, " she should have laughed in
his face. I nst ead she r eplied, "What you like, Saeed, " because he gave her t o underst and t hat
it was a sort of er ot ic game. He even hint ed t hat his passion f or her had become so
over whelming t hat he might need t o expr ess it at any moment , and if she wer e out in t he open
at t he t ime it might embarr ass t he st aff; cert ainly her pr esence would make it impossible for
him t o concent rat e on any of his t asks, and besides, in t he cit y, " we will st ill be complet ely up-
t o- - dat e". From t his she underst ood t hat t he cit y was full of dist r act ions f or t he Mirza, so t hat
her chances of conceiving wer e great est r ight here in Tit lipur. She resolved t o st ay put . This
was when she invit ed her mot her t o come and st ay, because if she were t o confine herself t o
t he zenana she would need company. Mr s. Qur eishi arr ived wobbling wit h plump f ur y,
det ermined t o scold her son- in- law unt il he gave up t his pur dah foolishness, but Mishal amazed
her mot her by begging: "Please don' t . " Mr s. Qur eishi, t he wife of t he st at e bank dir ect or , was
quit e a sophist icat e herself. "I n f act , all your t eenage, Mishu, you wer e t he gr ey goose and I
was t he hipst er. I t hought you dragged yourself out of t hat dit ch but I see he pushed you back
in t here again. " The financier ' s wif e had always been of t he opinion t hat her son- in- - law was a
secr et cheapskat e, an opinion which had sur vived int act in spit e of being st ar ved of any scrap
of suppor t ing evidence. I gnoring her daught er ' s vet o, she sought out Mir za Saeed in t he formal
gar den and launched int o him, wobbling, as was her wont , for emphasis. "What t ype of life ar e
you living?" she demanded. "My daught er is not for locking up, but for t aking out ! What is all
your fort une for, if you keep it also under lock and key? My son, unlock bot h wallet and wif e!
Take her away, renew your love, on some enj oyable _out ing! _" Mir za Saeed opened his mout h,
found no reply, shut it again. Dazzled by her own orat ory, which had given rise, quit e on t he
spur of t he moment , t o t he idea of a holiday, Mrs. Qureishi war med t o her t heme. " Just get set ,
and go! " she ur ged. "Go, man, go! Go away wit h her , or will you lock her up unt il she goes
away, " - - her e she j abbed an ominous finger at t he sky - - "_forever ?_"
Guilt ily, Mir za Saeed promised t o consider t he idea.
"What ar e you wait ing f or ?" she cr ied in t riumph. "You big sof t o? You . . . you _Hamlet ?_"
His mot her - in- law' s at t ack brought on one of t he per iodic bout s of self - reproach which had
been plaguing Mir za Saced ever since he persuaded Mishal t o t ake t he veil. To console himself
he set t led down t o r ead Tagore' s st ory _Ghar e- Baire_ in which a zamindar persuades his wif e
t o come out of purdah, wher eupon she t akes up wit h a firebr and polit ico involved in t he
"swadeshi" campaign, and t he zamindar winds up dead. The novel cheer ed him up
moment arily, but t hen his suspicions r et urned. Had he been sincer e in t he r easons he gave his
wife, or was he simply finding a way of leaving t he coast clear for his pursuit of t he madonna of
t he but t er flies, t he epilept ic, Ayesha? "Some coast , " he t hought , r emember ing Mrs. Qureishi
wit h her eyes of an accusat ive hawk, "some clear. " His mot her - in- law' s presence, he ar gued t o
himself, was fur t her proof of his bona fides. Had he not posit ively encour aged Mishal t o send
for her, even t hough he knew perf ect ly well t hat t he old fat t y couldn' t st and him and would
suspect him of ever y damn slyness under t he sun? "Would I have been so keen f or her t o come
if I was planning on hanky panky?" he asked himself. But t he nagging inner voices cont inued:
"All t his r ecent sexology, t his renewed int erest in your lady wif e, is simple t ransf er ence. Really,
you ar e longing for your peasant f loozy t o come and flooze wit h you. "
Guilt had t he eff ect of making t he zamindar f eel ent ir ely wort hless. His mot her - - in- - law' s
insult s came t o seem, in his unhappiness, like t he lit er al t r ut h. "Sof t o, " she called him, and
sit t ing in his st udy, surr ounded by bookcases in which wor ms wer e munching cont ent edly upon
pr iceless Sanskr it t ext s such as were not t o be found even in t he nat ional ar chives, and also,
less uplift ingly, on t he complet e wor ks of Per cy West erman, G. A. Hent y and Dor nf or d Yat es,
Mirza Saeed admit t ed, yes, spot on, I am soft . The house was seven gener at ions old and for
seven generat ions t he soft ening had been going on. He walked down t he corr idor in which his
ancest or s hung in balef ul, gilded f rames, and cont emplat ed t he mirr or which he kept hanging in
t he last space as a reminder t hat one day he, t oo, must st ep up on t o t his wall. He was a man
wit hout sharp corners or r ough edges; even his elbows were cover ed by lit t le pads of f lesh. I n
t he mir ror he saw t he t hin moust ache, t he weak chin, t he lips st ained by paan. Cheeks, nose,
for ehead: all sof t , soft , soft . "Who would see anyt hing in a t ype like me?" he cr ied, and when
he r ealized t hat he had been so agit at ed t hat he had spoken aloud he knew he must be in love,
t hat he was sick as a dog wit h love, and t hat t he obj ect of his affect ions was no longer his
loving wif e.
"Then what a damn, shallow, t ricksy and self - deceiving f ellow I am, " he sighed t o himself ,
"t o change so much, so fast . I deserve t o be f inished off wit hout ceremony. " But he was not
t he t ype t o fall on his swor d. I nst ead, he st rolled a while around t he cor ridors of Per ist an, and
pr et t y soon t he house wor ked it s magic and r est or ed him t o somet hing like a good mood once
again.
The house: in spit e of it s f aer y name, it was a solid, rat her pr osy building, render ed exot ic
only by being in t he wr ong count r y. I t had been built seven gener at ions ago by a cer t ain
Per owne, an English archit ect much favour ed by t he colonial aut hor it ies, whose only st yle was
t hat of t he neo- - classical English count r y house. I n t hose days t he gr eat zamindar s wer e cr azy
for European archit ect ure. Saeed' s great - - gr eat - - gr eat - - gr eat - - gr andfat her had hired t he
fellow f ive minut es aft er meet ing him at t he Vicer oy' s recept ion, t o indicat e publicly t hat not all
I ndian Muslims had support ed t he act ion of t he Meerut soldiers or been in sympat hy wit h t he
subsequent uprisings, no, not by any means; - - and t hen given him car t e blanche; - - so her e
Per ist an now st ood, in t he middle of near - t r opical pot at o fields and beside t he great banyan-
t r ee, covered in bougainvillaea creeper , wit h snakes in t he kit chens and but t er fly skelet ons in
t he cupboards. Some said it s name owed mor e t o t he Englishman' s t han t o anyt hing more
fanciful: it was a mer e cont r act ion of _Perownist an_.
Af t er seven gener at ions it was at last beginning t o look as if it belonged in t his landscape of
bullock car t s and palm- t r ees and high, clear, st ar - - heavy skies. Even t he st ained- - glass window
looking down on t he st aircase of King Char les t he Headless had been, in an indef inable manner ,
nat uralized. Very few of t hese old zamindar houses had survived t he egalit ar ian depr edat ions
of t he pr esent , and accor dingly t her e hung over Per ist an somet hing of t he must y air of a
museum, even t hough - - or perhaps because - - Mirza Saeed t ook great pr ide in t he old place
and had spent lavishly t o keep it in t rim. He slept under a high canopy of worked and beat en
br ass in a ship- like bed t hat had been occupied by t hr ee Viceroys. I n t he grand salon he liked
t o sit wit h Mishal and Mr s. Qur eishi in t he unusual t hree- way love seat . At one end of t his r oom
a colossal Shir az car pet st ood r olled up, on wooden blocks, await ing t he glamor ous recept ion
which would mer it it s unfurling, and which never came. I n t he dining- room t here wer e st out
classical columns wit h or nat e Cor int hian t ops, and t her e were peacocks, bot h r eal and st one,
st rolling on t he main st eps t o t he house, and Venet ian chandelier s t inkling in t he hail. The
or iginal punkahs wer e st ill in full wor king or der , all t heir oper at ing cor ds t r avelling by way of
pulleys and holes in walls and floor s t o a lit t le, air less boot - room wher e t he punkah- wallah sat
and t ugged t he lot t oget her , t r apped in t he ir ony of t he foet id air of t hat t iny windowless room
while he despat ched cool br eezes t o all ot her par t s of t he house. The servant s, t oo, went back
seven generat ions and had t her ef or e lost t he art of complaining. The old ways r uled: even t he
Tit lipur sweet - vendor was requir ed t o seek t he zamindar ' s approval before commencing t o sell
any innovat ive sweet meat he might have invent ed. Lif e in Per ist an was as soft as it was har d
under t he t ree; but , even int o such cushioned exist ences, heavy blows can fall.
o o o
The discovery t hat his wif e was spending most of her t ime closet ed wit h Ayesha filled t he
Mirza wit h an insupport able irr it at ion, an eczema of t he spir it t hat maddened him because
t here was no way of scrat ching it . Mishal was hoping t hat t he archangel, Ayesha' s husband,
would gr ant her a baby, but because she couldn' t t ell t hat t o her husband she gr ew sullen and
shrugged pet ulant ly when he asked her why she wast ed so much t ime wit h t he village' s
craziest gir l. Mishal' s new ret icence worsened t he it ch in Mirza Saeed' s hear t , and made him
j ealous, t oo, alt hough he wasn' t sur e if he was j ealous of Ayesha, or Mishal. He not iced for t he
first t ime t hat t he mist r ess of t he but t er flies had eyes of t he same lust rous gr ey shade as his
wife, and f or some r eason t his made him cr oss, t oo, as if it pr oved t hat t he women were
ganging up on him, whispering God knew what secret s; maybe t hey wer e chit t cr ing and
chat t er ing about him! This zenana business seemed t o have backfired; even t hat old j elly Mr s.
Qureishi had been t aken in by Ayesha. Quit e a t hreesome, t hought Mirza Saeed; when mumbo-
j umbo get s in t hr ough your door, good sense leaves by t he window.
As f or Ayesha: when she encount er ed t he Mirza on t he balcony, or in t he garden as he
wander ed reading Urdu love- poet ry, she was invar iably deferent ial and shy; but her good
behaviour , coupled wit h t he t ot al absence of any spar k of er ot ic int er est , dr ove Saeed fur t her
and furt her int o t he helplessness of his despair. So it was t hat when, one day, he spied Ayesha
ent er ing his wif e' s quar t er s and heard, a f ew minut es lat er , his mot her - - in- - law' s voice r ise in
a melodr amat ic shr iek, he was seized by a mood of mulish vengefulness and deliber at ely
wait ed a full t hr ee minut es before going t o invest igat e. He found Mrs. Qureishi t earing her hair
and sobbing like a movie queen, while Mishal and Ayesha sat cross- legged on t he bed, facing
each ot her , grey eyes st ar ing int o grey, and Mishal' s f ace was cradled bet ween Ayesha' s
out st ret ched palms.
I t t ur ned out t hat t he ar changel had inf or med Ayesha t hat t he zamindar ' s wife was dying of
cancer, t hat her br east s wer e full of t he malign nodules of deat h, and t hat she had no more
t han a few mont hs t o live. The locat ion of t he cancer had pr oved t o Mishal t he cruelt y of God,
because only a vicious deit y would place deat h in t he br east of a woman whose only dr eam was
t o suckle new life. When Saeed ent ered, Ayesha had been whisper ing ur gent ly t o Mishal: " You
must n' t t hink t hat way. God will save you. This is a t est of f ait h. "
Mrs. Qureishi t old Mirza Saeed t he bad news wit h many shrieks and howls, and for t he
conf used zamindar it was t he last st r aw. He f lew int o a t emper and st art ed yelling loudly and
t r embling as if he might at any moment st ar t smashing up t he fur nit ure in t he room and it s
occupant s as well.
"To hell wit h your spook cancer , " he scr eamed at Ayesha in his exasperat ion. "You have
come int o my house wit h your craziness and angels and dripped poison int o my f amily' s ears.
Get out of her e wit h your visions and your invisible spouse. This is t he moder n world, and it is
medical doct or s and not ghost s in pot at o fields who t ell us when we ar e ill. You have cr eat ed
t his bloody hullabaloo for not hing. Get out and never come on t o my land again. "
Ayesha hear d him out wit hout removing her eyes or hands fr om Mishal. When Saeed
st opped for breat h, clenching and unclenching his fist s, she said soft ly t o his wife: "Everyt hing
will be requir ed of us, and ever yt hing will be given. " When he hear d t his for mula, which people
all over t he village wer e beginning t o par rot as if t hey knew what it meant , Mirza Saced Akht ar
went br ief ly out of his mind, r aised his hand and knocked Ayesha senseless. She fell t o t he
floor, bleeding fr om t he mout h, a t oot h loosened by his fist , and as she lay t here Mr s. Qur eishi
hur led abuse at her son- in- law. " O God, I have put my daught er in t he care of a killer. O God,
a woman hit t er. Go on, hit me also, get some pr act ice. Defiler of saint s, blasphemer , devil,
unclean. " Saeed left t he room wit hout saying a word.
The next day Mishal Akht ar insist ed on r et urning t o t he cit y for a complet e medical check-
up. Saeed t ook a st and. "I f you want t o indulge in super st it ion, go, but don' t expect me t o
come along. I t ' s eight hours' dr ive each way; so, t o hell wit h it . " Mishal left t hat aft ernoon wit h
her mot her and t he dr iver , and as a result Mir za Saeed was not where he should have been,
t hat is, at his wife' s side, when t he result s of t he t est s were communicat ed t o her : posit ive,
inoper able, t oo f ar advanced, t he claws of t he cancer dug in deeply t hr oughout her chest . A f ew
mont hs, six if she was lucky, and before t hat , coming soon, t he pain. Mishal ret urned t o
Per ist an and went st r aight t o her rooms in t he zenana, where she wrot e her husband a for mal
not e on lavender st at ioner y, t elling him of t he doct or ' s diagnosis. When he read her deat h
sent ence, writ t en in her own hand, he want ed very badly t o burst int o t ears, but his eyes
remained obst inat ely dry. He had had no t ime f or t he Supr eme Being for many year s, but now
a couple of Aycsha' s phr ases popped back int o his mind. _God will save you. Ever yt hing will be
given_. A bit t er , super st it ious not ion occur red t o him: "I t is a curse, " he t hought . "Because I
lust ed af t er Ayesha, she has mur der ed my wife. "
When he went t o t he zenana, Mishal r ef used t o see him, but her mot her, bar ring t he
doorway, handed Saeed a second not e on scent ed blue not epaper . " I want t o see Ayesha, " it
read. " Kindly per mit t his. " Bowing his head, Mirza Saeed gave his assent , and crept away in
shame.
o o o
Wit h Mahound, t here is always a st ruggle; wit h t he I mam, slaver y; but wit h t his gir l, t her e
is not hing. Gibreel is inert , usually asleep in t he dr eam as he is in life. She comes upon him
under a t ree, or in a dit ch, hears what he isn' t saying, t akes what she needs, and leaves. What
does he know about cancer , for example? Not a solit ar y t hing.
All around him, he t hinks as he half - - dr eams, half - wakes, are people hearing voices, being
seduced by words. But not his; never his or iginal mat er ial. - - Then whose? Who is whisper ing
in t heir ear s, enabling t hem t o move mount ains, halt clocks, diagnose disease?
He can' t work it out .
o o o
The day af t er Mishal Akht ar ' s r et urn t o Tit lipur, t he gir l Ayesha, whom people wer e
beginning t o call a kahin, a pir , disappear ed complet ely f or a week. Her hapless admirer,
Osman t he clown, who had been following her at a dist ance along t he dust y pot at o t rack t o
Chat napat na, t old t he villager s t hat a br eeze got up and blew dust int o his eyes; when he got it
out again she had "j ust gone". Usually, when Osman and his bullock st art ed t elling t heir t all
t ales about dj innis and magic lamps and open- - sesames, t he villager s looked t olerant and
t eased him, okay, Osman, save it for t hose idiot s in Chat napat na; t hey may fall f or t hat st uff
but here in Tit lipur we know which way is up and t hat palaces do not appear unless a t housand
and one labour er s build t hem, nor do t hey disappear unless t he same worker s knock t hem
down. On t his occasion, however , nobody laughed at t he clown, because wher e Ayesha was
concer ned t he villagers were willing t o believe anyt hing. They had gr own convinced t hat t he
snow- hair ed gir l was t he t rue successor t o old Bibij i, because had t he but t er flies not
reappear ed in t he year of her bir t h, and did t hey not follow her around like a cloak? Ayesha
was t he vindicat ion of t he longsour ed hope engender ed by t he but t erf lies' r et urn, and t he
evidence t hat great t hings wer e st ill possible in t his life, even for t he weakest and poorest in
t he land.
"The angel has t aken her away, " marvelled t he Sarpanch' s wif e Khadij a, and Osman bur st
int o t ear s. "But no, it is a wonder ful t hing, " old Khadij a uncomprehendingly explained. The
villager s t eased t he Sarpanch: "How you got t o be village headman wit h such a t act less
spouse, beat s us. "
"You chose me, " he dour ly r eplied.
On t he sevent h day aft er her disappearance Ayesha was sight ed walking t owards t he
village, naked again and dressed in golden but t erflies, her silver hair st r eaming behind her in
t he br eeze. She went dir ect ly t o t he home of Sar panch Muhammad Din and asked t hat t he
Tit lipur panchayat be convened for an immediat e emer gency meet ing. "The great est event in
t he hist ory of t he t r ee has come upon us, " she confided. Muhammad Din, unable t o r ef use her ,
fixed t he t ime of t he meet ing for t hat evening, aft er dark.
That night t he panchayat members t ook t heir places on t he usual br anch of t he t ree, while
Ayesha t he kahin st ood before t hem on t he ground. "I have flown wit h t he angel int o t he
highest height s, " she said. "Yes, even t o t he lot e- - t r ee of t he ut t er most end. The ar changel,
Gibr eel: he has br ought us a message which is also a command. Everyt hing is required of us,
and ever yt hing will be given. "
Not hing in t he life of t he Sar panch Muhammad Din had pr epar ed him for t he choice he was
about t o face. "What does t he angel ask, Ayesha, daught er ?" he asked, fight ing t o st eady his
voice.
"I t is t he angel' s will t hat all of us, ever y man, and woman and child in t he village, begin at
once t o prepar e for a pilgr image. We ar e commanded t o walk f rom t his place t o Mecca Shar if,
t o kiss t he Black St one in t he Ka"aba at t he cent re of t he Haram Shar if, t he sacr ed mosque.
Ther e we must sur ely go. "
Now t he panchayat ' s quint et began t o debat e heat edly. There wer e t he crops t o consider ,
and t he impossibilit y of abandoning t heir homes en masse. "I t is not t o be conceived of, child, "
t he Sar panch t old her. "I t is well known t hat Allah excuses haj and umr a t o t hose who ar e
genuinely unable t o go for reasons of pover t y or healt h. " But Ayesha r emained silent and t he
elders cont inued t o argue. Then it was as if her silence infect ed everyone else and for a long
moment , in which t he quest ion was set t led - - alt hough by what means nobody ever managed
t o compr ehend - - t her e wer e no wor ds spoken at all.
I t was Osman t he clown who spoke up at last , Osman t he conver t , for whom his new fait h
had been no mor e t han a drink of wat er . " I t ' s almost t wo hundr ed miles fr om here t o t he
sea, " he cried. " Ther e are old ladies here, and babies. However can we go?"
"God will give us t he st rengt h, " Ayesha serenely replied.
"Hasn' t it occur red t o you, " Osman shout ed, r efusing t o give up, "t hat t her e' s a might y
ocean bet ween us and Mecca Sharif? How will we ever cr oss? We have no money for t he
pilgr im boat s. Maybe t he angel will gr ow us wings, so we can fly?"
Many villagers r ounded angr ily upon t he blasphemer Osman. "Be quiet now, " Sarpanch
Muhammad Din rebuked him. " You haven' t been long in our f ait h or our village. Keep your t rap
shut and lear n our ways. "
Osman, however , answer ed cheekily, " So t his is how you welcome new set t ler s. Not as
equals, but as people who must do as t hey ar e t old. " A knot of r ed- - faced men began t o
t ight en around Osman, but bef or e anyt hing else could happen t he kahin Ayesha changed t he
mood ent ir ely by answer ing t he clown' s quest ions.
"This, t oo, t he angel has explained, " she said quiet ly. "We will walk t wo hundr ed miles, and
when we r each t he shor es of t he sea, we will put our feet int o t he foam, and t he wat ers will
open for us. The waves shall be par t ed, and we shall walk across t he oceanfloor t o Mecca. "
o o o
The next mor ning Mir za Saced Akht ar awoke in a house t hat had fallen unusually silent ,
and when he called for t he ser vant s t here was no r eply. The st illness had spread int o t he
pot at o fields, t oo; but under t he broad, spreading roof of t he Tit lipur t r ee all was hust le and
bust le. The panchayat had vot ed unanimously t o obey t he command of t he Ar changel Gibreel,
and t he villagers had begun t o prepar e for depar t ur e. At fir st t he Sar panch had want ed t he
car pent er I sa t o const ruct lit t ers t hat could be pulled by oxen and on which t he old and infir m
could r ide, but t hat idea had been knocked on t he head by his own wife, who t old him, "You
don' t list en, Sar panch sahibj i! Didn' t t he angel say we must walk? Well t hen, t hat is what we
must do. " Only t he youngest of infant s were t o be excused t he foot - pilgr image, and t hey would
be carr ied ( it had been decided) on t he backs of all t he adult s, in r ot at ion. The villagers had
pooled all t heir r esour ces, and heaps of pot at oes, lent ils, rice, bit t er gour ds, chillies, aubergines
and ot her veget ables were piling up next t o t he panchayat bough. The weight of t he pr ovisions
was t o be evenly divided bet ween t he walkers. Cooking ut ensils, t oo, wer e being gat hered
t oget her, and what ever bedding could be f ound. Beast s of burden wer e t o be t aken, and a
couple of cart s car rying live chickens and such, but in gener al t he pilgr ims wer e under t he
Sarpanch' s inst r uct ions t o keep personal belongings t o a minimum. Preparat ions had been
under way since bef or e dawn, so t hat by t he t ime an incensed Mir za Saeed st rode int o t he
village, t hings were well advanced. For fort y- five minut es t he zamindar slowed t hings up by
making angry speeches and shaking individual villagers by t he shoulders, but t hen, fort unat ely,
he gave up and left , so t hat t he wor k could be cont inued at it s for mer, r apid pace. As t he Mirza
depar t ed he smacked his head r epeat edly and called people names, such as _loonies,
simplet ons_, very bad words, but he had always been a godless man, t he weak end of a st rong
line, and he had t o be left t o f ind his own fat e; t here was no ar guing wit h men like him.
By sunset t he villagers were r eady t o depar t , and t he Sar panch t old ever yone t o rise for
pr ayer s in t he small hour s so t hat t hey could leave immediat ely aft erwards and t hus avoid t he
wor st heat of t he day. That night , lying down on his mat beside old Khadij a, he mur mured, "At
last . I ' ve always want ed t o see t he Ka" aba, t o cir cle it before I die. " She r eached out f rom her
mat t o t ake his hand. "I , t oo, have hoped for it , against hope, " she said. "We' ll walk t hr ough
t he wat ers t oget her . "
Mirza Saeed, dr iven int o an impot ent fr enzy by t he spect acle of t he packing village, burst in
on his wife wit hout cer emony. "You should see what ' s going on, Mishu, " he exclaimed,
gest iculat ing absur dly. "The whole of Tit lipur has t aken leave of it s brains, and is off t o t he
seaside. What is t o happen t o t heir homes, t heir fields? There is ruinat ion in st ore. Must be
polit ical agit at or s involved. Someone has been bribing someone. - - Do you t hink if I off er ed
cash t hey would st ay her e like sane persons?" His voice dried. Ayesha was in t he r oom.
"You bit ch, " he cur sed her . She was sit t ing cross- - legged on t he bed while Mishal and her
mot her squat t ed on t he floor , sort ing t hr ough t heir belongings and wor king out how lit t le t hey
could manage wit h on t he pilgr image.
"You' re not going, " Mirza Saeed r ant ed. "! for bid it , t he devil alone knows what ger m t his
whor e has infect ed t he villager s wit h, but you ar e my wife and I r efuse t o let you embar k upon
t his suicidal vent ure. "
"Good words, " Mishal laughed bit t er ly. "Saeed, good choice of wor ds. You know I can' t live
but you t alk about suicide. Saeed, a t hing is happening her e, and you wit h your impor t ed
European at heism don' t know what it is. Or maybe you would if you looked beneat h your
English suit ings and t r ied t o locat e your heart . "
"I t ' s incredible, " Saeed cr ied. "Mishal, Mishu, is t his you? All of a sudden you' ve t ur ned int o
t his God- bot her ed t ype fr om ancient hist ory?"
Mrs. Qureishi said, "Go away, son. No room for unbeliever s here. The angel has t old
Ayesha t hat when Mishal complet es t he pilgr image t o Mecca her cancer will have disappeared.
Ever yt hing is r equired and ever yt hing will be given. "
Mirza Saeed Akht ar put his palms against a wall of his wife' s bedroom and pressed his
for ehead against t he plast er. Aft er a long pause he said: "I f it is a quest ion of perfor ming umr a
t hen for God' s sake let ' s go t o t own and cat ch a plane. We can be in Mecca wit hin a couple of
days. "
Mishal answer ed, "We are commanded t o walk. "
Saeed lost cont rol of himself. "Mishal? Mishal?" he shr ieked. "Commanded? Ar changels,
Mishu? _Gibreel?_ God wit h a long bear d and angels wit h wings? Heaven and hell, Mishal? The
Devil wit h a point y t ail and cloven hoofs? How far ar e you going wit h t his? Do women have
souls, what do you say? Or t he ot her way: do souls have gender ? I s God black or whit e? When
t he wat ers of t he ocean part , wher e will t he ext r a wat er go? Will it st and up sideways like
walls? Mishal? Answer me. Ar e t here mir acles? Do you believe in Paradise? Will I be f or given
my sins?" He began t o cr y, and fell on t o his knees, wit h his forehead st ill pr essed against t he
wall. His dying wife came up and embr aced him fr om behind. " Go wit h t he pilgr image, t hen, "
he said, dully. "But at least t ake t he Mercedes st at ion wagon. I t ' s got air - condit ioning and you
can t ake t he icebox full of Cokes. "
"No, " she said, gent ly. "We' ll go like everybody else. We' re pilgrims, Saeed. This isn' t a
picnic at t he beach. "
"I don' t know what t o do, " Mir za Saeed Akht ar wept . "Mishu, I can' t handle t his by myself . "
Aycsha spoke fr om t he bed. " Mirza sahib, come wit h us, " she said. " Your ideas ar e finished
wit h. Come and save your soul. "
Saeed st ood up, r ed- eyed. "A bloody out ing you want ed, " he said viciously t o Mr s. Qur eishi.
"That chicken cert ainly came home t o roost . Your out ing will finish off t he lot of us, seven
gener at ions, t he whole bang shoot . "
Mishal leaned her cheek against his back. "Come wit h us, Saeed. Just come. "
He t urned t o face Ayesha. "Ther e is no God, " he said fir mly.
"There is no God but God, and Muhammad is His Prophet , " she replied.
"The myst ical experience is a subj ect ive, not an obj ect ive t rut h, " he went on. "The wat er s
will not open. "
"The sea will par t at t he angel' s command, " Ayesha answered.
"You are leading t hese people int o cert ain disast er . "
"I am t aking t hem int o t he bosom of God. "
"I don' t believe in you, " Mirza Saeed insist ed. "But I ' m going t o come, and will t r y t o end
t his insanit y wit h every st ep I t ake. "
"God chooses many means, " Ayesha r ej oiced, "many r oads by which t he doubt f ul may be
br ought int o his cert aint y. "
"Go t o hell, " shout ed Mir za Saeed Akht ar, and ran, scat t er ing but t erflies, fr om t he r oom.
o o o
"Who is t he madder, " Osman t he clown whispered int o his bullock' s ear as he groomed it in
it s small byre, "t he madwoman, or t he fool who loves t he madwoman?" The bullock didn' t
reply. " Maybe we should have st ayed unt ouchable, " Osman cont inued. "A compulsor y ocean
sounds wor se t han a f or bidden well. " And t he bullock nodded, t wice for yes, boom, boom.
V
A Cit y Visible
but Unseen
1
"_Once I ' m an owl, what is t he spell or ant idot e f or t urning me back int o myself?_" Mr .
Muhammad Suf yan, pr op. Shaandaar Caf and landlord of t he r ooming- house above, ment or t o
t he var iegat ed, t r ansient and part icolour ed inhabit ant s of bot h, seen- it - all t ype, least
doct r inair e of haj is and most unashamed of V C R addict s, ex- schoolt eacher, self - t aught in
classical t ext s of many cult ur es, dismissed f rom post in Dhaka owing t o cult ural dif ferences
wit h cert ain gener als in t he old days when Bangladesh was merely an East Wing, and
t herefore, in his own words, "not so much an immig as an emig r unt " - - t his last a good-
nat ured allusion t o his lack of inches, for t hough he was a wide man, t hick of ar m and waist , he
st ood no mor e t han sixt yone inches of f t he ground, blinked in his bedr oom doorway, awakened
by Jumpy Joshi' s urgent midnight knock, polished his half - - rimmed spect acles on t he edge of
Bengali - st yle kur t a ( drawst rings t ied at t he neck in a neat bow) , squeezed lids t ight ly shut open
shut over myopic eyes, r eplaced glasses, opened eyes, st roked moust acheless hennaed beard,
sucked t eet h, and responded t o t he now- indisput able hor ns on t he br ow of t he shivering
fellow whom Jumpy, like t he cat , appear ed t o have dr agged in, wit h t he above impr ompt u quip,
st olen, wit h commendable ment al alacrit y f or one aroused fr om his slumbers, f rom Lucius
Apuleius of Madaur a, Mor occan pr iest , AD 120- - 180 approx. , colonial of an ear lier Empire, a
per son who denied t he accusat ion of having bewit ched a rich widow yet confessed, somewhat
per versely, t hat at an early st age in his car eer he had been t ransf or med, by wit chcr aft , int o
( not an owl, but ) an ass. "Yes, yes, " Sufyan cont inued, st epping out int o t he passage and
blowing a whit e mist of wint er breat h int o his cupped hands, "Poor misfort unat e, but no point
wallowing. Const r uct ive at t it ude must be adopt ed. I will wake my wife. "
Chamcha was beard- fuzz and gr ime. He wore a blanket like a t oga below which t her e
pr ot r uded t he comic def or mit y of goat s' hoofs, while above it could be seen t he sad comedy of
a sheepskin j acket borr owed from Jumpy, it s collar t urned up, so t hat sheepish cur ls nest led
only inches f rom point y billy- goat horns. He seemed incapable of speech, sluggish of body, dull
of eye; even t hough Jumpy at t empt ed t o encour age him - - "Ther e, you see, we' ll have t his well
sort ed in a flash" - - he, Saladin, remained t he most limp and passive of - - what ? - - let us say:
sat yr s. Suf yan, meanwhile, offered f ur t her Apuleian sympat hy. "I n t he case of t he ass, reverse
met amorphosis requir ed per sonal int er vent ion of goddess I sis, " he beamed. " But old t imes are
for old fogies. I n your inst ance, young mist er, fir st st ep would possibly be a bowl of good hot
soup. "
At t his point his kindly t ones wer e quit e dr owned by t he int er vent ion of a second voice,
raised high in oper at ic t err or ; moment s aft er which, his small form was being j ost led and
shoved by t he mount ainous, fleshy figur e of a woman, who seemed unable t o decide whet her
t o push him out of her way or keep him before her as a prot ect ive shield. Cr ouching behind
Suf yan, t his new being ext ended a t r embling ar m at whose end was a quivering, pudgy,
scar let - nailed index finger . " That over t here, " she howled. "What t hing is come upon us?"
"I t is a fr iend of Joshi' s, " Suf yan said mildly, and cont inued, t ur ning t o Chamcha, "Please
for give, - - t he unexpect edness et cet , isn' t it ? - - Anyhow, may I pr esent my Mr s; - - my Begum
Sahiba, - - Hind. "
"What fr iend? How friend?" t he croucher cried. " Ya Allah, eyes aren' t next t o your nose?"
The passageway, - - bare- boar d floor , t orn f lor al paper on t he walls, - - was st ar t ing t o fill up
wit h sleepy resident s. Prominent among whom were t wo t eenage girls, one spike- hair ed, t he
ot her pony- t ailed, and bot h relishing t he oppor t unit y t o demonst rat e t heir skills ( learned fr om
Jumpy) in t he mar t ial art s of karat e and Wing Chun: Suf yan' s daught ers, Mishal ( sevent een)
and fift eenyear - old Anahit a, leapt fr om t heir bedr oom in fight ing gear , Bruce Lee paj amas worn
loosely over T- shirt s bear ing t he image of t he new Madonna; - - caught sight of unhappy
Saladin; - - and shook t heir heads in wide- eyed delight .
"Radical, " said Mishal, appr ovingly. And her sist er nodded assent : "Cr ucial. Fucking A. " Her
mot her did not , however , r eproach her f or her language; Hind' s mind was elsewher e, and she
wailed louder t han ever : "Look at t his husband of mine. What sor t of haj i is t his? Her e is
Shait an himself walking in t hr ough our door , and I am made t o offer him hot chicken yakhni,
cooked by my own r ight hand. "
Useless, now, forJumpyJoshi t o plead wit h Hind for t olerance, t o at t empt explanat ions and
demand solidar it y. "I f he' s not t he devil on ear t h, " t he heaving- chest ed lady point ed out
unanswer ably, " fr om wher e t hat plague- br eat h comes t hat he' s br eat hing? Fr om, maybe, t he
Per fumed Garden?"
"Not Gulist an, but Bost an, " said Chamcha, suddenly. "AI Flight 420. " On hear ing his voice,
however, Hind squealed fr ight fully, and plunged past him, heading for t he kit chen.
"Mist er, " Mishal said t o Saladin as her mot her fled downst airs, "anyone who scares her t hat
way has got t o be ser iously _bad_. "
"Wicked, " Anahit a agreed. " Welcome aboar d. "
o o o
This Hind, now so fir mly ent renched in exclamat ory mode, had once been - -
st rangebut t r ue! - - t he most blushing of br ides, t he soul of gent leness, t he ver y incar nat ion of
t oler ant good humour . As t he wife of t he er udit e schoolt eacher of Dhaka, she had ent er ed int o
her dut ies wit h a will, t he perfect helpmeet , bringing her husband car damom- scent ed t ea when
he st ayed up lat e marking examinat ion paper s, ingr at iat ing herself wit h t he school pr incipal at
t he t ermly St aff Families Out ing, st r uggling wit h t he novels of Bibhut ibhushan Baner j i and t he
met aphysics of Tagore in an at t empt t o be mor e wor t hy of a spouse who could quot e
eff or t lessly fr om Rig- - Veda as well as Qur an- - Shar if, from t he milit ary account s of Julius Caesar
as well as t he Revelat ions of St John t he Divine. I n t hose days she had admir ed his plur alist ic
openness of mind, and st ruggled, in her kit chen, t owar ds a parallel eclect icism, learning t o
cook t he dosas and ut t apams of Sout h I ndia as well as t he soft meat balls of Kashmir . Gr adually
her espousal of t he cause of gast ronomic plur alism gr ew int o a grand passion, and while
secularist Suf yan swallowed t he mult iple cult ures of t he subcont inent - - "and let us not pret end
t hat West er n cult ure is not pr esent ; aft er t hese cent uries, how could it not also be par t of our
herit age?" - - his wif e cooked, and at e in incr easing quant it ies, it s food. As she devour ed t he
highly spiced dishes of Hyder abad and t he high- falut ing yoghur t sauces of Lucknow her body
began t o alt er , because all t hat food had t o find a home somewher e, and she began t o
resemble t he wide r olling land mass it self, t he subcont inent wit hout f ront iers, because food
passes acr oss any boundary you care t o ment ion.
Mr. Muhammad Sufyan, however , gained no weight : not a _t ola_, not an _ounce_.
His refusal t o f at t en was t he beginning of t he t r ouble. When she repr oached him - - "You
don' t like my cooking? For whom I ' m doing it all and blowing up like a balloon?" - - he
answered, mildly, looking up at her ( she was t he t aller of t he t wo) over t he t op of half - rimmed
specs: "Rest raint is also par t of our t radit ions, Begum. Eat ing t wo mout hfuls less t han one' s
hunger : self - denial, t he ascet ic pat h. " What a man: all t he answers, but you couldn' t get him t o
give you a decent f ight .
Rest r aint was not f or Hind. Maybe, if Sufyan had ever complained; if j ust once he' d said, _I
t hought I was marr ying one woman but t hese days you' re big enough for t wo_; if he' d ever
given her t he incent ive! - - t hen maybe she' d have desist ed, why not , of course she would; so it
was his fault , f or having no aggression, what kind of a male was it who didn' t know how t o
insult his fat lady wife? - - I n t rut h, it was ent ir ely possible t hat Hind would have failed t o
cont r ol her eat ing binges even if Sufyan had come up wit h t he r equired impr ecat ions and
ent reat ies; but , since he did not , she munched on, cont ent t o dump t he whole blame f or her
figur e on him.
As a mat t er of fact , once she had st art ed blaming him for t hings, she found t hat t her e were
a number of ot her mat t er s she could hold against him; and found, t oo, her t ongue, so t hat t he
schoolt eacher' s humble apart ment resounded r egularly t o t he kinds of t ickings- off he was t oo
much of a mouse t o hand out t o his pupils. Above all, he was ber at ed f or his excessively high
pr inciples, t hanks t o which, Hind t old him, she knew he would never per mit her t o become a
rich man' s wife; - - for what could one say about a man who, finding t hat his bank had
inadver t ent ly credit ed his salar y t o his account t wice in t he same mont h, pr ompt ly _drew t he
inst it ut ion' s not ice_ t o t he er ror and handed back t he cash?; - - what hope was t her e for a
t eacher who, when appr oached by t he wealt hiest of t he schoolchildr en' s par ent s, flat ly refused
t o cont emplat e accept ing t he usual r emunerat ions in ret urn f or ser vices render ed when
marking t he lit t le f ellows' examinat ion papers?
"But all of t hat I could for give, " she would mut t er dar kly at him, leaving unspoken t he rest
of t he sent ence, which was _if it hadn' t been for your t wo r eal of fences: your sexual, and
polit ical, cr imes_.
Ever since t heir marr iage, t he t wo of t hem had perf or med t he sexual act infr equent ly, in
t ot al dar kness, pin- dr op silence and almost complet e immobilit y. I t would not have occurr ed t o
Hind t o wiggle or wobble, and since Sufyan appear ed t o get t hrough it all wit h an absolut e
minimum of mot ion, she t ook it - - had always t aken it - - t hat t he t wo of t hem were of t he
same mind on t his mat t er , viz. , t hat it was a dir t y business, not t o be discussed befor e or aft er,
and not t o be drawn at t ent ion t o dur ing, eit her. That t he children t ook t heir t ime in coming she
t ook as God' s punishment f or He only knew what misdeeds of her ear lier life; t hat t hey bot h
t ur ned out t o be gir ls she r efused t o blame on Allah, pr eferr ing, inst ead, t o blame t he weakling
seed implant ed in her by her unmanly spouse, an at t it ude she did not refr ain fr om expressing,
wit h gr eat emphasis, and t o t he hor ror of t he midwife, at t he very moment of lit t le Anahit a' s
bir t h. "Anot her girl, " she gasped in disgust . "Well, consider ing who made t he baby, I should
t hink myself lucky it ' s not a cockroach, or a mouse. " Aft er t his second daught er she t old Sufyan
t hat enough was enough, and ordered him t o move his bed int o t he hail. He accept ed wit hout
any ar gument her r ef usal t o have mor e children; but t hen she discover ed t hat t he lecher
t hought he could st ill, f rom t ime t o t ime, ent er her darkened room and enact t hat st r ange r it e
of silence and near - mot ionlessness t o which she had only submit t ed in t he name of
reproduct ion. "What do you t hink, " she shout ed at him t he f irst t ime he t r ied it , "I do t his t hing
for f un?"
Once he had got it t hr ough his t hick skull t hat she meant business, no mor e hanky- panky,
no sir , she was a decent woman, not a lust - - crazed libert ine, he began t o st ay out lat e at night .
I t was dur ing t his period - - she had t hought , mist akenly, t hat he was visit ing pr ost it ut es - - t hat
he became involved wit h polit ics, and not j ust any old polit ics, eit her , oh no, Mist er Br ainbox
had t o go and j oin t he devils t hemselves, t he Communist Par t y, no less, so much for t hose
pr inciples of his; demons, t hat ' s what t hey wer e, worse by far t han whores. I t was because of
t his dabbling in t he occult t hat she had t o pack up her bags at such shor t not ice and leave for
England wit h t wo small babies in t ow; because of t his ideological wit chcr aft t hat she had had t o
endure all t he privat ions and humiliat ions of t he pr ocess of immigr at ion; and on account of t his
diabolism of his t hat she was st uck forever in t his England and would never see her village
again. "England, " she once said t o him, " is your revenge upon me for prevent ing you fr om
per forming your obscene act s upon my body. " He had not given an answer ; and silence
denot es assent .
And what was it t hat made t hem a living in t his Vilayet of her exile, t his Yuk of her sex-
obsessed husband' s vindict iveness? What ? His book learning? His _Git anj ali_, _Eclogues_, or
t hat play _Ot hello_ t hat he explained was r eally At t allah or At t aullah except t he wr it er couldn' t
spell, what sor t of wr it er was t hat , anyway?
I t was: her cooking. "Shaandaar, " it was pr aised. " Out st anding, br illiant , delicious. " People
came fr om all over London t o eat her samosas, her Bombay chaat , her gulab j amans st r aight
from Paradise. What was t her e for Suf yan t o do? Take t he money, ser ve t he t ea, run fr om her e
t o t her e, behave like a ser vant f or all his educat ion. O, yes, of cour se t he cust omer s liked his
per sonalit y, he always had an appealing charact er , but when you' re r unning an eat er y it isn' t
t he conversat ion t hey pay for on t he bill. Jalebis, bar fi, Special of t he Day. How life had t urned
out ! She was t he mist r ess now.
Vict or y!
And yet it was also a f act t hat she, cook and breadwinner , chiefest ar chit ect of t he success
of t he Shaandaar Caf , which had finally enabled t hem t o buy t he whole four - st or ey building
and st art rent ing out it s r ooms, - - _she_ was t he one ar ound whom t her e hung, like bad
br eat h, t he miasma of defeat . While Sufyan t winkled on, she looked ext inguished, like a
light bulb wit h a broken filament , like a f izzled st ar , like a flame. - - Why? - - Why, when Sufyan,
who had been depr ived of vocat ion, pupils and r espect , bounded about like a young lamb, and
even began t o put on weight , fat t ening up in Pr oper London as he had never done back home;
why, when power had been removed fr om his hands and deliver ed int o hers, did she act - - as
her husband put it - - t he "sad sack" , t he "glum chum" and t he "moochy pooch"? Simple: not in
spit e of, but on account of. Everyt hing she valued had been upset by t he change; had in t his
pr ocess of t ranslat ion, been lost .
Her language: obliged, now, t o emit t hese alien sounds t hat made her t ongue feel t ired,
was she not ent it led t o moan? Her familiar place: what mat t er t hat t hey had lived, in Dhaka, in
a t eacher ' s humble f lat , and now, owing t o ent repreneur ial good sense, savings and skill wit h
spices, occupied t his four - - st or ey t err aced house? Where now was t he cit y she knew? Wher e
t he village of her yout h and t he gr een wat er ways of home? The cust oms around which she had
built her life wer e lost , t oo, or at least wer e hard t o f ind. Nobody in t his Vilayet had t ime for t he
slow court esies of lif e back home, or for t he many obser vances of fait h. Furt hermore: was she
not forced t o put up wit h a husband of no account , wher eas before she could bask in his
dignified posit ion? Wher e was t he pr ide in being made t o work for her living, for his living,
wher eas before she could sit at home in much- befit t ing pomp? - - And she knew, how could she
not , t he sadness beneat h his bonhomie, and t hat , t oo, was a defeat ; never bef or e had she felt
so inadequat e as a wife, f or what kind of a Mr s. is it t hat cannot cheer up her man, but must
obser ve t he count er feit of happiness and make do, as if it wer e t he genuine McCoy? - - Plus
also: t hey had come int o a demon cit y in which anyt hing could happen, your windows
shat t er ed in t he middle of t he night wit hout any cause, you wer e knocked over in t he st r eet by
invisible hands, in t he shops you hear d such abuse you felt like your ears would drop off but
when you t urned in t he dir ect ion of t he words you saw only empt y air and smiling faces, and
ever y day you hear d about t his boy, t hat girl, beat en up by ghost s. - - Yes, a land of phant om
imps, how t o explain; best t hing was t o st ay home, not go out f or so much as t o post a let t er ,
st ay in, lock t he door, say your prayer s, and t he goblins would ( maybe) st ay away. - - Reasons
for defeat ? Baba, who could count t hem? Not only was she a shopkeeper' s wife and a kit chen
slave, but even her own people could not be r elied on; - - t here wer e men she t hought of as
respect able t ypes, sharif , giving t elephone divor ces t o wives back home and r unning of f wit h
some har amzadi female, and gir ls killed for dowry ( some t hings could be br ought t hr ough t he
for eign cust oms wit hout dut y) ; - - and wor st of all, t he poison of t his devil - island had inf ect ed
her baby gir ls, who wer e growing up refusing t o speak t heir mot hert ongue, even t hough t hey
underst ood ever y wor d, t hey did it j ust t o hurt ; and why else had Mishal cut off all her hair and
put r ainbows int o it ; and every day it was fight , quarr el, disobey, - - and wor st of all, t her e was
not one new t hing about her complaint s, t his is how it was f or women like her , so now she was
no longer j ust one, j ust herself , j ust Hind wife of t eacher Sufyan; she had sunk int o t he
anonymit y, t he char act er less pluralit y, of being mer ely one- of - t he- women- - like- her. This was
hist or y' s lesson: not hing for women- like- her t o do but suf fer , remember , and die.
What she did: t o deny her husband' s weakness, she t reat ed him, for t he most par t , like a
lor d, like a monarch, f or in her lost wor ld her glor y had lain in his; t o deny t he ghost s out side
t he caf , she st ayed indoors, sending ot hers out for kit chen pr ovisions and household
necessit ies, and also f or t he endless supply of Bengali and Hindi movies on V C R t hrough
which ( along wit h her ever - increasing hoar d of I ndian movie magazines) she could st ay in
t ouch wit h event s in t he "real wor ld" , such as t he bizar re disappearance of t he incompar able
Gibr eel Far isht a and t he subsequent t ragic announcement of his deat h in an air line accident ;
and t o give her feelings of defeat ed, exhaust ed despair some out let , she shout ed at her
daught er s. The elder of whom, t o get her own back, hacked of f her hair and permit t ed her
nipples t o poke t hr ough shir t s wor n provocat ively t ight .
The arr ival of a fully developed devil, a hor ned goat - man, was, in t he light of t he for egoing,
somet hing very like t he last , or at any r at e t he penult imat e, st raw.
o o o
Shaandaar r esident s gat hered in t he night - - kit chen f or an impr ompt u crisis summit . While
Hind hur led imprecat ions int o chicken soup, Sufyan placed Chamcha at a t able, dr awing up, for
t he poor fellow' s use, an aluminium chair wit h a blue plast ic seat , and init iat ed t he night ' s
pr oceedings. The t heories of Lamar ck, I am pleased t o repor t , wer e quot ed by t he exiled
schoolt eacher, who spoke in his best didact ic voice. When Jumpy had recount ed t he unlikely
st or y of Chamcha' s fall from t he sky - - t he pr ot agonist himself being t oo immer sed in chicken
soup and misery t o speak for himself - - Suf yan, sucking t eet h, made r eference t o t he last
edit ion of _The Or igin of Species_. "I n which even gr eat Charles accept ed t he not ion of
mut at ion in ext r emis, t o ensure survival of species; so what if his follower s - - always more
Darwinian t han man himselfl - - repudiat ed, post humously, such Lamarckian her esy, insist ing
on nat ur al select ion and not hing but , - - however , I am bound t o admit , such t heory is not
ext ended t o sur vival of individual specimen but only t o species as a whole; - - in addit ion,
regarding nat ur e of mut at ion, pr oblem is t o comprehend act ual ut ilit y of t he change. "
"Da- ad, " Anahit a Sufyan, eyes lift ing t o heaven, cheek lying ho- hum against palm,
int err upt ed t hese cogit at ions. "Give over . Point is, how' d he t ur n int o such a, such a, " - -
admir ingly - - "fr eak?"
Upon which, t he devil himself, looking up fr om chicken soup, cr ied out , "No, I ' m not . I ' m
not a f reak, O no, cert ainly I am not . " His voice, seeming t o r ise fr om an unfat homable abyss
of grief, t ouched and alarmed t he younger girl, who r ushed over t o where he sat , and,
impet uously car essing a shoulder of t he unhappy beast , said, in an at t empt t o make amends:
"Of course you aren' t , I ' m sor ry, of cour se I don' t t hink you' r e a fr eak; it ' s j ust t hat you look
like one. "
Saladin Chamcha burst int o t ears.
Mrs. Sufyan, meanwhile, had been hor rif ied by t he sight of her younger daught er act ually
laying hands on t he cr eat ur e, and t urning t o t he gallery of night gowned r esident s she waved a
soup- ladle at t hem and pleaded f or support . "How t o t oler at e? - - Honour , safet y of young girls
cannot be assured. - - That in my own house, such a t hing. . . ! "
Mishal Sufyan lost pat ience. " Jesus, Mum. "
"_Jesus?_"
"Dj u t hink it ' s t empor ar y?" Mishal, t ur ning her back on scandalized Hind, inquired of Sufyan
and Jumpy. "Some sor t of possession t hing - - could we maybe get it you know _exorcized?_"
Omens, shinings, ghoulies, night mares on Elm St r eet , st ood excit edly in her eyes, and her
fat her , as much t he V C R aficionado as any t eenager , appear ed t o consider t he possibilit y
seriously. "I n _Der St eppenwolf_, " he began, but Jumpy wasn' t having any mor e of t hat . "The
cent r al r equirement , " he announced, "is t o t ake an ideological view of t he sit uat ion. "
That silenced ever yone.
"Obj ect ively, " he said, wit h a small self - - depr ecat ing smile, "what has happened her e? A:
Wrongful ar rest , int imidat ion, violence. Two: I llegal det ent ion, unknown medical
exper iment at ion in hospit al, " - - murmur s of assent her e, as memor ies of int ra- vaginal
inspect ions, Depo- Provera scandals, unaut horized post - par t um st er ilizat ions, and, f urt her back,
t he knowledge of Thir d Wor ld drug- dumping ar ose in ever y person pr esent t o give subst ance t o
t he speaker ' s insinuat ions, - - because what you believe depends on what you' ve seen, - - not
only what is visible, but what you are pr epar ed t o look in t he face, - - and anyhow, somet hing
had t o explain hor ns and hoof s; in t hose policed medical wards, anyt hing could happen - - "And
t hir dly, " Jumpy cont inued, "psychological breakdown, loss of sense of self , inabilit y t o cope.
We' ve seen it all before. "
Nobody argued, not even Hind; t here wer e some t r ut hs fr om which it was impossible t o
dissent . "I deologically, " Jumpy said, "I r ef use t o accept t he posit ion of vict im. Cer t ainly, he has
been vict im _ized_, but we know t hat all abuse of power is in part t he responsibilit y of t he
abused; our passiveness colludes wit h, permit s such crimes. " Wher eupon, having scolded t he
gat hering int o shamef aced submission, he request ed Sufyan t o make available t he small at t ic
room t hat was pr esent ly unoccupied, and Sufyan, in his t ur n, was r ender ed ent ir ely unable, by
feelings of solidar it y and guilt , t o ask for a single p in r ent . Hind did, it is t rue, mumble: "Now I
know t he wor ld is mad, when a devil becomes my house guest , " but she did so under her
br eat h, and nobody except her elder daught er Mishal hear d what she said.
Suf yan, t aking his cue fr om his younger daught er, went up t o where Chamcha, huddled in
his blanket , was drinking enor mous quant it ies of Hind' s unr ivalled chicken yakhni, squat t ed
down, and placed an ar m ar ound t he st ill - shivering unf or t unat e. " Best place f or you is here, " he
said, speaking as if t o a simplet on or small child. "Wher e else would you go t o heal your
disfigurement s and recover your normal healt h? Wher e else but here, wit h us, among your own
people, your own kind?"
Only when Saladin Chamcha was alone in t he at t ic r oom at t he ver y end of his st rengt h did
he answer Sufyan' s r het orical quest ion. " I ' m not your kind, " he said dist inct ly int o t he night .
"You' re not my people. I ' ve spent half my life t r ying t o get away f rom you. "
o o o
His hear t began t o misbehave, t o kick and st umble as if it , t oo, want ed t o met amorphose
int o some new, diabolic form, t o subst it ut e t he complex unpredict abilit y of t abla impr ovisat ions
for it s old met r onomic beat . Lying sleepless in a nar row bed, snagging his hor ns in bedsheet s
and pillowcases as he t ossed and t ur ned, he suffer ed t he r enewal of cor onar y eccent r icit y wit h
a kind of fat alist ic accept ance: if everyt hing else, t hen why not t his, t oo? Badoomboom, went
t he hear t , and his t or so j erked. _Wat ch it or I ' ll r eally let you have it . Doomboombadoom_.
Yes: t his was Hell, all r ight . The cit y of London, t r ansformed int o Jahannum, Gehenna,
Muspellheim.
Do devils suff er in Hell? Ar en' t t hey t he ones wit h t he pit chforks?
Wat er began t o drip st eadily t hr ough t he dor mer window. Out side, in t he t r eacher ous cit y,
a t haw had come, giving t he st r eet s t he unreliable consist ency of wet car dboar d. Slow masses
of whit eness slid fr om sloping, grey- slat e roof s. The foot pr int s of deliver y vans cor rugat ed t he
slush. Fir st light ; and t he dawn chor us began, chat t ering of r oad- - dr ills, chirr up of burglar
alarms, t r umpet ing of wheeled cr eat ur es clashing at corners, t he deep whir r of a lar ge olive- -
gr een gar bage eat er , scr eaming r adio- - voices fr om a wooden paint er ' s cr adle clinging t o t he
upper st or ey of a Free House, roar of t he gr eat wakening j ugger naut s r ushing awesomely down
t his long but narr ow pat hway. From beneat h t he ear t h came t r emor s denot ing t he passage of
huge subt er r anean worms t hat devour ed and regurgit at ed human beings, and from t he skies
t he t hrum of choppers and t he scr eech of higher, gleaming bir ds.
The sun rose, unwr apping t he mist y cit y like a gift . Saladin Chamcha slept .
Which aff or ded him no r espit e: but r et urned him, r at her , t o t hat ot her night - st reet down
which, in t he company of t he physiot herapist Hyacint h Phillips, he had fled t owards his dest iny,
clip- clop, on unst eady hoof s; and r eminded him t hat , as capt ivit y receded and t he cit y dr ew
near er , Hyacint h' s face and body had seemed t o change. He saw t he gap opening and widening
bet ween her cent r al upper incisor s, and t he way her hair knot t ed and plait ed it self int o
medusas, and t he st r ange t r iangular it y of her pr ofile, which sloped out war ds fr om her hair line
t o t he t ip of her nose, swung about and headed in an unbroken line inwar ds t o her neck. He
saw in t he yellow light t hat her skin was gr owing dar ker by t he minut e, and her t eet h mor e
pr ominent , and her body as long as a child' s st ick- figur e drawing. At t he same t ime she was
cast ing him glances of an ever mor e explicit lecher y, and gr asping his hand in f ingers so bony
and inescapable t hat it was as t hough a skelet on had seized him and was t r ying t o drag him
down int o a grave; he could smell t he fr eshly dug eart h, t he cloying scent of it , on her breat h,
on her lips . . . revulsion seized him. How could he ever have t hought her at t r act ive, even
desir ed her , even gone so far as t o f ant asize, while she st raddled him and pummelled f luid
from his lungs, t hat t hey were lover s in t he violent t hr oes of sexual congress? . . . The cit y
t hickened ar ound t hem like a forest ; t he buildings t wined t oget her and gr ew as mat t ed as her
hair . " No light can get in her e, " she whisper ed t o him. "I t ' s black; all black. " She made as if t o
lie down and pull him t owar ds her , t owar ds t he ear t h, but he shout ed, "Quick, t he church, " and
plunged int o an unpr epossessing box- like building, seeking more t han one kind of sanct uary.
I nside, however , t he pews wer e full of Hyacint hs, young and old, Hyacint hs wearing shapeless
blue t wo- - piece suit s, f alse pearls, and lit t le pill - - box hat s decked out wit h bit s of gauze,
Hyacint hs wearing vir ginal whit e night gowns, every imaginable f or m of Hyacint h, all singing
loudly, _Fix me, Jesus_; unt il t hey saw Chamcha, quit t heir spir - - it ualling, and commenced t o
bawl in a most unspir it ual manner, _Sat an, t he Goat , t he Goat _, and suchlike st uff . Now it
became clear t hat t he Hyacint h wit h whom he' d ent ered was looking at him wit h new eyes, j ust
t he way he' d looked at her in t he st r eet ; t hat she, t oo, had st ar t ed seeing somet hing t hat made
her feel pr et t y sick; and when he saw t he disgust on t hat hideously point y and clouded face he
j ust let r ip. "_Hubshees_, " he cur sed t hem in, for some reason, his discarded mot her - t ongue.
Troublemaker s and savages, he called t hem. "I feel sor ry for you, " he pr onounced. "Ever y
mor ning you have t o look at yourself in t he mir ror and see, st ar ing back, t he darkness: t he
st ain, t he proof t hat you' re t he lowest of t he low. " They r ounded upon him t hen, t hat
congr egat ion of Hyacint hs, his own Hyacint h now lost among t hem, indist inguishable, no longer
an individual but a woman- liket hem, and he was being beat en fright fully, emit t ing a pit eous
bleat ing noise, running in cir cles, looking f or a way out ; unt il he realized t hat his assailant s'
fear was gr eat er t han t heir wrat h, and he r ose up t o his full height , spread his arms, and
scr eamed devilsounds at t hem, sending t hem scur r ying for cover , cower ing behind pews, as he
st rode bloody but unbowed f rom t he bat t lefield.
Dreams put t hings in t heir own way; but Chamcha, coming briefly awake as his heart beat
skipped int o a new bur st of syncopat ions, was bit t er ly aware t hat t he night mare had not been
so very far fr om t he t r ut h; t he spir it , at least , was right . - - That was t he last of Hyacint h, he
t hought , and faded away again. - - To find himself shiver ing in t he hail of his own home while,
on a higher plane, Jumpy Joshi ar gued f ier cely wit h Pamela. _Wit h my wife_.
And when dr eam- Pamela, echoing t he real one wor d f or word, had rej ect ed her husband a
hundred and one t imes, _he doesn' t exist , it , such t hings ar e not so_, it was Jamshed t he
virt uous who, set t ing aside love and desire, helped. Leaving behind a weeping Pamela - - _Don' t
you dar e bring t hat back here_, she shout ed fr om t he t op floor - - from Saladin' s den - - Jumpy,
wrapping Chamcha in sheepskin and blanket , led enfeebled t hrough t he shadows t o t he
Shaandaar Caf , pr omising wit h empt y kindness: " I t ' ll be all right . You' ll see. I t ' ll all be f ine. "
When Saladin Chamcha awoke, t he memor y of t hese words filled him wit h a bit t er anger.
Wher e' s Farisht a, he f ound himself t hinking. That bast ard: I bet he' s doing okay. - - I t was a
t hought t o which he would ret ur n, wit h ext r aor dinar y result s; f or t he moment , however , he
had ot her fish t o fry.
I am t he incar nat ion of evil, he t hought . He had t o f ace it . However it had happened, it
could not be denied. I am _no longer myself_, or not only. I am t he embodiment of wrong, of
what we- - hat e, of sin.
Why? Why me?
What evil had he done - - what vile t hing could he, would he do?
For what was he - - he couldn' t avoid t he not ion - - being punished? And, come t o t hat , by
whom? ( I held my t ongue. )
Had he not pur sued his own idea of _t he good_, sought t o become t hat which he most
admir ed, dedicat ed himself wit h a will bor der ing on obsession t o t he conquest of Englishness?
Had he not wor ked hard, avoided t rouble, st riven t o become new? Assiduit y, fast idiousness,
moderat ion, r est raint , self - - reliance, probit y, family lif e: what did t hese add up t o if not a mor al
code? Was it his f ault t hat Pamela and he wer e childless? Were genet ics his responsibilit y?
Could it be, in t his inver t ed age, t hat he was being vict imized by - - t he fat es, he agreed wit h
himself t o call t he per secut ing agency - - pr ecisely _because of _ his pursuit of "t he good"? - -
That nowadays such a pur suit was considered wr ong- headed, even evil? - - Then how cruel
t hese fat es were, t o inst igat e his r ej ect ion by t he very wor ld he had so det er minedly cour t ed;
how desolat ing, t o be cast from t he gat es of t he cit y one believed oneself t o have t aken long
ago! - - What mean small- mindedness was t his, t o cast him back int o t he bosom of _his
people_, fr om whom he' d f elt so dist ant for so long! - - Here t hought s of Zeeny Vakil welled up,
and guilt ily, nervously, he for ced t hem down again.
His hear t kicked him violent ly, and he sat up, doubled over, gasped for breat h. _Calm
down, or it ' s cur t ains. No place for such st r essf ul cogit at ions: not any more_. He t ook deep
br eat hs; lay back; empt ied his mind. The t r ait or in his chest resumed nor mal ser vice.
No mor e of t hat , Saladin Chamcha t old himself f irmly. No mor e of t hinking myself evil.
Appear ances deceive; t he cover is not t he best guide t o t he book. Devil, Goat , Shait an? Not I .
Not I : anot her .
Who?
o o o
Mishal and Anahit a arr ived wit h breakf ast on a t r ay and excit ement all over t heir f aces.
Chamcha devour ed cornflakes and Nescaf while t he girls, aft er a few moment s of shyness,
gabbled at him, simult aneously, non- - st op. "Well, you' ve set t he place buzzing and no
mist ake. " - - " You haven' t gone and changed back in t he night or anyt hing?" - - " List en, it ' s not
a t rick, is it ? I mean, it ' s not make- up or somet hing t heat r ical? - - I mean, Jumpy says you' re
an act or, and I only t hought , - - I mean, " and here young Anahit a dr ied up, because Chamcha,
spewing cornflakes, howled angr ily: "Make- - up? Theat rical? _Tr ick?_"
"No offence, " Mishal said anxiously on her sist er ' s behalf. "I t ' s j ust we' ve been t hinking,
know what I mean, and well it ' d j ust be awful if you wer en' t , but you ar e, "course you are, so
t hat ' s all r ight , " she finished hast ily as Chamcha glared at her again. - - "Thing is, " Anahit a
resumed, and t hen, falt ering, " Mean t o say, well, we j ust t hink it ' s great . " - - "You, she means, "
Mishal cor rect ed. " We t hink you' re, you know. " - - "Brilliant , " Anahit a said and dazzled t he
bewildered Chamcha wit h a smile. "Magic. You know. _Ext r eme_. "
"We didn' t sleep all night , " Mishal said. "We' ve got ideas. "
"What we r eckoned, " Anahit a t rembled wit h t he t hrill of it , "as you' ve t urned int o, - - what
you ar e, - - t hen maybe, well, probably, act ually, even if you haven' t t r ied it out , it could be,
you could. . . " And t he older girl f inished t he t hought : " You could' ve developed - - you know - -
_powers_. "
"We t hought , anyway, " Anahit a added, weakly, seeing t he clouds gat her ing on Chamcha' s
br ow. And, backing t owar ds t he door, added: "But we' r e probably wr ong. - - Yeh. We' r e wr ong
all right . Enj oy your meal. " - - Mishal, before she f led, t ook a small bot t le full of green fluid out
of a pocket of her red- andblack- check donkey j acket , put it on t he floor by t he door , and
delivered t he following par t ing shot . "O, excuse me, but Mum says, can you use t his, it ' s
mout hwash, for your breat h. "
o o o
That Mishal and Anahit a should ador e t he disf igur at ion which he loat hed wit h all his hear t
convinced him t hat " his people" wer e as crazily wrong- headed as he' d long suspect ed. That t he
t wo of t hem should respond t o his bit t er ness - - when, on his second at t ic morning, t hey
br ought him a masala dosa inst ead of packet cer eal complet e wit h t oy silver spacemen, and he
cried out , ungr at efully: "Now I ' m supposed t o eat t his filt hy f or eign f ood?" - - wit h expr essions
of sympat hy, made mat t ers even wor se. "Sawful muck, " Mishal agr eed wit h him. "No bangers
in here, wor se luck. " Conscious of having insult ed t heir hospit alit y, he t r ied t o explain t hat he
t hought of himself, nowadays, as, well, Br it ish. . . "What about us?" Anahit a want ed t o know.
"What do you t hink we are?" - - And Mishal confided: "Bangladesh in' t not hing t o me. Just some
place Dad and Mum keep banging on about . " - - And Anahit a, conclusively: "Bungledit ch. " - -
Wit h a sat isfied nod. - - "What I call it , anyhow. "
But t hey wer en' t Brit ish, he want ed t o t ell t hem: not _really_, not in any way he could
recognize. And yet his old cert aint ies were slipping away by t he moment , along wit h his old life.
. . "Where' s t he t elephone?" he demanded. "I ' ve got t o make some calls. "
I t was in t he hall; Anahit a, raiding her savings, lent him t he coins. His head wrapped in a
bor rowed t ur ban, his body concealed in borr owed t r ouser s ( Jumpy"s) and Mishal' s shoes,
Chamcha dialled t he past .
"Chamcha, " said t he voice of Mimi Mamoulian. "You' re dead. "
This happened while he was away: Mimi blacked out and lost her t eet h. " A whit eout is what
it was, " she t old him, speaking mor e har shly t han usual because of difficult y wit h her j aw. " A
reason why? Don' t ask. Who can ask for reason in t hese t imes? What ' s your number ?" she
added as t he pips went . "I ' ll call you r ight back. " But it was a full five minut es before she did. "I
t ook a leak. You have a r eason why you' r e alive? Why t he wat er s part ed for you and t he ot her
guy but closed over t he rest ? Don' t t ell me you were wort hier. People don' t buy t hat nowadays,
not even you, Chamcha. I was walking down Oxf or d St reet looking for cr ocodile shoes when it
happened: out cold in midst ride and I fell for war d like a t r ee, landed on t he point of my chin
and all t he t eet h f ell out on t he sidewalk in f ront of t he man doing findt he- lady. People can be
t hought ful, Chamcha. When I came t o I found my t eet h in a lit t le pile next t o my face. I opened
my eyes and saw t he lit t le bast ards st ar ing at me, wasn' t t hat nice? Fir st t hing I t hought , t hank
God, I ' ve got t he money. I had t hem st it ched back in, pr ivat ely of cour se, gr eat j ob, bet t er
t han before. So I ' ve been t aking a break for a while. The voiceover business is in bad shape, let
me t ell you, what wit h you dying and my t eet h, we j ust have no sense of responsibilit y.
St andar ds have been lower ed, Chamcha. Turn on t he TV, list en t o radio, you should hear
how cor ny t he pizza commer cials, t he beer ads wit h t he Cherman accent s f rom Cent ral Cast ing,
t he Mar t ians eat ing pot at o powder and sounding like t hey came from t he Moon. They fir ed us
from _The Aliens Show_. Get well soon. I ncident ally, you might say t he same for me. "
So he had lost work as well as wife, home, a gr ip on lif e. "I t ' s not j ust t he dent als t hat go
wrong, " Mimi power ed on. "The fucking plosives scare me st upid. I keep t hinking I ' ll spr ay t he
old bones on t he st r eet again. Age, Chamcha: it ' s all humiliat ions. You get born, you get
beat en up and bruised all over and finally you break and t hey shovel you int o an urn. Anyway,
if I never wor k again I ' ll die comfort able. Did you know I ' m wit h Billy Bat t ut a now? That ' s r ight ,
how could you, you' ve been swimming. Yeah, I gave up wait ing for you so I cr adlesnat ched one
of your et hnic co- per sons. You can t ake it as a compliment . Now I got s t o run. Nice t alking t o
t he dead, Chamcha. Next t ime dive from t he low boar d. Toodle oo. "
I am by nat ur e an inward man, he said silent ly int o t he disconnect ed phone. I have
st ruggled, in my fashion, t o find my way t owar ds an appr eciat ion of t he high t hings, t owards a
small measur e of fineness. On good days I felt it was wit hin my grasp, somewhere wit hin me,
somewhere wit hin. But it eluded me. I have become embroiled, in t hings, in t he wor ld and it s
messes, and I cannot resist . The gr ot esque has me, as bef or e t he quot idian had me, in it s
t hr all. The sea gave me up; t he land dr ags me down.
He was sliding down a gr ey slope, t he black wat er lapping at his heart . Why did rebirt h, t he
second chance grant ed t o Gibr eel Far isht a and himself, feel so much, in his case, like a
per pet ual ending? He had been rebor n int o t he knowledge of deat h; and t he inescapabilit y of
change, of t hings- never - t he- same, of noway- back, made him afr aid. When you lose t he past
you' re naked in fr ont of cont empt uous Azr aeel, t he deat h- angel. Hold on if you can, he t old
himself. Cling t o yest erdays. Leave your nail - marks in t he grey slope as you slide.
Billy Bat t ut a: t hat wor t hless piece of shit . Playboy Pakist ani, t ur ned an unremar kable
holiday business - - _Bat t ut a' s Travels_ - - int o a f leet of super t anker s. A con- - man, basically,
famous for his r omances wit h leading ladies of t he Hindi scr een and, accor ding t o gossip, for
his predilect ion for whit e women wit h enor mous breast s and plent y of rump, whom he " t r eat ed
badly", as t he euphemism had it , and "r ewarded handsomely" . What did Mimi want wit h bad
Billy, his sexual inst rument s and his Maser at i Bit ur bo? For boys like Bat t ut a, whit e women - -
never mind fat , Jewish, non- defer ent ial whit e women - - were for fucking and t hr owing over.
What one hat es in whit es - - love of brown sugar - - one must also hat e when it t urns up,
inver t ed, in black. Bigot r y is not only a funct ion of power.
Mimi t elephoned t he next evening f rom New York. Anahit a called him t o t he phone in her
best damnyankee t ones, and he st r uggled int o his disguise. When he got t here she had rung
off , but she r ang back. "Nobody pays t r ansat lant ic pr ices f or hanging on. " "Mimi, " he said, wit h
desper at ion pat ent in his voice, "you didn' t say you wer e leaving. " " You didn' t even t ell me
your damn addr ess, " she r esponded. "So we bot h have secr et s. " He want ed t o say, Mimi, come
home, you' r e going t o get kicked. "I int roduced him t o t he family, " she said, t oo j okily. " You
can imagine. Yassir Araf at meet s t he Begins. Never mind. We' ll all live. " He want ed t o say,
Mimi, you' r e all I ' ve got . He managed, however , only t o piss her off . "I want ed t o warn you
about Billy, " was what he said.
She went icy. "Chamcha, list en up. I ' ll discuss t his wit h you one t ime because behind all
your bulishit you do maybe car e for me a lit t le. So compr ehend, please, t hat I am an int elligent
female. I have r ead _Finnegans Wake_ and am conver sant wit h post moder nist cr it iques of t he
West , e. g. t hat we have her e a societ y capable only of past iche: a ' flat t ened' wor ld. When I
become t he voice of a bot t le of bubble bat h, I am ent ering Flat land knowingly, under st anding
what I ' m doing and why. Viz. , I am earning cash. And as an int elligent woman, able t o do
fift een minut es on St oicism and more on Japanese cinema, I say t o you, Chamcha, t hat I am
fully awar e of Billy boy' s r ep. Don' t t each me about exploit at ion. We had exploit at ion when
youplural wer e running round in skins. Tr y being Jewish, female and ugly somet ime. You' ll beg
t o be black. Excuse my French: brown. "
"You concede, t hen, t hat he' s exploit ing you, " Chamcha int erposed, but t he t or rent swept
him away. "What ' s t he fuckin" diff?" she t r illed in her Tweet ie Pie voice. "Billy' s a f unny boy, a
nat ural scam ar t ist , one of t he gr eat s. Who knows for how long t his is? I ' ll t ell you some
not ions I do not r equir e: pat r iot ism, God and love. Definit ely not want ed on t he voyage. I like
Billy because he knows t he scor e. "
"Mimi, " he said, " somet hing' s happened t o me, " but she was st ill pr ot est ing t oo much and
missed it . He put t he r eceiver down wit hout giving her his addr ess.
She r ang him once mor e, a f ew weeks lat er, and by now t he unspoken pr ecedent s had
been set ; she didn' t ask for , he didn' t give his whereabout s, and it was plain t o t hem bot h t hat
an age had ended, t hey had drif t ed apar t , it was t ime t o wave goodbye. I t was st ill all Billy wit h
Mimi: his plans t o make Hindi movies in England and Amer ica, impor t ing t he t op st ar s, Vinod
Khanna, Sr idevi, t o cavor t in fr ont of Br adford Town Hall and t he Golden Gat e Br idge - - "it ' s
some sort of t ax dodge, obviously, " Mimi car olled gaily. I n fact , t hings were heat ing up f or
Billy; Chamcha had seen his name in t he paper s, coupled wit h t he t er ms _fr aud squad_ and
_t ax evasion_, but once a scam man, always a dit t o, Mimi said. "So he says t o me, do you
want a mink? I say, Billy, don' t buy me t hings, but he says, who' s t alking about buying? Have a
mink. I t ' s business. " They had been in New Yor k again, and Billy had hired a st ret ched
Mer cedes limousine "and a st r et ched chauffeur also" . Ar riving at t he fur riers, t hey looked like
an oil sheikh and his moll. Mimi t r ied on t he f ive figure number s, wait ing for Billy' s lead. At
lengt h he said, You like t hat one? I t ' s nice. Billy, she whispered, it ' s _f or t y t housand_, but he
was alr eady smoot h- t alking t he assist ant : it was Friday aft ernoon, t he banks were closed,
would t he st ore t ake a cheque. " Well, by now t hey know he' s an oil sheikh, so t hey say yes, we
leave wit h t he coat , and he t akes me int o anot her st or e r ight ar ound t he block, point s t o t he
coat , and says, I j ust bought t his f or fort y t housand dollars, here' s t he r eceipt , will you give me
t hir t y for it , I need t he cash, big weekend ahead. " - - Mimi and Billy had been kept wait ing while
t he second st or e r ang t he first , where all t he alar m bells went of f in t he manager ' s brain, and
five minut es lat er t he police ar rived, arr est ed Billy for passing a dud cheque, and he and Mimi
spent t he weekend in j ail. On Monday morning t he banks opened and it t urned out t hat Billy' s
account was in cr edit t o t he t une of fort y- t wo t housand, one hundred and sevent een dollar s, so
t he cheque had been good all t he t ime. He informed t he fur riers of his int ent ion t o sue t hem for
t wo million dollar s damages, defamat ion of charact er , open and shut case, and wit hin fort y-
eight hours t hey set t led out of cour t for $250, 000 on t he nail. " Don' t you love him?" Mimi
asked Chamcha. "The boy' s a genius. I mean, t his was _class_. "
I am a man, Chamcha realized, who does not know t he scor e, living in an amoral,
survivalist , get - - away- - wit h- - it - - wor ld. Mishal and Anahit a Sufyan, who st ill unaccount ably
t r eat ed him like a kind of soul - mat e, in spit e of all his at t empt s t o dissuade t hem, wer e beings
who plainly admir ed such creat ures as moonlight er s, shoplif t er s, flichers: scam ar t ist s in
gener al. He cor rect ed himself: not admired, t hat wasn' t it . Neit her gir l would ever st eal a pin.
But t hey saw such persons as r epresent at ives of t he gest alt , of how- it - was. As an exper iment
he t old t hem t he st ory of Billy Bat t ut a and t he mink coat . Their eyes shone, and at t he end
t hey applauded and giggled wit h delight : wickedness unpunished made t hem laugh. Thus,
Chamcha r ealized, people must once have applauded and giggled at t he deeds of earlier
out laws, Dick Tur pin, Ned Kelly, Phoolan Devi, and of cour se t hat ot her Billy: William Bonney,
also a Kid.
"Scr apheap Yout hs' Criminal I dols, " Mishal read his mind and t hen, laughing at his
disapproval, t ranslat ed it int o yellowpress headlines, while arr anging her long, and, Chamcha
realized, ast onishing body int o similarly exagger at ed cheesecake post ures. Pout ing
out rageously, f ully awar e of having st ir red him, she pr et t ily added: " Kissy kissy?"
Her younger sist er, not t o be out done, at t empt ed t o copy Mishal' s pose, wit h less eff ect ive
result s. Abandoning t he at t empt wit h some annoyance, she spoke sulkily. "Trouble is, we' ve
got good pr ospect s, us. Family business, no br ot hers, bob' s your uncle. This place makes a
packet , dunnit ? Well t hen. " The Shaandaar r ooming- house was cat egor ized as a Bed and
Breakf ast est ablishment , of t he t ype t hat bor ough councils wer e using mor e and more owing t o
t he cr isis in public housing, lodging fiveperson families in single r ooms, t urning blind eyes t o
healt h and saf et y regulat ions, and claiming "t empor ary accommodat ion" allowances fr om t he
cent r al gover nment . "Ten quid per night per person, " Anahit a infor med Chamcha in his at t ic.
"Three hundr ed and fift y nicker per room per week, it comes t o, as oft en as not . Six occupied
rooms: you work it out . Right now, we' re losing t hree hundred pounds a mont h on t his at t ic, so
I hope you feel really bad. " For t hat kind of money, it st r uck Chamcha, you could r ent pr et t y
reasonable f amily- sized apart ment s in t he pr ivat e sect or . But t hat wouldn' t be classified as
t emporar y accommodat ion; no cent r al funding f or such solut ions. Which would also be opposed
by local polit icians commit t ed t o f ight ing t he " cut s". _La lut t e cont inue_; meanwhile, Hind and
her daught ers raked in t he cash, unworldly Suf yan went t o Mecca and came home t o dispense
homely wisdom, kindliness and smiles. And behind six door s t hat opened a crack ever y t ime
Chamcha went t o make a phone call or use t he t oilet , maybe t hir t y t empor ary human beings,
wit h lit t le hope of being declared permanent .
The real world.
"You needn' t look so fish- faced and holy, anyway, " Mishal Suf yan point ed out . "Look where
all your law abiding got you. "
o o o
"Your universe is shr inking. " A busy man, Hal Valance, cr eat or of _The Aliens Show_ and
sole owner of t he pr opert y, t ook exact ly sevent een seconds t o congr at ulat e Chamcha on being
alive bef or e beginning t o explain why t his fact did not aff ect t he show' s decision t o dispense
wit h his services. Valance had st ar t ed out in adver t ising and his vocabulary had never
recovered fr om t he blow. Chamcha could keep up, however. All t hose year s in t he voiceover
business t aught you a lit t le bad language. I n mar ket ing par lance, _a univer se_ was t he t ot al
pot ent ial mar ket for a given product or service: t he chocolat e univer se, t he slimming universe.
The dent al univer se was everybody wit h t eet h; t he ot her s wer e t he dent ur e cosmos. "I ' m
t alking, " Valance br eat hed down t he phone in his best Deep Thr oat voice, "about t he et hnic
universe. "
_My people again_: Chamcha, disguised in t urban and t he rest of his ill- fit t ing dr ag, hung
on a t elephone in a passageway while t he eyes of imper manent women and children gleamed
t hr ough barely opened door s; and wondered what his people had done t o him now. "No
capeesh, " he said, remembering Valance' s fondness for I t alian- - Amer ican ar got - - t his was,
aft er all, t he aut hor of t he fast food slogan _Get t a pizza da act ion_. On t his occasion, however,
Valance wasn' t playing. "Audience surveys show, " he breat hed, "t hat et hnics don' t wat ch et hnic
shows. They don' t want "em, Chamcha. They want fucking _Dynast y_, like everyone else. Your
pr ofile' s wrong, if you f ollow: wit h you in t he show it ' s j ust t oo damn racial. _The Aliens Show_
is t oo big an idea t o be held back by t he racial dimension. The mer chandising possibilit ies
alone, but I don' t have t o t ell you t his. "
Chamcha saw himself r eflect ed in t he small cr acked mir ror above t he phone box. He looked
like a mar ooned genie in search of a magic lamp. " I t ' s a point of view, " he answer ed Valance,
knowing ar gument t o be useless. Wit h Hal, all explanat ions wer e post fact o r at ionalizat ions. He
was st rict ly a seat - - of - - t he- - pant s man, who t ook for his mot t o t he advice given by Deep
Throat t o Bob Woodwar d: _Follow t he money_. He had t he phrase set in large sans- - serif t ype
and pinned up in his of fice over a st ill f rom _All t he Pr esident ' s Men_: Hal Holbr ook
( anot her Hal! ) in t he car par k, st anding in t he shadows. Follow t he money: it explained, as he
was fond of saying, his five wives, all independent ly wealt hy, fr om each of whom he had
received a handsome divor ce set t lement . He was pr esent ly marr ied t o a wast ed child maybe
one- - t hir d his age, wit h waist - - lengt h aubur n hair and a spect ral look t hat would have made
her a gr eat beaut y a quar t er of a cent ur y ear lier . " This one doesn' t have a bean; she' s t aking
me for all I ' ve got and when she' s t aken it she' ll bugger of f, " Valance had t old Chamcha once,
in happier days. "What t he hell. I ' m human, t oo. This t ime it ' s love. " More cradlesnat ching. No
escape fr om it in t hese t imes. Chamcha on t he t elephone found he couldn' t remember t he
infant ' s name. " You know my mot t o, " Valance was saying. " Yes, " Chamcha said neut r ally. " I t ' s
t he r ight line for t he pr oduct . " The product , you bast ard, being you.
By t he t ime he met Hal Valance ( how many year s ago? Five, maybe six) , over lunch at t he
Whit e Tower , t he man was alr eady a monst er : pure, self - - creat ed image, a set of at t ribut es
plast er ed t hickly over a body t hat was, in Hal' s own words, " in t r aining t o be Orson Welles". He
smoked absur d, caricat ur e cigars, refusing all Cuban br ands, however, on account of his
uncompr omisingly capit alist ic st ance. He owned a Union Jack waist coat and insist ed on f lying
t he flag over his agency and also above t he door of his Highgat e home; was pr one t o dr ess up
as Maur ice Chevalier and sing, at maj or pr esent at ions, t o his amazed client s, wit h t he help of
st raw boat er and silver - - headed cane; claimed t o own t he fir st Loir e cht eau t o be fit t ed wit h
t elex and fax machines; and made much of his "int imat e" associat ion wit h t he Pr ime Minist er
he r ef er red t o aff ect ionat ely as "Mr s. Tort ure". The personificat ion of philist ine t r iumphalism,
midat lant ic- - accent ed Hal was one of t he glories of t he age, t he creat ive half of t he cit y' s
hot t est agency, t he Valance & Lang Part nership. Like Billy Bat t ut a he liked big cars dr iven by
big chauffeur s. I t was said t hat once, while being driven at high speed down a Cornish lane in
or der t o "heat up" a par t icularly glacial sevenfoot Finnish model, t here had been an accident :
no inj ur ies, but when t he ot her driver emerged fur iously fr om his wr ecked vehicle he t ur ned
out t o be even lar ger t han Hal' s minder. As t his colossus bor e down on him, Hal lowered his
push- but t on window and br eat hed, wit h a sweet smile: "I st rongly advise you t o t ur n around
and walk swift ly away; because, sir , if you do not do so wit hin t he next fif t een seconds, I am
going t o have you killed. " Ot her advert ising geniuses were f amous for t heir wor k: Mary Wells
for her pink Braniff planes, David Ogilvy f or his eyepat ch, Jerr y della Femina for "From t hose
wonderful f olks who gave you Pear l Harbor" . Valance, whose agency went in for cheap and
cheer ful vulgarit y, all bums and honky- t onk, was renowned in t he business for t his ( probably
apocr yphal) "I ' m going t o have you killed", a t urn of phr ase which pr oved, t o t hose in t he
know, t hat t he guy really was a genius. Chamcha had long suspect ed he' d made up t he st or y,
wit h it s perfect ad- land component s - - Scandinavian icequcen, t wo t hugs, expensive car s,
Valance in t he Blofeld role and 007 nowhere on t he scene - - and put it about himself , knowing
it t o be good f or business.
The lunch was by way of t hanking Chamcha for his par t in a r ecent , smash- hit campaign
for Slimbix diet foods. Saladin had been t he voice of a cut esy car t oon blob: _Hi. I ' m Cal, and
I ' m one sad calor ie_. Four courses and plent y of champagne as a r eward f or persuading people
t o st arve. _How' s a poor calor ie t o ear n a salary? Thanks t o Slimbix, I ' m out of work_.
Chamcha hadn' t known what t o expect fr om Valance. What he got was, at least , unvarnished.
"You' ve done well, " Hal congr at ulat ed him, " for a per son of t he t int ed persuasion. " And
pr oceeded, wit hout t aking his eyes off Chamcha' s f ace: "Let me t ell you some fact s. Wit hin t he
last t hree mont hs, we r e- - shot a peanut - - but t er post er because it resear ched bet t er wit hout
t he black kid in t he background. We r e- recorded a building societ y j ingle because T"Chairman
t hought t he singer sounded black, even t hough he was whit e as a sodding sheet , and even
t hough, t he year before, we' d used a black boy who, luckily f or him, didn' t suffer from an
excess of soul. We wer e t old by a maj or airline t hat we couldn' t use any blacks in t heir ads,
even t hough t hey were act ually employees oi t he airline. A black act or came t o audit ion for me
and he was wear ing a Racial Equalit y but t on badge, a black hand shaking a whit e one. I said
t his: don' t t hink you' r e get t ing special t r eat ment fr om me, chum. You follow me? You follow
what I ' m t elling you?" I t ' s a goddamn audit ion, Saladin r ealized. " I ' ve never felt I belonged
t o a race, " he replied. Which was per haps why, when Hal Valance set up his pr oduct ion
company, Chamcha was on his "A list " ; and why, event ually, Maxim Alien came his way.
When _The Aliens Show_ st ar t ed coming in for st ick f rom black r adicals, t hey gave
Chamcha a nickname. On account of his pr ivat e- school educat ion and closeness t o t he hat ed
Valance, he was known as " Brown Uncle Tom".
Appar ent ly t he polit ical pressure on t he show had increased in Chamcha' s absence,
or chest rat ed by a cer t ain Dr. Uhur u Simba. "Doct or of what , beat s me, " Valance deept hroat cd
down t he phone. "Our ah resear cher s haven' t come up wit h anyt hing yet . " Mass picket s, an
embar rassing appearance on _Right t o Reply_. "The guy' s built like a f ucking t ank. " Chamcha
envisaged t he pair of t hem, Valance and Simba, as one anot her ' s ant it heses. I t seemed t hat
t he pr ot est s had succeeded: Valance was "de- - polit icizing" t he show, by f iring Chamcha and
put t ing a huge blond Teut on wit h pect or als and a quiff inside t he prost het ic make- up and
comput ergener at ed imager y. A lat ex- and- Quant el Schwarzenegger, a synt het ic, hip- t alking
ver sion of Rut ger Hauer in _Blade Runner_. The Jews wer e out , t oo: inst ead of Mimi, t he new
show would have a volupt uous shiksa doll. "I sent wor d t o Dr . Simba: st ick t hat up your
fucking pee ait ch dee. No r eply has been received. He' ll have t o work harder t han t hat if he' s
going t o t ake over _t his_ lit t le count r y. I , " Hal Valance announced, "love t his fucking count ry.
That ' s why I ' m going t o sell it t o t he whole goddamn wor ld, Japan, Amer ica, fucking Ar gent ina.
I ' m going t o sell t he ar se off it . That ' s what I ' ve been selling all my fucking life: t he fucking
nat ion. The _flag_. " He didn' t hear what he was saying. When he got going on t his st uff , he
went puce and oft en wept . He had done j ust t hat at t he Whit e Tower , t hat fir st t ime, while
st uffing himself f ull of Gr eek food. The dat e came back t o Chamcha now: j ust aft er t he
Falklands war . People had a t endency t o swear loyalt y oat hs in t hose days, t o hum " Pomp and
Circumst ance" on t he buses. So when Valance, over a large balloon of Ar magnac, st ar t ed up - -
"I ' ll t ell you why I love t his count r y" - - Chamcha, pro- Falklands himself, t hought he knew what
was coming next . But Valance began t o describe t he r esearch programme of a Br it ish
aer ospace company, a client of his, which had j ust r evolut ionized t he const r uct ion of missile
guidance syst ems by st udying t he flight pat t er n of t he common housef ly. " I nflight cour se
corr ect ions, " he whispered t heat r ically. "Tradit ionally done in t he line of flight : adj ust t he angle
up a bit , down a t ouch, left or right a nadge. Scient ist s st udying high- speed f ilm of t he humble
fly, however, have discover ed t hat t he lit t le buggers always, but always, make cor rect ions _in
right angles_. " He demonst r at ed wit h his hand st ret ched out , palm flat , finger s t oget her. "Bzzt !
Bzzt ! The bast ards act ually f ly ver t ically up, down or sideways. Much mor e accurat e. Much
mor e fuel eff icient . Tr y t o do it wit h an engine t hat depends on nose- t o- t ail air flow, and what
happens? The sodding t hing can' t breat he, st alls, falls out of t he sky, lands on your fucking
allies. Bad karma. You follow. You follow what I ' m saying. So t hese guys, t hey invent an engine
wit h t hr ee- - way air flow: nose t o t ail, plus t op t o bot t om, plus side t o side. And bingo: a missile
t hat f lies like a goddamn fly, and can hit a fift y p coin t r avelling at a gr ound speed of one
hundred miles an hour at a dist ance of t hree miles. What I love about t his count r y is t hat : it s
genius. Gr eat est invent or s in t he world. I t ' s beaut iful: am I right or am I r ight ?" He had been
deadly serious. Chamcha answer ed: " You' re r ight . " "You' r e damn right I ' m r ight , " he conf ir med.
They met for t he last t ime j ust before Chamcha t ook off for Bombay: Sunday lunch at t he
flag- waving Highgat e mansion. Rosewood panelling, a t er r ace wit h st one ur ns, a view down a
wooded hill. Valance complaining about a new development t hat would louse up t he scener y.
Lunch was predict ably j ingoist ic: _r osbif , boudin Yor kshir e, choux de br uxelles_. Baby, t he
nymphet wif e, didn' t j oin t hem, but at e hot past r ami on rye while shoot ing pool in a near by
room. Servant s, a t hunder ous Burgundy, mor e Armagnac, cigar s. The self - - made man' s
par adise, Chamcha r ef lect ed, and recognized t he envy in t he t hought .
Af t er lunch, a surpr ise. Valance led him int o a r oom in which t here st ood t wo clavichor ds of
gr eat delicacy and light ness. "I make "em, " his host confessed. "To r elax. Baby want s me t o
make her a fucking guit ar. " Hal Valance' s t alent as a cabinet - - maker was undeniable, and
somehow at odds wit h t he r est of t he man. "My fat her was in t he t rade, " he admit t ed under
Chamcha' s probing, and Saladin under st ood t hat he had been grant ed a pr ivileged glimpse int o
t he only piece t hat remained of Valance' s or iginal self , t he Har old t hat der ived fr om hist or y and
blood and not fr om his own fr enet ic br ain.
When t hey left t he secr et chamber of t he clavichor ds, t he f amiliar Hal Valance inst ant ly
reappear ed. Leaning on t he balust rade of his t er r ace, he confided: "The t hing t hat ' s so amazing
about her is t he size of what she' s t rying t o do. " Her? Baby? Chamcha was confused. "I ' m
t alking about you- know- who, " Valance explained helpfully. " Tort ure. Maggie t he Bit ch. " Oh.
"She' s r adical all r ight . What she want s - - what she act ually t hinks she can f ucking _achieve_ -
- is lit er ally t o invent a whole goddamn new middle class in t his count r y. Get r id of t he old
woolly incompet ent bugger s f rom f ucking Surr ey and Hampshire, and bring in t he new. People
wit hout backgr ound, wit hout hist or y. Hungry people. People who r eally _want _, and who know
t hat wit h her, t hey can bloody well get . Nobody' s ever t ried t o r eplace a whole fucking _class_
befor e, and t he amazing t hing is she might j ust do it if t hey don' t get her fir st . The old class.
The dead men. You f ollow what I ' m saying. " " I t hink so, " Chamcha lied. " And it ' s not j ust t he
businessmen, " Valance said slurr ily. "The int ellect uals, t oo. Out wit h t he whole faggot y cr ew. I n
wit h t he hungr y guys wit h t he wrong educat ion. New professor s, new paint er s, t he lot . I t ' s a
bloody r evolut ion. Newness coming int o t his count r y t hat ' s st uffed f ull of fucking old _corpses_.
I t ' s going t o be somet hing t o see. I t already is. "
Baby wandered out t o meet t hem, looking bored. " Time you were off, Chamcha, " her
husband commanded. " On Sunday af t er noons we go t o bed and wat ch pornography on video.
I t ' s a whole new wor ld, Saladin. Everybody has t o j oin somet ime. "
No compromises. You' r e in or you' re dead. I t hadn' t been Chamcha' s way; not his, nor t hat
of t he England he had idolized and come t o conquer. He should have under st ood t hen and
t here: he was being given, had been given, fair war ning.
And now t he coup de grace. "No har d feelings, " Valance was mur muring int o his ear. "See
you ar ound, eh? Okay, right . "
"Hal, " he made himself obj ect , "I ' ve got a cont ract . "
Like a goat t o t he slaught er. The voice in his ear was now openly amused. "Don' t be silly, "
it t old him. " Of course you haven' t . Read t he small print . Get a _lawyer _ t o r ead t he small
pr int . Take me t o cour t . Do what you have t o do. I t ' s not hing t o me. Don' t you get it ? You' r e
hist or y. "
Dialling t one.
o o o
Abandoned by one alien England, mar ooned wit hin anot her , Mr . Saladin Chamcha in his
gr eat dej ect ion received news of an old companion who was evident ly enj oying bet t er for t unes.
The shriek of his landlady - - "_Tini bnch achn! _" - - warned him t hat somet hing was up.
Hind was billowing along t he cor ridors of t he Shaandaar B and B, waving, it t urned out , a
curr ent copy of t he impor t ed I ndian fanzine _Cin- Blit z_. Door s opened; t empor ary beings
popped out , looking puzzled and alarmed. Mishal Sufyan emer ged f rom her r oom wit h yards of
midr iff showing bet ween shor t ie t ank- t op and 501s. Fr om t he office he maint ained acr oss t he
hall, Hanif Johnson emer ged in t he incongr uit y of a sharp t hree- - piece suit , was hit by t he
midr iff and covered his face. "Lord have mer cy, " he pr ayed. Mishal ignor ed him and yelled af t er
her mot her: " What ' s up? Who' s alive?"
"Shameless fr om somewher e, " Hind shout ed back along t he passage, "cover your
nakedness. "
"Fuck off , " Mishal mut t er ed under her breat h, f ixing mut inous eyes on Hanif Johnson.
"What about t he michelins st icking out bet ween her sar i and her choli, I want t o know. " Down
at t he ot her end of t he passage, Hind could be seen in t he half - light , t hr ust ing _Cin- Blit z_ at
t he t enant s, r epeat ing, he' s alive. Wit h all t he fervour of t hose Gr eeks who, aft er t he
disappear ance of t he polit ician Lambrakis, covered t he count ry wit h t he whit ewashed let t er
_Z_. _Zi: he lives_.
"Who?" Mishal demanded again.
"_Gibr eel_, " came t he cr y of imper manent childr en. "_Farisht a bnch achn_. " Hind,
disappear ing downst air s, did not obser ve her elder daught er r et urning t o her room, - - leaving
t he door aj ar; - - and being followed, when he was sur e t he coast was clear, by t he well - known
lawyer Hanif Johnson, suit ed and boot ed, who maint ained t his of fice t o keep in t ouch wit h t he
gr ass r oot s, who was also doing well in a smar t upt own pr act ice, who was well connect ed wit h
t he local Labour Par t y and was accused by t he sit t ing M P of scheming t o t ake his place when
reselect ion came around.
When was Mishal Sufyan' s eight eent h birt hday? - - Not for a few weeks yet . And where was
her sist er , her r oommat e, sidekick, shadow, echo and f oil? Wher e was t he pot ent ial chaper one?
She was: out .
But t o cont inue:
The news fr om _Cin- Blit z_ was t hat a new, London- based film pr oduct ion out fit headed by
t he whiz- kid t ycoon Billy Bat t ut a, whose int er est in cinema was well known, had ent er ed int o
an associat ion wit h t he r eput able, independent I ndian producer Mr. S. S. Sisodia f or t he
pur pose of producing a comeback vehicle for t he legendar y Gibreel, now exclusively revealed t o
have escaped t he j aws of deat h for a second t ime. "I t is t r ue I was booked on t he plane under
t he name of Naj muddin, " t he st ar was quot ed as saying. "I know t hat when t he invest igat ing
sleut hs ident if ied t his as my incognit o - - in f act , my r eal name - - it caused gr eat gr ief back
home, and for t his I do sincer ely apologize t o my fans. You see, t he t r ut h is, t hat grace of God
I somehow missed t he flight , and as I had wished in any case t o go t o ground, excuse, please,
no pun int ended, I permit t ed t he f ict ion of my demise t o st and uncorr ect ed and t ook a lat er
flight . Such luck: t r uly, an angel must have been wat ching over me. " Aft er a t ime of r eflect ion,
however, he had concluded t hat it was wr ong t o deprive his public, in t his unsport smanlike and
hur t f ul way, of t he t r ue dat a and also his pr esence on t he screen. "Ther ef or e I have accept ed
t his proj ect wit h full commit ment and j oy. " The film was t o be - - what else - - a t heological, but
of a new t ype. I t would be set in an imaginar y and fabulous cit y made of sand, and would
recount t he st ory of t he encount er bet ween a pr ophet and an archangel; also t he t empt at ion of
t he pr ophet , and his choice of t he pat h of purit y and not t hat of base compr omise. " I t is a film, "
t he pr oducer, Sisodia, informed _Cin - Blit z_, "about how newness ent er s t he world. " - - But
would it not be seen as blasphemous, a cr ime against . . . - - " Cer t ainly not , " Billy Bat t ut a
insist ed. "Fict ion is f ict ion; f act s are fact s. Our purpose is not t o make some f arr ago like t hat
movie _The Message_ in which, whenever Prophet Muhammad ( on whose name be peace! )
was hear d t o speak, you saw only t he head of his camel, moving it s mout h. _That _ - - excuse
me for point ing out - - had no class. We ar e making a high- - t ast e, qualit y pict ure. A moral t ale:
like - - what do you call t hem? - - fables. "
"Like a dream, " Mr . Sisodia said.
When t he news was br ought t o Chamcha' s at t ic lat er t hat day by Anahit a and Mishal
Suf yan, he flew int o t he vilest rage eit her of t hem had ever wit nessed, a fury under whose
fearful influence his voice r ose so high t hat it seemed t o t ear , as if his t hroat had gr own knives
and ripped his cr ies t o shr eds; his pest ilent ial br eat h all but blast ed t hem fr om t he r oom, and
wit h arms raised high and goat - - legs dancing he looked, at last , like t he very devil whose
image he had become. "Liar, " he shr ieked at t he absent Gibr eel. "Tr ait or , deser t er , scum.
Missed t he plane, did you? - - Then whose head, in my own lap, wit h my own hands . . . ? - -
who r eceived car esses, spoke of night mares, and fell at last singing from t he sky?"
"There, t here, " pleaded t err ified Mishal. " Calm down. You' ll have Mum up her e in a
minut e. "
Saladin subsided, a pat het ic goat y heap once again, no t hreat t o anyone. "I t ' s not t r ue, " he
wailed. "What happened, happened t o us bot h. "
"Cour se it did, " Anahit a encouraged him. " Nobody believes t hose movie magazines,
anyway. They' ll say anyt hing, t hem. "
Sist er s backed out of t he r oom, holding t heir breat h, leaving Chamcha t o his misery, failing
t o observe somet hing quit e r emarkable. For which t hey must not be blamed; Chamcha' s ant ics
wer e suff icient t o have dist r act ed t he keenest eyes. I t should also, in f air ness, be st at ed t hat
Saladin f ailed t o not ice t he change himself.
What happened? This: dur ing Chamcha' s br ief but violent out burst against Gibreel, t he
horns on his head ( which, one may as well point out , had grown sever al inches while he
languished in t he at t ic of t he Shaandaar B and B) definit ely, unmist akably, - - by about t hr ee-
quar t er s of an inch, - - _diminished_.
I n t he int er est of t he st r ict est accuracy, one should add t hat , lower down his t r ansformed
body, - - inside bor rowed pant aloons ( delicacy forbids t he publicat ion of explicit det ails) , - -
somet hing else, let us leave it at t hat , got a lit t le smaller, t oo.
Be t hat as it may: it t ranspir ed t hat t he opt imism of t he report in t he impor t ed movie
magazine had been ill f ounded, because wit hin days of it s publicat ion t he local papers car r ied
news of Billy Bat t ut a' s ar rest , in a midt own New Yor k sushi bar, along wit h a female
companion, Mildr ed Mamoulian, described as an act r ess, fort y year s of age. The st ory was t hat
he had appr oached numbers of societ y mat r ons, " mover s and shakers", asking f or "ver y
subst ant ial" sums of money which he had claimed t o need in or der t o buy his fr eedom fr om a
sect of devil wor shipper s. Once a confidence man, always a conf idence man: it was what Mimi
Mamoulian would no doubt have descr ibed as a beaut iful st ing. Penet r at ing t he heart of
Amer ican r eligiosit y, pleading t o be saved - - "when you sell your soul you can' t expect t o buy
back cheap" - - Billy had banked, t he invest igat or s alleged, "six f igur e sums" . The wor ld
communit y of t he fait hful longed, in t he lat e 1980s, for _dir ect cont act wit h t he supernal_, and
Billy, claiming t o have r aised ( and t her ef or e t o need rescuing f rom) infernal f iends, was on t o a
winner, especially as t he Devil he of fered was so democr at ically r esponsive t o t he dict at es of
t he Almight y Dollar. What Billy off er ed t he West Side mat rons in r et ur n for t heir f at cheques
was verificat ion: yes, t her e is a Devil; I ' ve seen him wit h my own eyes - - God, it was fright ful!
- - and if Lucifer exist ed, so must Gabr iel; if Hellfir e had been seen t o bur n, t hen somewhere,
over t he r ainbow, Par adise must surely shine. Mimi Mamoulian had, it was alleged, played a full
par t in t he decept ions, weeping and pleading for all she was wort h. They were undone by
over conf idence, spot t ed at Takesushi ( whooping it up and cr acking j okes wit h t he chef) by a
Mrs. Aileen St r uwelpet er who had, only t he previous af t er noon, handed t he t hen- dist raught and
t er rified couple a five- t housanddollar cheque. Mrs. St r uwelpet er was not wit hout inf luence in
t he New Yor k Police Depar t ment , and t he boys in blue ar r ived bef or e Mimi had finished her
t empura. They bot h went quiet ly. Mimi was wearing, in t he newspaper phot ogr aphs, what
Chamcha guessed was a for t y- t housanddollar mink coat , and an expression on her face t hat
could only be r ead one way.
_The hell wit h you all_.
Not hing furt her was hear d, for some while, about Far isht a' s film.
o o o
_I t was so, it was not _, t hat as Saladin Chamcha' s incar cerat ion in t he body of a devil and
t he at t ic of t he Shaandaar B and B lengt hened int o weeks and mont hs, it became impossible
not t o not ice t hat his condit ion was wor sening st eadily. His hor ns ( not wit hst anding t heir single,
moment ary and unobserved diminut ion) had gr own bot h t hicker and longer , t wir ling
t hemselves int o fancif ul arabesques, wreat hing his head in a t ur ban of dar kening bone. He had
gr own a t hick, long bear d, a disor ient ing development in one whose round, moony f ace had
never boast ed much hair before; indeed, he was gr owing hair ier all over his body, and had
even sprout ed, f rom t he base of his spine, a f ine t ail t hat lengt hened by t he day and had
alr eady obliged him t o abandon t he wearing of t r ouser s; he t ucked t he new limb, inst ead,
inside baggy salwar pant aloons f ilched by Anahit a Suf yan fr om her mot her ' s generously
t ailored collect ion. The dist ress engendered in him by his cont inuing met amorphosis int o some
species of bot t led dj inn will readily be imagined. Even his appet it es were alt ering. Always fussy
about his f ood, he was appalled t o f ind his palat e coarsening, so t hat all f oodst uffs began t o
t ast e much t he same, and on occasion he would find himself nibbling absent ly at his bedsheet s
or old newspaper s, and come t o his senses wit h a st ar t , guilt y and shamef aced at t his f ur t her
evidence of his progress away fr om manhood and t owar ds - - yes - - goat ishness. I ncr easing
quant it ies of green mout hwash wer e r equired t o keep his br eat h wit hin accept able limit s. I t
really was t oo gr ievous t o be bor ne.
His presence in t he house was a cont inual t horn in t he side of Hind, in whom regret f or t he
lost income mingled wit h t he r emnant s of her init ial t er ror, alt hough it ' s t r ue t o say t hat t he
soot hing pr ocesses of habit uat ion had worked t heir sor ceries on her, helping her t o see
Saladin' s condit ion as some kind of Elephant Man illness, a t hing t o f eel disgust ed by but not
necessarily t o fear. "Let him keep out of my way and I ' ll keep out of his, " she t old her
daught er s. "And you, t he children of my despair, why you spend your t ime sit t ing up t here wit h
a sick person while your yout h is flying by, who can say, but in t his Vilayet it seems everyt hing
I used t o know is a lie, such as t he idea t hat young girls should help t heir mot her s, t hink of
marr iage, at t end t o st udies, and not go sit t ing wit h goat s, whose t hroat s, on Big Eid, it is our
old cust om t o slit . "
Her husband r emained solicit ous, however, even aft er t he st r ange incident t hat t ook place
when he ascended t o t he at t ic and suggest ed t o Saladin t hat t he gir ls might not have been so
wrong, t hat perhaps t he, how could one put it , possession of his body could be t erminat ed by
t he int er cession of a mullah? At t he ment ion of a priest Chamcha r ear ed up on his feet , raising
bot h ar ms above his head, and somehow or ot her t he room filled up wit h dense and sulphurous
smoke while a highpit ched vibr at o scr eech wit h a kind of t earing qualit y pierced Suf yan' s
hear ing like a spike. The smoke clear ed quickly enough, because Chamcha flung open a
window and f anned fever ishly at t he fumes, while apologizing t o Suf yan in t ones of acut e
embar rassment : "I r eally can' t say what came over me, - - but at t imes I f ear I am changing
int o somet hing, - - somet hing one must call bad. "
Suf yan, kindly fellow t hat he was, went over t o where Chamcha sat clut ching at his hor ns,
pat t ed him on t he shoulder , and t r ied t o br ing what good cheer he could. " Quest ion of
mut abilit y of t he essence of t he self, " he began, awkwardly, "has long been subj ect of profound
debat e. For example, great Lucret ius t ells us, in _De Rerum Nat ur a_, t his following t hing:
_quodcumque suis mut at umfinibus exit , cont inuo hoc mors est illius quodf uit ant e_. Which
being t ranslat ed, for give my clumsiness, is ' What ever by it s changing goes out of it s f ront ier s, '
- - t hat is, burst s it s banks, - - or , maybe, br eaks out of it s limit at ions, - - so t o speak,
disregar ds it s own r ules, but t hat is t oo fr ee, I am t hinking . . ' t hat t hing' , at any r at e, Lucr et ius
holds, ' by doing so br ings immediat e deat h t o it s old self' . However , " up went t he ex- -
schoolmast er ' s finger , "poet Ovid, in t he _Met amor phoses_, t akes diamet r ically opposed view.
He aver s t hus: ' As yielding wax' - - heat ed, you see, possibly f or t he sealing of document s or
such, - - ' is st amped wit h new designs And changes shape and seems not st ill t he same, Yet is
indeed t he same, even so our souls, ' - - you hear , good sir ? Our spirit s! Our immor t al essences!
- - ' Ar e st ill t he same forever , but adopt I n t heir migrat ions ever - varying for ms. ' "
He was hopping, now, from f oot t o foot , full of t he t hr ill of t he old words. " For me it is
always Ovid over Lucret ius, " he st at ed. "Your soul, my good poor dear sir, is t he same. Only in
it s migrat ion it has adopt ed t his present ly varying f or m. "
"This is pr et t y cold comfort , " Chamcha managed a t r ace of his old dryness. " Eit her I accept
Lucr et ius and conclude t hat some demonic and irr ever sible mut at ion is t aking place in my
inmost dept hs, or I go wit h Ovid and concede t hat ever yt hing now emerging is no mor e t han a
manif est at ion of what was alr eady t her e. "
"I have put my argument badly, " Suf yan miser ably apologized. "I meant only t o reassure. "
"What consolat ion can t here be, " Chamcha answered wit h bit t er r het or ic, his ir ony
crumbling beneat h t he weight of his unhappiness, " for a man whose old friend and rescuer is
also t he night ly lover of his wife, t hus encouraging - - as your old books would doubt less af firm
- - t he gr owt h of cuckold' s hor ns?"
o o o
The old f riend, Jumpy Joshi, was unable for a single moment of his waking hours t o rid
himself of t he knowledge t hat , for t he fir st t ime in as long as he could remember , he had lost
t he will t o lead his life according t o his own st andar ds of mor alit y. At t he sport s cent re where
he t aught mart ial ar t s t echniques t o ever - - great er numbers of st udent s, emphasizing t he
spirit ual aspect s of t he disciplines, much t o t heir amusement ( "Ah so, Grasshopper, " his st ar
pupil Mishal Suf yan would t ease him, "when honolable f ascist swine j ump at you flom dar k
alleyway, off er him t eaching of Buddha bef or e you kick him in honolable balls" ) , - - he began t o
display such _passionat e int ensit y_ t hat his pupils, r ealizing t hat some inner anguish was being
expr essed, grew alar med. When Mishal asked him about it at t he end of a session t hat had lef t
t hem bot h br uised and pant ing f or br eat h, in which t he t wo of t hem, t eacher and st ar , had
hur led t hemselves at one anot her like t he hungr iest of lover s, he t hr ew her quest ion back at
her wit h an uncharact er ist ic lack of openness. " Talk about pot and ket t le, " he said. " Quest ion of
mot e and beam. " They were st anding by t he vending machines. She shr ugged. "Okay, " she
said. " I confess, but keep t he secr et . " He reached for his Coke: "What secr et ?" I nnocent
Jumpy. Mishal whispered in his ear: "I ' m get t ing laid. By your friend: Mist er Hanif Johnson, Bar
At Law. "
He was shocked, which ir rit at ed her . "O, come on. I t ' s not like I ' m _fif t een_. " He replied,
weakly, "I f your mot her ever , " and once again she was impat ient . " I f you want t o know, "
pet ulant ly, "t he one I ' m worr ied about is Anahit a. She want s what ever I ' ve got . And she, by
t he way, r eally is fift een. " Jumpy not iced t hat he' d knocked over his paper - cup and t her e was
Coke on his shoes. "Out wit h it , " Mishal was insist ing. " I owned up. Your t urn. " But Jumpy
couldn' t say; was st ill shaking his head about Hanif. "I t ' d be t he finish of him, " he said. That
did it . Mishal put her nose in t he air. "O, I get it , " she said. "Not good enough f or him, you
reckon. " And over her depart ing shoulder : "Her e, Grasshopper . Don' t holy men ever f uck?"
Not so holy. He wasn' t cut out f or saint hood, any more t han t he David Car radine char act er
in t he old _Kung Fu_ progr ammes: like Grasshopper , like Jumpy. Every day he wore
himself out t r ying t o st ay away f rom t he big house in Not t ing Hill, and ever y evening he ended
up at Pamela' s door, t humb in mout h, bit ing t he skin ar ound t he edges of t he nail, fending off
t he dog and his own guilt , heading wit hout wast ing any t ime for t he bedroom. Where t hey
would fall upon one anot her, mout hs searching out t he places in which t hey had chosen, or
lear ned, t o begin: first his lips around her nipples, t hen hers moving along his lower t humb.
She had come t o love in him t his qualit y of impat ience, because it was followed by a
pat ience such as she had never exper ienced, t he pat ience of a man who had never been
"at t ract ive" and was t her ef or e prepared t o value what was offer ed, or so she had t hought at
first ; but t hen she learned t o appr eciat e his consciousness of and solicit ude for her own int ernal
t ensions, his sense of t he difficult y wit h which her slender , bony, small - br east ed body found,
lear ned and f inally surr ender ed t o a r hyt hm, his knowledge of t ime. She loved in him, t oo, his
over coming of himself ; loved, knowing it t o be a wrong reason, his willingness t o over come his
scr uples so t hat t hey might be t oget her: loved t he desire in him t hat rode over all t hat had
been imper at ive in him. Loved it , wit hout being willing t o see, in t his love, t he beginning of an
end.
Near t he end of t heir lovemaking, she became noisy. "Yow! " she shout ed, all t he
arist ocr acy in her voice crowding int o t he meaningless syllables of her abandonment . "Whoop!
Hi! _Hah_. "
She was st ill dr inking heavily, scot ch bour bon r ye, a st r ipe of redness spreading acr oss t he
cent r e of her face. Under t he influence of alcohol her r ight eye nar rowed t o half t he size of t he
left , and she began, t o his hor ror , t o disgust him. No discussion of her boozing was per mit t ed,
however: t he one t ime he t ried he found himself on t he st reet wit h his shoes clut ched in his
right hand and his over coat over his left ar m. Even aft er t hat he came back: and she opened
t he door and went st r aight upst air s as t hough not hing had happened. Pamela' s t aboos: j okes
about her background, ment ions of whisky- bot t le "dead soldier s", and any suggest ion t hat her
lat e husband, t he act or Saladin Chamcha, was st ill alive, living across t own in a bed and
br eakfast j oint , in t he shape of a super nat ur al beast .
These days, Jumpy - - who had, at fir st , badger ed her incessant ly about Saladin, t elling her
she should go ahead and divor ce him, but t his pret ence of widowhood was int oler able: what
about t he man' s asset s, his r ight s t o a shar e of t he pr oper t y, and so fort h? Sur ely she would
not leave him dest it ut e? - - no longer pr ot est ed about her unreasonable behaviour. "I ' ve got a
conf ir med r eport of his deat h, " she t old him on t he only occasion on which she was pr epar ed t o
say anyt hing at all. "And what have you got ? A billy- goat , a cir cus fr eak, not hing t o do wit h
me. " And t his, t oo, like her dr inking, had begun t o come bet ween t hem. Jumpy' s mar t ial ar t s
sessions incr eased in vehemence as t hese problems loomed larger in his mind.
I ronically, while Pamela refused point - - blank t o f ace t he fact s about her est ranged
husband, she had become embr oiled, t hrough her j ob at t he communit y r elat ions commit t ee, in
an invest igat ion int o allegat ions of t he spr ead of wit chcraf t among t he of ficer s at t he local
police st at ion. Var ious st at ions did fr om t ime t o t ime gain t he r eput at ion of being "out of
cont r ol" - - Not t ing Hill, Kent ish Town, I slingt on - - but wit chcr aft ? Jumpy was scept ical. "The
t r ouble wit h you, " Pamela t old him in her loft iest shoot ingst ick voice, "is t hat you st ill t hink of
normalit y as being nor mal. My God: look at what ' s happening in t his count ry. A few bent
copper s t aking t heir clot hes off and drinking urine out of helmet s isn' t so weird. Call it wor king-
class Fr eemasonry, if you want . I ' ve got black people coming in every day, scared out of t heir
heads, t alking about obeah, chicken ent rails, t he lot . The goddamn bast ar ds are _enj oying_
t his: scar e t he coons wit h t heir own ooga booga and have a few naught y night s int o t he
bar gain. Unlikely? Bloody _wake up_. " Wit chfinding, it seemed, r an in t he family: fr om
Mat t hew Hopkins t o Pamela Lovelace. I n Pamela' s voice, speaking at public meet ings, on local
radio, even on r egional news pr ogr ammes on t elevision, could be heard all t he zeal and
aut hor it y of t he old Wit chflnder - Gener al, and it was only on account of t hat voice of a
t went iet h- cent ury Glor iana t hat her campaign was not laughed inst ant ly int o ext inct ion. _New
Broomst ick Needed t o Sweep Out Wit ches_. There was t alk of an official inquiry. What drove
Jumpy wild, however , was Pamela' s refusal t o connect her ar gument s in t he quest ion of t he
occult policemen t o t he mat t er of her own husband: because, aft er all, t he t ransf or mat ion of
Saladin Chamcha had precisely t o do wit h t he idea t hat nor malit y was no longer composed ( if it
had ever been) of banal, "nor mal" element s. "Not hing t o do wit h it , " she said f lat ly when he
t r ied t o make t he point : imper ious, he t hought , as any hanging j udge.
o o o
Af t er Mishal Suf yan t old him about her illegal sexual r elat ions wit h Hanif Johnson, Jumpy
on his way over t o Pamela Chamcha' s had t o st ifle a number of bigot ed t hought s, such as _his
fat her hadn' t been whit e he' d never have done it _; Hanif, he r aged, t hat immat ur e bast ar d who
pr obably cut not ches in his cock t o keep count of his conquest s, t his Johnson wit h aspir at ions
t o r epr esent his people who couldn' t wait unt il t hey wer e of age befor e he st art ed shaft ing
t hem! . . . couldn' t he see t hat Mishal wit h her omniscient body was j ust a, j ust a, child? - - No
she wasn' t . - - Damn him, t hen, damn him f or ( and her e Jumpy shocked himself) being t he
first .
Jumpy en r out e t o his mist r ess t ried t o convince himself t hat his r esent ment s of Hanif, _his
friend Hanif_, wer e pr imar ily - - how t o put it ? - - _linguist ic_. Hanif was in per fect cont r ol of t he
languages t hat mat t ered: sociological, socialist ic, black- - radical, ant i- - ant i - - ant i - - racist ,
demagogic, or at or ical, sermonic: t he vocabularies of power . _But you bast ard you r ummage in
my dr awers and laugh at my st upid poems. The real language problem: how t o bend it shape
it , how t o let it be our fr eedom, how t o r epossess it s poisoned wells, how t o mast er t he river of
wor ds of t ime of blood: about all t hat you haven' t got a clue_. How hard t hat st ruggle, how
inevit able t he defeat . _Nobody' s going t o elect me t o anyt hing. No power - base, no
const it uency: j ust t he bat t le wit h t he words_. But he, Jumpy, also had t o admit t hat his envy of
Hanif was as much as anyt hing root ed in t he ot her' s gr eat er cont r ol of t he languages of desir e.
Mishal Sufyan was quit e somet hing, an elongat ed, t ubular beaut y, but he wouldn' t have known
how, even if he' d t hought of, he' d never have dar ed. Language is cour age: t he abilit y t o
conceive a t hought , t o speak it , and by doing so t o make it t rue.
When Pamela Chamcha answer ed t he door he found t hat her hair had gone snow- whit e
over night , and t hat her r esponse t o t his inexplicable calamit y had been t o shave her head right
down t o t he scalp and t hen conceal it inside an absur d bur gundy t urban which she refused t o
remove.
"I t j ust happened, " she said. "One must not r ule out t he possibilit y t hat I have been
bewit ched. "
He wasn' t st anding for t hat . "Or t he not ion of a r eact ion, however delayed, t o t he news of
your husband' s alt er ed, but ext ant , st at e. "
She swung t o f ace him, halfway up t he st airs t o t he bedr oom, and point ed dr amat ically
t owar ds t he open sit t ing- room door. "I n t hat case, " she t r iumphed, "why did it also happen t o
t he dog?"
o o o
He might have t old her, t hat night , t hat he want ed t o end it , t hat his conscience no longer
per mit t ed, - - he might have been willing t o face her r age, and t o live wit h t he par adox t hat a
decision could be simult aneously conscient ious and immor al ( because cr uel, unilat eral, selfish) ;
but when he ent ered t he bedr oom she gr abbed his face wit h bot h hands, and wat ching
closely t o see how he t ook t he news she confessed t o having lied about cont racept ive
pr ecaut ions. She was pregnant . I t t urned out she was bet t er at making unilat er al decisions
t han he, and had simply t aken fr om him t he child Saladin Chamcha had been unable t o
pr ovide. "I want ed it , " she cried def iant ly, and at close range. "And now I ' m going t o have it . "
Her selfishness had pr e- empt ed his. He discover ed t hat he f elt r elieved; absolved of t he
responsibilit y for making and act ing upon mor al choices, - - because how could he leave her
now? - - he put such not ions out of his head and allowed her, gent ly but wit h unmist akable
int ent , t o push him backwards on t o t he bed.
o o o
Whet her t he slowly t r ansmogrif ying Saladin Chamcha was t urning int o some sor t of
science- fict ion or hor ror - video mut ey, some r andom mut at ion short ly t o be nat ur ally select ed
out of exist ence, - - or whet her he was evolving int o an avat ar of t he Mast er of Hell, - - or
what ever was t he case, t he fact is ( and it will be as well in t he present mat t er t o pr oceed
caut iously, st epping fr om est ablished f act t o est ablished fact , leaping t o no conclusion unt il our
yellowbr ick lane of t hings- incont rovert ibly- so has led us t o wit hin an inch or t wo of our
dest inat ion) t hat t he t wo daught er s of Haj i Sufyan had t aken him under t heir wing, caring for
t he Beast as only Beaut ies can; and t hat , as t ime passed, he came t o be ext remely fond of t he
pair of t hem himself. For a long while Mishal and Anahit a st ruck him as inseparable, f ist and
shadow, shot and echo, t he younger gir l seeking always t o emulat e her t all, feist y sibling,
pr act ising karat e kicks and Wing Chun forear m smashes in flat t ering imit at ion of Mishal' s
uncompr omising ways. More r ecent ly, however , he had not ed t he growt h of a saddening
host ilit y bet ween t he sist er s. One evening at his at t ic window Mishal was point ing out some of
t he St reet ' s charact er s, - - t her e, a Sikh ancient shocked by a r acial at t ack int o complet e
silence; he had not spoken, it was said, for nigh on seven years, before which he had been one
of t he cit y' s few " black" j ust ices of t he peace . . . now, however , he pronounced no sent ences,
and was accompanied ever ywhere by a crot chet y wife who t r eat ed him wit h dismissive
exasperat ion, _O, ignor e him, he never says a dicky bird_; - - and over t her e, a per fect ly
or dinar y- looking "account ant t ype" ( Mishal' s t erm) on his way home wit h briefcase and box of
sweet meat s; t his one was known in t he St r eet t o have developed t he st range need t o
rearr ange his sit t ing- room furnit ur e for half an hour each evening, placing chairs in r ows
int err upt ed by an aisle and pr et ending t o be t he conduct or of a single- decker bus on it s way t o
Bangladesh, an obsessive f ant asy in which all his family were obliged t o par t icipat e, _and aft er
ha if an hour pr ecisely he snaps out of it , and t he r est of t he t ime he' s t he dullest guy you
could meet _; - - and aft er some moment s of t his, fift eenyear - old Anahit a broke in spit efully:
"What she means is, you' r e not t he only casualt y, r ound her e t he f reaks ar e t wo a penny, you
only have t o look. "
Mishal had developed t he habit of t alking about t he St r eet as if it wer e a myt hological
bat t leground and she, on high at Chamcha' s at t ic window, t he recor ding angel and t he
ext er minat or, t oo. Fr om her Chamcha lear ned t he fables of t he new Kurus and Pandavas, t he
whit e r acist s and black "self - - help" or vigilant e posses st ar ring in t his modern _Mahabhar at a_,
or , more accur at ely, _Mahavila yet _. Up t here, under t he railway br idge, t he Nat ional Front
used t o do bat t le wit h t he fear less r adicals of t he Socialist Worker s Par t y, " ever y Sunday from
closing t ime t o opening t ime, " she sneered, "leaving us lot t o clear up t he wr eckage t he rest of
t he sodding week. " - - Down t hat alley was wher e t he Brickhall Three were done over by t he
police and t hen f it t ed up, ver balled, fr amed; up t hat side- st reet he' d find t he scene of t he
mur der of t he Jamaican, Ulysses E. Lee, and in t hat public house t he st ain on t he carpet
marking wher e Jat inder Singh Meht a breat hed his last . "That cherism has it s effect , " she
declaimed, while Chamcha, who no longer had t he will or t he words t o argue wit h her , t o speak
ofj ust ice and t he rule of law, wat ched Anahit a' s mount ing r age. - - "No pit ched bat t les t hese
days, " Mishal elucidat ed. " The emphasis is on small- - scale ent er prises and t he cult of t he
individual, r ight ? I n ot her words, f ive or six whit e bast ar ds mur der ing us, one individual at
a t ime. " These days t he posses roamed t he noct urnal St r eet , r eady f or aggravat ion. "I t ' s our
t ur f, " said Mishal Sufyan of t hat St r eet wit hout a blade of grass in sight . "Let "em come and get
it if t hey can. "
"Look at her, " Anahit a bur st out . "So ladylike, in"she? So r ef ined. I magine what Mum' d say
if she knew. " - - "I f she knew what , you lit t le grass - - ?" But Anahit a wasn' t t o be cowed: "O,
yes, " she wailed. "O, yes, we know, don' t t hink we don' t . How she goes t o t he bhangra beat
shows on Sunday mornings and changes in t he ladies int o t hose t art y- - fart y clot hes - - who she
wiggles wit h and j iggles wit h at t he Hot Wax dayt ime disco t hat she t hinks I never heard of
befor e - - what went on at t hat bluesdance she crept off t o wit h Mist er You- know- who
Cockybugger - - some big sist er , " she produced her grandst and finish, "she' ll probably wind up
dead of wossname _ignor ance_. " Meaning, as Chamcha and Mishal well knew, - - t hose cinema
commer cials, expr essionist t ombst ones r ising fr om eart h and sea, had lef t t he r esidue of t heir
slogan well implant ed, no doubt of t hat - - _Aids_.
Mishal fell upon her sist er, pulling her hair , - - Anahit a, in pain, was never t heless able t o get
in anot her dig, " Least I didn' t cut my hair int o any weirdo pincushion, must be a f lut t er who
fancies _t hat _, " and t he t wo depart ed, leaving Chamcha t o wonder at Anahit a' s sudden and
absolut e espousal of her mot her ' s et hic of femininit y. _Tr ouble brewing_, he concluded.
Trouble came: soon enough.
o o o
Mor e and more, when he was alone, he felt t he slow heaviness pushing him down, unt il he
fell out of consciousness, r unning down like a wind- up t oy, and in t hose passages of st asis t hat
always ended j ust befor e t he arr ival of visit or s his body would emit alar ming noises, t he
howlings of infer nal wahwah pedals, t he snar e- - dr um cracking of sat anic bones. These were t he
per iods in which, lit t le by lit t le, he gr ew. And as he grew, so t oo did t he r umours of his
pr esence; you can' t keep a devil locked up in t he at t ic and expect t o keep it t o yourself forever.
How t he news got out ( for t he people in t he know remained t ight - lipped, t he Sufyans
because t hey feared loss of business, t he t empor ary beings because t heir feeling of
evanescence had render ed t hem unable, for t he moment , t o act , - - and all par t ies because of
t he fear of t he arr ival of t he police, never exact ly r eluct ant t o ent er such est ablishment s, bump
accident ally int o a lit t le fur nit ure and st ep by chance on a f ew arms legs necks) : he began t o
appear t o t he locals in t heir dreams. The mullahs at t he Jamme Masj id which used t o be t he
Machzikel HaDat h synagogue which had in it s t urn r eplaced t he Huguenot s' Calvinist church; - -
and Dr. Uhur u Simba t he man- mount ain in Af rican pill - box hat and red- yellow- black poncho
who had led t he successf ul pr ot est against _The Aliens Show_ and whom Mishal Sufyan hat ed
mor e t han any ot her black man on account of his t endency t o punch uppit y women in t he
mout h, her self for example, in public, at a meet ing, plent y of wit nesses, but it didn' t st op t he
Doct or , _he' s a crazy bast ar d, t hat one_, she t old Chamcha when she point ed him out fr om t he
at t ic one day, _capable of anyt hing; he could' ve killed me, and all because I t old ever ybody he
wasn' t no Afr ican, I knew him when he was plain Sylvest er Robert s fr om down New Cr oss
way; fucking wit ch doct or , if you ask me_; - - and Mishal herself , and Jumpy, and Hanif; - - and
t he Bus Conduct or, t oo, t hey all dr eamed him, rising up in t he St reet like Apocalypse and
bur ning t he t own like t oast . And in ever y one of t he t housand and one dr eams he, Saladin
Chamcha, gigant ic of limb and hor n- t ur baned of head, was singing, in a voice so diabolically
ghast ly and gut t ur al t hat it proved impossible t o ident ify t he ver ses, even t hough t he dreams
t ur ned out t o have t he t err ifying qualit y of being serial, each one following on fr om t he one t he
night befor e, and so on, night aft er night , unt il even t he Silent Man, t hat former j ust ice of t he
peace who had not spoken since t he night in an I ndian r est aur ant when a young dr unk st uck a
knif e under his nose, t hreat ened t o cut him, and t hen commit t ed t he far more shocking off ence
of spit t ing all over his f ood, - - unt il t his mild gent leman ast ounded his wife by sit t ing
upr ight in his sleep, ducking his neck forwards like a pigeon' s, clapping t he insides of his wr ist s
t oget her beside his right ear, and roar ing out a song at t he t op of his voice, which sounded so
alien and full of st at ic t hat she couldn' t make out a word.
Ver y quickly, because not hing t akes a long t ime any more, t he image of t he dream- devil
st art ed cat ching on, becoming popular , it should be said, only amongst what Hal Valance had
descr ibed as t he _t int ed per suasion_. While non- t int neo- - Geor gians dr eamed of a suiphur ous
enemy crushing t heir perfect ly rest or ed r esidences beneat h his smoking heel, noct ur nal
br owns- and- blacks found t hemselves cheering, in t heir sleep, t his what - - else- - aft er - - all - - but - -
black- - man, maybe a lit t le t wist ed up by fat e class r ace hist ory, all t hat , but get t ing off his
behind, bad and mad, t o kick a lit t le ass.
At first t hese dreams wer e privat e mat t er s, but pr et t y soon t hey st art ed leaking int o t he
waking hour s, as Asian ret ailer s and manuf act urers of but t on- badges sweat shir t s post ers
underst ood t he power of t he dr eam, and t hen all of a sudden he was ever ywhere, on t he chest s
of young gir ls and in t he windows pr ot ect ed against br icks by met al gr illes, he was a defiance
and a war ning. Sympat hy f or t he Devil: a new lease of life for an old t une. The kids in t he
St r eet st art ed wearing r ubber devil- - horns on t heir heads, t he way t hey used t o wear pink- and-
gr een balls j iggling on t he ends of st iff wires a few year s previously, when t hey pr ef er red t o
imit at e spacemen. The symbol of t he Goat man, his fist raised in might , began t o cr op up on
banners at polit ical demonst r at ions, Save t he Six, Fr ee t he Four , Eat t he Heinz Fift ySeven.
_Pleasechu meechu_, t he r adios sang, _hopeyu guessma nayym_. Police communit y relat ions
off icers point ed t o t he "gr owing devil - cult among young blacks and Asians" as a "deplorable
t endency", using t his "Sat anist r evival" t o f ight back against t he allegat ions of Ms Pamela
Chamcha and t he local CR C: "Who are t he wit ches now?" "Chamcha, " Mishal said excit edly,
"you' re a her o. I mean, people can really ident if y wit h you. I t ' s an image whit e societ y has
rej ect ed f or so long t hat we can r eally t ake it , you know, occupy it , inhabit it , reclaim it and
make it our own. I t ' s t ime you considered act ion. "
"Go away, " cr ied Saladin, in his bewilder ment . "This isn' t what I want ed. This is not what I
meant , at all. "
"You' re gr owing out of t he at t ic, anyhow, " rej oined Mishal, miffed. " I t won' t be big enough
for you in not t oo long a while. "
Things were cer t ainly coming t o a head.
o o o
"Anot her old lady get slice las' night , " announced Hanif Johnson, aff ect ing a Tr inidadian
accent in t he way he had. " No mo soshaal securit y f or she. " Anahit a Suf yan, on dut y behind
t he count er of t he Shaandaar Caf , banged cups and plat es. " I don' t know why you do t hat , "
she complained. " Sends me spar e. " Hanif ignor ed her , sat down beside Jumpy, who mut t er ed
absent ly: "What ' r e t hey saying?" - - Appr oaching fat her hood was weighing on Jumpy Joshi, but
Hanif slapped him on t he back. "The ol' poet r y not goin gr eat , br a, " he commiser at ed. "Look
like t hat r iver of blood get coagulat e. " A look fr om Jumpy changed his t une. "They sayin what
t hey say, " he answered. "Look out for colour eds cruisin in cars. Now if she was black, man, it ' d
be ' No grounds fi suspec racial mot ive. ' I t ell you, " he went on, dropping t he accent ,
"somet imes t he level of aggr ession bubbling j ust under t he skin of t his t own get s me r eally
scar ed. I t ' s not j ust t he damn Gr anny Ripper . I t ' s everywher e. You bump int o a guy' s
newspaper in a r ush- hour t r ain and you can get your f ace br oken. Ever ybody' s so goddamn
angr y, seems like t o me. I ncluding, old fr iend, you, " he finished, not icing. Jumpy st ood,
excused himself, and walked out wit hout an explanat ion. Hanif spr ead his ar ms, gave Anahit a
his most winsome smile: "What ' d I do?"
Anahit a smiled back sweet ly. "Dj u ever t hink, Hanif, t hat maybe people don' t like you very
much?"
When it became known t hat t he Gr anny Ripper had st ruck again, suggest ions t hat t he
solut ion t o t he hideous killings of old women by a "human f iend", - - who invar iably ar ranged
his vict ims' int ernal organs neat ly around t heir cor pses, one lung by each ear , and t he hear t ,
for obvious r easons, in t he mout h, - - would most likely be found by invest igat ing t he new
occult ism among t he cit y' s blacks which was giving t he aut hor it ies so much cause for concer n,
- - began t o be hear d wit h growing fr equency. The det ent ion and int er r ogat ion of "t int s"
int ensified accor dingly, as did t he incidence of snap raids on est ablishment s " suspect ed of
har bour ing undergr ound occult ist cells". What was happening, alt hough nobody admit t ed it or
even, at first , under st ood, was t hat ever yone, black brown whit e, had st ar t ed t hinking of t he
dr eam- figur e as _real_, as a being who had cr ossed t he fr ont ier , evading t he nor mal cont rols,
and was now r oaming loose about t he cit y. I llegal migrant , out law king, foul criminal or race- -
hero, Saladin Chamcha was get t ing t o be t rue. St ories r ushed acr oss t he cit y in every direct ion:
a physiot her apist sold a shaggy- - dog t ale t o t he Sundays, was not believed, but _no smoke
wit hout fire_, people said; it was a pr ecar ious st at e of aff airs, and it couldn' t be long before t he
raid on t he Shaandaar Caf t hat would send t he whole t hing higher t han t he sky. Pr iest s
became involved, adding anot her unst able element - - t he linkage bet ween t he t erm _black_
and t he sin _blasphemy_- - t o t he mix. I n his at t ic, slowly, Saladin Chamcha gr ew.
o o o
He chose Lucret ius over Ovid. The inconst ant soul, t he mut abilit y of ever yt hing, das I ch,
ever y last speck. A being going t hrough life can become so ot her t o himself as t o _be anot her_,
discr et e, severed fr om hist or y. He t hought , at t imes, of Zeeny Vakil on t hat ot her planet ,
Bombay, at t he far r im of t he galaxy: Zeeny, eclect icism, hybridit y. The opt imism of t hose
ideas! The cert aint y on which t hey r est ed: of will, of choice! But , Zeeny mine, life j ust happens
t o you: like an accident . No: it happens t o you as a r esult of your condit ion. Not choice, but - -
at best - - pr ocess, and, at wor st , shocking, t ot al change. Newness: he had sought a dif ferent
kind, but t his was what he got .
Bit t erness, t oo, and hat red, all t hese coar se t hings. He would ent er int o his new self; he
would be what he had become: loud, st enchy, hideous, out size, gr ot esque, inhuman, power ful.
He had t he sense of being able t o st r et ch out a lit t le finger and t opple chur ch spires wit h t he
for ce gr owing in him, t he anger, t he anger, t he anger. _Powers_.
He was looking f or someone t o blame. He, t oo, dr eamed; and in his dreams, a shape, a
face, was float ing closer , ghost ly st ill, unclear , but one day soon he would be able t o call it by
it s name.
_I am_, he accept ed, _t hat I am_.
Submission.
o o o
His cocooned life at t he Shaandaar B and B blew apar t t he evening Hanif Johnson came in
shout ing t hat t hey had ar r est ed Uhuru Simba for t he Granny Ripper mur der s, and t he wor d was
t hey wer e going t o lay t he Black Magic t hing on him t oo, he was going t o be t he voodoo- pr iest
bar on- samedi fall guy, and t he r eprisals - - beat ings- - up, at t acks on proper t y, t he usual - - wer e
alr eady beginning. " Lock your door s, " Hanif t old Suf yan and Hind. "There' s a bad night ahead. "
Hanif was st anding slap in t he cent r e of t he caf , conf ident of t he ef fect of t he news he was
br inging, so when Hind came acr oss t o him and hit him in t he f ace wit h all her st rengt h he
was so unpr epar ed for t he blow t hat he act ually faint ed, more f rom sur prise t han pain. He was
revived by Jumpy, who t hrew a glass of wat er at him t he way he had been t aught t o do by t he
movies, but by t hen Hind was hurling his office equipment down int o t he st r eet f rom upst air s;
t ypewr it er r ibbons and red r ibbons, t oo, t he sort used for securing legal document s, made
fest ive st r eamer s in t he air. Anahit a Suf yan, unable any more t o r esist t he demonic pr oddings
of her j ealousy, had t old Hind about Mishal' s relat ions wit h t he up- - and- - coming lawyer-
polit ico, and af t er t hat t here had been no holding Hind, all t he years of her humiliat ion had
come pouring out of her , it wasn' t enough t hat she was st uck in t his count r y full of j ews and
st rangers who lumped her in wit h t he negr oes, it wasn' t enough t hat her husband was a
weakling who perf or med t he Haj but couldn' t be bot her ed wit h godliness in his own home, but
t his had t o happen t o her also; she went at Mishal wit h a kit chen knife and her daught er
responded by "unleashing a painful ser ies of kicks and j abs, self - - defence only, ot her wise it
would have been mat r icide for sur e. - - Hanif r egained consciousness and Haj i Sufyan looked
down on him, moving his hands in small helpless cir cles by his sides, weeping openly, unable t o
find consolat ion in lear ning, because wher eas for most Muslims a j ourney t o Mecca was t he
gr eat blessing, in his case it had t ur ned out t o be t he beginning of a cur se; - - "Go, " he said,
"Hanif, my fr iend, get out , " - - but Hanif wasn' t going wit hout having his say, _I ' ve kept my
mout h shut for t oo long_, he cried, _you people who call your self so mor al while you make
for t unes of f t he misery of your own r ace_, wher eupon it became clear t hat Haj i Sufyan had
never known of t he pr ices being char ged by his wife, who had not t old him, swearing her
daught er s t o secrecy wit h t err ible and binding oat hs, knowing t hat if he discover ed he' d f ind a
way of giving t he money back so t hat t hey could go on r ot t ing in pover t y; - - and he, t he
t winkling f amiliar spirit of t he Shaandaar Caf , aft er t hat lost all love of life. - - And now Mishal
arr ived in t he caf , O t he shame of a family' s inner life being enact ed t hus, like a cheap dr ama,
befor e t he eyes of paying cust omer s, - - alt hough in point of fact t he last t ea- - dr inker was
hur rying f rom t he scene as fast as her old legs would carr y her. Mishal was car rying bags. " I ' m
leaving, t oo, " she announced. "Tr y and st op me. I t ' s only eleven days. "
When Hind saw her elder daught er on t he verge of walking out of her life forever, she
underst ood t he pr ice one pays f or harbouring t he Prince of Darkness under one' s r oof. She
begged her husband t o see reason, t o r ealize t hat his good- hear t ed gener osit y had br ought
t hem int o t his hell, and t hat if only t hat devil, Chamcha, could be r emoved f rom t he premises,
t hen maybe t hey could become once again t he happy and indust rious family of old. As she
finished speaking, however , t he house above her head began t o r umble and shake, and t here
was t he noise of somet hing coming down t he st air s, gr owling and - - or so it seemed - - singing,
in a voice so vilely hoarse t hat it was impossible t o under st and t he words.
I t was Mishal who went up t o meet him in t he end, Mishal wit h Hanif Johnson holding her
hand, while t he t reacherous Anahit a wat ched fr om t he f oot of t he st air s. Chamcha had gr own
t o a height of over eight feet , and fr om his nost r ils t here emerged smoke of t wo dif ferent
colours, yellow fr om t he left , and fr om t he r ight , black. He was no longer wearing clot hes. His
bodily hair had grown t hick and long, his t ail was swishing angr ily, his eyes wer e a pale but
luminous red, and he had succeeded in t er rifying t he ent ir e t emporar y populat ion of t he bed
and br eakfast est ablishment t o t he point of incoher ence. Mishal, however, was not t oo scared
t o t alk. "Wher e do you t hink you' r e going?" she asked him. "You t hink you' d last five minut es
out t her e, looking like you do?" Chamcha paused, looked himself over, observed t he sizeable
er ect ion emerging fr om his loins, and shr ugged. "I am _consider ing act ion_, " he t old her, using
her own phr ase, alt hough in t hat voice of lava and t hunder it didn' t seem t o belong t o her any
mor e. "Ther e is a per son I wish t o f ind. "
"Hold your horses, " Mishal t old him. " We' ll work somet hing out . "
o o o
What is t o be found her e, one mile fr om t he Shaandaar, her e where t he beat meet s t he
st reet , at Club Hot Wax, for mer ly t he Blak- An- Tan? On t his st ar- crossed and moonless night ,
let us follow t he figures - - some st r ut t ing, decked out , hot - t o- t r ot , ot hers sur rept it ious,
shadow- hugging, shy - - converging from all quar t er s of t he neighbour hood t o dive, abr upt ly,
undergr ound, and t hrough t his unmar ked door . What ' s wit hin? Light s, fluids, powders, bodies
shaking t hemselves, singly, in pairs, in t hr ees, moving t owar ds possibilit ies. But what , t hen,
are t hese ot her f igur es, obscure in t he on- - off r ainbow br illiance of t he space, t hese forms
frozen in t heir at t it udes amid t he fr enzied dancer s? What ar e t hese t hat hip- hop and hindi- pop
but never move an inch? - - "You lookin good, Hot Wax posse! " Our host speaks: rant er,
t oast er, deej ay nonpareil - - t he pr ancing Pinkwalla, his suit of light s blushing t o t he beat . - -
Truly, he is except ional, a seven- - foot albino, his hair t he palest r ose, t he whit es of his eyes
likewise, his f eat ur es unmist akably I ndian, t he haught y nose, long t hin lips, a face fr om a
_Hamza- nama_ clot h. An I ndian who has never seen I ndia, East - - I ndia- - man fr om t he West
I ndies, whit e black man. A st ar.
St ill t he mot ionless f igur es dance bet ween t he shimmying of sist ers, t he j ouncing and
bouncing of yout h. What ar e t hey? - - Why, waxwor ks, not hing more. - - Who are t hey? - -
Hist ory. See, here is Mar y Seacole, who did as much in t he Crimea as anot her magic- lamping
Lady, but , being dar k, could scarce be seen f or t he flame of Flor ence' s candle; - - and, over
t here! , one Abdul Kar im, aka The Munshi, whom Queen Vict oria sought t o promot e, but who
was done down by colour - bar r ing minist er s. They' r e all her e, dancing mot ionlessly in hot wax:
t he black clown of Sept imius Severus, t o t he r ight ; t o t he left , George I V' s bar ber dancing wit h
t he slave, Grace Jones. Ukawsaw Gronniosaw, t he Afr ican pr ince who was sold for six feet of
clot h, dances according t o his ancient fashion wit h t he slave' s son I gnat ius Sancho, who
became in 1782 t he f irst African wr it er t o be published in England. - - The migrant s of t he past ,
as much t he living dancers' ancest or s as t heir own flesh and blood, gyr at e st illy while Pinkwalla
rant s t oast s raps up on t he st age, _Now- mi- feel - indignat ion- when- dem- t alk- immigr at ion-
when- dem- make- insinuat ion - we- no- par t - a- de- nat ion- an- mi- make- pr oclamat ion- a- de- t r ue-
sit uat ion- how- we- make- cont r ibut ion- since- de- Rome- Occupat ion_, and f rom a dif ferent part of
t he cr owded room, bat hed in evil gr een light , wax villains cower and gr imace: Mosley, Powell,
Edwar d Long, all t he local avat ars of Legr ee. And now a murmur begins in t he belly of t he Club,
mount ing, becoming a single wor d, chant ed over and over : "Melt down, " t he cust omer s
demand. "Melt down, melt down, melt . "
Pinkwalla t akes his cue f rom t he cr owd, _So- it - melt down- t ime- when- de- men- of- crime-
gonna- get - in- line- for - some- hell- fi r e- fr yin_, af t er which he t urns t o t he cr owd, ar ms wide, feet
wit h t he beat , t o ask, _Who"s- it - gonna- be? Who- you- wanna- see?_ Names are shout ed,
compet e, coalesce, unt il t he assembled company is unit ed once more, chant ing a single wor d.
Pinkwalla claps his hands. Cur t ains part behind him, allowing f emale at t endant s in shiny pink
shor t s and singlet s t o wheel out a fearsome cabinet : man- - sized, glass- - fr ont ed, int er nally- -
illuminat ed - - t he microwave oven, complet e wit h Hot Seat , known t o Club regulars as: Hell' s
Kit chen. "All _r ight _, " cries Pinkwalla. "Now we r eally cookin. "
At t endant s move t owards t he t ableau of hat e- figur es, pounce upon t he night ' s sacr if icial
off er ing, t he one most oft en select ed, if t r ut h be t old; at least t hr ee t imes a week. Her
per mawaved coiff ure, her pear ls, her suit of blue. _Maggie- maggie- maggie_, bays t he crowd.
_Bur n- bur n- bur n_. The doll, - - t he _guy_, - - is st rapped int o t he Hot Seat . Pinkwalla t hrows
t he swit ch. And O how pret t ily she melt s, fr om t he inside out , cr umpling int o for mlessness.
Then she is a puddle, and t he cr owd sighs it s ecst asy: done. "The fir e t his t ime, " Pinkwalla t ells
t hem. Music r egains t he night .
o o o
When Pinkwalla t he deej ay saw what was climbing under cover of dar kness int o t he back of
his panel van, which his fr iends Hanif and Mishal had persuaded him t o bring r ound t he back of
t he Shaandaar, t he f ear of obeah filled his hear t ; but t her e was also t he cont rar y
exhilar at ion of r ealizing t hat t he pot ent hero of his many dreams was a f lesh- and- blood
act ualit y. He st ood across t he st r eet , shiver ing under a lamp- - post t hough it wasn' t par t icularly
cold, and st ayed t here f or half an hour while Mishal and Hanif spoke ur gent ly t o him, _he needs
somewhere t o go, we have t o t hink about his fut ur e_. Then he shrugged, walked over t o t he
van, and st art ed up t he engine. Hanif sat beside him in t he cab; Mishal t r avelled wit h Saladin,
hidden fr om view.
I t was almost four in t he mor ning when t hey bedded Chamcha down in t he empt y, locked-
up night club. Pinkwalla - - his r eal name, Sewsunker, was never used - - had unear t hed a couple
of sleeping- bags fr om a back r oom, and t hey sufficed. Hanif Johnson, saying goodnight t o t he
fearsome ent it y of whom his lover Mishal seemed ent irely unafr aid, t r ied t o t alk t o him
seriously, "You' ve got t o r ealize how import ant you could be for us, t her e' s mor e at st ake her e
t han your per sonal needs, " but mut ant Saladin only snort ed, yellow and black, and Hanif
backed quickly away. When he was alone wit h t he waxworks Chamcha was able t o fix his
t hought s once again on t he f ace t hat had finally coalesced in his mind' s eye, r adiant , t he light
st reaming out around him f rom a point j ust behind his head, Mist er Per fect o, port r ayer of gods,
who always landed on his feet , was always f or given his sins, loved, pr aised, adored . . . t he
face he had been t r ying t o ident if y in his dreams, Mr . Gibreel Farisht a, t ransformed int o t he
simulacr um of an angel as sur ely as he was t he Devil' s mir ror - - self .
Who should t he Devil blame but t he Ar changel, Gibr eel?
The cr eat ure on t he sleeping- - bags opened it s eyes; smoke began t o issue fr om it s pores.
The face on every one of t he waxwor k dummies was t he same now, Gibr eel' s face wit h it s
widow' s peak and it s long t hin sat ur nine good looks. The cr eat ur e bared it s t eet h and let out a
long, f oul br eat h, and t he waxwor ks dissolved int o puddles and empt y clot hes, all of t hem,
ever y one. The cr eat ur e lay back, sat isf ied. And. fixed it s mind upon it s foe.
Wher eupon it felt wit hin it self t he most inexplicable sensat ions of compr ession, suct ion,
wit hdr awal; it was r acked by t er r ible, squeezing pains, and emit t ed pier cing squeals t hat
nobody, not even Mishal who was st aying wit h Hanif in Pinkwalla' s apart ment above t he Club,
dar ed t o invest igat e. The pains mount ed in int ensit y, and t he creat ure t hrashed and t ossed
around t he dancefloor , wailing most pit eously; unt il, at lengt h, gr ant ed r espit e, it fell asleep.
When Mishal, Hanif and Pinkwalla vent ur ed int o t he clubr oom sever al hour s lat er , t hey
obser ved a scene of fright ful devast at ion, t ables sent flying, chair s br oken in half, and, of
cour se, ever y waxwork - - good and evil - - Topsy and Legr ee - - melt ed like t iger s int o but t er;
and at t he cent r e of t he carnage, sleeping like a baby, no myt hological cr eat ur e at all, no iconic
Thing of horns and hellsbr eat h, but Mr . Saladin Chamcha himself , appar ent ly rest ored t o his old
shape, mot her - naked but of ent irely human aspect and propor t ions, _humanized_ - - is t her e
any opt ion but t o conclude? - - by t he fearsome concent rat ion of his hat e.
He opened his eyes; which st ill glowed pale and r ed.
2
Alleluia Cone, coming down f rom Everest , saw a cit y of ice t o t he west of Camp Six, acr oss
t he Rock Band, glit t er ing in t he sunlight below t he massifof Cho Oyu. _Shangr i- La_, she
moment arily t hought ; however , t his was no gr een vale of immor t alit y but a met ropolis of
gigant ic ice- - needles, t hin, shar p and cold. Her at t ent ion was dist r act ed by Sherpa Pemba
warning her t o maint ain her concent r at ion, and t he cit y had gone when she looked back. She
was st ill at t went y- seven t housand feet , but t he appar it ion of t he impossible cit y t hr ew her
back acr oss space and t ime t o t he Bayswat er st udy of old dar k wooden f ur nit ur e and heavy
velvet curt ains in which her fat her Ot t o Cone, t he ar t hist or ian and biogr apher of Picabia,
had spoken t o her in her four t eent h and his final year of "t he most dangerous of all t he lies we
are fed in our lives", which was, in his opinion, t he idea of t he cont inuum. "Anybody ever t r ies
t o t ell you how t his most beaut iful and most evil of planet s is somehow homogeneous,
composed only of r econcilable element s, t hat it all _adds up_, you get on t he phone t o t he
st rait j acket t ailor, " he advised her, managing t o give t he impression of having visit ed more
planet s t han one before coming t o his conclusions. "The world is incompat ible, j ust never forget
it : gaga. Ghost s, Nazis, saint s, all alive at t he same t ime; in one spot , blissful happiness, while
down t he road, t he inferno. You can' t ask for a wilder place. " I ce cit ies on t he r oof of t he wor ld
wouldn' t have fazed Ot t o. Like his wife Alicj a, Allie' s mot her, he was a Polish migr , a sur vivor
of a war t ime prison camp whose name was never ment ioned t hroughout Allie' s childhood. "He
want ed t o make it as if it had not been, " Alicj a t old her daught er lat er . " He was unrealist ic in
many ways. But a good man; t he best I knew. " She smiled an inwar d smile as she spoke,
t oler at ing him in memor y as she had not always managed t o dur ing his life, when he was
frequent ly appalling. For example: he developed a hat r ed of communism which dr ove him t o
embar rassing ext r emes of behaviour, not ably at Christ mas, when t his Jewish man insist ed on
celebr at ing wit h his Jewish family and ot hers what he descr ibed as "an English r it e", as a mar k
of respect t o t heir new "host nat ion" - - and t hen spoiled it all ( in his wife' s eyes) by bur st ing
int o t he salon wher e t he assembled company was relaxing in t he glow of log f ire, Chr ist mas
t r ee light s and br andy, got up in pant omime Chinee, wit h droopy moust aches and all, cr ying:
"Fat her Christ mas is dead! I have killed him! I am The Mao: no pr esent s for anyone! Hee! Hee!
Hee! " Allie on Everest , remember ing, winced - - her mot her' s wince, she r ealized, t ransferr ed t o
her fr ost ed f ace.
The incompat ibilit y of life' s element s: in a t ent at Camp Four, 27, 600 feet , t he idea which
seemed at t imes t o be her f at her ' s daemon sounded banal, empt ied of meaning, of
_at mosphere_, by t he alt it ude. "Ever est silences you, " she confessed t o Gibreel Far - - isht a in a
bed above which par achut e silk for med a canopy of hollow Himalayas. "When you come down,
not hing seems wort h saying, not hing at all. You f ind t he not hingness wr apping you up, like a
sound. Non- being. You can' t keep it up, of cour se. The wor ld rushes in soon enough. What
shut s you up is, I t hink, t he sight you' ve had of per fect ion: why speak if you can' t manage
per fect t hought s, per fect sent ences? I t feels like a bet r ayal of what you' ve been t hrough. But it
fades; you accept t hat cert ain compromises, closur es, are r equired if you' re t o cont inue. " They
spent most of t heir t ime in bed dur ing t heir f irst weeks t oget her: t he appet it e of each f or t he
ot her seemingly inexhaust ible, t hey made love six or seven t imes a day. "You opened me up, "
she t old him. " You wit h t he ham in your mout h. I t was exact ly as if you were speaking t o me,
as if I could r ead your t hought s. Not as if , " she amended. "I did read t hem, r ight ?" He nodded:
it was t r ue. "I read your t hought s and t he r ight wor ds j ust came out of my mout h, " she
marvclled. "Just f lowed out . Bingo: love. I n t he beginning was t he wor d. "
Her mot her t ook a f at alist ic view of t his dr amat ic t urn of event s in Allie' s life, t he ret urn of
a lover fr om beyond t he grave. "I ' ll t ell you what I honest ly t hought when you gave me t he
news, " she said over luncht ime soup and kr eplach at t he Whit echapel Bloom' s. "I t hought , oh
dear , it ' s gr and passion; poor Allie has t o go t hr ough t his now, t he unf or t unat e child. " Alicj a' s
st rat egy was t o keep her emot ions st rict ly under cont r ol. She was a t all, ample woman wit h a
sensual mout h but , as she put it , "I ' ve never been a noise- - maker. " She was fr ank wit h Allie
about her sexual passivit y, and r evealed t hat Ot t o had been, "Let ' s say, ot herwise inclined. He
had a weakness for gr and passion, but it always made him so miser able I could not get worked
up about it . " She had been r eassur ed by her knowledge t hat t he women wit h whom her lit t le,
bald, j umpy husband consort ed were " her t ype", big and buxom, "except t hey were br assy,
t oo: t hey did what he want ed, shout ing t hings out t o spur him on, pret ending for all t hey wer e
wor t h; it was his ent husiasm t hey responded t o, I t hink, and maybe his chequebook, t oo. He
was of t he old school and gave gener ous gift s. "
Ot t o had called Alleluia his " pear l wit hout pr ice", and dreamed for her a gr eat fut ur e, as
maybe a concer t pianist or , failing t hat , a Muse. "Your sist er, fr ankly, is a disappoint ment
t o me, " he said t hree weeks befor e his deat h in t hat st udy of Gr eat Books and Picabian bric- a-
br ac - - a st uff ed monkey which he claimed was a " first draf t " of t he not orious _Port r ait of
Cezanne, Port r ait of Rembrandt , Por t rait of Renoir _, numerous mechanical cont r apt ions
including sexual st imulat ors t hat deliver ed small elect ric shocks, and a fir st edit ion of Jar ry' s
_Ubu Roi_. "Elena has want s where she should have t hought s. " He Anglicized t he name - -
Yelyena int o Ellaynah - - j ust as it had been his idea t o reduce "Alleluia" t o Allie and bowdler ize
himself, Cohen f rom Warsaw, int o Cone. Echoes of t he past dist ressed him; he r ead no Polish
lit erat ur e, t ur ning his back on Herber t , on Milosz, on "younger fellows" like Baranczak, because
for him t he language was ir redeemably pollut ed by hist or y. "I am English now, " he would say
pr oudly in his t hick East Eur opean accent . "Silly mid- off l Pish- Tush! Widow of Windsor ! Bugger
all. " I n spit e of his ret icences he seemed cont ent enough being a pant omime member of t he
English gent r y. I n ret r ospect , t hough, it looked likely t hat he' d been only t oo awar e of t he
fragilit y of t he perf or mance, keeping t he heavy drapes almost per manent ly dr awn in case t he
inconsist ency of t hings caused him t o see monst ers out t here, or moonscapes inst ead of t he
familiar Moscow Road.
"He was st rict ly a melt ing- - pot man, " Alicj a said while at t acking a lar ge helping of t simmis.
"When he changed our name I t old him, Ot t o, it isn' t r equir ed, t his isn' t Amer ica, it ' s London
W- - t wo; but he want ed t o wipe t he slat e clean, even his Jewishness, excuse me but I know.
The fight s wit h t he Boar d of Deput ies! All very civilized, par liament ar y language t hr oughout ,
but bar eknuckle st uff none t he less. " Aft er his deat h she went st r aight back t o Cohen, t he
synagogue, Chanukah and Bloom' s. "No mor e imit at ion of life, " she munched, and waved a
sudden, dist ract ed f or k. "That pict ur e. I was crazy for it . Lana Turner, am I right ? And Mahalia
Jackson singing in a chur ch. "
Ot t o Cone as a man of sevent y- plus j umped int o an empt y lif t - shaft and died. Now t here
was a subj ect which Alicj a, who would r eadily discuss most t aboo mat t er s, r ef used t o t ouch
upon: why does a survivor of t he camps live for t y year s and t hen complet e t he j ob t he
monst ers didn' t get done? Does great evil event ually t r iumph, no mat t er how st r enuously it is
resist ed? Does it leave a sliver of ice in t he blood, wor king it s way t hr ough unt il it hit s t he
hear t ? Or, worse: can a man' s deat h be incompat ible wit h his life? Allie, whose first r esponse
on learning of her f at her' s deat h had been f ur y, flung such quest ions as t hese at her mot her.
Who, st onefaced beneat h a wide black hat , said only: "You have inherit ed his lack of r est r aint ,
my dear. "
Af t er Ot t o' s deat h Alicj a dit ched t he elegant high st yle of dr ess and gest ur e which had been
her of fering on t he alt ar of his lust for int egr at ion, her at t empt t o be his Cecil Beat on gr ande
dame. "Phoo, " she confided in Allie, "what a relief , my dear, t o be shapeless for a change. " She
now wor e her grey hair in a st raggly bun, put on a succession of ident ical f lor al- pr int
super mar ket dresses, abandoned make- up, got herself a painful set of false t eet h, plant ed
veget ables in what Ot t o had insist ed should be an English flor al gar den ( neat flowerbeds
around t he cent ral, symbolic t r ee, a " chimer an graft " of labur num and br oom) and gave,
inst ead of dinner s full of cer ebr al chat , a ser ies of lunches - - heavy st ews and a minimum of
t hr ee out r ageous puddings - - at which dissident Hungar ian poet s t old convolut ed j okes t o
Gurdj ieffian myst ics, or ( if t hings didn' t quit e wor k out ) t he guest s sat on cushions on t he floor ,
st aring gloomily at t heir loaded plat es, and somet hing very like t ot al silence reigned f or what
felt like weeks. Allie event ually t ur ned away f rom t hese Sunday aft ernoon r it uals, sulking in her
room unt il she was old enough t o move out , wit h Alicj a' s ready assent , and from t he pat h
chosen f or her by t he f at her whose bet r ayal of his own act of survival had angered her so
much. She t ur ned t owar ds act ion; and found she had mount ains t o climb.
Alicj a Cohen, who had found Allie' s change of course per fect ly comprehensible, even
laudable, and r oot ed for her all t he way, could not ( she admit t ed over coffee) quit e see her
daught er ' s point in t he mat t er of Gibreel Farisht a, t he r evenant I ndian movie st ar . " To hear you
t alk, dear, t he man' s not in your league, " she said, using a phr ase she believed t o be
synonymous wit h _not your t ype_, and which she would have been horr ified t o hear descr ibed
as a racial, or religious, slur: which was inevit ably t he sense in which her daught er underst ood
it . "That ' s j ust f ine by me, " Allie ripost ed wit h spir it , and r ose. "The f act is, I don' t even like my
league. "
Her feet ached, obliging her t o limp, r at her t han st orm, fr om t he r est aur ant . "Gr and
passion, " she could hear her mot her behind her back announcing loudly t o t he room at lar ge.
"The gift of t ongues; means a girl can babble out any blast ed t hing. "
o o o
Cer t ain aspect s of her educat ion had been unaccount ably neglect ed. One Sunday not long
aft er her f at her ' s deat h she was buying t he Sunday paper s fr om t he cor ner kiosk when t he
vendor announced: " I t ' s t he last week t his week. Twent y- - t hr ee year s I ' ve been on t his cor ner
and t he Pakis have f inally driven me out of business. " She hear d t he wor d _p- a- c- h- y_, and
had a bizarr e vision of elephant s lumber ing down t he Moscow Road, flat t ening Sunday news
vendors. " What ' s a pachy?" she foolishly asked and t he reply was st inging: "A brown Jew. " She
went on t hinking of t he propr iet or s of t he local "C TN" ( conf ect ioner - - t obacconist - - newsagent )
as _pach yderms_ for quit e a while: as people set apar t - - render ed obj ect ionable - - by t he
nat ure of t heir skin. She t old Gibr eel t his st or y, t oo. " Oh, " he responded, cr ushingly, "an
elephant j oke. " He wasn' t an easy man.
But t here he was in her bed, t his big vulgar f ellow for whom she could open as she had
never opened befor e; he could reach right int o her chest and car ess her hear t . Not for many
years had she ent ered t he sexual ar ena wit h such celerit y, and never before had so swif t a
liaison r emained wholly unt aint ed by r egr et or self - - disgust . His ext ended silence ( she t ook it
for t hat unt il she lear ned t hat his name was on t he _Bost an"s_ passenger list ) had been
sharply painf ul, suggest ing a differ ence in his est imat ion of t heir encount er; but t o have been
mist aken about his desire, about such an abandoned, hur t ling t hing, was sur ely impossible?
The news of his deat h accor dingly provoked a double response: on t he one hand, t her e was a
kind of grat eful, r elieved j oy t o be had fr om t he knowledge t hat he had been r acing across t he
wor ld t o surpr ise her, t hat he had given up his ent ire life in order t o const r uct a new one wit h
her; while, on t he ot her, t her e was t he hollow gr ief of being depr ived of him in t he ver y
moment of knowing t hat she t r uly had been loved. Lat er , she became awar e of a f ur t her , less
gener ous, r eact ion. What had he t hought he was doing, planning t o arr ive wit hout a wor d of
warning on her doorst ep, assuming t hat she' d be wait ing wit h open arms, an unencumber ed
lif e, and no doubt a lar ge enough apar t ment f or t hem bot h? I t was t he kind of behaviour one
would expect of a spoiled movie act or who expect s his desires simply t o fall like ripe fr uit s int o
his lap . . . in short , she had felt invaded, or pot ent ially invaded. But t hen she had rebuked
herself , pushing such not ions back down int o t he pit wher e t hey belonged, because aft er all
Gibr eel had paid heavily f or his pr esumpt ion, if presumpt ion it was. A dead lover deser ves t he
benef it of t he doubt .
Then t here he lay at her feet , unconscious in t he snow, t aking her br eat h away wit h t he
impossibilit y of his being t her e at all, leading her moment arily t o wonder if he might not be
anot her in t he series of visual aberr at ions - - she prefer red t he neut ral phr ase t o t he more
loaded _visions_ - - by which she' d been plagued ever since her decision t o scor n oxygen
cylinder s and conquer Chomolungma on lung power alone. The eff or t of r aising him, slinging
his arm around her shoulders and half - car rying him t o her f lat - - mor e t han half , if t he t r ut h be
t old - - fully persuaded her t hat he was no chimera, but heavy flesh and blood. Her feet st ung
her all t he way home, and t he pain r eawakened all t he r esent ment s she' d st ifled when she
t hought him dead. What was she supposed t o do wit h him now, t he lummox, sprawled out
acr oss her bed? God, but she' d forgot t en what a spr awler t he man was, how during t he night
he colonized your side of t he bed and denuded you ent ir ely of bedclot hes. But ot her
sent iment s, t oo, had r e- emerged, and t hese won t he day; for her e he was, sleeping
beneat h her prot ect ion, t he abandoned hope: at long last , love.
He slept almost r ound t he clock for a week, waking up only t o sat isfy t he minimum
requir ement s of hunger and hygiene, saying almost not hing. His sleep was t or ment ed: he
t hr ashed about t he bed, and words occasionally escaped his lips: _Jahilia, Al- Lat , Hind_. I n his
waking moment s he appear ed t o wish t o r esist sleep, but it claimed him, waves of it r olling
over him and drowning him while he, almost pit eously, waved a f eeble arm. She was unable t o
guess what t r aumat ic event s might have given rise t o such behaviour, and, f eeling a lit t le
alarmed, t elephoned her mot her . Alicj a arr ived t o inspect t he sleeping Gibr eel, pur sed her lips,
and pr onounced: "He' s a man possessed. " She had receded more and more int o a kind of
Singer Brot her s dybbuker y, and her myst icism never failed t o exasperat e her pr agmat ic,
mount ain- - climbing daught er. "Use maybe a suct ion pump on his ear, " Alicj a recommended.
"That ' s t he exit t hese cr eat ur es pr ef er . " Allie shepherded her mot her out of t he door . " Thanks a
lot , " she said. "I ' ll let you know. "
On t he sevent h day he came wide awake, eyes popping open like a doll' s, and inst ant ly
reached for her . The crudit y of t he approach made her laugh almost as much as it s
unexpect edness, but once again t her e was t hat f eeling of nat ur alness, of right ness; she
gr inned, "Okay, you asked f or it , " and slipped out of t he baggy, elast icat ed maroon pant aloons
and loose j acket - - she disliked clot hes t hat revealed t he cont our s of her body - - and t hat was
t he beginning of t he sexual mar at hon t hat left t hem bot h sore, happy and exhaust ed when it
finally ground t o a halt .
He t old her : he f ell f rom t he sky and lived. She t ook a deep breat h and believed him,
because of her fat her' s f ait h in t he myr iad and cont radict or y possibilit ies of life, and because,
t oo, of what t he mount ain had t aught her. "Okay, " she said, exhaling. " I ' ll buy it . Just don' t t ell
my mot her , all r ight ?" The universe was a place of wonders, and only habit uat ion, t he
anaest hesia of t he everyday, dulled our sight . She had r ead, a couple of days back, t hat as par t
of t heir nat ur al processes of combust ion, t he st ar s in t he skies cr ushed car bon int o diamonds.
The idea of t he st ar s raining diamonds int o t he void: t hat sounded like a mir acle, t oo. I f t hat
could happen, so could t his. Babies fell out of zilliont hfloor windows and bounced. There was a
scene about t hat in Franois Tr uf faut ' s movie _L"Ar gent du Poche_ . . . She focused her
t hought s. "Somet imes, " she decided t o say, " wonderf ul t hings happen t o me, t oo. "
She t old him t hen what she had never t old any living being: about t he visions on Everest ,
t he angels and t he ice- - cit y. "I t wasn' t only on Ever est , eit her , " she said, and cont inued aft er a
hesit at ion. When she got back t o London, she went for a walk along t he Embankment t o t ry
and get him, as well as t he mount ain, out of her blood. I t was ear ly in t he mor ning and t here
was t he ghost of a mist and t he t hick snow made ever yt hing vague. Then t he iceber gs came.
Ther e were t en of t hem, moving in st at ely single file upr iver. The mist was t hicker ar ound
t hem, so it wasn' t unt il t hey sailed r ight up t o her t hat she under st ood t heir shapes, t he
pr ecisely miniat urized configurat ions of t he t en highest mount ains in t he wor ld, in ascending
or der , wit h her mount ain, _t he_ mount ain br inging up t he rear . She was t rying t o wor k out
how t he iceber gs had managed t o pass under t he bridges across t he river when t he mist
t hickened, and t hen, a f ew inst ant s lat er, dissolved ent ir ely, t aking t he iceber gs wit h it . "But
t hey wer e t her e, " she insist ed t o Gibreel. "Nanga Parbat , Dhaulagir i, Xixabangma Feng. " . He
didn' t argue. "I f you say it , t hen I know it t r uly was so. "
An iceber g is wat er st r iving t o be land; a mount ain, especially a Himalaya, especially
Ever est , is land' s at t empt t o met amor phose int o sky; it is grounded flight , t he ear t h mut at ed - -
near ly - - int o air, and become, in t he t r ue sense, exalt ed. Long befor e she ever encount ered
t he mount ain, Allie was awar e of it s br ooding presence in her soul. Her apart ment was full of
Himalayas. Repr esent at ions of Everest in cor k, in plast ic, in t ile, st one, acr ylics, br ick j ost led for
space; t her e was even one sculpt ed ent ir ely out of ice, a t iny ber g which she kept in t he
freezer and brought out fr om t ime t o t ime t o show off t o f riends. Why so many? _Because_ - -
no ot her possible answer - - _t hey wer e t her e_. "Look, " she said, st r et ching out a hand wit hout
leaving t he bed and picking up, f rom her bedside t able, her newest acquisit ion, a simple
Ever est in weat her ed pine. " A gift fr om t he sher pas of Namche Bazar . " Gibr eel t ook it , t ur ned it
in his hands. Pemba had off er ed it t o her shyly when t hey said goodbye, insist ing it was from
all t he sher pas as a gr oup, alt hough it was evident t hat he' d whit t led it himself. I t was a
det ailed model, complet e wit h t he ice fall and t he Hillary St ep t hat is t he last gr eat obst acle on
t he way t o t he t op, and t he rout e t hey had t aken t o t he summit was scor ed deeply int o t he
wood. When Gibreel t ur ned it upside down he found a message, scrat ched int o t he base in
painst aking English. _To Ali Bibi. We were luck. Not t o t ry again_.
What Allie did not t ell Gibr eel was t hat t he sher pa' s prohibit ion had scared her , convincing
her t hat if she ever set her foot again upon t he goddess- mount ain, she would surely die,
because it is not per mit t ed t o mort als t o look mor e t han once upon t he face of t he divine; but
t he mount ain was diabolic as well as t r anscendent , or , r at her , it s diabolism and it s
t r anscendence were one, so t hat even t he cont emplat ion of Pemba' s ban made her feel a pang
of need so deep t hat it made her groan aloud, as if in sexual ecst asy or despair . " The
Himalayas, " she t old Gibreel so as not t o say what was really on her mind, " are emot ional
peaks as well as physical ones: like opera. That ' s what makes t hem so awesome. Not hing but
t he giddiest height s. A hard t r ick t o pull off , t hough. " Allie had a way of swit ching fr om t he
concret e t o t he abst r act , a t r ope so casually achieved as t o leave t he list ener half - - wondering
if she knew t he differ ence bet ween t he t wo; or , ver y oft en, unsur e as t o whet her, finally, such
a difference could be said t o exist .
Allie kept t o her self t he knowledge t hat she must placat e t he mount ain or die, t hat in spit e
of t he f lat feet which made any ser ious mount aineering out of t he quest ion she was st ill
infect ed by Ever est , and t hat in her hear t of hear t s she kept hidden an impossible scheme, t he
fat al vision of Maur ice Wilson, never achieved t o t his day. That is: t he solo ascent .
What she did not confess: t hat she had seen Maurice Wilson since her ret ur n t o London,
sit t ing among t he chimneypot s, a beckoning goblin in plus- four s and t am- o" - shant er hat . - -
Nor did Gibreel Farisht a t ell her about his pursuit by t he spect r e of Rekha Merchant . Ther e were
st ill closed door s bet ween t hem for all t heir physical int imacy: each kept secr et a danger ous
ghost . - - And Gibr eel, on hearing of Allie' s ot her visions, concealed a gr eat agit at ion behind his
neut r al wor ds - - _if you say it , t hen I know_ - - an agit at ion born of t his f urt her evidence t hat
t he world of dreams was leaking int o t hat of t he waking hours, t hat t he seals dividing t he t wo
wer e breaking, and t hat at any moment t he t wo fir mament s could be j oined, - - t hat is t o say,
t he end of all t hings was near . One mor ning Allie, awaking fr om spent and dreamless sleep,
found him immersed in her long- unopened copy of Blake' s _Marr iage of Heaven and Hell_, in
which her younger self, disr espect ful of books, had made a number of mar ks: underlinings,
t icks in t he mar gins, exclamat ions, mult iple queries. Seeing t hat she had awoken, he read out
a select ion of t hese passages wit h a wicked gr in. "Fr om t he Proverbs of Hell, " he began. "_The
lust of t he goat is t he bount y of God_. " She blushed fur iously. " And what is more, " he
cont inued, "_The ancient t r adit ion t hat t he wor ld will be consumed in fir e at t he end of six
t housand years is t rue, as I have heard fr om Hell_. Then, lower down t he page: _This will
come t o pass by an impr ovement of sensual enj oyment _. Tell me, who is t his? I found her
pr essed in t he pages. " He handed her a dead woman' s phot ograph: her sist er , Elena, bur ied
here and f or got t en. Anot her addict of visions; and a casualt y of t he habit . "We don' t t alk about
her much. " She was kneeling unclot hed on t he bed, her pale hair hiding her face. "Put her back
wher e you found her. "
_I saw no God, nor heard any, in a finit e organical per cept ion; but my senses discover ' d
t he infinit e in every t hing_. He r iffled on t hr ough t he book, and replaced Elena Cone next t o t he
image of t he Regenerat ed Man, sit t ing naked and splay- legged on a hill wit h t he sun shining
out of his r ear end. _I have always f ound t hat Angels have t he vanit y t o speak of
t hemselves as t he only wise_. Allie put her hands up and cover ed her face. Gibreel t r ied t o
cheer her up. " You have writ t en in t he flyleaf : ' Cr eat ion of world acc. Ar ch- - bish. Usher , 4004
BC. Est im' d dat e of apocalypse, . . . , 1996. ' So t ime for improvement of sensual enj oyment st ill
remains. " She shook her head: st op. He st opped. "Tell me, " he said, put t ing away t he book.
o o o
Elena at t went y had t aken London by st orm. Her feral six- foot body winking t hrough a
golden chain- mail Rabanne. She had always car ried her self wit h uncanny assur ance,
pr oclaiming her owner ship of t he ear t h. The cit y was her medium, she could swim in it like a
fish. She was dead at t went y- one, dr owned in a bat ht ub of cold wat er, her body f ull of
psychot ropic dr ugs. Can one dr own in one' s element , Allie had wonder ed long ago. I f fish can
dr own in wat er, can human beings suff ocat e in air ? I n t hose days Allie, eight een- - ninet een, had
envied Elena her cert aint ies. What was her element ? I n what per iodic t able of t he spir it could it
be f ound? - - Now, flat - foot ed, Himalayan vet eran, she mour ned it s loss. When you have ear ned
t he high horizon it isn' t easy t o go back int o your box, int o a narr ow island, an et ernit y of
ant iclimax. But her feet wer e t rait ors and t he mount ain would kill.
Myt hological Elena, t he cover gir l, wr apped in cout ur e plast ics, had been sur e of her
immor t alit y. Allie, visit ing her in her World' s End cr ashpad, refused a pr offered sugar - lump,
mumbled somet hing about brain damage, feeling inadequat e, as usual in Elena' s company. Her
sist er' s f ace, t he eyes t oo wide apart , t he chin t oo sharp, t he ef fect overwhelming, st ar ed
mockingly back. " No short age of br ain cells, " Elena said. "You can spar e a few. " The spare
capacit y of t he br ain was Elena' s capit al. She spent her cells like money, sear ching for her own
height s; t rying, in t he idiom of t he day, t o f ly. Deat h, like lif e, came t o her coat ed in sugar .
She had t r ied t o "impr ove" t he younger Alleluia. "Hey, you' r e a gr eat looking kid, why hide
it in t hose dungar ees? I mean, God, darling, you' ve got all t he equipment in t here. " One night
she dressed Allie up, in an olive- gr een it em composed of fr ills and absences t hat barely covered
her body- st ockinged gr oin: _sugaring me like candy_, was Allie' s pur it anical t hought , _my own
sist er put t ing me on display in t he shop- window, t hanks a lot _. They went t o a gaming club full
of ecst at ic lor dlings, and Allie had left fast when Elena' s at t ent ion was elsewher e. A week lat er,
ashamed of her self f or being such a coward, for rej ect ing her sist er' s at t empt at int imacy, she
sat on a beanbag at World' s End and confessed t o Elena t hat she was no longer a vir gin.
Wher eupon her elder sist er slapped her in t he mout h and called her ancient names: t r amp,
slut , t art . "Elena Cone never allows a man t o lay a _finger _, " she yelled, revealing her abilit y t o
t hink of herself as a t hird per son, "not a goddamn finger nail. I know what I ' m wor t h, darling, I
know how t he myst er y dies t he moment t hey put t heir willies in, I should have known you' d
t ur n out t o be a whore. Some fucking communist , I suppose, " she wound down. She had
inherit ed her fat her' s pr ej udices in such mat t er s. Allie, as Elena knew, had not .
They hadn' t met much aft er t hat , Elena r emaining unt il her deat h t he virgin queen of t he
cit y - - t he post - mor t em conf irmed her as _vir go int act a_ - - while Allie gave up wear ing
underwear , t ook odd j obs on small, angry magazines, and because her sist er was unt ouchable
she became t he ot her t hing, ever y sexual act a slap in her sibling' s glowering, whit elipped f ace.
Three abor t ions in t wo years and t he belat ed knowledge t hat her days on t he cont racept ive pill
had put her, as far as cancer was concerned, in one of t he highest - risk cat egories of all.
She heard about her sist er ' s end fr om a newsst and billboar d, MODEL"S "ACI D BATH"
DEATH. You' r e not even safe f rom puns when you die, was her f ir st react ion. Then she found
she was unable t o weep.
"I kept seeing her in magazines for mont hs, " she t old Gibr eel. " On account of t he glossies'
long lead t imes. " Elena' s corpse danced acr oss Mor occan deser t s, clad only in diaphanous veils;
or it was sight ed in t he Sea of Shadows on t he moon, naked except f or spaceman' s helmet
and half a dozen silk t ies knot t ed ar ound br east s and gr oin. Allie t ook t o drawing moust aches
on t he pict ur es, t o t he out r age of newsagent s; she ripped her lat e sist er out of t he j our nals of
her zombie- like undeat h and cr umpled her up. Haunt ed by Elena' s periodical ghost , Allie
reflect ed on t he danger s of at t empt ing t o _f ly_; what f laming f alls, what macabr e hells were
reserved for such I carus t ypes! She came t o t hink of Elena as a soul in t orment , t o believe t hat
t his capt ivit y in an immobile world of gir lie calendar s in which she wore black br east s of
moulded plast ic, t hr ee sizes larger t han her own; of pseudo- - er ot ic snar ls; of adver t ising
messages pr int ed across her navel, was no less t han Elena' s per sonal hell. Allie began t o see
t he scream in her sist er ' s eyes, t he anguish of being t r apped for ever in t hose fashion spr eads.
Elena was being t ort ured by demons, consumed in fires, and she couldn' t even move. . . aft er a
t ime Allie had t o avoid t he shops in which her sist er could be found st aring f rom t he racks. She
lost t he abilit y t o open magazines, and hid all t he pict ures of Elena she owned. "Goodbye, Yel, "
she t old her sist er' s memory, using her old nurser y name. "I ' ve got t o look away fr om you. "
"But I t urned out t o be like her , aft er all. " Mount ains had begun t o sing t o her ; wher eupon
she, t oo, had risked brain cells in search of exalt at ion. Eminent physicians exper t in t he
pr oblems facing mount aineer s had fr equent ly proved, beyond reasonable doubt , t hat human
beings could not survive wit hout br eat hing apparat us much above eight t housand met r es. The
eyes would haemorr hage beyond hope of r epair , and t he br ain, t oo, would st ar t t o explode,
losing cells by t he billion, t oo many and t oo f ast , result ing in t he permanent damage known as
High Alt it ude Det er ior at ion, followed in quick t ime by deat h. Blind corpses would remain
pr eserved in t he permaf rost of t hose highest slopes. But Allie and Sher pa Pemba went up and
came down t o t ell t he t alc. Cells fr om t he br ain' s deposit boxes r eplaced t he cur rent - - account
casualt ies. Nor did her eyes blow out . Why had t he scient ist s been wr ong? "Pr ej udice, most ly, "
Allie said, lying cur led around Gibreel beneat h parachut e silk. " They can' t quant ify t he will, so
t hey leave it out of t heir calculat ions. But it ' s will t hat get s you up Ever est , will and anger, and
it can bend any law of nat ur e you car e t o ment ion, at least in t he shor t t er m, gr avit y not
excluded. I f you don' t push your luck, anyway. "
Ther e had been some damage. She had been suffering unaccount able lapses of memory:
small, unpredict able t hings. Once at t he fishmonger ' s she had forgot t en t he wor d _f ish_.
Anot her morning she found herself in her bat hroom picking up a t oot hbr ush blankly, quit e
unable t o wor k out it s pur pose. And one morning, waking up beside t he sleeping Gibreel, she
had been on t he verge of shaking him awake t o demand, " Who t he hell are you? How did you
get in my bed?" - - when, j ust in t ime, t he memory ret urned. "I ' m hoping it ' s t empor ary, " she
t old him. But kept t o herself, even now, t he appear ances of Maur ice Wilson' s ghost on t he
roof t ops surr ounding t he Fields, waving his invit ing ar m.
o o o
She was a compet ent woman, formidable in many ways: very much t he professional
spor t swoman of t he 1980s, a client of t he giant MacMur ray public r elat ions agency, sponsored
t o t he gills. Nowadays she, t oo, appear ed in advert isement s, pr omot ing her own r ange of
out door product s and leisur ewear , aimed at holidaymakers and amat eurs more t han pro
climber s, t o maximize what Hal Valance would have called t he universe. She was t he golden
gir l fr om t he r oof of t he wor ld, t he survivor of "my Teut onic t wosome" , as Ot t o Cone had been
fond of calling his daught ers. _Once again, Yel, I f ollow in your f oot st eps_. To be an at t ract ive
woman in a sport dominat ed by, well, hair y men was t o be saleable, and t he "icequeen" image
didn' t hur t eit her . Ther e was money in it , and now t hat she was old enough t o compromise her
old, fier y ideals wit h no mor e t han a shrug and a laugh, she was ready t o make it , r eady, even,
t o appear on TV t alk- shows t o fend of f, wit h risque hint s, t he inevit able and unchanging
quest ions about lif e wit h t he boys at t went y- odd t housand feet . Such highpr ofile caper s sat
uneasily alongside t he view of her self t o which she st ill fiercely clung: t he idea t hat she was a
nat ural solit ar y, t he most privat e of women, and t hat t he demands of her business lif e were
ripping her in half. She had her f irst fight wit h Gibr eel over t his, because he said, in his
unvar nished way: " I guess it ' s okay t o run fr om t he cameras as long as you know t hey' r e
chasing aft er you. But suppose t hey st op? My guess is you' d t ur n and run t he ot her way. "
Lat er , when t hey' d made up, she t eased him wit h her gr owing st ar dom ( since she became t he
first sexually at t r act ive blonde t o conquer Everest , t he noise had increased consider ably, she
received phot ogr aphs of gor geous hunks in t he mail, also invit at ions t o high lif e soirees and a
quant it y of insane abuse) : "I could be in movies myself now t hat you' ve r et ir ed. Who knows?
Maybe I will. " To which he r esponded, shocking her by t he for ce of his wor ds, "Over my
goddamn dead body. "
I n spit e of her pr agmat ic willingness t o ent er t he pollut ed wat ers of t he real and swim in
t he gener al direct ion of t he curr ent , she never lost t he sense t hat some awful disast er was
lur king j ust around t he cor ner - - a legacy, t his, of her fat her' s and sist er' s sudden deat hs. This
hair s- on- neck prickliness had made her a caut ious climber , a " real percent age man", as t he
lads would have it , and as admir ed f riends died on various mount ains her caut ion increased.
Away f rom mount aineer ing, it gave her, at t imes, an unr elaxed look, a j umpiness; she acquired
t he heavily defended air of a fort ress pr epar ing for an inevit able assault . This added t o her
reput at ion as a fr ost y berg of a woman; people kept t heir dist ance, and, t o hear her t ell it , she
accept ed loneliness as t he pr ice of solit ude. - - But t her e wer e more cont radict ions here, for she
had, aft er all, only recent ly t hrown caut ion over boar d when she chose t o make t he final assault
on Everest wit hout oxygen. "Aside f rom all t he ot her implicat ions, " t he agency assured her in
it s formal let t er of congr at ulat ions, "t his humanizes you, it shows you' ve got t hat what - - t he- -
hell st r eak, and t hat ' s a posit ive new dimension. " They wer e working on it . I n t he meant ime,
Allie t hought , smiling at Gibreel in t ired encour agement as he slipped down t owards her lower
dept hs, Ther e' s now you. Almost a t ot al st r anger and her e you' ve gone and moved r ight in.
God, I even carr ied you acr oss t he t hreshold, near as makes no dif ference. Can' t blame you for
accept ing t he lift .
He wasn' t houset r ained. Used t o servant s, he lef t clot hes, crumbs, used t ea- bags where
t hey f ell. Worse: he _dr opped_ t hem, act ually let t hem fall where t hey would need picking up;
per fect ly, richly unconscious of what he was doing, he went on proving t o himself t hat he, t he
poor boy from t he st r eet s, no longer needed t o t idy up aft er himself . I t wasn' t t he only t hing
about him t hat drove her crazy. She' d pour glasses of wine; he' d dr ink his f ast and t hen, when
she wasn' t looking, gr ab her s, placat ing her wit h an angelic- - faced, ult r a- - innocent " Plent y
mor e, isn' t it ?" His bad behaviour around t he house. He liked t o far t . He complained - - act ually
complained, af t er she' d lit erally scooped him out of t he snow! - - about t he smallness of t he
accommodat ions. "Every t ime I t ake t wo st eps my face hit s a wall. " He was r ude t o t elephone
caller s, _r eally_ rude, wit hout bot her ing t o f ind out who t hey wer e: aut omat ically, t he way film
st ars wer e in Bombay when, by some chance, t her e wasn' t a flunkey available t o pr ot ect t hem
from such int r usions. Af t er Alicj a had weat her ed one such volley of obscene abuse, she said
( when her daught er finally got on t he end of t he phone) : "Excuse me for ment ioning, dar ling,
but your boyfriend is in my opinion a case. "
"A case, mot her ?" This dr ew out Alicj a' s gr andest voice. She was st ill capable of grandeur ,
had a gift for it , in spit e of her post Ot t o decision t o disguise herself as a bag- lady. " A case, " she
announced, t aking int o considerat ion t he f act t hat Gibr eel was an I ndian import , "of cashew
and monkey nut s. "
Allie didn' t ar gue wit h her mot her , being by no means cert ain t hat she could cont inue t o
live wit h Gibr eel, even if he had crossed t he eart h, even if he had f allen f rom t he sky. The long
t er m was hard t o pr edict ; even t he medium t er m looked cloudy. For t he moment , she
concent rat ed on t rying t o get t o know t his man who had j ust assumed, r ight off, t hat he was
t he gr eat love of her lif e, wit h a lack of doubt t hat meant he was eit her right or off his head.
Ther e were plent y of difficult moment s. She didn' t know what he knew, what she could t ake for
gr ant ed: she t r ied, once, r ef er ring t o Nabokov' s doomed chess- player Luzhin, who came t o f eel
t hat in life as in chess t her e were cer t ain combinat ions t hat would inevit ably ar ise t o defeat
him, as a way of explaining by analogy her own ( in fact somewhat dif ferent ) sense of
impending cat ast r ophe ( which had t o do not wit h r ecurr ing pat t erns but wit h t he inescapabilit y
of t he unforeseeable) , but he fixed her wit h a hur t st are t hat t old her he' d never hear d of t he
writ er, let alone The Defence. Conversely, he surpr ised her by asking, oUt of t he blue, "Why
Picabia?" Adding t hat it was peculiar , was it not , for Ot t o Cohen, a vet er an of t he t er ror camps,
t o go in for all t hat neo- Fascist ic love of machinery, br ut e power, dehumanizat ion glor ified.
"Anybody who' s spent any t ime wit h machines at all, " he added, "and baby, t hat ' s us all, knows
first and foremost t her e' s only one t hing cer t ain about t hem, comput er or bicycle. They go
wrong. " Wher e did you find out about , she began, and falt ered because she didn' t like t he
pat r onizing not e she was st r iking, but he answered wit hout vanit y. The f ir st t ime he' d heard
about Mar inet t i, he said, he' d got t he wr ong end of t he st ick and t hought Fut urism was
somet hing t o do wit h puppet s. " Marionet t es, kat hput li, at t hat t ime I was keen t o use advanced
puppet ry t echniques in a pict ur e, maybe t o depict demons or ot her supernor mal beings. So I
got a book. " _I got a book_: Gibr eel t he aut odidact made it sound like an inj ect ion. To a girl
from a house t hat rever ed books - - her fat her had made t hem all kiss any volume t hat f ell by
chance t o t he floor - - and who had react ed by t reat ing t hem badly, ripping out pages she
want ed or didn' t like, scribbling and scrat ching at t hem t o show t hem who was boss, Gibr eel' s
for m of ir rever ence, non- abusive, t aking books f or what t hey offer ed wit hout feeling t he need
t o genuf lect or dest r oy, was somet hing new; and, she accept ed, pleasing. She learned fr om
him. He, however, seemed imper vious t o any wisdom she might wish t o impart , about , for
example, t he cor rect place in which t o dispose of dir t y socks. When she at t empt ed t o suggest
he "did his shar e" , he went int o a pr of ound, inj ur ed sulk, expect ing t o be caj oled back int o a
good humour. Which, t o her disgust , she found herself willing, for t he moment at any rat e, t o
do.
The wor st t hing about him, she t ent at ively concluded, was his genius for t hinking himself
slight ed, belit t led, under at t ack. I t became almost impossible t o ment ion anyt hing t o him, no
mat t er how reasonable, no mat t er how gent ly put . " Go, go, eat air , " he' d shout , and ret ire int o
t he t ent of his wounded pr ide. - - And t he most seduct ive t hing about him was t he way he knew
inst inct ively what she want ed, how when he chose he could become t he agent of her secret
hear t . As a r esult , t heir sex was lit erally elect r ic. That fir st t iny spark, on t he occasion of t heir
inaugural kiss, wasn' t any one- off . I t went on happening, and somet imes while t hey made love
she was convinced she could hear t he crackle of elect ricit y all ar ound t hem; she felt , at t imes,
her hair st anding on end. "I t r eminds me of t he elect r ic dildo in my f at her' s st udy, " she t old
Gibr eel, and t hey laughed. "Am I t he love of your life?" she asked quickly, and he answer ed,
j ust as quickly: "Of cour se. "
She admit t ed t o him ear ly on t hat t he r umours about her unat t ainabilit y, even fr igidit y, had
some basis in fact . "Aft er Yel died, I t ook on t hat side of her as well. " She hadn' t needed, any
mor e, t o hur l lover s int o her sist er' s face. " Plus I r eally wasn' t enj oying it any mor e. I t was
most ly r evolut ionary socialist s at t he t ime, making do wit h me while t hey dreamed about t he
heroic women t hey' d seen on t heir t hr ee- week t rips t o Cuba. Never t ouched t hem, of course;
t he combat f at igues and ideological pur it y scar ed t hem silly. They came home humming
' Guant anamer a' and rang me up. " She opt ed out . "I t hought , let t he best minds of my
gener at ion soliloquize about power over some ot her poor woman' s body, I ' m of f. " She began
climbing mount ains, she used t o say when she began, "because I knew t hey' d never f ollow me
up t here. But t hen I t hought , bulishit . I didn' t do it f or t hem; I did it for me. "
For an hour ever y evening she would run bar efoot up and down t he st air s t o t he st r eet , on
her t oes, for t he sake of her f allen ar ches. Then she' d collapse int o a heap of cushions, looking
enraged, and he' d flap helplessly ar ound, usually ending up pour ing her a st if f dr ink: I r ish
whiskey, most ly. She had begun dr inking a fair bit as t he r ealit y of her f oot pr oblem sank in.
( " For Christ ' s sake keep t he feet quiet , " a voice fr om t he PR agency t old her sur r eally on t he
phone. "I f t hey get out it ' s finit o, curt ains, sayonar a, go home, goodnight . ") On t heir t went y-
first night t oget her, when she had wor ked her way t hrough five doubles of Jameson' s, she
said: "Why I r eally went up t her e. Don' t laugh: t o escape from good and evil. " He didn' t laugh.
"Are mount ains above mor alit y, in your est imat ion?" he asked ser iously. " This' s what I lear ned
in t he r evolut ion, " she went on. " This t hing: inf or mat ion got abolished somet ime in t he
t went iet h cent ury, can' t say j ust when; st ands t o r eason, t hat ' s par t of t he inf or mat ion t hat got
aboish, abo_lished_. Since t hen we' ve been living in a fair y- - st or y. Got me? Ever yt hing
happens by magic. Us fairies haven' t a fucking not ion what ' s going on. So how do we know if
it ' s r ight or wr ong? We don' t even know what it is. So what I t hought was, you can eit her br eak
your hear t t r ying t o wor k it all out , or you can go sit on a mount ain, because t hat ' s wher e all
t he t rut h went , believe it or not , it j ust upped and r an away fr om t hese cit ies wher e even t he
st uff under our f eet is all made up, a lie, and it hid up t here in t he t hin t hin air wher e t he liar s
don' t dar e come aft er it in case t heir br ains explode. I t ' s up t her e all right . I ' ve been t here. Ask
me. " She fell asleep; he carr ied her t o t he bed.
Af t er t he news of his deat h in t he plane crash reached her , she had t or ment ed her self by
invent ing him: by speculat ing, t hat is t o say, about her lost lover. He had been t he f irst man
she' d slept wit h in more t han five year s: no small figure in her life. She had t urned away fr om
her sexualit y, her inst inct s having warned her t hat t o do ot her wise might be t o be absor bed by
it ; t hat it was f or her , would always be, a big subj ect , a whole dar k cont inent t o map, and she
wasn' t pr epared t o go t hat way, be t hat explorer, char t t hose shor es: not any more, or , maybe,
not yet . But she' d never shaken off t he f eeling of being damaged by her ignor ance of Love, of
what it might be like t o be wholly possessed by t hat ar chet ypal, capit alized dj inn, t he year ning
t owar ds, t he blurr ing of t he boundar ies of t he self, t he unbut t oning, unt il you wer e open fr om
your adam"s- apple t o your crot ch: j ust wor ds, because she didn' t know t he t hing. Suppose he
had come t o me, she dreamed. I could have lear ned him, st ep by st ep, climbed him t o t he ver y
summit . Denied mount ains by my weak- boned feet , I ' d have looked for t he mount ain in him:
est ablishing base camp, sussing out r out es, negot iat ing ice- - falls, cr evasses, overhangs. I ' d
have assault ed t he peak and seen t he angels dance. O, but he' s dead, and at t he bot t om of t he
sea.
Then she f ound him. - - And maybe he' d invent ed her, t oo, a lit t le bit , invent ed someone
wor t h rushing out of one' s old lif e t o love. - - Not hing so r emarkable in t hat . Happens oft en
enough; and t he t wo invent or s go on, r ubbing t he rough edges off one anot her, adj ust ing t heir
invent ions, moulding imaginat ion t o act ualit y, lear ning how t o be t oget her: or not . I t works out
or it doesn' t . But t o suppose t hat Gibr eel Far isht a and Alleluia Cone could have gone along so
familiar a pat h is t o make t he mist ake of t hinking t heir r elat ionship or dinar y. I t wasn' t ; didn' t
have so much as a shot at or dinar iness.
I t was a r elat ionship wit h serious flaws.
( " The modern cit y, " Ot t o Cone on his hobbyhor se had lect ured his bor ed family at t able, "is
t he locus classicus of incompat ible realit ies. Lives t hat have no business mingling wit h one
anot her sit side by side upon t he omnibus. One universe, on a zebr a crossing, is caught for an
inst ant , blinking like a rabbit , in t he headlamps of a mot or - vehicle in which an ent irely alien
and cont r adict or y cont inuum is t o be found. And as long as t hat ' s all, t hey pass in t he night ,
j ost ling on Tube st at ions, raising t heir hat s in some hot el corr idor , it ' s not so bad. But if t hey
meet ! I t ' s uranium and plut onium, each makes t he ot her decompose, boom. " - - "As a mat t er of
fact , dear est , " Alicj a said dryly, " I oft en f eel a lit t le incompat ible myself . ")
The flaws in t he gr and passion of Alleluia Cone and Gibr eel Far isht a wer e as f ollows: her
secr et f ear of her secr et desir e, t hat is, love; - - owing t o which she was wont t o r et r eat from,
even hit violent ly out at , t he very person whose devot ion she sought most ; - - and t he deeper
t he int imacy, t he har der she kicked; - - so t hat t he ot her , having been brought t o a place of
absolut e t rust , and having lower ed all his defences, received t he full force of t he blow, and was
devast at ed; - - which, indeed, is what bef ell Gibreel Farisht a, when aft er t hree weeks of t he
most ecst at ic lovemaking eit her of t hem had ever known he was t old wit hout ceremony
t hat he had bet t er find himself somewhere t o live, pr et t y sharpish, because she, Allie, requir ed
mor e elbow- room t han was pr esent ly available; - -
- - and his overweening possessiveness and j ealousy, of which he himself had been wholly
unawar e, owing t o his never pr eviously having t hought of a woman as a t reasur e t hat had t o
be guar ded at all cost s against t he pir at ical hordes who would nat urally be t r ying t o pur loin
her; - - and of which mor e will be said almost inst ant ly; - -
- - and t he f at al flaw, namely, Gibreel Farisht a' s imminent realizat ion - - or , if you will,
_insane idea_, - - t hat he t r uly was not hing less t han an ar changel in human for m, and not j ust
any ar changel, but t he Angel of t he Recit at ion, t he most exalt ed ( now t hat Shait an had f allen)
of t hem all.
o o o
They had spent t heir days in such isolat ion, wr apped up in t he sheet s of t heir desir es, t hat
his wild, uncont r ollable j ealousy, which, as lago warned, "dot h mock t he meat it feeds on", did
not inst ant ly come t o light . I t fir st manifest ed it self in t he absur d mat t er of t he t rio of cart oons
which Allie had hung in a gr oup by her fr ont door , mount ed in cream and f ramed in old gold, all
bear ing t he same message, scr awled acr oss t he lower right - - hand cor ner of t he cr eam mount s:
_To A. , in hopes, fr om Br unel_. When Gibreel not iced t hese inscr ipt ions he demanded an
explanat ion, point ing furiously at t he cart oons wit h fully ext ended ar m, while wit h his f ree hand
he clut ched a bedsheet around him ( he was at t ired in t his informal manner because he' d
decided t he t ime was ripe for him t o make a full inspect ion of t he pr emises, _can' t spend one' s
whole lj f e on one' s back, or even your s_, he' d said) ; Allie, f or givably, laughed. " You look like
Brut us, all murder and dignit y, " she t eased him. " The pict ur e of an honourable man. " He
shocked her by shout ing violent ly: "Tell me at once who t he bast ar d is. "
"You can' t be ser ious, " she said. Jack Brunel wor ked as an animat or , was in his lat e f ift ies
and had known her fat her . She had never had t he faint est int er est in him, but he had t aken t o
cour t ing her by t he st r angulat ed, wor dless met hod of sending her , from t ime t o t ime, t hese
gr aphic gift s.
"Why you didn' t t hr ow t hem in t he wpb?" Gibr eel howled. Allie, st ill not fully under st anding
t he size of his rage, cont inued light ly. She had kept t he pict ures because she liked t hem. The
first was an old Punch car t oon in which Leonardo da Vinci st ood in his at elier , surr ounded by
pupils, and hur led t he Mona Lisa like a fr isbee across t he room. "_Mark my wor ds_, " he said in
t he capt ion, "_one day men shall f ly t o Padua in such as t hese_. " I n t he second f rame t here
was a page fr om _Tof f_, a Br it ish boys' comic dat ing fr om World War I I . I t had been t hought
necessary in a t ime when so many childr en became evacuees t o cr eat e, by way of explanat ion,
a comic- - st rip ver sion of event s in t he adult wor ld. Her e, t her efore, was one of t he weekly
encount ers bet ween t he home t eam - - t he Tof f ( an appalling monocled child in Et onian bum-
freezer and pin- st riped t rousers) and clot h- - capped, scuffkneed Bert - - and t he dast ardly foe,
Hawf ul Hadolf and t he Nast ipar t s ( a bunch of t huggish f iends, each of whom had one ext r emely
nast y par t , e. g. a st eel hook inst ead of a hand, feet like claws, t eet h t hat could bit e t hr ough
your ar m) . The Br it ish t eam invar iably came out on t op. Gibreel, glancing at t he fr amed comic,
was scor nf ul. "You bloody _Angr ez_. You really t hink like t his; t his is what t he war was really
like for you. " Allie decided not t o ment ion her f at her , or t o t ell Gibr eel t hat one of t he _Toff _
art ist s, a virulent ly ant i - - Nazi Berlin man named Wolf, had been ar rest ed one day and led away
for int er nment along wit h all t he ot her Ger mans in Brit ain, and, accor ding t o Br unel, his
colleagues hadn' t lift ed a finger t o save him. " Hear t lessness, " Jack had r ef lect ed. "Only t hing a
car t oonist really needs. What an ar t ist Disney would have been if he hadn' t had a hear t . I t was
his fat al f law. " Brunel ran a small animat ion st udio named Scar ecr ow Pr oduct ions, af t er t he
charact er in _The Wizar d of Oz_.
The t hir d fr ame cont ained t he last drawing from one of t he f ilms of t he great Japanese
animat or Yoj i Kuri, whose uniquely cynical out put perfect ly exemplif ied Brunel' s unsent iment al
view of t he car t oonist ' s art . I n t his film, a man f ell off a skyscr aper ; a f ire engine r ushed t o t he
scene and posit ioned it self beneat h t he f alling man. The roof slid back, per mit t ing a huge st eel
spike t o emer ge, and, in t he st ill on Allie' s wall, t he man ar r ived head f irst and t he spike
rammed int o his brain. "Sick, " Gibreel Farisht a pronounced.
These lavish gift s having failed t o get r esult s, Brunel was obliged t o br eak cover and show
up in per son. He pr esent ed himself at Allie' s apar t ment one night , unannounced and alr eady
consider ably t he worse f or alcohol, and pr oduced a bot t le of dark rum f rom his bat t er ed
br iefcase. At t hree t he next mor ning he had drunk t he r um but showed no signs of leaving.
Allie, going ost ent at iously of f t o t he bat hr oom t o br ush her t eet h, r et ur ned t o find t he animat or
st anding st ark naked in t he cent r e of her livingroom rug, r evealing a sur pr isingly shapely body
cover ed by an inordinat e amount of t hick grey hair . When he saw her he spr ead his ar ms and
cried: "Take me! Do what you will! " She made him dr ess, as kindly as she could, and put him
and his briefcase gent ly out of t he door . He never r et urned.
Allie t old Gibr eel t he st ory, in an open, giggling manner t hat suggest ed she was ent ir ely
unprepar ed for t he st orm it would unleash. I t is possible, however ( t hings had been r at her
st rained bet ween t hem in r ecent days) t hat her innocent air was a lit t le disingenuous, t hat she
was almost hoping for him t o begin t he bad behaviour , so t hat what followed would be his
responsibilit y, not her s . . . at any rat e, Gibreel blew sky- - high, accusing Allie of having falsified
t he st ory' s ending, suggest ing t hat poor Br unel was st ill wait ing by his t elephone and t hat she
int ended t o ring him t he moment his, Farisht a' s, back was t ur ned. Ravings, in shor t , j ealousy
of t he past , t he wor st kind of all. As t his t err ible emot ion t ook char ge of him, he found himself
impr ovising a whole series of lover s for her, imagining t hem t o be wait ing ar ound ever y cor ner .
She had used t he Brunel st ory t o t aunt him, he shout ed, it was a deliber at e and cruel t hreat .
"You want men down on t heir knees, " he scr eamed, ever y scr ap of his selfcont rol long gone.
"Me, I do not kneel. "
"That ' s it , " she said. "Out . "
His anger r edoubled. Clut ching his t oga ar ound him, he st alked int o t he bedroom t o dress,
put t ing on t he only clot hes he possessed, including t he scar let - - lined gabardine overcoat and
gr ey f elt t r ilby of Don Enr iquc Diamond; Allie st ood in t he doorway and wat ched. "Don' t t hink
I ' m coming back, " he yelled, knowing his rage was more t han suff icient t o get him out of t he
door, wait ing for her t o begin t o calm him down, t o speak soft ly, t o give him a way of st aying.
But she shrugged and walked away, and it was t hen, at t hat pr ecise moment of his great est
wrat h, t hat t he boundaries of t he ear t h br oke, he hear d a noise like t he bur st ing of a dam, and
as t he spir it s of t he world of dr eams f looded t hr ough t he br each int o t he univer se of t he
quot idian, Gibr eel Far isht a saw God.
For Blake' s I saiah, God had simply been an immanence, an incor por eal indignat ion; but
Gibr eel' s vision of t he Supr eme Being was not abst r act in t he least . He saw, sit t ing on t he bed,
a man of about t he same age as himself, of medium height , f airly heavily built , wit h salt - and-
pepper bear d cr opped close t o t he line of t he j aw. What st r uck him most was t hat t he
appar it ion was balding, seemed t o suffer fr om dandr uff and wor e glasses. This was not t he
Almight y he had expect ed. " Who are you?" he asked wit h int er est . ( Of no int er est t o him now
was Alleluia Cone, who had st opped in her t r acks on hear ing him begin t o t alk t o himself, and
who was now observing him wit h an expression of genuine panic. )
"Ooparvala, " t he appar it ion answer ed. "The Fellow Upst airs. "
"How do I know you' re not t he ot her One, " Gibr eel asked craft ily, "Neechayvala, t he Guy
from Underneat h?"
A daring quest ion, elicit ing a snappish reply. This Deit y might look like a myopic scr ivener,
but I t could cer t ainly mobilize t he t r adit ional appar at us of divine r age. Clouds massed out side
t he window; wind and t hunder shook t he room. Trees fell in t he Fields. "We' re losing pat ience
wit h you, Gibr eel Far isht a. You' ve doubt ed Us j ust about long enough. " Gibreel hung his head,
blast ed by t he wrat h of God. " We ar e not obliged t o explain Our nat ur e t o you, " t he dr essing-
down cont inued. " Whet her We be mult if or m, plural, r epr esent ing t he union- by- hybr idizat ion of
such opposit es as _Oopar_ and _Neechay_, or whet her We be pur e, st ark, ext reme, will not be
resolved her e. " The disarr anged bed on which his Visit or had r est ed I t s post er ior ( which,
Gibr eel now obser ved, was glowing faint ly, like t he r est of t he Person) was gr ant ed a highly
disapproving glance. " The point is, t her e will be no more dilly- dallying. You want ed clear signs
of Our exist ence? We sent Revelat ion t o fill your dreams: in which not only Our nat ure, but
your s also, was clar ified. But you fought against it , st r uggling against t he ver y sleep in which
We were awakening you. Your fear of t he t r ut h has finally obliged Us t o expose Our self, at
some per sonal inconvenience, in t his woman' s residence at an advanced hour of t he night . I t is
t ime, now, t o shape up. Did We pluck you fr om t he skies so t hat you could boff and spat wit h
some ( no doubt r emarkable) f lat f oot blonde? Ther e' s wor k t o be done. "
"I am ready, " Gibr eel said humbly. " I was j ust going, anyway. "
"Look, " Allie Cone was saying, "Gibr eel, goddamn it , never mind t he f ight . List en: I love
you. "
Ther e were only t he t wo of t hem in t he apart ment now. "I have t o go, " Gibr eel said,
quiet ly. She hung upon his ar m. " Tr uly, I don' t t hink you' r e really well. " He st ood upon his
dignit y. "Having commanded my exit , you no longer have j ur isdict ion re my healt h. " He made
his escape. Alleluia, t r ying t o follow him, was afflict ed by such piercing pains in bot h f eet t hat ,
having no opt ion, she f ell weeping t o t he floor : like an act ress in a masala movie; or Rekha
Mer chant on t he day Gibr eel walked out on her for t he last t ime. Like, anyhow, a charact er in a
st or y of a kind in which she could never have imagined she belonged.
o o o
The met eor ological t ur bulence engender ed by God' s anger wit h his ser vant had given way
t o a clear, balmy night presided over by a f at and cr eamy moon. Only t he f allen t r ees remained
t o bear wit ness t o t he might of t he now- - depar t ed Being. Gibreel, t r ilby j ammed down on his
head, money- belt fir mly around his waist , hands deep in gabar dine - - t he r ight hand f eeling, in
t here, t he shape of a paper back book - - was giving silent t hanks for his escape. Cert ain now of
his archangelic st at us, he banished fr om his t hought s all r emor se for his t ime of doubt ing,
replacing it wit h a new r esolve: t o br ing t his met r opolis of t he ungodly, t his lat t er - day "Ad or
Thamoud, back t o t he knowledge of God, t o shower upon it t he blessings of t he Recit at ion, t he
sacr ed Word. He felt his old self dr op f rom him, and dismissed it wit h a shr ug, but chose t o
ret ain, for t he t ime being, his human scale. This was not t he t ime t o grow unt il he filled t he sky
from horizon t o hor izon - - t hough t hat , t oo, would sur ely come befor e long.
The cit y' s st r eet s coiled around him, wr it hing like ser pent s. London had gr own unst able
once again, r evealing it s t rue, capricious, t or ment ed nat ur e, it s anguish of a cit y t hat had lost
it s sense of it self and wallowed, accor dingly, in t he impot ence of it s self ish, angr y pr esent of
masks and par odies, st ifled and t wist ed by t he insupport able, unrej ect ed burden of it s past ,
st aring int o t he bleakness of it s impoverished fut ure. He wandered it s st r eet s t hr ough t hat
night , and t he next day, and t he next night , and on unt il t he light and dar k ceased t o mat t er.
He no longer seemed t o need food or r est , but only t o move const ant ly t hr ough t hat t or t ur ed
met r opolis whose fabr ic was now ut t erly t r ansf or med, t he houses in t he rich quar t ers being
built of solidified fear, t he gover nment buildings part ly of vainglor y and par t ly of scorn, and t he
residences of t he poor of confusion and mat er ial dr eams. When you looked t hr ough an angel' s
eyes you saw essences inst ead of surf aces, you saw t he decay of t he soul blist er ing and
bubbling on t he skins of people in t he st reet , you saw t he generosit y of cert ain spir it s
rest ing on t heir shoulder s in t he for m of birds. As he roamed t he met amorphosed cit y he saw
bat - winged imps sit t ing on t he corners of buildings made of deceit s and glimpsed goblins
oozing wor mily t hrough t he br oken t ilewor k of public ur inals f or men. As once t he t hirt eent h-
cent ury Ger man monk Richalmus would shut his eyes and inst ant ly see clouds of minuscule
demons sur rounding ever y man and woman on eart h, dancing like dust - specks in t he sunlight ,
so now Gibr eel wit h open eyes and by t he light of t he moon as well as t he sun det ect ed
ever ywhere t he presence of his adversary, his - - t o give t he old word back it s original meaning
- - _shait an_.
Long before t he Flood, he r emembered - - now t hat he had r eassumed t he role of
archangel, t he full range of ar changelic memor y and wisdom was apparent ly being rest ored t o
him, lit t le by lit t le - - a number of angels ( t he names Semj aza and Azazel came first t o mind)
had been flung out of Heaven because t hey had been _lust ing aft er t he daught ers of men_,
who in due course gave birt h t o an evil r ace of giant s. He began t o underst and t he degree of
t he danger f rom which he had been saved when he depart ed f rom t he vicinit y of Alleluia Cone.
O most false of creat ures! O pr incess of t he powers of t he air! - - When t he Pr ophet , on whose
name be peace, had first received t he wahi, t he Revelat ion, had he not f ear ed for his sanit y? - -
And who had offer ed him t he r eassur ing cer t aint y he needed? - - Why, Khadij a, his wife. She it
was who convinced him t hat he was not some r aving crazy but t he Messenger of God. - -
Wher eas what had Alleluia done for him? _You' r e not yourself . I don' t t hink you' r e really well_.
- - O bringer of t r ibulat ion, cr eat rix of st r ife, of sor eness of t he hear t ! Siren, t empt ress, f iend in
human for m! That snowlike body wit h it s pale, pale hair : how she had used it t o fog his soul,
and how har d he had found it , in t he weakness of his f lesh, t o resist . . . enmeshed by her in
t he web of a love so complex as t o be beyond comprehension, he had come t o t he ver y edge of
t he ult imat e Fall. How benef icent , t hen, t he OverEnt it y had been t o him! - - He saw now t hat
t he choice was simple: t he inf er nal love of t he daught er s of men, or t he celest ial ador at ion of
God. He had found it possible t o choose t he lat t er; in t he nick of t ime.
He dr ew out of t he right - hand pocket of his over coat t he book t hat had been t here ever
since his depart ur e from Rosa' s house a millennium ago: t he book of t he cit y he had come t o
save, Proper London, capit al of Vilayet , laid out f or his benef it in exhaust ive det ail, t he whole
bang shoot . He would r edeem t his cit y: Geogr aphers' London, all t he way fr om A t o Z.
o o o
On a st reet corner in a part of t own once known for it s populat ion of art ist s, radicals and
men in sear ch of pr ost it ut es, and now given over t o advert ising personnel and minor film
pr oducer s, t he Ar changel Gibr eel chanced t o see a lost soul. I t was young, male, t all, and of
ext r eme beaut y, wit h a st r ikingly aquiline nose and longish black hair oiled down and par t ed in
t he cent re; it s t eet h wer e made of gold. The lost soul st ood at t he very edge of t he pavement ,
it s back t o t he r oad, leaning f or wards at a slight angle and clut ching, in it s right hand,
somet hing it evident ly held very dear. I t s behaviour was st r iking: fir st it would st ar e fiercely at
t he t hing it held in it s hand, and t hen look ar ound, whipping it s head f rom r ight t o left ,
scr ut inizing wit h blazing concent rat ion t he faces of t he passer s- by. Reluct ant t o appr oach t oo
quickly, Gibr eel on a fir st pass saw t hat t he obj ect t he lost soul was clut ching was a small
passport - sized phot ogr aph. On his second pass he went right up t o t he st r anger and offer ed his
help. The ot her eyed him suspiciously, t hen t hr ust t he phot ogr aph under his nose. "This man, "
he said, j abbing at t he pict ur e wit h a long index f inger. "Do you know t his man?"
When Gibreel saw, st aring out of t he phot ograph, a young man of ext reme beaut y, wit h a
st rikingly aquiline nose and longish black hair, oiled, wit h a cent r al par t ing, he knew t hat his
inst inct s had been cor rect , t hat her e, st anding on a busy st reet corner wat ching t he crowd in
case he saw himself going by, was a Soul in search of it s mislaid body, a spect re in desperat e
need of it s lost physical casing - - for it is known t o archangels t hat t he soul or ka cannot exist
( once t he golden cord of light linking it t o t he body is severed) for more t han a night and a
day. " I can help you, " he pr omised, and t he young soul looked at him in wild disbelief. Gibr eel
leaned forwar d, gr asped t he ka' s f ace bet ween his hands, and kissed it fir mly upon t he mout h,
for t he spir it t hat is kissed by an archangel r egains, at once, it s lost sense of direct ion, and is
set upon t he t r ue and right eous pat h. - - The lost soul, however , had a most sur prising r eact ion
t o being favoured by an archangelic kiss. "Sod you, " it shout ed, " I may be desper at e, mat e,
but I ' m not t hat desper at e, " - - aft er which, manifest ing a solidit y most unusual in a
disembodied spirit , it st r uck t he Ar changel of t he Lor d a r esounding blow upon t he nose wit h
t he ver y f ist in which it s image was clasped; - - wit h disorient ing, and bloody, r esult s.
When his vision cleared, t he lost soul had gone but t her e, f loat ing on her car pet a couple of
feet off t he gr ound, was Rekha Mer chant , mocking his discomf it ur e. "Not such a gr eat st art , "
she snor t ed. "Ar changel my f oot . Gibreel j anab, you' re off your head, t ake it f rom me. You
played t oo many winged t ypes for your own good. I wouldn' t t r ust t hat Deit y of yours eit her, if
I were you, " she added in a more conspir at or ial t one, t hough Gibreel suspect ed t hat her
int ent ions r emained sat ir ical. "He hint ed as much himself , f udging t he answer t o your Oopar - -
Neechay quest ion like he did. This not ion of separat ion of funct ions, light versus dar k, evil
ver sus good, may be st r aight for war d enough in I slam - - _O, children of Adam, let not t he Devil
seduce you, as he expelled your par ent s from t he gar den, pulling of f f rom t hem t heir clot hing
t hat he might show t hem t heir shame_ - - but go back a bit and you see t hat it ' s a pret t y r ecent
fabricat ion. Amos, eight h cent ury BC, asks: ' Shall t here be evil in a cit y and t he Lord hat h not
done it ?' Also Jahweh, quot ed by Deut er o- I saiah t wo hundr ed years lat er , remarks: ' I for m t he
light , and creat e darkness; I make peace and creat e evil; I t he Lor d do all t hese t hings. ' I t isn' t
unt il t he Book of Chr onicles, mer ely four t h cent ur y BC, t hat t he wor d shait an is used t o mean a
being, and not only an at t r ibut e of God. " This speech was one of which t he "real" Rekha would
plainly have been incapable, coming as she did fr om a polyt heist ic t radit ion and never having
evinced t he faint est int er est in compar at ive religion or, of all t hings, t he Apocrypha. But t he
Rekha who had been pur suing him ever since he fell from _Bost an_ was, Gibr eel knew, not r eal
in any obj ect ive, psychologically or cor poreally consist ent manner . - - What , t hen, was she? I t
would be easy t o imagine her as a t hing of his own making - - his own accomplice- adver sary,
his inner demon. That would account f or her case wit h t he arcana. - - But how had he himself
come by such knowledge? Had he t ruly, in days gone by, possessed it and t hen lost it , as his
memory now infor med him? ( He had a nagging not ion of inaccuracy here, but when he t ried t o
fix his t hought s upon his " dark age", t hat is t o say t he period during which he had
unaccount ably come t o disbelieve in his angelhood, he was f aced wit h a t hick bank of clouds,
t hr ough which, peer and blink as he might , he could make out lit t le more t han shadows. ) - - Or
could it be t hat t he mat er ial now filling his t hought s, t he echo, t o give but a single example, of
how his lieut enant - angels I t huriel and Zephon had f ound t he adver sar y _squat like a t oad_ by
Eve' s ear in Eden, using his wiles "t o r each/ The or gans of her fancy, and wit h t hem
for ge/ I llusions as he list , phant asms and dr eams", had in fact been plant ed in his head by t hat
same ambiguous Creat ure, t hat Upst airs- Downst air s Thing, who had confront ed him in
Alleluia' s boudoir , and awoken him f rom his long waking sleep? - - Then Rekha, t oo, was
per haps an emissary of t his God, an ext ernal, divine ant agonist and not an inner , guilt -
pr oduced shade; one sent t o wrest le wit h him and make him whole again.
His nose, leaking blood, began t o t hr ob painfully. He had never been able t o t oler at e pain.
"Always a cry- baby, " Rekha laughed in his face. Shait an had underst ood more:
_Lives t here who loves his pain?_
_Who would not , finding way, br eak loose fr om hell_,
_Though t hit her doomed? Thou wouldst t hyself , no doubt _,
_And boldly vent ure t o what ever place_
_Far t hest fr om pain, wher e t hou might st hope t o change_
_Tor ment wit h ease_ . . .
He couldn' t have put it bet t er. A person who f ound himself in an inferno would do anyt hing,
rape, ext ort ion, murder, felo de se, what ever it t ook t o get out . . . he dabbed a handker chief
at his nose as Rekha, st ill pr esent on her flying r ug, and int uit ing his ascent ( descent ?) int o t he
realm of met aphysical speculat ion, at t empt ed t o get t hings back on t o mor e familiar ground.
"You should have st uck wit h me, " she opined. " You could have loved me, good and proper. I
knew how t o love. Not ever ybody has t he capacit y f or it ; I do, I mean did. Not like t hat self - -
cent r ed blonde bombshell t hinking secr et ly about having a child and not even ment ioning same
t o you. Not like your God, eit her; it ' s not like t he old days, when such Persons t ook pr oper
int erest . "
This needed cont est ing on sever al grounds. " You wer e mar ried, st art t o finish, " he replied.
"Ball- - bear ings. I was your side dish. Nor will I , who wait ed so long for Him t o manif est
Himself, now speak poorly of Him post fact o, aft er t he per sonal appearance. Finally, what ' s all
t his baby- t alk? You' ll go t o any ext r eme, seems like. "
"You don' t know what hell is, " she snapped back, dropping t he mask of her
imper t ur babilit y. "But , bust er , you sure will. I f you' d ever said, I ' d have t hr own over t hat ball-
bear ings bor e in t wo secs, but you kept mum. Now I ' ll see you down t here: Neechayvala' s
Hot el. "
"You' d never have left your children, " he insist ed. "Poor fellows, you even t hrew t hem down
first when you j umped. " That set her off. "Don' t you t alk! To dare t o t alk! Mist er , I ' ll cook your
goose! I ' ll f ry your heart and eat it up on t oast ! - - And as t o your Snow Whit e pr incess, she is
of t he opinion t hat a child is a mot her ' s proper t y only, because men may come and men may
go but she goes on forever, isn' t it ? You' r e only t he seed, excuse me, she is t he gar den. Who
asks a seed per mission t o plant ? What do you know, damn f ool Bombay boy messing wit h t he
modern ideas of mames. "
"And you, " he came back st rongly. " Did you, f or example, ask t heir Daddyj i' s per mission
befor e you t hr ew his kiddies off t he r oof?"
She vanished in fur y and yellow smoke, wit h an explosion t hat made him st agger and
knocked t he hat off his head ( it lay upt ur ned on t he pavement at his feet ) . She unleashed, t oo,
an olfact or y eff ect of such nauseous pot ency as t o make t him gag and r et ch. Empt ily: for he
was per fect ly void of all fcocdst uf fs and liquids, having par t aken of no nour ishment for many
days. Ah, immort alit y, he t hought : ah, noble release fr om t he t yr anny of t he body. He not iced
t hat t here were t wo individuals wat ching him curiously, one a violent - looking yout h in st uds
and - leat her, wit h a r ainbow Mohican hair cut and a st reak of face- paint light ning zig- zagging
down his nose, t he ot her a kindly middle- aged woman in a headscarf . Ver y well t hen: seize t he
day. " Repent , " he cried passionat ely. " For I am t he Ar changel of t he Lor d. "
"Poor bast ar d, " said t he Mohican and t hr ew a coin int o Farisht a' s f allen hat . He walked on;
t he kindly, t winkling lady, however, leaned confident ially t owar ds Gibreel and passed him a
leaflet . " You' ll be int erest ed in t his. " He quickly ident ified it as a r acist t ext demanding t he
"repat riat ion" of t he count r y' s black cit izenr y. She t ook him, he deduced, for a whit e angel. So
angels wer e not exempt fr om such cat egor ies, he wonder ingly lear ned. "Look at it t his way, "
t he woman was saying, t aking his silence f or uncert aint y - - and revealing, by slipping int o an
over art iculat ed, over - loud mode of deliver y, t hat she t hought him not quit e pukka, a Levant ine
angel, maybe, Cypriot or Greek, in need of her best t alking- - t o- - t he- - afflict ed voice. "I f t hey
came over and f illed up wherever you come fr om, well! You wouldn' t like _t hat _. "
o o o
Punched in t he nose, t aunt ed by phant oms, given alms inst ead of r ever ence, and in divers
ways shewn t he dept hs t o wihich t he denizens of t he cit y had sunk, t he int r ansigence of "t he
evil manif est t her e, Gibr eel became mor e det ermined t han ever t o commence t he doing of
good, t o init iat e t he gr eat work of r olling back t he f ront iers of t he adversary' s dominion. The
at las in his pocket was his mast er - plan. He would r edeem t he cit y squar e by square, f rom
Hockley Farm in t he nor t h- west cor nerr of t he char t ed area t o Chance Wood in t he sout h- east ;
aft er which, per haps. he would celebrat e t he conclusion of his labour s by playing a r ound of
golf at t he apt ly named cour se sit uat ed at t he ver y edge of t he map: Wildernesse.
And somewhere along t he way t he adversary himself would be wait ing. Shait an, I blis, or
what ever name he had adopt ed - - and in point of fact t hat name was on t he t ip of Gibr eel' s
t ongue - - j ust as t he face of t he adver sar y, hor ned and malevolent , was st ill somewhat out of
focus . . . well, it would t ake shape soon enough, and t he name would come back, Gibreel was
sure of it , for wer e not his power s gr owing ever y day, was he not t he one who, r est or ed t o his
glory, would hurl t he adversary down, once mor e, int o t he Dar kest Deeps? - - That name: what
was it ? Tchsomet hing? Tchu Tch Tchin Tchow. No mat t er. All in good t ime.
o o o
But t he cit y in it s cor rupt ion r efused t o submit t o t he dominion of t he car t ographers,
changing shape at will and wit hout war ning, making it impossible for Gibr eel t o approach his
quest in t he syst emat ic manner he would have preferr ed. Some days he would t urn a corner at
t he end of a gr and colonnade built of human flesh and cover ed in skin t hat bled when
scr at ched, and f ind himself in an unchar t ed wast eland, at whose dist ant r im he could see t all
familiar buildings, Wren' s dome, t he high met allic spar k- plug of t he Telecom Tower, cr umbling
in t he wind like sandcast les. He would st umble acr oss bewildering and anonymous parks and
emerge int o t he crowded st r eet s of t he West End, upon which, t o t he const ernat ion of t he
mot orist s, acid had begun t o drip from t he sky, bur ning gr eat holes in t he sur faces of t he
roads. I n t his pandemonium of mirages he oft en hear d laught er : t he cit y was mocking his
impot ence, await ing his sur render , his r ecognit ion t hat what exist ed here was beyond his
powers t o comprehend, let alone t o change. He shout ed curses at his st ill- - faceless adversary,
pleaded wit h t he Deit y for a furt her sign, fear ed t hat his energies might , in t r ut h, never be
equal t o t he t ask. I n brief, he was becoming t he most wret ched and bedraggled of ar changels,
his garment s f ilt hy, his hair lank and gr easy, his chin sprout ing hair in uncont rollable t uft s. I t
was in t his sorr y condit ion t hat he arr ived at t he Angel Undergr ound.
I t must have been ear ly in t he mor ning, because t he st at ion st aff dr ift ed up as he wat ched,
t o unlock and t hen roll back t he met al gr ille of night . He followed t hem in, shuffling along, head
low, hands deep in pocket s ( t he St r eet at las had been discarded long ago) ; and r aising his eyes
at last , found himself looking int o a f ace on t he ver ge of dissolving int o t ear s.
"Good mor ning, " he vent ur ed, and t he young woman in t he t icket of fice r esponded bit t er ly,
"What ' s good about it , t hat ' s what I want t o know, " and now her t ear s did come, plump,
globular and plent eous. " Ther e, t here, child, " he said, and she gave him a disbelieving look.
"You' re no priest , " she opined. He answer ed, a lit t le t ent at ively: "I am t he Angel, Gibreel. " She
began t o laugh, as abrupt ly as she had wept . " Only angels r oun here hang fr om t he lamp- post s
at Christ mas. I lluminat ions. Only t he Council swing t hem by t heir necks. " He was not t o be put
off . " I am Gibreel, " he r epeat ed, fixing her wit h his eye. " Recit e. " And, t o her own emphat ically
expr essed ast onishment , _I cyaan believe I doin t his, empt yin my hear t t o some t r amp, I not
like t his, you know_, t he t icket cler k began t o speak.
Her name was Or phia Phillips, t went y year s old, bot h parent s alive and dependent on her,
especially now t hat her fool sist er Hyacint h had lost her j ob as a physiot herapist by "get t in up
t o she nonsense" . The young man' s name, for of course t here was a young man, was Uriah
Moseley. The st at ion had recent ly inst alled t wo gleaming new elevat or s and Orphia and Ur iah
wer e t heir oper at or s. During r ush- hours, when bot h lift s were wor king, t hey had lit t le t ime for
conver sat ion; but f or t he rest of t he day, only one lift was used. Or phia t ook up her posit ion at
t he t icket - - collect ion point j ust along f rom t he elevat or- shaft , and Uri managed t o spend a
good deal of t ime down t here wit h her , leaning against t he door - j amb of his gleaming lif t and
picking his t eet h wit h t he silver t oot hpick his great - - gr andfat her had liberat ed fr om some old-
t ime plant at ion boss. I t was t r ue love. "But I j us get carr y away, " Or phia wailed at Gibreel. "I
always t oo hast y for sense. " One aft er noon, during a lull, she had desert ed her post and
st epped up r ight in f ront of him as he leaned and picked t eet h, and seeing t he look in her eye
he put away t he pick. Aft er t hat he came t o work wit h a spring in his st ep; she, t oo, was in
heaven as she descended each day int o t he bowels of t he eart h. Their kisses gr ew longer and
mor e passionat e. Somet imes she would not det ach himself when t he buzzer rang f or t he lif t ;
Uriah would have t o push her back, wit h a cr y of, "Cool off , gir l, t he public. " Ur iah had a
vocat ional at t it ude t o his wor k. He spoke t o her of his pride in his uniform, of his sat isfact ion at
being in t he public service, giving his life t o societ y. She t hought he sounded a shade pompous,
and want ed t o say, " Uri, man, you j us a elevat or boy her e, " but int uit ing t hat such r ealism
would not be well r eceived, she held her t roublesome t ongue, or , r at her , pushed it int o his
mout h.
Their embraces in t he t unnel became wars. Now he was t r ying t o get away, st r aight ening
his t unic, while she bit his ear and pushed her hand down inside his t r ouser s. "You cr azy, " he
said, but she, cont inuing, inquir ed: " So? You vex?"
They were, inevit ably, caught : a complaint was lodged by a kindly lady in headscar f and
t weeds. They had been lucky t o keep t heir j obs. Orphia had been "grounded", depr ived of
elevat or - shaft s and boxed int o t he t icket boot h. Worse st ill, her place had been t aken by t he
st at ion beaut y, Rochelle Wat kins. "I know what goin on, " she cried angr ily. " I see Rochelle
expr ession when she come up, fixin up her hair an all o" dat . " Ur iah, nowadays, avoided
Or phia' s eyes.
"Can' t f igur e out how you get me t o t ell you me business, " she concluded, uncert ainly.
"You not no angel. That is f or sur e. " But she was unable, t r y as she might , t o br eak away fr om
his t ransf ixing gaze. "I know, " he t old her, "what is in your hear t . "
He r eached in t hrough t he boot h' s window and t ook her unr esist ing hand. - - Yes, t his was
it , t he f or ce of her desires f illing him up, enabling him t o t r anslat e t hem back t o her, making
act ion possible, allowing her t o say and do what she most profoundly r equir ed; t his was what
he r emembered, t his qualit y of being j oined t o t he one t o whom he appeared, so t hat what
followed was t he pr oduct of t heir j oining. At last , he t hought , t he ar changelic funct ions ret urn. -
- I nside t he t icket boot h, t he cler k Or phia Phillips had her eyes closed, her body had slumped
down in her chair, looking slow and heavy, and her lips were moving. - - And his own, in unison
wit h hers. - - There. I t was done.
At t his moment t he st at ion manager, a lit t le angr y man wit h nine long hair s, fet ched fr om
ear - - level, plast er ed acr oss his baldness, bur st like a cuckoo f rom his lit t le door. "What ' s your
game?" he shout ed at Gibreel. "Get out of it befor e I call t he police. " Gibreel st ayed wher e he
was. The st at ion manager saw Orphia emer ging fr om her t rance and began t o shriek. "You,
Phillips. Never saw t he like. Anyt hing in t r ouser s, but t his is r idiculous. All my bor n days. And
nodding off on t he j ob, t he idea. " Or phia st ood up, put on her raincoat , picked up her folding
umbr ella, emer ged fr om t icket boot h. "Leaving public proper t y unat t ended. You get back in
t here t his minut e, or it ' s your j ob, sure as eggsis. " Orphia headed for t he spir al st air s and
moved t owar ds t he lower dept hs. Depr ived of his employee, t he manager swung round t o f ace
Gibr eel. " Go on, " he said. "Eff of f. Go crawl back under your st one. "
"I am wait ing, " r eplied Gibr eel wit h dignit y, "for t he lift . "
When she r eached t he bot t om of t he st air s, Orphia Phillips t urning a cor ner saw Ur iah
Moseley leaning against t he t icket collect ion boot h in t hat way he had, and Rochelle Wat kins
simper ing wit h delight . But Or phia knew what t o do. "You let "Chelle feel you t oot hpick yet ,
Uri?" she sang out . " She' d surely love t o hold it . "
They bot h st raight ened up, st ung. Ur iah began blust er ing: " Don' t be so common now,
Or phia, " but her eyes st opped him in his t r acks. Then he began t o walk t owar ds her, dreamily,
leaving Rochelle f lat . "Thas r ight , Uri, " she said soft ly, never looking away f rom him for an
inst ant . "Come along now. Come t o momma. " _Now walk backwards t o t he lift and j ust suck
him r ight in t here, and aft er t hat it ' s up and away we go_. - - But somet hing was wr ong here.
He wasn' t walking any mor e. Rochelle Wat kins was st anding beside him, t oo damn close, and
he' d come t o a halt . "You t ell her, Ur iah, " Rochelle said. " Her st upid obeah don' t signify down
here. " Ur iah was put t ing an arm around Rochelle Wat kins. This wasn' t t he way she' d dreamed
it , t he way she' d suddenly been cer t ain- sure it would be, aft er t hat Gibr eel t ook her hand, j ust
like t hat , as if t hey were _int ended_; wee- yurd, she t hought ; what was happening t o her? She
advanced. - - "Get her of fa me, Uriah, " Rochelle shout ed. " She mashin up me uniform and all. "
- - Now Ur iah, holding t he st ruggling t icket cler k by bot h wr ist s, gave out t he news: "I aks her
t o get mar ry! " - - Whereupon t he fight went out of Orphia. Beaded plait s no longer whir led and
clicked. "So you out of order , Orphia Phillips, " Ur iah cont inued, puf fing somewhat . "And like t he
lady say, no obeah na change nut t en. " Or phia, also br eat hing heavily, her clot hes disarr anged,
flopped down on t he floor wit h her back t o t he curved t unnel wall. The noise of a t r ain pulling in
came up t owards t hem; t he aff ianced couple hurr ied t o t heir post s, t idying t hemselves up,
leaving Orphia wher e she sat . "Gir l, " Uriah Moseley offer ed by way of f arewell, "you t oo damn
out rageous for me. " Rochelle Wat kins blew Ur iah a kiss from her t icket - collect ion boot h; he,
lounging against his lift , picked his t eet h. "Home cooking, " Rochelle pr omised him. "And no
surpr ises. "
"You filt hy bum, " Or phia Phillips screamed at Gibreel aft er walking up t he t wo hundr ed and
for t y- seven st eps of t he spir al st air case of def eat . "You no good devil bum. Who ask you t o
mash up me life so?"
o o o
_Even t he halo has gone out , like a br oken bulb, and I don' t know wher e' s t he st or e_.
Gibr eel on a bench in t he small park near t he st at ion medit at ed over t he fut ilit y of his eff or t s t o
dat e. And found blasphemies sur facing once again: if t he dabba had t he wr ong mar kings and
so went t o incorr ect r ecipient , was t he dabbawalla t o blame? I f special ef fect - - t ravelling mat ,
or such - - didn' t work, and you saw t he blue out line shimmering at t he edge of t he flying
fellow, how t o blame t he act or? Byt hesamet oken, if his angeling was pr oving insufficient ,
whose f ault , please, was t his? His, personally, or some ot her Per sonage? - - Childr en were
playing in t he gar den of his doubt ing, among t he midge- clouds and rosebushes and despair .
Gr andmot her ' s foot st eps, ghost bust er s, t ag. Ellowen deeowen, London. The fall of angels,
Gibr eel r ef lect ed, was not t he same ket t le as t he Tumble of Woman and Man. I n t he case of
human persons, t he issue had been mor alit y. Of t he fr uit of t he t r ee of t he knowledge of good
and evil t hey shouldst not eat , and at e. Woman f ir st , and at her suggest ion man, acquir ed t he
ver bot en et hical st andar ds, t ast ily apple- flavour ed: t he ser pent br ought t hem a value syst em.
Enabling t hem, among ot her t hings, t o j udge t he Deit y I t self, making possible in good t ime all
t he awkward inquiries: why evil? Why suffering? Why deat h? - - So, out t hey went . I t didn' t
want I t s pr et t y cr eat ur es get t ing above t heir st at ion. - - Childr en giggled in his f ace:
_somet hing st r aaange in t he neighbour hood_. Armed wit h zapguns, t hey made as if t o bust
him like some common, lowdown spook. _Come away f rom t her e_, a woman commanded, a
t ight ly gr oomed woman, whit e, a r edhead, wit h a broad st ripe of fr eckles acr oss t he middle of
her face; her voice was full of dist ast e. _Did you hear me? Now! _ - - Whereas t he angels' cr ash
was a simple mat t er of power : a st r aight f or war d piece of celest ial police wor k, punishment
for r ebellion, good and t ough "pour encourager les aut res". - - Then how unconfident of I t self
t his Deit y was, Who didn' t want I t s finest creat ions t o know right fr om wrong; and Who reigned
by t err or , insist ing upon t he unqualif ied submission of even I t s closest associat es, packing of f
all dissident s t o I t s blazing Siber ias, t he gulag- infer nos of Hell. . . he checked himself. These
wer e sat anic t hought s, put int o his head by I blis- - Beelzebub- Shait an. I f t he Ent it y wer e st ill
punishing him for his earlier lapse of fait h, t his was no way t o earn r emission. He must simply
cont inue unt il, purif ied, he f elt his full pot ency rest ored. Empt ying his mind, he sat in t he
gat hering dar kness and wat ched t he childr en ( now at some dist ance) play. _I p- dipsky- blue
who"s- t here- not - you not - becauseyou"r e- dir t y not - becauseyou"r e- clean_, and her e, he was
sure, one of t he boys, a grave eleven- - year - - old wit h out size eyes, st ar ed st r aight at him:
_mymot her - says you"r e- t he- fairy- queen_.
Rekha Mer chant mat erialized, all j ewels and finery. "Bachchas are making rude rhymes
about you now, Angel of t he Lor d, " she gibed. "Even t hat lit t le t icket - - gir l back t her e, she isn' t
so impressed. St ill doing badly, baba, looks like t o me. "
o o o
On t his occasion, however , t he spir it of t he suicide Rekha Merchant had not come merely t o
mock. To his ast onishment she claimed t hat his many t r ibulat ions had been of her making:
"You imagine t her e is only your One Thing in char ge?" she cried. "Well, lover - - boy, let me put
you wise. " Her smar t - - alec Bombay English speared him wit h a sudden nost algia for his lost
cit y, but she wasn' t wait ing f or him t o regain his composur e. "Remember t hat I died for love of
you, you cr eepo; t his gives me r ight s. I n part icular , t o be revenged upon you, by t ot ally
bungling up your life. A man must suf fer f or causing a lover' s leap; don' t you t hink so? That ' s
t he r ule, anyway. For so long now I ' ve t ur ned you inside out ; now I ' m j ust fed up. Don' t for get
how I was so good at for giving! You liked it also, na? Therefore I have come t o say t hat
compromise solut ion is always possible. You want t o discuss it , or you pr ef er t o go on being
lost in t his cr aziness, becoming not an angel but a down- and- out hobo, a st upid j oke?"
Gibr eel asked: "What compr omise?"
"What else?" she replied, her manner t r ansformed, all gent leness, wit h a shine in her eyes.
"My far isht a, a so small t hing. "
I f he would only say he loved her :
I f he would only say it , and, once a week, when she came t o lie wit h him, show his love:
I f on a night of his choice it could be as it was dur ing t he ball - - bear ings- - man' s absences
on business:
"Then I will t erminat e t he insanit ies of t he cit y, wit h which I am persecut ing you; nor will
you be possessed, any longer, by t his cr azy not ion of changing, _redeeming_ t he cit y like
somet hing lef t in a pawnshop; it ' ll all be calm- - calm; you can even live wit h your palef ace
mame and be t he gr eat est f ilm st ar in t he wor ld; how could I be j ealous, Gibreel, when I ' m
alr eady dead, I don' t want you t o say I ' m as import ant as her , no, j ust a second- - rank love will
do f or me, a side- dish amour ; t he f oot in t he ot her boot . How about it , Gibreel, j ust t hree- -
lit t le- wor ds, what do you say?"
_Give me t ime_.
"I t isn' t even as if I ' m asking for somet hing new, somet hing you haven' t alr eady agr eed t o,
done, indulged in. Lying wit h a phant om is not such a bad- bad t hing. What about down at
t hat old Mr s. Diamond' s - - in t he boat house, t hat night ? Quit e a t amasha, you don' t t hink so?
So: who do you t hink put it on? List en: I can t ake for you any form you pr efer; one of t he
advant ages of my condit ion. You wish her again, t hat boat house mame fr om t he st one age?
Hey pr est o. You want t he mirr or image of your own mount ain- climber sweat y t omboy iceber g?
Also, allakazoo, allakazam. Who do you t hink it was, wait ing for you af t er t he old lady died?"
All t hat night he walked t he cit y st r eet s, which remained st able, banal, as if r est or ed t o t he
hegemony of nat ur al laws; while Rekha - - float ing before him on her carpet like an ar t ist e on a
st age, j ust above head- height - - serenaded him wit h t he sweet est of love songs, accompanying
herself on an old ivor ysided har monium, singing everyt hing fr om t he gazals of Faiz Ahmed Faiz
t o t he best old film music, such as t he defiant air sung by t he dancer Anar kali in t he presence
of t he Grand Mughal Akbar in t he fift ies classic _Mughal - e- Azam_, - - in which she declar es and
exult s in her impossible, for bidden love for t he Pr ince, Salim, - - "Pyaar kiya t o darna kya?" - -
That is t o say, mor e or less, _why be afr aid of love?_ and Gibreel, whom she had accost ed in
t he gar den of his doubt , f elt t he music at t aching st rings t o his hear t and leading him t owar ds
her, because what she asked was, j ust as she said, such a lit t le t hing, aft er all.
He r eached t he r iver ; and anot her bench, cast - - ir on camels suppor t ing t he wooden slat s,
beneat h Cleopat ra' s Needle. Sit t ing, he closed his eyes. Rekha sang Faiz:
_Do not ask of me, my love_,
_t hat love I once had for you_ . . .
_How lovely you ar e st ill, my love_,
_but I am helpless t oo_;
_f or t he world has ot her sor r ows t han love_,
_and ot her pleasures t oo_.
_Do not ask of me, my love_,
_t hat love I once had for you_.
Gibr eel saw a man behind his closed eyes: not Faiz, but anot her poet , well past his heyday,
a decrepit sor t of fellow. - - Yes, t hat was his name: Baal. What was he doing her e? What did he
have t o say f or himself? - - Because he was cer t ainly t r ying t o say somet hing; his speech, t hick
and slurr y, made underst anding diff icult . . . _Any new idea, Mahound, is asked t wo quest ions.
The first is asked when it ' s weak: WHA T KI ND OF AN I DEA ARE YOU? Ar e you t he kind t hat
compromises, does deals, accommodat es it self t o societ y, aims t o find a niche, t o sur vive; or
are you t he cussed, bloody- minded, r amr od- backed t ype of damnfool not ion t hat would rat her
br eak t han sway wit h t he breeze? - - The kind t hat will almost cer t ainly, ninet y- nine t imes out
of a hundr ed, be smashed t o bit s; but , t he hundr edt h t ime, will change t he world_.
"What ' s t he second quest ion?" Gibreel asked aloud.
_Answer t he fir st one first _.
o o o
Gibr eel, opening his eyes at dawn, found Rekha unable t o sing, silenced by expect at ions
and uncer t aint ies. He let her have it st raight of f. "I t ' s a t r ick. There is no God but God. You ar e
neit her t he Ent it y nor I t s adversary, but only some cat er wauling mist . No compromises; I won' t
do deals wit h fogs. " He saw, t hen, t he emer alds and br ocades fall from her body, followed by
t he flesh, unt il only t he skelet on remained, aft er which t hat , t oo, cr umbled away; finally, t her e
was a pit eous, pier cing shr iek, as what ever was left of Rekha f lew wit h vanquished fury int o t he
sun.
And did not ret urn: except at - - or near - - t he end.
Convinced t hat he had passed a t est , Gibreel realized t hat a great weight had lif t ed f rom
him; his spir it s grew light er by t he second, unt il by t he t ime t he sun was in t he sky he was
lit erally delir ious wit h j oy. Now it could r eally begin: t he t yranny of his enemies, of Rekha and
Alleluia Cone and all t he women who wished t o bind him in t he chains of desir es and songs,
was br oken for good; now he could feel light st reaming out , once more, fr om t he unseen point
j ust behind his head; and his weight , t oo, began t o diminish. - - Yes, he was losing t he last
t r aces of his humanit y, t he gift of f light was being rest ored t o him, as he became et hereal,
woven of illumined air . - - He could simply st ep, t his minut e, off t his blackened parapet and
soar away above t he old gr ey r iver; - - or leap fr om any of it s bridges and never t ouch land
again. So: it was t ime t o show t he cit y a great sight , for when it perceived t he Ar changel
Gibr eel st anding in all his maj est y upon t he west er n hor izon, bat hed in t he r ays of t he rising
sun, t hen sur ely it s people would be sor e afr aid and repent t hem of t heir sins.
He began t o enlarge his per son.
How ast onishing, t hen, t hat of all t he dr ivers st r eaming along t he Embankment - - it was,
aft er all, rush- hour - - not one should so much as look in his dir ect ion, or acknowledge him!
This was in t r ut h a people who had f or got t en how t o see. And because t he r elat ionship bet ween
men and angels is an ambiguous one - - in which t he angels, or mala" ikah, ar e bot h t he
cont r ollers of nat ur e and t he int ermediaries bet ween t he Deit y and t he human race; but at t he
same t ime, as t he Quran clear ly st at es, _we said unt o t he angels, be submissive unt o Adam_,
t he point being t o symbolize man' s abilit y t o mast er , t hr ough knowledge, t he forces of nat ure
which t he angels r epr esent ed - - t her e really wasn' t much t hat t he ignored and infur iat ed malak
Gibr eel could do about it . Ar changels could only speak when men chose t o list en. What a
bunch! Hadn' t he war ned t he Over - Ent it y at t he very beginning about t his crew of cr iminals and
evildoer s? "Wilt t hou place in t he ear t h such as make mischief in it and shed blood?" he had
asked, and t he Being, as usual, r eplied only t hat he knew bet t er. Well, t her e t hey were, t he
mast ers of t he ear t h, canned like t una on wheels and blind as bat s, t heir heads full of mischief
and t heir newspaper s of blood.
I t really was incr edible. Here appear ed a celest ial being, all radiance, ef fulgence and
goodness, lar ger t han Big Ben, capable of st r addling t he Thames colossus- - st yle, and t hese
lit t le ant s r emained immersed in dr ive- t ime r adio and quar rels wit h fellowmot or ist s. "I am
Gibr eel, " he shout ed in a voice t hat shook ever y building on t he river bank: nobody not iced. Not
one per son came r unning out of t hose quaking edifices t o escape t he ear t hquake. Blind, deaf
and asleep.
He decided t o for ce t he issue.
The st ream of t r aff ic f lowed past him. He t ook a might y breat h, lift ed one gigant ic f oot , and
st epped out t o f ace t he car s.
o o o
Gibr eel Far isht a was ret urned t o Allie' s door st ep, badly br uised, wit h many grazes on his
arms and face, and j olt ed int o sanit y, by a t iny shining gent leman wit h an advanced st ammer
who int roduced himself wit h some diff icult y as t he f ilm producer S. S. Sisodia, "known as
Whiwhisky because I ' m papa par t ial t o a t it i t ipple; mamadam, my caca car d. " ( When t hey
knew each ot her bet t er, Sisodia would send Allie int o convulsions of laught er by rolling up his
right t rouser - leg, exposing t he knee, and pronouncing, while he held his enormous wr apar ound
movie- man glasses t o his shin: "Self pawpaw por t rait . " He was longsight ed t o a degr ee: "Don' t
need help t o see moomovies but r eal life get s t oo damn cloclose up. ") I t was Sisodia' s r ent ed
limo t hat hit Gibr eel, a slow- mot ion accident luckily, owing t o t r affic congest ion; t he act or
ended up on t he bonnet , mout hing t he oldest line in t he movies: _Where am I _, and Sisodia,
seeing t he legendar y feat ur es of t he vanished demigod squashed up against t he limousine' s
windshield, was t empt ed t o answer: _Baback wher e you bibi belong: on t he iska iska iscr een_.
- - "No bobobones broken, " Sisodia t old Allie. "A mimi miracle. He ist a ist a ist epped r ight in f afa
front of t he weewee wehicle. "
_So you' r e back_, Allie greet ed Gibreel silent ly. _Seems t his is where you always land up
aft er you fall_.
"Also Scot ch- and- Sisodia, " t he film pr oducer rever t ed t o t he quest ion of his sobr iquet s.
"For hoohoo humor ous reasons. My fafavour it e pup pup poison. "
"I t is very kind of you t o bring Gibreel home, " Allie belat edly got t he point . " You must allow
us t o of fer you a drink. "
"Sur e! Sure! " Sisodia act ually clapped his hands. "For me, for whowhole of heehee Hindi
cinema, t oday is a baba banner day. "
o o o
"You have not heard per haps t he st or y of t he par anoid schizophrenic who, believing himself
t o be t he Emper or Napoleon Bonapart e, agr eed t o under go a lie- - det ect or t est ?" Alicj a Cohen,
eat ing gefilt e f ish hungr ily, waved one of Bloom' s forks under her daught er ' s nose. "The
quest ion t hey asked him: ar e you Napoleon? And t he answer he gave, smiling wickedly, no
doubt : No. So t hey wat ch t he machine, which indicat es wit h all t he insight of modern science
t hat t he lunat ic is lying. " Blake again, Allie t hought . _Then I asked: does afir m perswasion t hat
a t hing is so, make it so? He_ - - i. e. I saiah - - _replied. All poet s believe t hat it does. & in ages
of imaginat ion t his fir m perswasion removed mount ains; but many ar e not capable of a f ir m
per swasion of any t hing_. "Are you list ening t o me, young woman? I ' m serious here. That
gent leman you have in your bed: he r equir es not your night ly at t ent ions - - excuse me but I ' ll
speak plainly; seeing I must - - but , t o be frank, a padded cell. "
"You' d do t hat , wouldn' t you, " Allie hit back. "You' d t hrow away t he key. Maybe you' d even
plug him in. Bur n t he devils out of his brain: st range how our prej udices never change. "
"Hmm, " Alicj a ruminat ed, adopt ing her vaguest and most innocent expression in order t o
infur iat e her daught er. "What can it harm? Yes, maybe a lit t le volt age, a lit t le dose of t he j uice.
.
"What he needs is what he' s get t ing, mot her . Proper medical super vision, plent y of r est ,
and somet hing you maybe forgot about . " She dried suddenly, her t ongue knot t ed, and it was in
quit e a diff er ent , low voice, st aring at her unt ouched salad, t hat she got out t he last word.
"Love. "
"Ah, t he power of love, " Alicj a pat t ed her daught er ' s ( at once wit hdr awn) hand. "No, it ' s
not what I for got , Alleluia. I t ' s what you j ust begun for t he fir st t ime in your beaut iful life t o
lear n. And who do you pick?" She ret urned t o t he at t ack. "An out - t olunch! A ninet y- pennies- in-
t he- pound! A but t erf lies- in- t hebrainbox! I mean, _angels_, darling, I never hear d t he like. Men
are always claiming special pr ivileges, but t his one is a fir st . "
"Mot her . . . " Allie began, but Alicj a' s mood had changed again, and t his t ime, when she
spoke, Allie was not list ening t o t he wor ds, but hear ing t he pain t hey bot h r evealed and
concealed, t he pain of a woman t o whom hist ory had most brut ally happened, who had already
lost a husband and seen one daught er pr ecede her t o what she once, wit h unf or get t able black
humour , referr ed t o ( she must have read t he sport s pages, by some chance, t o come acr oss
t he phrase) as an _ear ly bat h_. " Allie, my baby, " Alicj a Cohen said, "we' r e going t o have t o
t ake good car e of you. "
One reason why Allie was able t o spot t hat panic- anguish in her mot her ' s face was her
recent sight ing of t he same combinat ion on t he feat ur es of Gibr eel Far isht a. Aft er Sisodia
ret ur ned him t o her care, it became plain t hat Gibr eel had been shaken t o t he very mar row,
and t here was a haunt ed look t o him, a scarified popeyed qualit y, t hat quit e pier ced her hear t .
He faced t he f act of his ment al illness wit h cour age, r ef using t o play it down or call it by a false
name, but his recognit ion of it had, underst andably, cowed him. No longer ( for t he pr esent ,
anyway) t he ebullient vulgar ian for whom she had conceived her "gr and passion", he became
for her, in t his newly vulner able incarnat ion, more lovable t han ever . She grew det ermined t o
lead him back t o sanit y, t o st ick it out ; t o wait out t he st or m, and conquer t he peak. And he
was, for t he moment , t he easiest and most malleable of pat ient s, somewhat dopey as a r esult
of t he heavy- dut y medicat ion he was being given by t he specialist s at t he Maudsley Hospit al,
sleeping long hour s, and acquiescing, when awake, in all her request s, wit hout a murmur of
pr ot est . I n alert moment s he filled in for her t he full background t o his illness: t he st range
serial dr eams, and bef or e t hat t he near - fat al breakdown in I ndia. " I am no longer afr aid of
sleep, " he t old her. "Because what ' s happened in my waking t ime is now so much wor se. " His
gr eat est fear reminded her of Charles I I ' s t er r or , af t er his Rest orat ion, of being sent "on his
t r avels" again: "I ' d give anyt hing only t o know it won' t happen any mor e, " he t old her , meek as
a lamb.
_Lives t here who loves his pain?_ "I t won' t happen, " she reassur ed him. "You' ve got t he
best help t her e is. " He quizzed her about money, and, when she t r ied t o deflect t he quest ions,
insist ed t hat she wit hdr aw t he psychiat r ic fees fr om t he small fort une st ashed in his money- -
belt . His spirit s r emained low. "Doesn' t mat t er what you say, " he mumbled in response t o her
cheer y opt imisms. "The craziness is in her e and it dr ives me wild t o t hink it could get out any
minut e, r ight now, and he would be in charge again. " He had begun t o charact er ize his
"possessed" , "angel" self as anot her person: in t he Becket t ian f or mula, _Not I . He_. His ver y
own Mr. Hyde. Allie at t empt ed t o ar gue against such descr ipt ions. " I t isn' t _he_, it ' s you, and
when you' r e well, it won' t be you any more. "
I t didn' t work. For a t ime, however , it looked as t hough t he t r eat ment was going t o. Gibr eel
seemed calmer , mor e in cont r ol; t he ser ial dreams were st ill t here - - he would st ill speak, at
night , ver ses in Arabic, a language he did not know: _t ilk al - ghar aniq al"ula wa inna shaf a"at a-
hunna la- t ur t aj a_, for example, which t urned out t o mean ( Allie, woken by his sleept alk, wr ot e
it down phonet ically and went wit h her scr ap of paper t o t he Br ickhall mosque, wher e her
recit at ion made a mullah' s hair st and on end under his t ur ban) : " These are exalt ed females
whose int ercession is t o be desired" - - but he seemed able t o t hink of t hese night shows as
separat e fr om himself , which gave bot h Allie and t he Maudsley psychiat rist s t he feeling t hat
Gibr eel was slowly reconst ruct ing t he boundary wall bet ween dr eams and r ealit y, and was on
t he r oad t o r ecover y; wher eas in fact , as it t urned out , t his separat ion was relat ed t o, was t he
same phenomenon as, his split t ing of his sense of himself int o t wo ent it ies, one of which he
sought her oically t o suppr ess, but which he also, by char act erizing it as ot her t han himself ,
pr eserved, nourished, and secr et ly made st r ong.
As f or Allie, she lost , f or a while, t he prickly, wr ong f eeling of being st randed in a false
milieu, an alien narr at ive; car ing for Gibreel, invest ing in his br ain, as she put it t o herself ,
fight ing t o salvage him so t hat t hey could r esume t he gr eat , excit ing st r uggle of t heir love - -
because t hey would pr obably quar r el all t he way t o t he gr ave, she mused t olerant ly, t hey' d be
t wo old codgers flapping feebly at one anot her wit h rolled- up newspaper s as t hey sat upon t he
evening verandas of t heir lives - - she felt more closely j oined t o him each day; root ed, so t o
speak, in his eart h. I t was some t ime since Maurice Wilson had been seen sit t ing among t he
chimneypot s, calling her t o her deat h.
o o o
Mr. "Whisky" Sisodia, t hat gleaming and charm- packed knee in spect acles, became a
regular caller - - t hr ee or four visit s a week - - dur ing Gibr eel' s convalescence, invariably arr iving
wit h boxes full of goodies t o eat . Gibreel had been lit er ally f ast ing t o deat h during his " angel
per iod", and t he medical opinion was t hat st ar vat ion had cont r ibut ed in no small degree t o his
hallucinat ions. "So now we fafat t en him up, " Sisodia smacked his palms t oget her , and once t he
invalid' s st omach was up t o it , "Whisky" plied him wit h delicacies: Chinese sweet - - corn and
chicken soup, Bombay- st yle bhel - pur i fr om t he new, chic but unfor t unat ely named "Pagal
Khana" r est aurant whose "Crazy Food" ( but t he name could also be t r anslat ed as _Madhouse_)
had gr own popular enough, especially among t he younger set of Brit ish Asians, t o r ival even
t he long- st anding pr e- eminence of t he Shaandaar Caf , from which Sisodia, not wishing t o
show unseemly part isanship, also fet ched eat s - - sweet meat s, samosas, chicken pat t ies - - for
t he incr easingly voracious Gibr eel. He br ought , t oo, dishes made by his own hand, fish curr ies,
rait as, sivayyan, khir, and doled out , along wit h t he edibles, namedr opping account s of
celebr it y dinner part ies: how Pavarot t i had loved Whisky' s lassi, and O but t hat poor James
Mason had j ust ador ed his spicy pr awns. Vanessa, Amit abh, Dust in, Sridevi, Chr ist opher Reeve
wer e all invoked. "One soosoo superst ar should be awar e of t he t at ast es of his pipi peers. "
Sisodia was somet hing of a legend himself, Allie lear ned f rom Gibreel. The most slipper y and
silver - t ongued man in t he business, he had made a st r ing of "qualit y" pict ur es on micr oscopic
budget s, keeping going f or over t went y year s on pur e charm and nonst op hust le. People on
Sisodia pr oj ect s got paid wit h t he gr eat est dif ficult y, but somehow failed t o mind. He had once
quelled a cast revolt - - over pay, inevit ably - - by whisking t he ent ir e unit off for a grand picnic
in one of t he most fabulous maharaj ah palaces in I ndia, a place t hat was normally of f limit s t o
all but t he high- bor n elit e, t he Gwalior s and Jaipurs and Kashmir s. Nobody ever knew how he
fixed it , but most members of t hat unit had since signed up t o wor k on fur t her Sisodia
vent ures, t he pay issue bur ied beneat h t he gr andeur of such gest ur es. " And if he' s needed he
is always t here, " Gibr eel added. " When Char ulat a, a wonderf ul dancer - act ress he' d oft en used,
needed t he cancer t reat ment , suddenly year s of unpaid fees mat er ialized overnight . "
These days, t hanks t o a st ring of surpr ise box- off ice hit s based on old fables dr awn fr om
t he _Kat ha- Sarit - Sagar_ compendium - - t he "Ocean of t he St reams of St or y", longer t han t he
Ar abian Night s and equally as fant ast icat ed - - Sisodia was no longer based exclusively in his
t iny off ice on Bombay' s Readymoney Ter r ace, but had apar t ment s in London and New Yor k,
and Oscar s in his t oilet s. The st or y was t hat he car r ied, in his wallet , a phot ogr aph of t he Hong
Kong- based kung- phooey producer Run Run Shaw, his supposed her o, whose name he was
quit e unable t o say. " Somet imes four Runs, somet imes a sixer, " Gibreel t old Allie, who was
happy t o see him laugh. "But I can' t swear . I t ' s only a media rumour . "
Allie was gr at eful f or Sisodia' s at t ent iveness. The famous pr oducer appeared t o have
limit less t ime at his disposal, whereas Allie' s schedule had j ust t hen grown ver y f ull. She had
signed a promot ional cont r act wit h a giant chain of fr eezer - - food cent res whose advert ising
agent , Mr. Hal Valance, t old Allie during a power breakf ast - - gr apefruit , dry t oast , decaf, all at
Dor chest er pr ices - - t hat her _pr ofile_, "unit ing as it does t he posit ive par amet er s ( f or our
client ) of ' coldness' and ' cool' , is right on line. Some st ar s end up being vampir es, sucking
at t ent ion away fr om t he br and name, you under st and, but t his feels like r eal syner gy. " So now
t here wer e fr eezer - mart openings t o cut ribbons at , and sales conferences, and adver t ising
shot s wit h t ubs of sof t scoop icecr eam; plus t he r egular meet ings wit h t he designer s and
manufact ur ers of her aut ograph lines of equipment and leisurewear; and, of course, her f it ness
pr ogr amme. She had signed on for Mr. Joshi' s highly r ecommended mar t ial art s course at t he
local sport s cent r e, and cont inued, t oo, t o force her legs t o run five miles a day around t he
Fields, in spit e of t he soles- on- br oken- glass pain. "No pop problem, " Sisodia would send her off
wit h a cheer y wave. " I will iss iss issit here- only unt il you ret ur n. To be wit h Gigibreel is f or me
a pip pip privilege. " She left him r egaling Far isht a wit h his inexhaust ible anecdot es, opinions
and general chit chat , and when she ret ur ned he would st ill be going st rong. She came t o
ident if y sever al maj or t hemes; not ably, his cor pus of st at ement s about The Tr ouble Wit h The
English. " The t rouble wit h t he Engenglish is t hat t heir hiss hiss hist or y happened overseas, so
t hey dodo don' t know what it means. " - - " The see secr et of a dinner part y in London is t o ow
ow out number t he English. I f t hey' re out numbered t hey bebehave; ot herwise, you' r e in
t r ouble. " - - " Go t o t he Ch Ch Chamber of Hor ror s and you' ll see what ' s r ah r ah wr ong wit h
t he English. That ' s what t hey r er eally like, caw cor pses in bubloodbat hs, mad bar ber s, et c. et c.
et era. Their pay papers full of kinky sex and deat h. But t hey t ell t he whir wor ld t hey' re
reserved, ist ist ist iff upper lip and so on, and we' r e ist ist ist upid enough t o believe. " Gibreel
list ened t o t his collect ion of pr ej udices wit h what seemed like complet e assent , ir rit at ing Allie
pr ofoundly. Were t hese generalizat ions really all t hey saw of England? " No, " Sisodia conceded
wit h a shameless smile. "But it f eels googood t o let t his ist ist ist uf f out . "
By t he t ime t he Maudsley people felt able t o r ecommend a maj or reduct ion in Gibreel' s
dosages, Sisodia had become so much a fixt ure at his bedside, a sor t of unof ficial, eccent r ic
and amusing layabout cousin, t hat when he spr ung his t rap Gibr eel and Allie were t aken
complet ely by surpr ise.
o o o
He had been in t ouch wit h colleagues in Bombay: t he seven pr oducer s whom Gibreel had
left in t he lurch when he boar ded Air I ndia' s Flight 420, _Bost an_. "All ar e eel, elat ed by t he
news of your survival, " he informed Gibreel. "Unf unf unf or t unat ely, quest ion of breach of
cont r act ar ar ises. " Various ot her par t ies were also int er est ed in suing t he r enascent Farisht a for
plent y, in par t icular a st ar let named Pimple Billimoria, who alleged loss of ear nings and
pr ofessional damage. "Could urn amount t o curcrores, " Sisodia said, looking lugubrious. Allie
was angr y. "You st ir red up t his hornet s' nest , " she said. "I should have known: you wer e t oo
good t o be t r ue. "
Sisodia became agit at ed. "Damn damn damn. "
"Ladies pr esent , " Gibreel, st ill a lit t le drug- woozy, warned; but Sisodia windmilled his arms,
indicat ing t hat he was t r ying t o force words past his over excit ed t eet h. Finally: "Damage
limit at ion. My int ent ion. Not bet rayal, you mumust not t hit hit hink. "
To hear Sisodia t ell it , nobody back in Bombay really want ed t o sue Gibr eel, t o kill in court
t he goose t hat laid t he golden eggs. All part ies r ecognized t hat t he old proj ect s wer e no longer
capable of being r est art ed: act or s, dir ect or s, key cr ew member s, even sound st ages were
ot her wise commit t ed. All par t ies fur t her recognized t hat Gibr eel' s r et ur n fr om t he dead was an
it em of a commercial value great er t han any of t he defunct films; t he quest ion was how t o
ut ilize it best , t o t he advant age of all concer ned. His landing up in London also suggest ed t he
possibilit y of an int er nat ional connect ion, maybe over seas f unding, use of non- - I ndian
locat ions, part icipat ion of st ar s " from f or eign", et c. : in shor t , it was t ime for Gibr eel t o emer ge
from r et ir ement and face t he cameras again. " Ther e is no chochoice, " Sisodia explained t o
Gibr eel, who sat up in bed t r ying t o clear his head. "I f you refuse, t hey will move against you
_en bloc_, and not even your f our four for t une could suffice. Bankr upt cy, j aj aj ail, f unt oosh. "
Sisodia had t alked himself int o t he hot seat : all t he pr incipals had agr eed t o grant him
execut ive powers in t he mat t er , and he had put t oget her quit e a package. The Brit ish- based
ent repreneur Billy Bat t ut a was eager t o invest bot h in st erling and in "blocked r upees", t he
non- repat riable profit s made by various Br it ish film dist r ibut or s in t he I ndian subcont inent ,
which Bat t ut a had t aken over in ret urn f or cash payment s in negot iable curr encies at a
knockdown ( 37- point discount ) rat e. All t he I ndian producer s would chip in, and Miss Pimple
Billimoria, t o guar ant ee her silence, was t o be off er ed a showcase suppor t ing role feat ur ing at
least t wo dance numbers. Filming would be spr ead bet ween t hr ee cont inent s - - Eur ope, I ndia,
t he Nor t h Af rican coast . Gibr eel got above- t he- - t it le billing, and t hr ee per cent age point s of
pr oducer s' net pr ofit s . . . "Ten, " Gibreel int err upt ed, "against t wo of t he gross. " His mind was
obviously clearing. Sisodia didn' t bat an eyelid. " Ten against t wo, " he agr eed. "Pr e- publicit y
campaign t o be as f ofollows . . . "
"But what ' s t he pr oj ect ?" Allie Cone demanded. Mr. "Whisky" Sisodia beamed fr om ear t o
ear . " Dear mamadam, " he said. " He will play t he ar changel, Gibreel. "
o o o
The pr oposal was for a ser ies of films, bot h hist or ical and cont empor ary, each
concent rat ing on one incident from t he angel' s long and illust r ious car eer : a t r ilogy, at least .
"Don' t t ell me, " Allie said, mocking t he small shining mogul. " _Gibr eel in Jahilia, Gibreel Meet s
t he I mam, Gibr eel wit h t he But t er fly Gir l_. " Sisodia wasn' t one bit embar r assed, but nodded
pr oudly. "St ost orylines, draf t scenar ios, cacast ing opt ions are alr eady well in haha hand. " That
was t oo much for Allie. "I t st inks, " she raged at him, and he ret reat ed fr om her, a t r embling
and placat or y knee, while she. pur sued him, unt il she was act ually chasing him around t he
apart ment , banging int o t he f ur nit ur e, slamming door s. "I t exploit s his sickness, has not hing t o
do wit h his present needs, and shows an ut t er cont empt for his own wishes. He' s r et ir ed; can' t
you people r espect t hat ? He doesn' t want t o be a st ar . And will you please st and st ill. I ' m not
going t o eat you. "
He st opped running, but kept a caut ious sofa bet ween t hem. " Please see t hat t his is imp
imp imp, " he cried, his st ammer cr ippling his t ongue on account of his anxiet y. "Can t he
moomoon r et ire? Also, excuse, t here ar e his seven sig sig sig. _Signat ur es_. Commit t ing him
absolut ely. Unless and unt il you decide t o commit him t o a papapa. " He gave up, sweat ing
freely.
"_A what ?_"
"Pagal Khana. Asylum. That would be anot her wwwway. "
Allie lift ed a heavy brass inkwell in t he shape of Mount Ever est and prepar ed t o hurl it . "You
really ar e a skunk, " she began, but t hen Gibr eel was st anding in t he doorway, st ill rat her pale,
bony and hollow- - eyed. "Alleluia, " he said, " I am t hinking t hat maybe I want t his. Maybe I need
t o go back t o work. "
o o o
"Gibr eel sahib! I can' t t ell you how delight ed. A st ar is r eborn. " Billy Bat t ut a was a surpr ise:
no longer t he hair - gel - and- - finger rings societ y column shark, he was unshowily dressed in
br ass- - but t oned blazer and blue j eans, and inst ead of t he cocksure swagger Allie had expect ed
t here was an at t r act ive, almost def er ent ial r et icence. He had gr own a neat goat ee bear d which
gave him a st r iking r esemblance t o t he Christ - - image on t he Turin Shroud. Welcoming t he
t hr ee of t hem ( Sisodia had picked t hem up in his limo, and t he driver , Nigel, a shar p dr esser
from St Lucia, spent t he j our ney t elling Gibr eel how many ot her pedest rians his light ning
reflexes had saved fr om serious inj ur y or deat h, punct uat ing t hese reminiscences wit h car - -
phone conver sat ions in which myst erious deals involving amazing sums of money wer e
discussed) , Billy had shaken Allie' s hand war mly, and t hen fallen upon Gibr eel and hugged him
in pur e, infect ious j oy. His companion Mimi Mamoulian was r at her less low- key. " I t ' s all fixed, "
she announced. "Fr uit , st ar let s, papar azzi, t alk- - shows, rumour s, lit t le hint s of scandal:
ever yt hing a world f igur e requir es. Flowers, per sonal secur it y, zillion- - pound cont r act s. Make
your selves at home. "
That was t he gener al idea, Allie t hought . Her init ial opposit ion t o t he whole scheme had
been over come by Gibr eel' s own int erest , which, in t ur n, prompt ed his doct or s t o go along wit h
it , est imat ing t hat his rest orat ion t o his familiar milieu - - _going home_, in a way - - might
indeed be benef icial. And Sisodia' s pur loining of t he dr eam- nar rat ives he' d hear d at Gibreel' s
bedside could be seen as serendipit ous: for once t hose st ories wer e clear ly placed in t he
art ificial, fabr icat ed world of t he cinema, it ought t o become easier for Gibreel t o see t hem as
fant asies, t oo. That Ber lin Wall bet ween t he dreaming and waking st at e might well be more
rapidly r ebuilt as a r esult . The bot t om line was t hat it was wor t h t he t r y.
Things ( being t hings) didn' t work out quit e as planned. Allie found herself resent ing t he
ext ent t o which Sisodia, Bat t ut a and Mimi moved in on Gibr eel' s life, t aking over his wardr obe
and daily schedules, and moving him out of Allie' s apar t ment , declaring t hat t he t ime for a
"per manent liaison" was not yet r ipe, "imagewise". Aft er t he st int at t he Rit z, t he movie st ar
was given t hree r ooms in Sisodia' s cavernous, designer - - chic f lat in an old mansion block near
Gr osvenor Square, all Art Deco marbled floor s and scumbling on t he walls. Gibreel' s own
passive accept ance of t hese changes was, f or Allie, t he most infuriat ing aspect of all, and she
began t o comprehend t he size of t he st ep he' d t aken when he left behind what was clearly
second nat ure t o him, and came hunt ing for her . Now t hat he was sinking back int o t hat
universe of ar med bodyguar ds and maids wit h breakf ast t r ays and giggles, would he dump her
as dr amat ically as he had ent er ed her lif e? Had she helped t o engineer a r everse migrat ion t hat
would leave her high and dry? Gibreel st ar ed out of newspaper s, magazines, t elevision set s,
wit h many differ ent women on his arm, grinning foolishly. She hat ed it , but he r efused t o
not ice. " What are you wor rying?" he dismissed her , while sinking int o a leat her sofa t he size of
a small pick- - up t r uck. "I t ' s only phot o oppor t unit ies: business, t hat ' s all. "
Wor st of all: _he_ got j ealous. As he came of f t he heavy dr ugs, and as his wor k ( as well as
hers) began t o f or ce separ at ions upon t hem, he began t o be possessed, once again, by t hat
ir r at ional, out - of - - cont r ol suspiciousness which had precipit at ed t he r idiculous quar rel over t he
Brunel car t oons. Whenever t hey met he would put her t hr ough t he mill, int er rogat ing her
minut ely: wher e had she been, who had she seen, what did he do, did she lead him on? She
felt as if she were suf focat ing. His ment al illness, t he new influences in his life, and now t his
night ly t hirddegree t reat ment : it was as t hough her r eal lif e, t he one she want ed, t he one she
was hanging in t her e and fight ing for, was being bur ied deeper and deeper under t his
avalanche of wr ongnesses. _What about what I need_, she felt like screaming, _when do I get
t o set t he t erms?_ Driven t o t he ver y edge of her self - - cont r ol, she asked, as a last resort , her
mot her ' s advice. I n her f at her' s old st udy in t he Moscow Road house - - which Alicj a had kept
j ust t he way Ot t o liked it , except t hat now t he curt ains were dr awn back t o let in what light
England could come up wit h, and t her e were flower - - vases at st r at egic point s - - Alicj a at f ir st
off er ed lit t le more t han world- wear iness. "So a woman' s life- plans are being smot her ed by a
man' s, " she said, not unkindly. "So welcome t o your gender. I see it ' s st range for you t o be out
of cont r ol. " And Allie conf essed: she want ed t o leave him, but found she couldn' t . Not j ust
because of guilt about abandoning a ser iously unwell person; also because of "gr and passion",
because of t he wor d t hat st ill dr ied her t ongue when she t ried t o say it . " You want his child, "
Alicj a put her finger on it . At f ir st Allie blazed: "I want my child, " but t hen, subsiding abr upt ly,
blowing her nose, she nodded dumbly, and was on t he ver ge of t ear s.
"You want your head examining is what , " Alicj a comf or t ed her. How long since t hey had
been like t his in one anot her' s arms? Too long. And maybe it would be t he last t ime. . . Alicj a
hugged her daught er, said: "So dry your eyes. Comes now t he good news. Your aff airs might
be shot t o r ibbons, but your old mot her is in bet t er shape. "
Ther e was an American college professor , a cer t ain Boniek, big in genet ic engineer ing.
"Now don' t st ar t , dear , you don' t know anyt hing, it ' s not all Fr ankenst ein and geeps, it has
many beneficial applicat ions, " Alicj a said wit h evident nervousness, and Allie, overcoming her
surpr ise and her own r ed- rimmed unhappiness, burst int o convulsive, liber at ing sobs of
laught er ; in which her mot her j oined. " At your age, " Allie wept , "you ought t o be ashamed. " - -
" Well, I ' m not , " t he f ut ur e Mrs. Boniek r ej oined. " A professor , and in St anford, California, so he
br ings t he sunshine also. I int end t o spend many hours working on my t an. "
o o o
When she discovered ( a r epor t found by chance in a desk dr awer at t he Sisodia palazzo)
t hat Gibreel had st ar t ed having her followed, Allie did, at last , make t he br eak. She scr ibbled a
not e - - _This is killing me_ - - slipped it inside t he report , which she placed on t he deskt op; and
left wit hout saying goodbye. Gibr eel never rang her up. He was r ehear sing, in t hose days, for
his grand public r eappear ance at t he lat est in a successful ser ies of st age song- and- dance
shows feat uring I ndian movie st ar s and st aged by one of Billy Bat t ut a' s companies at Earls
Cour t . He was t o be t he unannounced, surpr ise t op- of - t he- bill showst opper, and had been
rehear sing dance r out ines wit h t he show' s chor us line for weeks: also r cacquaint ing himself
wit h t he ar t of mout hing t o playback music. Rumour s of t he ident it y of t he Myst ery Man or
Dark St ar were being car ef ully cir culat ed and monit or ed by Bat t ut a' s promo men, and t he
Valance advert ising agency had been hired t o devise a ser ies of " t easer " r adio commercials and
a local 48- - sheet post er campaign. Gibreel' s arr ival on t he Ear ls Court st age - - he was t o be
lowered f rom t he flies sur rounded by clouds of cardboard and smoke - - was t he int ended
climax t o t he English segment of his r e- ent ry int o his super st ar dom; next st op, Bombay.
Deser t ed, as he called it , by Alleluia Cone, he once more " refused t o cr awl"; and immer sed
himself in wor k.
The next t hing t hat went wrong was t hat Billy Bat t ut a got himself arr est ed in New Yor k for
his Sat anic st ing. Allie, reading about it in t he Sunday paper s, swallowed her pr ide and called
Gibr eel at t he rehear sal rooms t o war n him against consort ing wit h such pat ent ly criminal
element s. "Bat t ut a' s a hood, " she insist ed. "His whole manner was a perfor mance, a f ake. He
want ed t o be sur e he' d be a hit wit h t he Manhat t an dowager s, so he made us his t r yout
audience. That goat ee! And a college blazer , f or God' s sake: how did we fall for it ?" But Gibreel
was cold and wit hdr awn; she had dit ched him, in his book, and he wasn' t about t o t ake advice
from deser t er s. Besides, Sisodia and t he Bat t ut a promo t eam had assur ed him - - and he had
gr illed t hem about it all right - - t hat Billy' s pr oblems had no r elevance t o t he gala night
( Filmmela, t hat was t he name) because t he f inancial arr angement s r emained solid, t he monies
for f ees and guar ant ees had already been allocat ed, all t he Bombay- - based st ar s had
conf ir med, and would part icipat e as planned. "Plans fifilling up fast , " Sisodia pr omised.
"Shoshow must go on. "
The next t hing t hat went wrong was inside Gibr eel.
o o o
Sisodia' s det er minat ion t o keep people guessing about t his Dark St ar meant t hat Gibr eel
had t o ent er t he Ear ls Cour t st age- - door dr essed in a bur qa. So t hat even his sex remained a
myst ery. He was given t he lar gest dressing- room - - a black five- point ed st ar had been st uck on
t he door - - and was uncer emoniously locked in by t he bespect acled genufor m producer. I n t he
dr essing- room he f ound his angel- cost ume, including a cont r apt ion t hat , when t ied around his
for ehead, would cause light bulbs t o glow behind him, creat ing t he illusion of a halo; and a
closed- - circuit t elevision, on which he would be able t o wat ch t he show - - Mit hun and Kimi
cavort ing for t he " disco diwan" set ; Jayapradha and Rekha ( no r elat ion: t he megast ar , not a
figment on a r ug) submit t ing r egally t o on- st age int erviews, in which Jaya divulged her views
on polygamy while Rekha f ant asized about alt er nat ive lives - - "I f I ' d been born out of I ndia, I ' d
have been a paint er in Par is" ; heman st unt s from Vinod and Dharmendra; Sridevi get t ing her
sar i wet - - unt il it was t ime for him t o t ake up his posit ion on a winch- operat ed "chariot " high
above t he st age. Ther e was a cor dless t elephone, on which Sisodia called t o t ell him t hat t he
house was full - - "All sort s are here, " he t r iumphed, and pr oceeded t o of fer Gibreel his
t echnique of cr owd analysis: you could t ell t he Pakist anis because t hey dressed up t o t he gills,
t he I ndians because t hey dr essed down, and t he Bangladeshis because t hey dr essed badly, "all
t hat pupurple and pink and gogo gold got a t hat t hey like" - - and which ot herwise remained
silent ; and, f inally, a lar ge gift - wrapped box, a lit t le pr esent f rom his t hought ful pr oducer,
which t ur ned out t o cont ain Miss Pimple Billimoria wearing a winsome expr ession and a
quant it y of gold r ibbon. The movies wer e in t own.
o o o
The st range feeling began - - t hat is, _r et ur ned_ - - when he was in t he " chariot ", wait ing t o
descend. He t hought of himself as moving along a r out e on which, any moment now, a choice
would be offered him, a choice - - t he t hought formulat ed it self in his head wit hout any help
from him - - bet ween t wo r ealit ies, t his wor ld and anot her t hat was also r ight t here, visible but
unseen. He felt slow, heavy, dist anced f rom his own consciousness, and r ealized t hat he had
not t he f aint est idea which pat h he would choose, which wor ld he would ent er . The doct ors had
been wr ong, he now perceived, t o t r eat him for schizophrenia; t he split t ing was not in him, but
in t he univer se. As t he char iot began it s descent t owar ds t he immense, t idal roar t hat had
begun t o swell below him, he r ehear sed his opening line - - _My name is Gibr eel Far isht a, and
I ' m back_ - - and hear d it , so t o speak, in st er eo, because it , t oo, belonged in bot h wor lds, wit h
a different meaning in each; - - and now t he light s hit him, he raised his arms high, he was
ret ur ning wreat hed in clouds, - - and t he cr owd had r ecognized him, and his f ellow- per formers,
t oo; people wer e r ising fr om t heir seat s, ever y man, woman and child in t he audit orium,
surging t owards t he st age, unst oppable, like a sea. - - The first man t o reach him had t ime t o
scr eam out _Remember me, Gibr eel? Wit h t he six t oes? Maslama, sir : John Maslama. I kept
secr et your presence among us; but yes, I have been speaking out about t he coming of t he
Lor d, I have gone before you, a voice cr ying in t he wilder ness, t he crooked shall be made
st raight and t he rough places plain_ - - but t hen he had been dr agged away, and t he secur it y
guar ds wer e around Gibr eel, _t hey' r e out of cont r ol, it ' s a fucking riot , you' ll have t o_ - - but he
wouldn' t go, because he' d seen t hat at least half t he crowd wer e wearing bizarr e headgear,
rubber hor ns t o make t hem look like demons, as if t hey wer e badges of belonging and
defiance; - - and in t hat inst ant when he saw t he adver sar y' s sign he felt t he universe fork and
he st epped down t he left - hand pat h.
The off icial ver sion of what followed, and t he one accept ed by all t he news media, was t hat
Gibr eel Far isht a had been lift ed out of t he danger ar ea in t he same winch- operat ed char iot in
which he' d descended, and fr om which he hadn' t had t ime t o emerge; - - and t hat it would
t herefore have been easy f or him t o make his escape, f rom his isolat ed and unwat ched place
high above t he mle. This ver sion proved r esilient enough t o survive t he "r evelat ion" in t he
Voice t hat t he assist ant st age manager in char ge of t he winch had not , repeat not , set it in
mot ion aft er it landed; - - t hat , in fact , t he chariot remained grounded t hroughout t he r iot of t he
ecst at ic f ilm fans; - - and t hat subst ant ial sums of money had been paid t o t he backst age st af f
t o persuade t hem t o collude in t he fabr icat ion of a st ory which, because t ot ally f ict ional, was
realist ic enough for t he newspaper - buying public t o believe. However, t he rumour t hat Gibr eel
Far isht a had act ually levit at ed away f rom t he Ear ls Cour t st age and vanished int o t he blue
under his own st eam spr ead rapidly t hr ough t he cit y' s Asian populat ion, and was f ed by many
account s of t he halo t hat had been seen st r eaming out fr om a point j ust behind his head.
Wit hin days of t he second disappear ance of Gibr eel Far isht a, vendors of novelt ies in Brickhall,
Wembley and Brixt on wer e selling as many t oy haloes ( gr een fluor escent hoops wer e t he
most popular) as headbands t o which had been affixed a pair of r ubber hor ns.
o o o
He was hover ing high over London! - - Haha, t hey couldn' t t ouch him now, t he devils
rushing upon him in t hat Pandemonium! - - He looked down upon t he cit y and saw t he English.
The t r ouble wit h t he English was t hat t hey were English: damn cold fish! - - Living under wat er
most of t he year , in days t he colour of night ! - - Well: he was here now, t he gr eat Transfor mer,
and t his t ime t here' d be some changes made - - t he laws of nat ure ar e t he laws of it s
t r ansfor mat ion, and he was t he very per son t o ut ilize t he same! - - Yes, indeed: t his t ime,
clarit y.
He would show t hem - - yes! - - his _power_. - - These power less English! - - Did t hey not
t hink t heir hist ory would ret ur n t o haunt t hem? - - "The nat ive is an oppr essed person whose
per manent dr eam is t o become t he persecut or " ( Fanon) . English women no longer bound him;
t he conspir acy st ood exposed! - - Then away wit h all fogs. He would make t his land anew. He
was t he Ar changel, Gibr eel. - - _And I ' m back! _
The face of t he adver sar y hung bef or e him once again, sharpening, clar ifying. Moony wit h a
sar donic curl t o t he lips: but t he name st ill eluded . . . _t cha_, like t ea? _Shah_, a king? Or like
a ( royal? t ea?) dance: _Shat chacha_. - - Nearly t her e. - - And t he nat ure of t he adversary: self - -
hat ing, const r uct ing a false ego, aut o- - dest r uct ive. Fanon again: "I n t his way t he individual" - -
t he Fanonian _nat ive_ - - "accept s t he disint egr at ion ordained by God, bows down before t he
set t ler and his lot , and by a kind of int er ior r est abilizat ion acquires a st ony calm. " - - _I ' ll give
him st ony calm! _ - - Nat ive and set t ler, t hat old disput e, cont inuing now upon t hese soggy
st reet s, wit h reversed cat egor ies. - - I t occur red t o him now t hat he was f or ever j oined t o t he
adver sary, t heir ar ms locked around one anot her ' s bodies, mout h t o mout h, head t o t ail, as
when t hey fell t o ear t h: when t hey set t led. - - As t hings begin so t hey cont inue. - - Yes, he was
coming closer . - - Chichi? Sasa? - - _My ot her , my love_ . . .
. . . No! - - He f loat ed over par kland and cried out , fr ight ening t he birds. - - No more of
t hese England- induced ambiguit ies, t hese Biblical- - Sat anic confusions! - - Clarit y, clarit y, at all
cost s clarit y! - - This Shait an was no fallen angel. - - For get t hose son- oft he- mor ning f ict ions;
t his was no good boy gone bad, but pur e evil. Tr ut h was, he wasn' t an angel at all! - - "He was
of t he dj inn, so he t ransgr essed. " - - Qur an 18 : 50, t here it was as plain as t he day. - - How
much mor e st r aight f or war d t his version was! How much more pr act ical, down- - t o- - ear t h,
comprehensible! - - I blis/ Shait an st anding for t he darkness, Gibr eel for t he light . - - Out , out
wit h t hese sent iment alit ies: _j oining, locking t oget her , love_. Seek and dest r oy: t hat was all.
. . . O most slipper y, most devilish of cit ies! - - I n which such st ar k, imper at ive opposit ions
wer e drowned beneat h an endless drizzle of greys. - - How right he' d been, f or inst ance, t o
banish t hose Sat anico- Biblical doubt s of his, - - t hose concer ning God' s unwillingness t o per mit
dissent among his lieut enant s, - - for as I blis/ Shait an was no angel, so t her e had been no
angelic dissident s for t he Divinit y t o r epr ess; - - and t hose concer ning f or bidden fr uit , and God' s
supposed denial of moral choice t o his cr eat ions; - - for nowher e in t he ent ire Recit at ion was
t hat Tree called ( as t he Bible had it ) t he r oot of t he knowledge of good and evil. _I t was simply
a different Tr ee! _ Shait an, t empt ing t he Edenic couple, called it only "t he Tree of I mmort alit y" -
- and as he was a liar, so t he t r ut h ( discovered by inver sion) was t hat t he banned f ruit ( apples
wer e not specified) hung upon t he Deat h- Tree, no less, t he slayer of men' s souls. - - What
remained now of t hat moralit yf ear ing God? Wher e was He t o be found? - - Only down below, in
English heart s. - - Which he, Gibreel, had come t o t ransfor m.
Abr acadabr a!
Hocus Pocus!
But wher e should he begin? - - Well, t hen, t he t r ouble wit h t he English was t heir :
Their :
_I n a word_, Gibr eel solemnly pr onounced, _t heir weat her_.
Gibr eel Far isht a float ing on his cloud for med t he opinion t hat t he moral f uzziness of t he
English was met eorologically induced. "When t he day is not warmer t han t he night , " he
reasoned, "when t he light is not bright er t han t he dar k, when t he land is not dr ier t han t he sea,
t hen clearly a people will lose t he power t o make dist inct ions, and commence t o see everyt hing
- - fr om polit ical par t ies t o sexual par t ners t o religious beliefs - - as much- - t he- - same, not hing-
t o- choose, give- or - t ake. What f olly! For t rut h is ext r eme, it is _so_ and not _t hus_, it is _him_
and not _her _; a par t isan mat t er, not a spect at or spor t . I t is, in br ief , _heat ed_. Cit y, " he
cried, and his voice r olled over t he met r opolis like t hunder , " I am going t o t r opicalize you. "
Gibr eel enumerat ed t he benefit s of t he pr oposed met amor phosis of London int o a t r opical
cit y: incr eased mor al definit ion, inst it ut ion of a nat ional siest a, development of vivid and
expansive pat t er ns of behaviour among t he populace, higher qualit y popular music, new birds in
t he t rees ( macaws, peacocks, cockat oos) , new t r ees under t he bir ds ( coco- - palms, t amarind,
banyans wit h hanging bear ds) . I mproved st r eet - - lif e, out r ageously coloured flowers ( magent a,
ver milion, neon- gr een) , spider monkeys in t he oaks. A new mass mar ket for domest ic
air condit ioning unit s, ceiling f ans, ant i - mosquit o coils and sprays. A coir and copra indust r y.
I ncreased appeal of London as a cent r e for conf er ences, et c. ; bet t er cr icket er s; higher
emphasis on ballcont r ol among professional f oot baller s, t he t r adit ional and soulless English
commit ment t o "high wor kr at e" having been r endered obsolet e by t he heat . Religious f er vour ,
polit ical fer ment , renewal of int er est in t he int elligent sia. No mor e Brit ish r eserve; hot - wat er
bot t les t o be banished f or ever , r eplaced in t he f oet id night s by t he making of slow and odorous
love. Emer gence of new social values: fr iends t o commence dropping in on one anot her wit hout
making appoint ment s, closur e of old folks' homes, emphasis on t he ext ended family. Spicier
food; t he use of wat er as well as paper in English t oilet s; t he j oy of running f ully dressed
t hr ough t he f irst rains of t he monsoon.
Disadvant ages: cholera, t yphoid, legionnair es' disease, cockroaches, dust , noise, a cult ur e
of excess.
St anding upon t he hor izon, spreading his ar ms t o fill t he sky, Gibr eel cried: "Let it be. "
Three t hings happened, fast .
The first was t hat , as t he unimaginably colossal, element al for ces of t he t r ansfor mat ional
pr ocess rushed out of his body ( for was he not t heir _embodiment ?_) , he was t empor arily
over come by a warm, spinning heaviness, a sopor ific chur ning ( not at all unpleasant ) t hat
made him close, j ust for an inst ant , his eyes.
The second was t hat t he moment his eyes were shut t he hor ned and goat y f eat ur es of Mr .
Saladin Chamcha appeared, on t he scr een of his mind, as shar p and well- defined as could be;
accompanied, as if it wer e sub- - t it led t her e, by t he adver sar y' s name.
And t he t hir d t hing was t hat Gibreel Far isht a opened his eyes t o find himself collapsed,
once again, on Alleluia Cone' s doorst ep, begging her f or giveness, weeping _O God, it
happened, it really happened again_.
o o o
She put him t o bed; he found himself escaping int o sleep, diving headlong int o it , away
from Proper London and t owar ds Jahilia, because t he r eal t er ror had cr ossed t he br oken
boundar y wall, and st alked his waking hours.
"A homing inst inct : one cr azy heading f or anot her, " Alicj a said when her daught er phoned
wit h t he news. "You must be put t ing out a signal, some sort of bleeping t hing. " As usual, she
hid her concer n beneat h wisecracks. Finally she came out wit h it : "This t ime be sensible,
Alleluia, okay? This t ime t he asylum. "
"We' ll see, mot her. He' s asleep r ight now. "
"So he isn' t going t o wake up?" Alicj a expost ulat ed, t hen cont rolled her self. " All right , I
know, it ' s your life. List en, isn' t t his weat her somet hing? They say it could last mont hs:
' blocked pat t er n' , I hear d on t elevision, r ain over Moscow, while her e it ' s a t r opical heat waye. I
called Boniek at St anfor d and t old him: now we have weat her in London, t oo. "
VI
Ret urn t o
Jahilia
When Baal t he poet saw a single t ear drop t he colour of blood emerging fr om t he cor ner of
t he left eye of t he st at ue of Al- Lat in t he House of t he Black St one, he underst ood t hat t he
Prophet Mahound was on his way back t o Jahilia aft er an exile of a quart er - cent ury. He belched
violent ly - - an aff lict ion of age, t his, it s coarseness seeming t o cor respond t o t he gener al
t hickening induced by t he years, a t hickening of t he t ongue as well as t he body, a slow
congealment of t he blood, t hat had t ur ned Baal at fift y int o a f igur e quit e unlike his quick
young self. Somet imes he felt t hat t he air it self had t hickened, r esist ing him, so t hat even a
shor t ish walk could leave him pant ing, wit h an ache in his arm and an irr egular it y in his chest .
. . and Mahound must have changed, t oo, r et ur ning as he was in splendour and omnipot ence t o
t he place whence he fled empt yhanded, wit hout so much as a wif e. Mahound at sixt y- five. Our
names meet , separat e, and meet again, Baal t hought , but t he people going by t he names do
not r emain t he same. He left AlLat t o emerge int o br ight sunlight , and hear d fr om behind his
back a lit t le snickering laugh. He t ur ned, weight ily; nobody t o be seen. The hem of a robe
vanishing around a corner. These days, down- at - - heel Baal oft en made st rangers giggle in t he
st reet . "Bast ard! " he shout ed at t he t op of his voice, scandalizing t he ot her wor shipper s in t he
House. Baal, t he decr epit poet , behaving badly again. He shr ugged and headed for home.
The cit y of Jahilia was no longer built of sand. That is t o say, t he passage of t he year s, t he
sorcer y of t he desert winds, t he pet r ifying moon, t he f or get fulness of t he people and t he
inevit abilit y of pr ogr ess had har dened t he t own, so t hat it had lost it s old, shif t ing, provisional
qualit y of a mir age in which men could live, and become a prosaic place, quot idian and ( like it s
poet s) poor . Mahound' s arm had gr own long; his power had encir cled Jahilia, cut t ing off it s life-
- blood, it s pilgr ims and caravans. The fair s of Jahilia, t hese days, wer e pit if ul t o behold.
Even t he Gr andee himself had acquired a t headbare look, his whit e hair as f ull of gaps as
his t eet h. His concubines wer e dying of old age, and he lacked t he energy - - or , so t he r umour s
mur mured in t he desult ory alleys of t he cit y, t he need - - t o replace t hem. Some days he f or got
t o shave, which added t o his look of dilapidat ion and defeat . Only Hind was t he same as ever.
She had always had somet hing of a r eput at ion as a wit ch, who could wish illnesses upon
you if you failed t o bow down before her lit t er as it passed, an occult ist wit h t he power of
t r ansfor ming men int o deser t snakes when she had had her fill of t hem, and t hen cat ching
t hem by t he t ail and having t hem cooked in t heir skins for her evening meal. Now t hat she had
reached sixt y t he legend of her necromancy was being given new subst ant iat ion by her
ext r aordinary and unnat ural failur e t o age. While all ar ound her hardened int o st agnat ion, while
t he old gangs of Shar ks grew middle- - aged and squat t ed on St reet corners playing car ds and
rolling dice, while t he old knot - - wit ches and cont or t ionist s st ar ved t o deat h in t he gullies, while
a generat ion grew up whose conser vat ism and unquest ioning worship of t he mat erial wor ld was
bor n of t heir knowledge of t he probabilit y of unemployment and penury, while t he gr eat cit y
lost it s sense of it self and even t he cult of t he dead declined in popular it y t o t he r elief of t he
camels of Jahilia, whose dislike of being left wit h sever ed hamst r ings on human gr aves was
easy t o compr ehend . . . while Jahilia decayed, in short , Hind r emained unwrinkled, her body as
firm as any young woman' s, her hair as black as cr ow feat her s, her eyes sparkling like knives,
her bear ing st ill haught y, her voice st ill brooking no opposit ion. Hind, not Simbel, r uled t he cit y
now; or so she undeniably believed.
As t he Gr andee gr ew int o a soft and pursy old age, Hind t ook t o wr it ing a ser ies of
admonit or y and hort at ory epist les or bulls t o t he people of t he cit y. These wer e past ed up on
ever y st reet in t own. So it was t hat Hind and not Abu Simbel came t o be t hought of by
Jahilians as t he embodiment of t he cit y, it s living avat ar , because t hey f ound in her physical
unchangingness and in t he unflinching resolve of her pr oclamat ions a descript ion of t hemselves
far mor e palat able t han t he pict ure t hey saw in t he mir ror of Simbel' s cr umbling face. Hind' s
post er s wer e mor e inf luent ial t han any poet ' s verses. She was st ill sexually vor acious, and had
slept wit h ever y writ er in t he cit y ( t hough it was a long t ime since Baal had been allowed int o
her bed) ; now t he writ ers wer e used up, discarded, and she was r ampant . Wit h sword as well
as pen. She was Hind, who had j oined t he Jahilian ar my disguised as a man, using sor cer y t o
deflect all spears and swor ds, seeking out her br ot hers' killer t hr ough t he st orm of war . Hind,
who but chered t he Prophet ' s uncle, and at e old Hamza' s liver and his hear t .
Who could r esist her? For her et ernal yout h which was also t heirs; for her ferocit y which
gave t hem t he illusion of being invincible; and f or her bulls, which wer e refusals of t ime, of
hist or y, of age, which sang t he cit y' s undimmed magnificence and defied t he gar bage and
decrepit ude of t he st r eet s, which insist ed on great ness, on leadership, on immort alit y, on t he
st at us of Jahilians as cust odians of t he divine . . . for t hese wr it ings t he people f or gave her her
pr omiscuit y, t hey t ur ned a blind eye t o t he st ories of Hind being weighed in emer alds on her
bir t hday, t hey ignor ed rumours of orgies, t hey laughed when t old of t he size of her war drobe,
of t he f ive hundred and eight y- one night gowns made of gold leaf and t he four hundr ed and
t went y pair s of ruby slipper s. The cit izens of Jahilia dragged t hemselves t hrough t heir
increasingly dangerous st reet s, in which mur der f or small change was becoming commonplace,
in which old women were being raped and r it ually slaught er ed, in which t he riot s of t he
st arving wer e brut ally put down by Hind' s per sonal police force, t he Mant icor ps; and in spit e of
t he evidence of t heir eyes, st omachs and wallet s, t hey believed what Hind whispered in t heir
ear s: Rule, Jahilia, glory of t he wor ld.
Not all of t hem, of course. Not , f or example, Baal. Who looked away f rom public af fairs and
wrot e poems of unr equit ed love.
Munching a whit e r adish, he ar rived home, passing beneat h a dingy ar chway in a cracking
wall. Her e t her e was a small ur inous cour t yar d lit t er ed wit h feat hers, veget able peelings, blood.
Ther e was no sign of human lif e: only flies, shadows, fear . These days it was necessary t o be
on one' s guard. A sect of murder ous hashashin roamed t he cit y. Affluent persons were advised
t o appr oach t heir homes on t he opposit e side of t he st r eet , t o make sure t hat t he house was
not being wat ched; when t he coast was clear t hey would rush f or t he door and shut it behind
t hem before any lur king cr iminal could push his way in. Baal did not bot her wit h such
pr ecaut ions. Once he had been affluent , but t hat was a quart er of a cent ur y ago. Now t her e
was no demand for sat ires - - t he gener al fear of Mahound had dest r oyed t he mar ket for
insult s and wit . And wit h t he decline of t he cult of t he dead had come a shar p dr op in or der s f or
epit aphs and t r iumphal odes of r evenge. Times wer e har d all ar ound.
Dreaming of long- lost banquet s, Baal climbed an unst eady wooden st air case t o his small
upst air s room. What did he have t o st eal? He wasn' t wort h t he knife. Opening his door, he
began t o ent er, when a push sent him t umbling t o bloody his nose against t he f ar wall. " Don' t
kill me, " he squealed blindly. "O God, don' t mur der me, for pit y' s sake, O. "
The ot her hand closed t he door. Baal knew t hat no mat t er how loudly he scr eamed t hey
would r emain alone, sealed of f f rom t he wor ld in t hat uncaring r oom. Nobody would come; he
himself, hearing his neighbour shriek, would have pushed his cot against t he door .
The int r uder' s hooded cloak concealed his face complet ely. Baal mopped his bleeding nose,
kneeling, shaking uncont r ollably. "I ' ve got no money, " he implored. " I ' ve got not hing. " Now t he
st ranger spoke: "I f a hungr y dog looks for food, he does not look in t he doghouse. " And t hen,
aft er a pause: "Baal. Ther e' s not much left of you. I had hoped f or more. "
Now Baal f elt oddly af fr ont ed as well as t err ified. Was t his some kind of dement ed fan, who
would kill him because he no longer lived up t o t he power of his old wor k? St ill t r embling, he
at t empt ed self - - depr ecat ion. " To meet a wr it er is, usually, t o be disappoint ed, " he off er ed. The
ot her ignor ed t his remar k. "Mahound is coming, " he said.
This flat st at ement filled Baal wit h t he most pr ofound t er ror. "What ' s t hat got t o do wit h
me?" he cr ied. "What does he want ? I t was a long t ime ago - - a lifet ime - - mor e t han a
lif et ime. What does he want ? Are you f rom, ar e you sent by him?"
"His memor y is as long as his face, " t he int ruder said, pushing back his hood. "No, I am not
his messenger . You and I have somet hing in common. We are bot h afraid of him. "
"I know you, " Baal said.
"Yes. "
"The way you speak. You' re a for eigner. "
"' A r evolut ion of wat er - - car riers, immigr ant s and slaves, ' " t he st r anger quot ed. "Your
wor ds. "
"You' re t he immigrant , " Baal r emembered. "The Persian. Sulaiman. " The Per sian smiled his
crooked smile. " Salman, " he cor rect ed. " Not wise, but peaceful. "
"You were one of t he closest t o him, " Baal said, perplexed.
"The closer you are t o a conj ur er, " Salman bit t er ly r eplied, "t he easier t o spot t he t r ick. "
And Gibreel dreamed t his:
At t he oasis of Yat hrib t he follower s of t he new fait h of Submission f ound t hemselves
landless, and t her efor e poor . For many year s t hey f inanced t hemselves by act s of br igandage,
at t acking t he r ich camel- t r ains on t heir way t o and from Jahilia. Mahound had no t ime for
scr uples, Salman t old Baal, no qualms about ends and means. The fait hful lived by lawlessness,
but in t hose years Mahound - - or should one say t he Archangel Gibr eel? - - should one say Al-
Lah? - - became obsessed by law. Amid t he palm- t r ees of t he oasis Gibreel appear ed t o t he
Prophet and f ound himself spout ing rules, r ules, r ules, unt il t he fait hful could scar cely bear t he
pr ospect of any mor e revelat ion, Salman said, rules about ever y damn t hing, if a man f art s let
him t ur n his face t o t he wind, a rule about which hand t o use f or t he pur pose of cleaning one' s
behind. I t was as if no aspect of human exist ence was t o be left unregulat ed, f ree. The
revelat ion - - t he _r ecit at ion_ - - t old t he fait hful how much t o eat , how deeply t hey should
sleep, and which sexual posit ions had r eceived divine sanct ion, so t hat t hey lear ned t hat
sodomy and t he missionar y posit ion were appr oved of by t he archangel, whereas t he f or bidden
post ur es included all t hose in which t he female was on t op. Gibreel fur t her list ed t he permit t ed
and for bidden subj ect s of conversat ion, and ear marked t he par t s of t he body which could not
be scr at ched no mat t er how unbearably t hey might it ch. He vet oed t he consumpt ion of prawns,
t hose bizarr e ot her - wor ldly creat ur es which no member of t he f ait hful had ever seen, and
requir ed animals t o be killed slowly, by bleeding, so t hat by experiencing t heir deat hs t o t he full
t hey might ar rive at an underst anding of t he meaning of t heir lives, f or it is only at t he moment
of deat h t hat living cr eat ur es under st and t hat life has been real, and not a sor t of dr eam. And
Gibr eel t he archangel specif ied t he manner in which a man should be buried, and how his
pr oper t y should be divided, so t hat Salman t he Per sian got t o wondering what manner of God
t his was t hat sounded so much like a businessman. This was when he had t he idea t hat
dest r oyed his fait h, because he r ecalled t hat of cour se Mahound himself had been a
businessman, and a damned successful one at t hat , a person t o whom or ganizat ion and rules
came nat ur ally, so how excessively convenient it was t hat he should have come up wit h such a
ver y businesslike ar changel, who handed down t he management decisions of t his highly
corporat e, if non- corporeal, God.
Af t er t hat Salman began t o not ice how usef ul and well t imed t he angel' s r evelat ions t ended
t o be, so t hat when t he fait hful were disput ing Mahound' s views on any subj ect , fr om t he
possibilit y of space t ravel t o t he per manence of Hell, t he angel would t urn up wit h an answer ,
and he always suppor t ed Mahound, st at ing beyond any shadow of a doubt t hat it was
impossible t hat a man should ever walk upon t he moon, and being equally posit ive on t he
t r ansient nat ur e of damnat ion: even t he most evil of doers would event ually be cleansed by
hellfire and f ind t heir way int o t he perf umed gar dens, Gulist an and Bost an. I t would have been
dif ferent , Salman complained t o Baal, if Mahound t ook up his posit ions af t er r eceiving t he
revelat ion fr om Gibr eel; but no, he j ust laid down t he law and t he angel would confir m it
aft er war ds; so I began t o get a bad smell in my nose, and I t hought , t his must be t he odour of
t hose fabled and legendar y unclean cr eat ur es, what ' s t heir name, pr awns.
The fishy smell began t o obsess Salman, who was t he most highly educat ed of Mahound' s
int imat es owing t o t he superior educat ional syst em t hen on of fer in Per sia. On account of his
scholast ic advancement Salman was made Mahound' s off icial scr ibe, so t hat it fell t o him t o
writ e down t he endlessly pr olif er at ing rules. All t hose r evelat ions of convenience, he t old Baal,
and t he longer I did t he j ob t he wor se it got . - - For a t ime, however, his suspicions had t o be
shelved, because t he armies of Jahilia mar ched on Yat hrib, det ermined t o swat t he flies who
wer e pest er ing t heir camel - - t r ains and int er fer ing wit h business. What followed is well known,
no need f or me t o repeat , Salman said, but t hen his immodest y bur st out of him and f or ced
him t o t ell Baal how he per sonally had saved Yat hrib f rom cer t ain dest ruct ion, how he had
pr eserved Mahound' s neck wit h his idea of a dit ch. Salman had persuaded t he Pr ophet t o have
a huge t r ench dug all t he way ar ound t he unwalled oasis set t lement , making it t oo wide even
for t he fabled Arab hor ses of t he famous Jahilian cavalry t o leap acr oss. A dit ch: wit h
sharpened st akes at t he bot t om. When t he Jahilians saw t his f oul piece of unspor t smanlike
hole- digging t heir sense of chivalry and honour obliged t hem t o behave as if t he dit ch had not
been dug, and t o ride t heir hor ses at it , f ull - - t ilt . The flower of Jahilia' s army, human as well as
equine, ended up impaled on t he point ed st icks of Salman' s Per sian deviousness, t rust an
immigr ant not t o play t he game. - - And aft er t he defeat of Jahilia? Salman lament ed t o Baal:
You' d have t hought I ' d have been a her o, I ' m not a vain man but where wer e t he public
honours, wher e was t he gr at it ude of Mahound, why didn' t t he archangel ment ion _me_ in
despat ches? Not hing, not a syllable, it was as if t he f ait hf ul t hought of my dit ch as a cheap
t r ick, t oo, an out landish t hing, dishonour ing, unfair; as if t heir manhood had been damaged by
t he t hing, as t hough I ' d hurt t heir pr ide by saving t heir skins. I kept my mout h shut and said
not hing, but I lost a lot of fr iends aft er t hat , I can t ell you, people hat e you t o do t hem a good
t ur n.
I n spit e of t hc dit ch of Yat hr ib, t he fait hful lost a good many men in t he war against Jahilia.
On t heir r aiding sor t ies t hey lost as many lives as t hey claimed. And aft er t he end of t he war,
hey pr est o, t her e was t he Ar changel Gibr eel inst r uct ing t he sur viving males t o marr y t he
widowed women, lest by remar rying out side t he f ait h t hey be lost t o Submission. Oh, such a
pr act ical angel, Salman sneer ed t o Baal. By now he had produced a bot t le of t oddy fr om t he
folds of his cloak and t he t wo men wer e drinking st eadily in t he failing light . Salman grew ever
mor e garr ulous as t he yellow liquid in t he bot t le went down; Baal couldn' t r ecall when he' d last
hear d anyone t alk up such a st or m. O, t hose mat t er - - of - - fact r evelat ions, Salman cr ied, we
wer e even t old it didn' t mat t er if we wer e already mar r ied, we could have up t o f our mar riages
if we could aff or d it , well, you can imagine, t he lads r eally went for t hat .
What finally f inished Salman wit h Mahound: t he quest ion of t he women; and of t he Sat anic
ver ses. List en, I ' m no gossip, Salman dr unkenly confided, but af t er his wif e' s deat h Mahound
was no angel, you under st and my meaning. But in Yat hr ib he almost met his mat ch. Those
women up t her e: t hey t ur ned his bear d half - whit e in a year . The point about our Prophet , my
dear Baal, is t hat he didn' t like his women t o answer back, he went f or mot her s and daught er s,
t hink of his fir st wif e and t hen Ayesha: t oo old and t oo young, his t wo loves. He didn' t like t o
pick on someone his own size. But in Yat hr ib t he women ar e different , you don' t know, here
inj ahilia you' re used t o or dering your females about but up t her e t hey won' t put up wit h it .
When a man get s mar ried he goes t o live wit h his wife' s people! I magine! Shocking, isn' t it ?
And t hr oughout t he marr iage t he wif e keeps her own t ent . I f she want s t o get r id of her
husband she t ur ns t he t ent r ound t o face in t he opposit e direct ion, so t hat when he comes t o
her he f inds fabr ic wher e t he door should be, and t hat ' s t hat , he' s out , divorced, not a t hing he
can do about it . Well, our gir ls wer e beginning t o go for t hat t ype of t hing, get t ing who knows
what sort of ideas in t heir heads, so at once, bang, out comes t he r ule book, t he angel st ar t s
pouring out rules about what women must n' t do, he st art s forcing t hem back int o t he docile
at t it udes t he Prophet pr efers, docile or mat ernal, walking t hree st eps behind or sit t ing at home
being wise and waxing t heir chins. How t he women of Yat hrib laughed at t he f ait hful, I swear ,
but t hat man is a magician, nobody could r esist his charm; t he fait hful women did as he
or der ed t hem. They Submit t ed: he was of fering t hem Paradise, aft er all.
"Anyway, " Salman said near t he bot t om of t he bot t le, "f inally I decided t o t est him. "
One night t he Persian scr ibe had a dr eam in which he was hover ing above t he figure of
Mahound at t he Prophet ' s cave on Mount Cone. At fir st Salman t ook t his t o be no mor e t han a
nost algic reverie of t he old days in Jahilia, but t hen it st r uck him t hat his point of view, in t he
dr eam, had been t hat of t he ar changel, and at t hat moment t he memor y of t he incident of t he
Sat anic verses came back t o him as vividly as if t he t hing had happened t he previous day.
"Maybe I hadn' t dreamed of myself as Gibr eel, " Salman r ecount ed. "Maybe I was Shait an. " The
realizat ion of t his possibilit y gave him his diabolic idea. Aft er t hat , when he sat at t he Prophet ' s
feet , writ ing down rules r ules rules, he began, surr ept it iously, t o change t hings.
"Lit t le t hings at first . I f Mahound r ecit ed a verse in which God was descr ibed as _all-
hear ing, all- knowing_, I would writ e, _all - knowing, all - wise_. Here' s t he point : Mahound did
not not ice t he alt er at ions. So t her e I was, act ually wr it ing t he Book, or rewr it ing, anyway,
pollut ing t he word of God wit h my own pr ofane language. But , good heavens, if my poor wor ds
could not be dist inguished fr om t he Revelat ion by God' s own Messenger, t hen what did t hat
mean? What did t hat say about t he qualit y of t he divine poet r y? Look, I swear , I was shaken t o
my soul. I t ' s one t hing t o be a smart bast ard and have half - - suspicions about funny business,
but it ' s quit e anot her t hing t o find out t hat you' re r ight . List en: I changed my lif e for t hat
man. I left my count r y, cr ossed t he world, set t led among people who t hought me a slimy
for eign coward for saving t heir , who never appr eciat ed what I , but never mind t hat . The t r ut h
is t hat what ! expect ed when I made t hat f irst t iny change, _all - wise_ inst ead of _all- hear ing_ -
- what I _want ed_ - - was t o r ead it back t o t he Pr ophet , and he' d say, What ' s t he mat t er wit h
you, Salman, ar c you going deaf ? And I ' d say, Oops, O God, bit of a slip, how could I , and
corr ect myself . But it didn' t happen; and now I was writ ing t he Revelat ion and nobody was
not icing, and I didn' t have t he courage t o own up. I was scared silly, I can t ell you. Also: I was
sadder t han I have ever been. So I had t o go on doing it . Maybe he' d j ust missed out once, I
t hought , anybody can make a mist ake. So t he next t ime I changed a bigger t hing. He said
_Chr ist ian_, I wr ot e down _Jew_. He' d not ice t hat , surely; how could he not ? But when I read
him t he chapt er he nodded and t hanked me polit ely, and I went out of his t ent wit h t ears in my
eyes. Aft er t hat I knew my days in Yat hrib wer e number ed; but I had t o go on doing it . I had
t o. Ther e is no bit t er ness like t hat of a man who finds out he has been believing in a ghost . I
would fall, I knew, but he would fall wit h me. So I went on wit h my devilment , changing
ver ses, unt il one day I read my lines t o him and saw him fr own and shake his head as if t o
clear his mind, and t hen nod his appr oval slowly, but wit h a lit t le doubt . I knew I ' d r eached t he
edge, and t hat t he next t ime I rewr ot e t he Book he' d know ever yt hing. That night I lay awake,
holding his fat e in my hands as well as my own. I f I allowed myself t o be dest r oyed I could
dest r oy him, t oo. I had t o choose, on t hat awful night , whet her I prefer red deat h wit h revenge
t o life wit hout anyt hing. As you see, I chose: lif e. Before dawn I lef t Yat hrib on my camel, and
made my way, suffering numer ous misadvent ures I shall not t rouble t o r elat e, back t oj ahilia.
And now Mahound is coming in t riumph; so I shall lose my lif e aft er all. And his power has
gr own t oo gr eat f or me t o unmake him now. "
Baal asked: "Why are you sur e he will kill you?"
Salman t he Per sian answer ed: " I t ' s his Wor d against mine. "
o o o
When Salman had slipped int o unconsciousness on t he floor , Baal lay on his scr at chy
st raw- - filled mat t r ess, feeling t he st eel ring of pain ar ound his f or ehead, t he flut t er of war ning
in his hear t . Oft en his t iredness wit h his life had made him wish not t o grow old, but , as
Salman had said, t o dr eam of a t hing is ver y dif ferent fr om being faced wit h t he f act of it . For
some t ime now he had been conscious t hat t he world was closing in around him. He could no
longer pr et end t hat his eyes wer e what t hey ought t o be, and t heir dimness made his lif e even
mor e shadowy, har der t o gr asp. All t his blur r ing and loss of det ail: no wonder his poet ry had
gone down t he drain. His ears were get t ing t o be unreliable, t oo. At t his rat e he' d soon end up
sealed off fr om ever yt hing by t he loss of his senses. . . but maybe he' d never get t he chance.
Mahound was coming. Maybe he would never kiss anot her woman. Mahound, Mahound. Why
has t his chat t erbox dr unk come t o me, he t hought angr ily. What do I have t o do wit h his
t r eacher y? Everyone knows why I wrot e t hose sat ir es year s ago; he must know. How t he
Gr andee t hreat ened and bullied. I can' t be held r esponsible. And anyway: who is he, t hat
pr ancing sneering boy- wonder, Baal of t he cut t ing t ongue? I don' t r ecognize him. Look at me:
heavy, dull, nearsight ed, soon t o be deaf . Who do I t hreat en? Not a soul. He began t o shake
Salman: wake up, I don' t want t o be associat ed wit h you, you' ll get me int o t r ouble.
The Per sian snor ed on, sit t ing splay- legged on t he floor wit h his back t o t he wall, his head
hanging sideways like a doll"s; Baa! , r acked by headache, fell back on t o his cot . His ver ses, he
t hought , what had t hey been? _What kind of idea_ damn it , he couldn' t even r emember t hem
pr oper ly _does Submission seem t oday_ yes, somet hing like t hat , aft er all t his t ime it was
scar cely surpr ising _an idea t hat runs away_ t hat was t he end anyhow. Mahound, any new idea
is asked t wo quest ions. When it ' s weak: will it compr omise? We know t he answer t o t hat one.
And now, Mahound, on your r et ur n t o Jahilia, t ime f or t he second quest ion: How do you behave
when you win? When your enemies ar e at your mer cy and your power has become
absolut e: what t hen? We have all changed: all of us except Hind. Who seems, f rom what t his
dr unkard says, mor e like a woman of Yat hr ib t han Jahilia. No wonder t he t wo of you didn' t hit it
off : she wouldn' t be your mot her or your child.
As he drif t ed t owar ds sleep, Baa! sur veyed his own uselessness, his f ailed ar t . Now t hat he
had abdicat ed all public plat for ms, his ver ses were full of loss: of yout h, beaut y, love, healt h,
innocence, purpose, ener gy, cer t aint y, hope. Loss of knowledge. Loss of money. The loss of
Hind. Figures walked away fr om him in his odes, and t he more passionat ely he called out t o
t hem t he fast er t hey moved. The landscape of his poet ry was st ill t he desert , t he shift ing dunes
wit h t he plumes of whit e sand blowing fr om t heir peaks. Soft mount ains, uncomplet ed
j our neys, t he impermanence of t ent s. How did one map a count ry t hat blew int o a new for m
ever y day? Such quest ions made his language t oo abst r act , his imagery t oo f luid, his met re t oo
inconst ant . I t led him t o creat e chimer as of form, lionheaded goat bodied ser pent t ailed
impossibilit ies whose shapes felt obliged t o change t he moment t hey wer e set , so t hat t he
demot ic f or ced it s way int o lines of classical pur it y and images of love wer e const ant ly
degr aded by t he int r usion of element s of far ce. Nobody goes f or t hat st uff, he t hought f or t he
t housand and fir st t ime, and as unconsciousness ar r ived he concluded, comf or t ingly: Nobody
remember s me. Oblivion is safet y. Then his hear t missed a beat and he came wide awake,
fright ened, cold. Mahound, maybe I ' ll cheat you of your revenge. He spent t he night awake,
list ening t o Salman' s r olling, oceanic snor es.
Gibr eel dr eamed campfires:
A famous and unexpect ed f igur e walks, one night , bet ween t he campf ires of Mahound' s
army. Per haps on account of t he dar k, - - or it might be because of t he improbabilit y of his
pr esence her e, - - it seems t hat t he Gr andee of Jahilia has regained, in t his final moment of his
power, some of t he st r engt h of his ear lier days. He has come alone; and is led by Khalid t he
er st while wat er - - car rier and t he for mer slave Bilal t o t he quart er s of Mahound.
Next , Gibreel dreamed t he Gr andee' s ret urn home:
The t own is full of r umours and t her e' s a cr owd in fr ont of t he house. Aft er a t ime t he
sound of Hind' s voice lift ed in rage can be clearly hear d. Then at an upper balcony Hind shows
herself and demands t hat t he crowd t ear her husband int o small pieces. The Gr andee appears
beside her; and r eceives loud, humiliat ing smacks on bot h cheeks fr om his loving wife. Hind
has discover ed t hat in spit e of all her effort s she has not been able t o prevent t he Gr andee
from sur r endering t he cit y t o Mahound.
Mor eover : Abu Simbel has embraced t he fait h.
Simbel in his defeat has lost much of his recent wispiness. He per mit s Hind t o st rike him,
and t hen speaks calmly t o t he crowd. He says: Mahound has pr omised t hat anyone wit hin t he
Gr andee' s walls will be spar ed. "So come in, all of you, and bring your families, t oo. "
Hind speaks for t he angr y crowd. "You old f ool. How many cit izens can fit inside a single
house, even t his one? You' ve done a deal t o save your own neck. Let t hem rip you up and f eed
you t o t he ant s. "
St ill t he Gr andee is mild. " Mahound also pr omises t hat all who are f ound at home, behind
closed doors, will be safe. I f you will not come int o my home t hen go t o your own; and wait . "
A t hir d t ime his wif e at t empt s t o t urn t he cr owd against him; t his is a balcony scene of
hat r ed inst ead of love. Ther e can be no compr omise wit h Mahound, she shout s, he is not t o be
t r ust ed, t he people must r epudiat e Abu Simbel and pr epar e t o fight t o t he last man, t he
last woman. She her self is pr epar ed t o f ight beside t hem and die for t he fr eedom of Jahilia.
"Will you merely lie down befor e t his false prophet , t his Daj j al? Can honour be expect ed of a
man who is pr epar ing t o st or m t he cit y of his birt h? Can compr omise be hoped for f rom t he
uncompr omising, pit y fr om t he pit iless? We ar e t he might y of Jahilia, and our goddesses,
glorious in bat t le, will pr evail. " She commands t hem t o fight in t he name of Al- Lat . But t he
people begin t o leave.
Husband and wif e st and on t heir balcony, and t he people see t hem plain. For so long t he
cit y has used t hese t wo as it s mirr or s; and because, of lat e, Jahilians have pr ef er red Hind' s
images t o t he gr eying Gr andee, t hey ar e suffer ing, now, fr om profound shock. A people t hat
has r emained convinced of it s gr eat ness and invulner abilit y, t hat has chosen t o believe such a
myt h in t he f ace of all t he evidence, is a people in t he gr ip of a kind of sleep, or madness. Now
t he Grandee has awakened t hem fr om t hat sleep; t hey st and disor ient ed, rubbing t heir eyes,
unable t o believe at fir st - - if we are so might y, how t hen have we fallen so f ast , so ut t erly? - -
and t hen belief comes, and shows t hem how t heir confidence has been built on clouds, on t he
passion of Hind' s pr oclamat ions and on ver y lit t le else. They abandon her , and wit h her, hope.
Plunging int o despair , t he people of Jahilia go home t o lock t heir door s.
She scr eams at t hem, pleads, loosens her hair . " Come t o t he House of t he Black St one!
Come and make sacrifice t o Lat ! " But t hey have gone. And Hind and t he Gr andee ar e alone on
t heir balcony, while t hr oughout Jahilia a gr eat silence falls, a gr eat st illness begins, and Hind
leans against t he wall of her palace and closes her eyes.
I t is t he end. The Gr andee mur murs soft ly: " Not many of us have as much r eason t o be
scar ed of Mahound as you. I f you eat a man' s favour it e uncle' s innar ds, r aw, wit hout so much
as salt or gar lic, don' t be sur prised if he t reat s you, in t ur n, like meat . " Then he leaves her , and
goes down int o t he st r eet s fr om which even t he dogs have vanished, t o unlock t he cit y gat es.
Gibr eel dr eamed a t emple:
By t he open gat es of Jahilia st ood t he t emple of Uzza. And Mahound spake unt o Khalid who
had been a carr ier of wat er befor e, and now bore gr eat er weight s: "Go t hou and cleanse t hat
place. " So Khalid wit h a for ce of men descended upon t he t emple, for Mahound was lot h t o
ent er t he cit y while such abominat ions st ood at it s gat es.
When t he guardian of t he t emple, who was of t he t ribe of Shar k, saw t he appr oach of
Khalid wit h a gr eat host of war riors, he t ook up his swor d and went t o t he idol of t he goddess.
Af t er making his final prayers he hung his sword about her neck, saying, "I f t hou be t ruly a
goddess, Uzza, defend t hyself and t hy servant against t he coming of Mahound. " Then Khalid
ent er ed t he t emple, and when t he goddess did not move t he guar dian said, "Now ver ily do I
know t hat t he God of Mahound is t he t rue God, and t his st one but a st one. " Then Khalid br oke
t he t emple and t he idol and ret ur ned t o Mahound in his t ent . And t he Pr ophet asked: " What
didst t hou see?" Khalid spread his arms. " Not hing, " said he. "Then t hou hast not dest r oyed
her, " t he Pr ophet cr ied. "Go again, and complet e t hy wor k. " So Khalid r et ur ned t o t he fallen
t emple, and t her e an enor mous woman, all black but for her long scar let t ongue, came r unning
at him, naked fr om head t o f oot , her black hair flowing t o her ankles fr om her head. Near ing
him, she halt ed, and recit ed in her t err ible voice of sulphur and hellf ir e: "Have you hear d of
Lat , and Manat , and Uzza, t he Third, t he Ot her ? They ar e t he Exalt ed Birds . . . " But Khalid
int err upt ed her, saying, "Uzza, t hose are t he Devil' s ver ses, and you t he Devil' s daught er , a
creat ure not t o be wor shipped, but denied. " So he drew his swor d and cut her down.
And he r et urned t o Mahound in his t ent and said what he had seen. And t he Pr ophet said,
"Now may we come int o Jahilia, " and t hey arose, and came int o t he cit y, and possessed it in
t he Name of t he Most High, t he Dest r oyer of Men.
o o o
How many idols in t he House of t he Black St one? Don' t forget : t hree hundred and sixt y.
Sun- god, eagle, r ainbow. The colossus of Hubal. Three hundr ed and sixt y wait for Mahound,
knowing t hey ar e not t o be spar ed. And are not : but let ' s not wast e t ime t her e. St at ues fall;
st one br eaks; what ' s t o be done is done.
Mahound, aft er t he cleansing of t he House, set s up his t ent or t he old fair ground. The
people crowd around t he t ent , embr acing t he vict orious f ait h. The Submission of Jahilia: t his,
t oo, is inevit able, and need not be linger ed over .
While Jahilians bow before him, mumbling t heir life- saving sent ences, _t here is no God but
Al - Lah_, Mahound whisper s t o Khalid. Somebody has not come t o kneel befor e him; somebody
long await ed. "Salman, " t he Pr ophet wishes t o know. " Has he been found?"
"Not yet . He' s hiding; but it won' t be long. "
Ther e is a dist ract ion. A veiled woman kneels before him, kissing his feet . "You must st op, "
he enj oins. "I t is only God who must be worshipped. " But what foot - kisser y t his is! Toe by t oe,
j oint by j oint , t he woman licks, kisses, sucks. And Mahound, unnerved, repeat s: "St op. This is
incor rect . " Now, however , t he woman is at t ending t o t he soles of his f eet , cupping her hands
beneat h his heel . . . he kicks out , in his confusion, and cat ches her in t he t hroat . She falls,
coughs, t hen pr ost rat es herself befor e him, and says fir mly: "Ther e is no God but Al - Lah, and
Mahound is his Pr ophet . " Mahound calms himself , apologizes, ext ends a hand. "No har m will
come t o you, " he assur es her . "All who Submit are spared. " But t here is a st range confusion in
him, and now he under st ands why, underst ands t he anger, t he bit t er irony in her
over whelming, excessive, sensual adorat ion of his feet . The woman t hrows of f her veil: Hind.
"The wife of Abu Simbel, " she announces clear ly, and a hush falls. "Hind, " Mahound says. "I
had not forgot t en. "
But , aft er a long inst ant , he nods. " You have Submit t ed. And ar e welcome in my t ent s. "
The next day, amid t he cont inuing conversions, Salman t he Per sian is dr agged int o t he
Prophet ' s pr esence. Khalid, holding him by t he ear , holding a knife at his t hr oat , brings t he
immigr ant snivelling and whimper ing t o t he t akht . "I found him, wher e else, wit h a whor e, who
was scr eeching at him because he didn' t have t he money t o pay her . He st inks of alcohol. "
"Salman Farsi, " t he Pr ophet begins t o pronounce t he sent ence of deat h, but t he pr isoner
begins t o shr iek t he qalmah: " La ilaha ilallah! La ilaha! "
Mahound shakes his head. "Your blasphemy, Salman, can' t be for given. Did you t hink I
wouldn' t work it out ? To set your words against t he Words of God. "
Scribe, dit ch- digger, condemned man: unable t o must er t he smallest scrap of dignit y, he
blubbers whimper s pleads beat s his br east abases himself r epent s. Khalid says: "This noise is
unbearable, Messenger . Can I not cut of f his head?" At which t he noise increases sharply.
Salman swear s r enewed loyalt y, begs some mor e, and t hen, wit h a gleam of desper at e hope,
makes an off er . " I can show you wher e your t r ue enemies ar e. " This earns him a few seconds.
The Prophet inclines his head. Khalid pulls t he kneeling Salman' s head back by t he hair : "What
enemies?" And Salman says a name. Mahound sinks deep int o his cushions as memory ret urns.
"Baal, " he says, and r epeat s, t wice: " Baal, Baal. "
Much t o Khalid' s disappoint ment , Salman t he Persian is not sent enced t o deat h. Bilal
int ercedes for him, and t he Pr ophet , his mind elsewhere, concedes: yes, yes, let t he wr et ched
fellow live. O generosit y of Submission! Hind has been spar ed; and Salman; and in all of Jahilia
not a door has been smashed down, not an old foe dragged out t o have his gizzar d slit like a
chicken' s in t he dust . This is Mahound' s answer t o t he second quest ion: _What happens when
you win?_ But one name haunt s Mahound, leaps around him, young, shar p, point ing a long
paint ed finger , singing ver ses whose cr uel br illiance ensur es t heir painfulness. That night , when
t he supplicant s have gone, Khalid asks Mahound: "You' re st ill t hinking about him?" The
Messenger nods, but will not speak. Khalid says: "I made Salman t ake me t o his room, a hovel,
but he isn' t t here, he' s hiding out . " Again, t he nod, but no speech. Khalid presses on: "You
want me t o dig him out ? Wouldn' t t ake much doing. What d"you want done wit h him? This?
This?" Khalid' s f inger moves fir st across his neck and t hen, wit h a shar p j ab, int o his navel.
Mahound loses his t emper. "You' r e a fool, " he shout s at t he for mer wat er - car rier who is now his
milit ar y chief of st aff . " Can' t you ever wor k t hings out wit hout my help?"
Khalid bows and goes. Mahound falls asleep: his old gift , his way of dealing wit h bad
moods.
o o o
But Khalid, Mahound' s gener al, could not find Baal. I n spit e of door - - t o- - door searches,
pr oclamat ions, t urnings of st ones, t he poet proved impossible t o nab. And Mahound' s lips
remained closed, would not par t t o allow his wishes t o emer ge. Finally, and not wit hout
ir r it at ion, Khalid gave up t he sear ch. "Just let t hat bast ar d show his f ace, j ust once, any t ime, "
he vowed in t he Prophet ' s t ent of soft nesses and shadows. "I ' ll slice him so t hin you' ll be able
t o see r ight t hr ough each piece. "
I t seemed t o Khalid t hat Mahound looked disappoint ed; but in t he low light of t he t ent it
was impossible t o be sur e.
o o o
Jahilia set t led down t o it s new lif e: t he call t o pr ayers five t imes a day, no alcohol, t he
locking up of wives. Hind herself ret ired t o her quart er s . . . but where was Baal?
Gibr eel dr eamed a curt ain:
The Cur t ain, _Hij ab_, was t he name of t he most popular br ot hel in Jahilia, an enormous
palazzo of dat e- - palms in wat er - - t inkling court yards, sur rounded by chambers t hat int erlocked
in bewildering mosaic pat t er ns, per meat ed by labyrint hine cor ridors which had been
deliber at ely decorat ed t o look alike, each of t hem bear ing t he same calligr aphic invocat ions t o
Love, each carpet ed wit h ident ical r ugs, each wit h a lar ge st one urn posit ioned against a wall.
None of The Cur t ain' s client s could ever find t heir way, wit hout help, eit her int o t he rooms of
t heir f avour ed court esan or back again t o t he st r eet . I n t his way t he gir ls wer e prot ect ed f rom
unwant ed guest s and t he business ensured payment before depart ure. Lar ge Circassian
eunuchs, dressed aft er t he ludicrous f ashion of lamp- - genies, escort ed t he visit or s t o t heir
goals and back again, somet imes wit h t he help of balls of st r ing. I t was a sof t windowless
universe of draper ies, r uled over by t he ancient and nameless Madam of t he Cur t ain whose
gut t ural ut t er ances fr om t he secrecy of a chair shr ouded in black veils had acquired, over t he
years, somet hing of t he oracular . Neit her her st aff nor her client s wer e able t o disobey t hat
sibylline voice t hat was, in a way, t he profane ant it hesis of Mahound' s sacred ut t er ances in a
lar ger, mor e easily penet r able t ent not so very far away. So t hat when t he r addled poet Baal
pr ost rat ed himself before her and begged for help, her decision t o hide him and save his life as
an act of nost algia for t he beaut if ul, lively and wicked yout h he had once been was accept ed
wit hout quest ion; and when Khalid' s guar ds arr ived t o search t he pr emises t he eunuchs led
t hem on a dizzy j our ney around t hat overgr ound cat acomb of cont radict ions and ir reconcilable
rout es, unt il t he soldier s' heads were spinning, and af t er looking inside t hirt y- nine st one ur ns
and finding not hing but unguent s and pickles t hey left , cur sing heavily, never suspect ing t hat
t here was a fort iet h cor ridor down which t hey had never been t aken, a fort iet h ur n inside which
t here hid, like a t hief, t he quiver ing, paj ama- wet t ing poet whom t hey sought .
Af t er t hat t he Madam had t he eunuchs dye t he poet ' s skin unt il it was blue- black, and his
hair as well, and dr essing him in t he pant aloons and t ur ban of a dj inn she or der ed him t o begin
a body- building cour se, since his lack of condit ion would cer t ainly ar ouse suspicions if he didn' t
t one up fast .
o o o
Baal' s soj ourn " behind The Curt ain" by no means depr ived him of informat ion about event s
out side; quit e t he reverse, in fact , because in t he course of his eunuchly dut ies he st ood guard
out side t he pleasur e- chamber s and hear d t he cust omer s' gossip. The absolut e indiscr et ion of
t heir t ongues, induced by t he gay abandon of t he whores' caresses and by t he client s'
knowledge t hat t heir secr et s would be kept , gave t he eavesdropping poet , myopic and har d of
hear ing as he was, a bet t er insight int o cont empor ary aff airs t han he could possibly have
gained if he' d st ill been fr ee t o wander t he newly pur it anical st reet s of t he t own. The deafness
was a problem somet imes; it meant t hat t her e were gaps in his knowledge, because t he
cust omer s frequent ly lowered t heir voices and whispered; but it also minimized t he prur ient
element in his list enings- - in, since he was unable t o hear t he murmur ings t hat accompanied
for nicat ion, except , of cour se, at such moment s in which ecst at ic client s or feigning worker s
raised t heir voices in cr ies of r eal or synt het ic j oy.
What Baal learned at The Cur t ain:
Fr om t he disgrunt led but cher I br ahim came t he news t hat in spit e of t he new ban on por k
t he skin- deep convert s of Jahilia were flocking t o his back door t o buy t he for bidden meat in
secr et , "sales are up, " he mur mured while mount ing his chosen lady, "black por k prices are
high; but damn it , t hese new rules have made my work eough. A pig is not an easy animal t o
slaught er in secr et , wit hout noise, " and t her eupon he began some squealing of his own, f or
reasons, it is t o be presumed, of pleasur e rat her t han pain. - - And t he gr ocer , Musa, conf essed
t o anot her of The Curt ain' s hor izont al st af f t hat t he old habit s wer e hard t o br eak, and when he
was sure nobody was list ening he st ill said a prayer or t wo t o " my lifelong f avour it e, Manat , and
somet imes, what t o do, Al- Lat as well; you can' t beat a female goddess, t hey' ve got at t ribut es
t he boys can' t mat ch, " af t er which he, t oo, fell upon t he eart hly imit at ions of t hese at t r ibut es
wit h a will. So it was t hat faded, fading Baal learned in his bit t er ness t hat no imper ium is
absolut e, no vict ory complet e. And, slowly, t he cr it icisms of Mahound began.
Baal had begun t o change. The news of t he dest r uct ion of t he great t emple of Al- Lat at
Taif, which came t o his ear s punct uat ed by t he grunt s of t he cover t pig- st icker I br ahim, had
plunged him int o a deep sadness, because even in t he high days of his young cynicism his love
of t he goddess had been genuine, per haps his only genuine emot ion, and her f all revealed t o
him t he hollowness of a life in which t he only t r ue love had been felt for a lump of st one t hat
couldn' t f ight back. When t he fir st , sharp edge of gr ief had been dulled, Baal became convinced
t hat Al - Lat ' s fall meant t hat his own end was not far away. He lost t hat st r ange sense of saf et y
t hat life at The Cur t ain had briefly inspired in him; but t he r et ur ning knowledge of his
imper manence, of cert ain discover y followed by equally cer t ain deat h, did not , int erest ingly
enough, make him afr aid. Af t er a lifet ime of dedicat ed cowardice he f ound t o his great surpr ise
t hat t he ef fect of t he appr oach of deat h r eally did enable him t o t ast e t he sweet ness of life, and
he wonder ed at t he par adox of having his eyes opened t o such a t r ut h in t hat house of cost ly
lies. And what was t he t r ut h? I t was t hat Al - Lat was dead - - had never lived - - but t hat didn' t
make Mahound a prophet . I n sum, Baal had arr ived at godlessness. He began, st umblingly,
t o move beyond t he idea of gods and leaders and rules, and t o per ceive t hat his st ory was so
mixed up wit h Mahound' s t hat some great resolut ion was necessary. That t his resolut ion would
in all pr obabilit y mean his deat h neit her shocked nor bot her ed him over much; and when Musa
t he gr ocer gr umbled one day about t he t welve wives" of t he Prophet , _one r ule for him,
anot her for us_, Baal under st ood t he form his final confr ont at ion wit h Submission would have
t o t ake.
The gir ls of The Curt ain - - it was only by convent ion t hat t hey were r ef er red t o as "girls",
as t he eldest was a woman well int o her f ift ies, while t he youngest , at fift een, was mor e
exper ienced t han many f ift y- year- olds - - had grown fond of t his shambling Baal, and in point of
fact t hey enj oyed having a eunuch- whowasn' t , so t hat out of working hours t hey would t ease
him deliciously, flaunt ing t heir bodies bef or e him, placing t heir br east s against his lips, t wining
t heir legs around his waist , kissing one anot her passionat ely j ust an inch away fr om his face,
unt il t he ashy writ er was hopelessly ar oused; whereupon t hey would laugh at his st if fness and
mock him int o blushing, quiver ing det umescence; or , very occasionally, and when he had given
up all expect at ion of such a t hing, t hey would deput e one of t heir number t o sat isfy, f ree of
charge, t he lust t hey had awakened. I n t his way, like a myopic, blinking, t ame bull, t he poet
passed his days, laying his head in women' s laps, br ooding on deat h and revenge, unable t o
say whet her he was t he most cont ent ed or t he wret chedest man alive.
I t was dur ing one of t hese playful sessions at t he end of a working day, when t he girls were
alone wit h t heir eunuchs and t heir wine, t hat Baal hear d t he youngest t alking about her client ,
t he gr ocer , Musa. " That one! " she said. " He' s got a bee in his bonnet about t he Prophet ' s wives.
He' s so annoyed about t hem t hat he get s excit ed j ust by ment ioning t heir names. He t ells me
t hat I per sonally am t he spit t ing image of Ayesha herself , and she' s His Nibs' s favour it e, as all
are awar e. So t her e. "
The fift y- year- old court esan but t ed in. "List en, t hose women in t hat har em, t he men don' t
t alk about anyt hing else t hese days. No wonder Mahound secluded t hem, but it ' s only made
t hings wor se. People fant asize mor e about what t hey can' t see. "
Especially in t his t own, Baal t hought ; above all in our Jahilia of t he licent ious ways, wher e
unt il Mahound ar rived wit h his rule book t he women dressed bright ly, and all t he t alk was of
fucking and money, money and sex, and not j ust t he t alk, eit her .
He said t o t he youngest whor e: " Why don' t you pr et end for him?"
"Who?"
"Musa. I f Ayesha gives him such a t hr ill, why not become his privat e and per sonal
Ayesha?"
"God, " t he gir l said. "I f t hey hear d you say t hat t hey' d boil your balls in but t er . "
How many wives? Twelve, and one old lady, long dead. How many whores behind The
Cur t ain? Twelve again; and, secr et on her black- - t ent ed t hr one, t he ancient Madam, st ill
defying deat h. Wher e t her e is no belief, t here is no blasphemy. Baal t old t he Madam of his
idea; she set t led mat t er s in her voice of a lar yngit ic f rog. " I t is ver y danger ous, " she
pr onounced, "but it could be damn good f or business. We will go carefully; but we will go. "
The fift eenyear - old whisper ed somet hing in t he gr ocer ' s ear. At once a light began t o
shine in his eyes. "Tell me ever yt hing, " he begged. " Your childhood, your favour it e t oys,
Solomon"s- horses and t he rest , t ell me how you played t he t ambour ine and t he Pr ophet came
t o wat ch. " She t old him, and t hen he asked about her deflowering at t he age of t welve, and
she t old him t hat , and af t er war ds he paid double t he normal fee, because "it ' s been t he best
t ime of my life". "We' ll have t o be careful of heart condit ions, " t he Madam said t o Baa! .
o o o
When t he news got around Jahilia t hat t he whor es of The Cur t ain had each assumed t he
ident it y of one of Mahound' s wives, t he clandest ine excit ement of t he cit y' s males was int ense;
yet , so af raid wer e t hey of discover y, bot h because t hey would surely lose t heir lives if
Mahound or his lieut enant s ever found out t hat t hey had been involved in such irr everences,
and because of t heir desire t hat t he new service at The Cur t ain be maint ained, t hat t he secret
was kept from t he aut horit ies. I n t hose days Mahound had ret urned wit h his wives t o Yat hrib,
pr eferr ing t he cool oasis climat e of t he nort h t o Jahilia' s heat . The cit y had been left in t he car e
of Gener al Khalid, fr om whom t hings wer e easily concealed. For a t ime Mahound had
consider ed t elling Khalid t o have all t he brot hels of Jahilia closed down, but Abu Simbel had
advised him against so precipit at e an act . "Jahilians are new conver t s, " he point ed out . "Take
t hings slowly. " Mahound, most pr agmat ic of Pr ophet s, had agr eed t o a per iod of t r ansit ion. So,
in t he Pr ophet ' s absence, t he men of Jahilia f locked t o The Cur t ain, which exper ienced a t hr ee
hundred per cent increase in business. For obvious r easons it was not polit ic t o form a queue in
t he st r eet , and so on many days a line of men cur led ar ound t he innermost cour t yar d of t he
br ot hel, r ot at ing about it s cent rally posit ioned Fount ain of Love much as pilgr ims rot at ed f or
ot her r easons ar ound t he ancient Black St one. All cust omer s of The Curt ain wer e issued wit h
masks, and Baal, wat ching t he cir cling masked figures from a high balcony, was sat isfied.
Ther e were more ways t han one of refusing t o Submit .
I n t he mont hs t hat followed, t he st aff of The Cur t ain warmed t o t he new t ask. The fift een-
year - old whore " Ayesha" was t he most popular wit h t he paying public, j ust as her namesake
was wit h Mahound, and like t he Ayesha who was living chast ely in her apar t ment in t he har em
quar t er s of t he gr eat mosque at Yat hr ib, t his Jahilian Ayesha began t o be j ealous of her
pr eeminent st at us of Best Beloved. She r esent ed it when any of her " sist er s" seemed t o be
exper iencing an incr ease in visit ors, or receiving except ionally generous t ips. The oldest , fat t est
whor e, who had t aken t he name of "Sawdah" , would t ell her visit ors and she had plent y, many
of t he men of Jahilia seeking her out f or her mat er nal and also grat eful char ms - - t he st or y of
how Mahound had marr ied her and Ayesha, on t he same day, when Ayesha was j ust a child.
"I n t he t wo of us, " she would say, excit ing men t er ribly, "he found t he t wo halves of his dead
first wife: t he child, and t he mot her, t oo. " The whor e "Hafsah" grew as hot - t empered as her
namesake, and as t he t welve ent er ed int o t he spirit of t heir roles t he alliances in t he br ot hel
came t o mirr or t he polit ical cliques at t he Yat hr ib mosque; "Ayesha" and "Hafsah", for example,
engaged in const ant , pet t y rivalries against t he t wo haught iest whores, who had always been
t hought a bit st uck- up by t he ot her s and who had chosen f or t hemselves t he most ar ist ocrat ic
ident it ies, becoming " Umm Salamah t he Makhzumit e" and, snoot iest of all, "Ramlah", whose
namesake, t he elevent h wife of Mahound, was t he daught er of Abu Simbel and Hind. And t here
was a "Zainab bint Jahsh", and a "Juwair iyah", named af t er t he bride capt ured on a milit ary
expedit ion, and a "Rehana t he Jew", a " Safia" and a "Maimunah", and, most erot ic of all t he
whor es, who knew t r icks she r efused t o t each t o compet it ive "Ayesha": t he glamorous
Egypt ian, "Mar y t he Copt " . St r angest of all was t he whor e who had t aken t he name of "Zainab
bint Khuzaimah", knowing t hat t his wife of Mahound had r ecent ly died. The necrophilia of her
lover s, who f or bade her t o make any movement s, was one of t he mor e unsavour y aspect s of
t he new r egime at The Cur t ain. But business was business, and t his, t oo, was a need t hat t he
cour t esans f ulfilled.
By t he end of t he fir st year t he t welve had grown so skilful in t heir r oles t hat t heir pr evious
selves began t o fade away. Baal, mor e myopic and deafer by t he mont h, saw t he shapes of t he
gir ls moving past him, t heir edges blurr ed, t heir images somehow doubled, like shadows
super imposed on shadows. The gir ls began t o ent er t ain new not ions about Baal, t oo. I n t hat
age it was cust omary for a whor e, on ent ering her pr ofession, t o t ake t he kind of husband
who wouldn' t give her any t rouble - - a mount ain, maybe, or a fount ain, or a bush - - so t hat
she could adopt , f or for m' s sake, t he t it le of a marr ied woman. At The Curt ain, t he r ule was
t hat all t he girls mar ried t he Love Spout in t he cent r al court yard, but now a kind of r ebellion
was br ewing, and t he day came when t he prost it ut es went t oget her t o t he Madam t o announce
t hat now t hat t hey had begun t o t hink of t hemselves as t he wives of t he Prophet t hey r equir ed
a bet t er grade of husband t han some spurt ing st one, which was almost idolat rous, aft er all;
and t o say t hat t hey had decided t hat t hey would all become t he br ides of t he bumbler , Baal.
At first t he Madam t r ied t o t alk t hem out of it , but when she saw t hat t he girls meant business
she conceded t he point , and t old t hem t o send t he wr it er in t o see her . Wit h many giggles and
nudges t he t welve cour t esans escort ed t he shambling poet int o t he t hr one room. When Baal
hear d t he plan his hear t began t o t hump so err at ically t hat he lost his balance and f ell, and
"Ayesha" scr eamed in her fr ight : "O God, we' r e going t o be his widows bef or e we even get t o
be his wives. "
But he r ecover ed: his heart r egained it s composur e. And, having no opt ion, he agreed t o
t he t welvefold proposal. The Madam t hen mar ried t hem all off herself , and in t hat den of
degener acy, t hat ant i- mosque, t hat labyrint h of profanit y, Baal became t he husband of t he
wives of t he former businessman, Mahound.
His wives now made plain t o him t hat t hey expect ed him t o fulfil his husbandly dut ies in
ever y par t icular, and worked out a r ot a syst em under which he could spend a day wit h each of
t he girls in t urn ( at The Cur t ain, day and night were inver t ed, t he night being for business and
t he day for r est ) . No sooner had he embarked upon t his ar duous pr ogr amme t han t hey called a
meet ing at which he was t old t hat he ought t o st ar t behaving a lit t le more like t he "r eal"
husband, t hat is, Mahound. "Why can' t you change your name like t he rest of us?" bad-
t empered "Hafsah" demanded, but at t his Baal dr ew t he line. " I t may not be much t o be proud
of, " he insist ed, " but it ' s my name. What ' s mor e, I don' t work wit h t he client s her e. There' s no
business r eason f or such a change. " "Well, anyhow, " t he volupt uous " Mar y t he Copt " shr ugged,
"name or no name, we want you t o st ar t act ing like him. "
"I don' t know much about , " Baal began t o pr ot est , but " Ayesha", who really was t he most
at t r act ive of t hem all, or so he had commenced t o feel of lat e, made a delight ful moue.
"Honest ly, husband, " she caj oled him. "I t ' s not so t ough. We j ust want you t o, you know. Be
t he boss. "
I t t ur ned out t hat t he whores of The Curt ain wer e t he most old- fashioned and convent ional
women in Jahilia. Their wor k, which could so easily have made t hem cynical and disillusioned
( and t hey wer e, of course, capable of ent er t aining f er ocious not ions about t heir visit or s) , had
t ur ned t hem int o dr eamer s inst ead. Sequest ered fr om t he out side wor ld, t hey had conceived a
fant asy of "ordinary life" in which t hey want ed not hing mor e t han t o be t he obedient , and - -
yes - - submissive helpmeet s of a man who was wise, loving and st r ong. That is t o say: t he
years of enact ing t he fant asies of men had finally cor rupt ed t heir dreams, so t hat even in t heir
hear t s of heart s t hey wished t o t ur n t hemselves int o t he oldest male f ant asy of all. The added
spice of act ing out t he home life of t he Prophet had got t hem all int o a st at e of high
excit ement , and t he bemused Baal discover ed what it was t o have t welve women compet ing for
his favours, f or t he beneficence of his smile, as t hey washed his feet and dr ied t hem wit h t heir
hair , as t hey oiled his body and danced for him, and in a t housand ways enact ed t he dream- -
marr iage t hey had never really t hought t hey would have.
I t was irr esist ible. He began t o find t he conf idence t o order t hem about , t o adj udicat e
bet ween t hem, t o punish t hem when he was angry. Once when t heir quar relling ir r it at ed him
he for swore t hem all for a mont h. When he went t o see "Ayesha" aft er t went y- nine night s she
t eased him f or not having been able t o st ay away. "That mont h was only t went y- nine days
long, " he r eplied. Once he was caught wit h "Mar y t he Copt " by "Hafsah", in "Hafsah' s" quart ers
and on "Ayesha' s" day. He begged "Hafsah" not t o t ell "Ayesha", wit h whom he had fallen
in love; but she t old her anyway and Baal had t o st ay away fr om "Mar y" of t he f air skin and
curly hair f or quit e a t ime aft er t hat . I n shor t , he had fallen prey t o t he seduct ions of becoming
t he secret , pr of ane mir ror of Mahound; and he had begun, once again, t o wr it e.
The poet ry t hat came was t he sweet est he had ever wr it t en. Somet imes when he was wit h
Ayesha he felt a slowness come over him, a heaviness, and he had t o lie down. "I t ' s st r ange, "
he t old her . " I t is as if I see myself st anding beside myself. And I can make him, t he st anding
one, speak; t hen I get up and wr it e down his verses. " These art ist ic slownesses of Baal wer e
much admired by his wives. Once, t ir ed, he dozed of f in an ar mchair in t he chamber s of "Umm
Salamah t he Makhzumit e". When he woke, hour s lat er , his body ached, his neck and shoulder s
wer e full of knot s, and he ber at ed Umm Salamah: "Why didn' t you wake me?" She answered:
"I was af raid t o, in case t he verses were coming t o you. " He shook his head. " Don' t worr y
about t hat . The only woman in whose company t he verses come is ' Ayesha' , not you. "
o o o
Two year s and a day af t er Baal began his life at The Curt ain, one of Ayesha' s client s
recognized him in spit e of t he dyed skin, pant aloons and body- building exer cises. Baal was
st at ioned out side Ayesha' s r oom when t he client emerged, point ed r ight at him and shout ed:
"So t his is wher e you got t o! " Ayesha came r unning, her eyes blazing wit h fear . But Baal said,
"I t ' s all right . He won' t make any t rouble. " He invit ed Salman t he Persian t o his own quar t er s
and uncor ked a bot t le of t he sweet wine made wit h uncrushed gr apes which t he Jahilians had
begun t o make when t hey f ound out t hat it wasn' t f or bidden by what t hey had st ar t ed
disrespect f ully calling t he Rule Book.
"I came because I ' m finally leaving t his infernal cit y, " Salman said, "and I want ed one
moment of pleasure out of it aft er all t he year s of shit . " Af t er Bilal had int er ceded for him in t he
name of t heir old fr iendship t he immigrant had f ound work as a let t er writ er and all- pur pose
scr ibe, sit t ing cr oss- - legged by t he roadside in t he main st r eet of t he financial dist r ict . His
cynicism and despair had been burnished by t he sun. "People wr it e t o t ell lies, " he said,
dr inking quickly. "So a pr of essional liar makes an excellent living. My love let t ers and business
corr espondence became famous as t he best in t own because of my gif t for invent ing beaut iful
falsehoods t hat involved only t he t iniest depar t ur e fr om t he f act s. As a r esult I have managed
t o save enough for my t rip home in j ust t wo years. Home! The old count ry! I ' m off t omorr ow,
and not a minut e t oo soon. "
As t he bot t le empt ied Salman began once again t o t alk, as Baa! had known he would,
about t he sour ce of all his ills, t he Messenger and his message. He t old Baal about a quar rel
bet ween Mahound and Ayesha, recount ing t he rumour as if it wer e incont r over t ible f act . " That
gir l couldn' t st omach it t hat her husband want ed so many ot her women, " he said. " He t alked
about necessit y, polit ical alliances and so on, but she wasn' t fooled. Who can blame her? Finally
he went int o - - what else? - - one of his t r ances, and out he came wit h a message from t he
archangel. Gibreel had recit ed ver ses giving him f ull divine support . God' s own per mission t o
luck as many women as he liked. So t here: what could poor Ayesha say against t he verses of
God? You know what she did say? This: ' Your God cer t ainly j umps t o it when you need him t o
fix t hings up for you. ' Well! I f it hadn' t been Ayesha, who knows what he' d have done, but none
of t he ot her s would have dar ed in t he fir st place. " Baal let him r un on wit hout int er r upt ion. The
sexual aspect s of Submission exercised t he Per sian a good deal: "Unhealt hy, " he pronounced.
"All t his segr egat ion. No good will come of it . "
At lengt h Baal did st art ar guing, and Salman was ast onished t o hear t he poet t aking
Mahound' s side: "You can see his point of view, " Baal reasoned. "I f families offer him brides
and he r ef uses he cr eat es enemies, - - and besides, he' s a special man and one can see t he
argument f or special dispensat ions, - - and as for locking t hem up, well, what a dishonour it
would be if anyt hing bad happened t o one of t hem! List en, if you lived in her e, you
wouldn' t t hink a lit t le less sexual fr eedom was such a bad t hing, - - for t he common people, I
mean. "
"Your br ain' s gone, " Salman said flat ly. "You' ve been out of t he sun t oo long. Or maybe
t hat cost ume makes you t alk like a clown. "
Baal was pret t y t ipsy by t his t ime, and began some hot r et ort , but Salman raised an
unst eady hand. "Don' t want t o fight , " he said. "Lemme t ell you inst ead. Hot t est st or y in t own.
Whoowhoo! And it ' s relevant t o what ch, what chyou say. "
Salman' s st or y: Ayesha and t he Prophet had gone on an expedit ion t o a far - flung village,
and on t he way back t o Yat hr ib t heir part y had camped in t he dunes for t he night . Camp was
st ruck in t he dark bef or e t he dawn. At t he last moment Ayesha was obliged by a call of nat ure
t o r ush out of sight int o a hollow. While she was away her lit t er - - bear er s picked up her
palanquin and marched off . She was a light woman, and, failing t o not ice much differ ence in
t he weight of t hat heavy palanquin, t hey assumed she was inside. Ayesha ret urned aft er
relieving herself t o find her self alone, and who knows what might have befallen her if a young
man, a cer t ain Safwan, had not chanced t o pass by on his camel . . . Saf wan brought Ayesha
back t o Yat hr ib saf e and sound; at which point t ongues began t o wag, not least in t he har em,
wher e opport unit ies t o weaken Ayesha' s power were eager ly seized by her opponent s. The t wo
young people had been alone in t he desert f or many hours, and it was hint ed, mor e and more
loudly, t hat Saf wan was a dashingly handsome fellow, and t he Pr ophet was much older t han
t he young woman, aft er all, and might she not t herefore have been at t r act ed t o someone
closer t o her own age? "Quit e a scandal, " Salman comment ed, happily.
"What will Mahound do?" Baal want ed t o know.
"O, he' s done it , " Salman r eplied. "Same as ever . He saw his pet , t he ar changel, and t hen
infor med one and all t hat Gibr eel had exoner at ed Ayesha. " Salman spr ead his ar ms in wor ldly
resignat ion. " And t his t ime, mist er, t he lady didn' t complain about t he convenience of t he
ver ses. "
o o o
Salman t he Per sian left t he next mor ning wit h a nort hbound camel - t r ain. When he lef t Baal
at The Curt ain, he embraced t he poet , kissed him on bot h cheeks and said: "Maybe you' re
right . Maybe it ' s bet t er t o keep out of t he daylight . I hope it last s. " Baa! replied: " And I hope
you f ind home, and t hat t her e is somet hing t here t o love. " Salman' s f ace went blank. He
opened his mout h, shut it again, and left .
"Ayesha" came t o Baal' s r oom for reassurance. "He won' t spill out t he secret when he' s
dr unk?" she asked, car essing Baal' s hair . " He get s t hr ough a lot of wine. "
Baal said: " Not hing is ever going t o be t he same again. " Salman' s visit had wakened him
from t he dream int o which he had slowly subsided dur ing his year s at The Curt ain, and he
couldn' t go back t o sleep.
"Of course it will, " Ayesha urged. " I t will. You' ll see. "
Baal shook his head and made t he only pr ophet ic r emark of his life. "Somet hing big is
going t o happen, " he for et old. "A man can' t hide behind skirt s for ever . "
The next day Mahound r et ur ned t o Jahilia and soldier s came t o inf or m t he Madam of The
Cur t ain t hat t he period of t r ansit ion was at an end. The br ot hels wer e t o be closed, wit h
immediat e effect . Enough was enough. Fr om behind her dr apes, t he Madam request ed t hat t he
soldiers wit hdraw for an hour in t he name of pr opr iet y t o enable t he guest s t o leave, and such
was t he inexper ience of t he officer in char ge of t he vice- squad t hat he agr eed. The Madam sent
her eunuchs t o inform t he gir ls and escor t t he client s out by a back door . " Please apologize t o
t hem for t he int err upt ion, " she order ed t he eunuchs, "and say t hat in t he cir cumst ances, no
charge will be made. "
They were her last words. When t he alarmed gir ls, all t alking at once, cr owded int o t he
t hr one room t o see if t he worst were r eally t rue, she made no answer t o t heir t er rified
quest ions, ar e we out of work, how do we eat , will we go t o j ail, what ' s t o become of us, - -
unt il "Ayesha" screwed up her cour age and did what none of t hem had ever dar ed at t empt .
When she t hr ew back t he black hangings t hey saw a dead woman who might have been fif t y or
a hundr ed and t went y- five year s old, no more t han t hr ee feet t all, looking like a big doll, cur led
up in a cushionladen wicker work chair , clut ching t he empt y poison- bot t le in her fist .
"Now t hat you' ve st art ed, " Baal said, coming int o t he room, "you may as well t ake all t he
curt ains down. No point t rying t o keep t he sun out any more. "
o o o
The young vice- squad of ficer , Umar , allowed himself t o display a r at her pet ulant bad
t emper when he found out about t he suicide of t he brot hel - keeper. "Well, if we can' t hang t he
boss, we' ll j ust have t o make do wit h t he wor kers, " he shout ed, and or dered his men t o place
t he "t ar t s" under close arr est , a t ask t he men perf or med wit h zeal. The women made a noise
and kicked out at t heir capt ors, but t he eunuchs st ood and wat ched wit hout t wit ching a muscle,
because Umar had said t o t hem: "They want t he cunt s t o be put on t r ial, but I ' ve no
inst r uct ions about you. So if you don' t want t o lose your heads as well as your balls, keep out
of t his. " Eunuchs f ailed t o defend t he women of The Curt ain while soldier s wrest led t hem t o t he
gr ound; and among t he eunuchs was Baa! , of t he dyed skin and poet r y. Just before t he
youngest "cunt " or "slit " was gagged, she yelled: "Husband, for God' s sake, help us, if you are
a man. " The vice- squad capt ain was amused. "Which of you is her husband?" he asked, st ar ing
car ef ully int o each t urban- t opped face. "Come on, own up. What ' s it like t o wat ch t he world
wit h your wife?"
Baal fixed his gaze on infinit y t o avoid "Ayesha' s" glar es as well as Umar ' s narr owed eyes.
The off icer st opped in fr ont of him. "I s it you?"
"Sir, you underst and, it ' s j ust a t erm, " Baal lied. "They like t o j oke, t he gir ls. They call us
t heir husbands because we, we. .
Wit hout war ning, Umar grabbed him by t he genit als and squeezed. "Because you can' t be, "
he said. "Husbands, eh. Not bad. "
When t he pain subsided, Baal saw t hat t he women had gone. Umar gave t he eunuchs a
wor d of advice on his way out . " Get lost , " he suggest ed. "Tomorr ow I may have orders about
you. Not many people get lucky t wo days r unning. "
When t he girls of The Cur t ain had been t aken away, t he eunuchs sat down and wept
uncont rollably by t he Fount ain of Love. But Baal, f ull of shame, did not cr y.
o o o
Gibr eel dr eamed t he deat h of Baal:
The t welve whor es realized, soon aft er t heir ar rest , t hat t hey had grown so accust omed t o
t heir new names t hat t hey couldn' t r emember t he old ones. They "wer e t oo fr ight ened t o give
t heir j ailers t heir assumed t it les, , and as a r esult were unable t o give any names at all. Af t er a
good deal of shout ing and a good many t hreat s t he j ailer s gave in and regist ered t hem by
numbers, as Cur t ain No. 1, Cur t ain No. 2 and so on. Their f or mer client s, t er r if ied of t he
consequences of let t ing slip t he secr et of what t he whores had been up t o, also r emained
silent , so t hat it is possible t hat nobody would have f ound out if t he poet Baal had not st art ed
past ing his ver ses t o t he walls of t he cit y j ail.
Two days aft er t he ar rest s, t he j ail was bur st ing wit h pr ost it ut es and pimps, whose
numbers had incr eased consider ably dur ing t he t wo years in which Submission had int roduced
sexual segregat ion t o Jahilia. I t t r anspired t hat many Jahilian men were pr epar ed t o
count enance t he j eers of t he t own riff - raff , t o say not hing of possible pr osecut ion under t he
new immor alit y laws, in order t o st and below t he windows of t he j ail and serenade t hose
paint ed ladies whom t hey had grown t o love. The women inside wer e ent irely unimpr essed by
t hese devot ions, and gave no encouragement what soever t o t he suit ors at t heir bar red gat es.
On t he t hir d day, however , t her e appeared among t hese lovelor n fools a peculiarly woebegone
fellow in t urban and pant aloons, wit h dark skin t hat was beginning t o look decidedly blot chy.
Many passers- by sniggered at t he look of him, but when he began t o sing his ver ses t he
snigger ing st opped at once. Jahilians had always been connoisseur s of t he ar t of poet ry, and
t he beaut y of t he odes being sung by t he peculiar gent st opped t hem in t heir t r acks. Baal sang
his love poems, and t he ache in t hem silenced t he ot her ver sifier s, who allowed Baal t o speak
for t hem all. At t he windows of t he j ail, it was possible t o see for t he f ir st t ime t he faces of t he
sequest ered whores, who had been dr awn t her e by t he magic of t he lines. When he finished his
recit al he went for war d t o nail his poet r y t o t he wall. The guards at t he gat es, t heir eyes
running wit h t ears, made no move t o st op him.
Ever y evening aft er t hat , t he st r ange f ellow would r eappear and recit e a new poem, and
each set of ver ses sounded lovelier t han t he last . I t was per haps t his surf eit of loveliness which
pr event ed anybody f rom not icing, unt il t he t welf t h evening, when he complet ed his t welft h and
final set of ver ses, each of which wer e dedicat ed t o a dif ferent woman, t hat t he names of his
t welve " wives" were t he same as t hose of anot her gr oup of t welve.
But on t he t welf t h day it was not iced, and at once t he lar ge cr owd t hat had t aken t o
gat hering t o hear Baal read changed it s mood. Feelings of out rage r eplaced t hose of exalt at ion,
and Baal was sur rounded by angr y men demanding t o know t he r easons for t his oblique, t his
most byzant ine of insult s. At t his point Baal t ook off his absur d t urban. "I am Baal, " he
announced. "I r ecognize no j urisdict ion except t hat of my Muse; or , t o be exact , my dozen
Muses. "
Guards seized him.
The Gener al, Khalid, had want ed t o have Baa! execut ed at once, but Mahound asked t hat
t he poet be br ought t o t r ial immediat ely following t he whor es. So when Baal' s t welve wives,
who had divor ced st one t o mar ry him, had been sent enced t o deat h by st oning t o punish t hem
for t he immor alit y of t heir lives, Baal st ood f ace t o face wit h t he Pr ophet , mir ror facing image,
dar k facing light . Khalid, sit t ing at Mahound' s r ight hand, off er ed Baa! a last chance t o explain
his vile deeds. The poet t old t he st or y of his st ay at The Cur t ain, using t he simplest language,
concealing not hing, not even his final cowar dice, f or which everyt hing he had done since had
been an at t empt at reparat ion. But now an unusual t hing happened. The crowd packed int o
t hat t ent of j udgment , knowing t hat t his was aft er all t he famous sat irist Baa! , in his day t he
owner of t he shar pest t ongue and keenest wit in Jahilia, began ( no mat t er how hard it t ried not
t o) t o laugh. The mor e honest ly and simply Baal descr ibed his mar riages t o t he t welve "wives
of t he Pr ophet ", t he more uncont r ollable became t he hor rified mir t h of t he audience. By t he
end of his speech t he good folk of Jahilia were lit erally weeping wit h laught er, unable t o
rest r ain t hemselves even when soldier s wit h bullwhips and scimit ar s t hr eat ened t hem wit h
inst ant deat h.
"I ' m not kidding! " Baal scr eeched at t he cr owd, which hoot ed yelled slapped it s t highs in
response. "I t ' s no j oke! " Ha ha ha. Unt il, at last , silence r et ur ned; t he Prophet had r isen t o his
feet .
"I n t he old days you mocked t he Recit at ion, " Mahound said in t he hush. " Then, t oo, t hese
people enj oyed your mockery. Now you ret urn t o dishonour my house, and it seems t hat once
again you succeed in bringing t he wor st out of t he people. "
Baal said, "I ' ve finished. Do what you want . "
So he was sent enced t o be beheaded, wit hin t he hour , and as soldiers manhandled him out
of t he t ent t owar ds t he killing ground, he shout ed over his shoulder: " Whor es and wr it er s,
Mahound. We are t he people you can' t f or give. "
Mahound replied, "Writ ers and whor es. I see no difference her e. "
o o o
Once upon a t ime t here was a woman who did not change.
Af t er t he t reachery of Abu Simbel handed Jahilia t o Mahound on a plat e and r eplaced t he
idea of t he cit y' s great ness wit h t he realit y of Mahound' s, Hind sucked t oes, r ecit ed t he La-
ilaha, and t hen r et r eat ed t o a high t ower of her palace, where news r eached her of t he
dest r uct ion of t he Al - Lat t emple at Taif, and of all t he st at ues of t he goddess t hat were known
t o exist . She locked her self int o her t ower r oom wit h a collect ion of ancient books writ t en in
scr ipt s which no ot her human being inj ahilia could decipher ; and for t wo years and t wo mont hs
she remained t here, st udying her occult t ext s in secr et , asking t hat a plat e of simple food be
left out side her door once a day and t hat her chamberpot be empt ied at t he same t ime. For
t wo year s and t wo mont hs she saw no ot her living being. Then she ent er ed her husband' s
bedr oom at dawn, dressed in all her finery, wit h j ewels glit t er ing at her wr ist s, ankles, t oes,
ear s and t hr oat . "Wake up, " she commanded, flinging back his curt ains. "I t ' s a day for
celebr at ions. " He saw t hat she hadn' t aged by so much as a day since he last saw her ; if
anyt hing, she looked younger t han ever, which gave cr edence t o t he r umour s which suggest ed
t hat her wit chcr aft had persuaded t ime t o run backwar ds f or her wit hin t he conf ines of her
t ower room. "What have we got t o celebrat e?" t he for mer Gr andee of Jahilia asked, coughing
up his usual morning blood. Hind replied: " I may not be able t o reverse t he f low of hist or y, but
revenge, at least , is sweet . "
Wit hin an hour t he news ar rived t hat t he Pr ophet , Mahound, had fallen int o a fat al sickness,
t hat he lay in Ayesha' s bed wit h his head t humping as if it had been f illed up wit h demons. Hind
cont inued t o make calm pr epar at ions for a banquet , sending ser vant s t o every corner of t he
cit y t o invit e guest s. But of cour se nobody would come t o a par t y on t hat day. I n t he evening
Hind sat alone in t he gr eat hall of her home, amid t he golden plat es and cr yst al glasses of her
revenge, eat ing a simple plat e of couscous while sur rounded by glist ening, st eaming, ar omat ic
dishes of every imaginable t ype. Abu Simbel had r efused t o j oin her , calling her eat ing an
obscenit y. "You at e his uncle' s hear t , " Simbel cried, " and now you would eat his. " She laughed
in his face. When t he ser vant s began t o weep she dismissed t hem, t oo, and sat in solit ary
rej oicing while candles sent st range shadows across her absolut e, uncompromising face.
Gibr eel dr eamed t he deat h of Mahound:
For when t he head of t he Messenger began t o ache as never befor e, he knew t he t ime had
come when he would be off er ed t he Choice:
Since no Pr ophet may die before he has been shown Par adise, and af t er war d asked t o
choose bet ween t his wor ld and t he next :
So t hat as he lay wit h his head in his beloved Ayesha' s lap, he closed his eyes, and lif e
seemed t o depart f rom him; but aft er a t ime he r et ur ned:
And he said unt o Ayesha, "I have been of fered and made my Choice, and I have chosen
t he kingdom of God. "
Then she wept , knowing t hat he was speaking of his deat h; whereupon his eyes moved
past her , and seemed t o fix upon anot her figur e in t he r oom, even t hough when she, Ayesha,
t ur ned t o look she saw only a lamp t her e, bur ning upon it s st and:
"Who' s t here?" he called out . "I s it Thou, Azraeel?"
But Ayesha hear d a t er rible, sweet voice, t hat was a woman' s, make reply: "No, Messenger
of Al- - Lah, it is not Azr aeel. "
And t he lamp blew out ; and in t he dar kness Mahound asked: " I s t his sickness t hen t hy
doing, O Al - - Lat ?"
And she said: "I t is my revenge upon you, and I am sat isfied. Let t hem cut a camel' s
hamst rings and set it on your grave. "
Then she went , and t he lamp t hat had been snuf fed out burst once mor e int o a great and
gent le light , and t he Messenger mur mured, "St ill, I t hank Thee, Al - - Lat , f or t his gift . "
Not long aft erwards he died. Ayesha went out int o t he next r oom, wher e t he ot her wives
and disciples wer e wait ing wit h heavy hear t s, and t hey began might ily t o lament :
But Ayesha wiped her eyes, and said: " I f t here be any here who worshipped t he
Messenger , let t hem grieve, f or Mahound is dead; but if t her e be any here who worship God,
t hen let t hem r ej oice, for He is sur ely alive. "
I t was t he end of t he dream.
VI I
The
Angel Azraeel
1
I t all boiled down t o love, reflect ed Saladin Chamcha in his den: love, t he refr act ory bird of
Meilhac and Hal vy' s libr et t o for _Carmen_ - - one of t he pr ize specimens, t his, in t he
Allegor ical Aviary he' d assembled in light er days, and which included among it s winged
met aphor s t he Sweet ( of yout h) , t he Yellow ( mor e lucky t han me) , Khayym- - Fit zGer ald' s
adj ect iveless Bird of Time ( which has but a lit t le way t o fly, and lo! is on t he Wing) , and t he
Obscene; t his last fr om a let t er wr it t en by Henr y James, Sr , t o his sons. . . "Every man who
has r eached even his int ellect ual t eens begins t o suspect t hat life is no f arce; t hat it is not
gent eel comedy even; t hat it flower s and fr uct ifies on t he cont rar y out of t he profoundest t r agic
dept hs of t he essent ial deart h in which it s subj ect ' s root s are plunged. The nat ur al inher it ance
of ever yone who is capable of spirit ual life is an unsubdued forest wher e t he wolf howls and t he
obscene bir d of night chat t er s. " Take _t hat _, kids. - - And in a separat e but pr oximat e g! ass
display- - case of t he younger , happier Chamcha' s fancy t her e flut t ered a capt ive fr om a piece of
hit - par ade bubblegum music, t he Br ight Elusive But t er fly, which shared _l"amour_ wit h t he
_oiseau r ebelle_.
Love, a zone in which nobody desir ous of compiling a human ( as opposed t o r obot ic,
Skinnerian- andr oid) body of exper ience could af for d t o shut down operat ions, did you down, no
quest ion about it , and ver y probably did you in as well. I t even war ned you in advance. "Love is
an inf ant of Bohemia, " sings Carmen, herself t he ver y I dea of t he Beloved, it s per fect pat t er n,
et ernal and divine, " and if you love me, look out for you. " You couldn' t ask f or fair er . For his
own par t , Saladin in his t ime had loved widely, and was now ( he had come t o believe) suff er ing
Love' s revenges upon t he foolish lover. Of t he t hings of t he mind, he had most loved t he
pr ot ean, inexhaust ible cult ur e of t he Englishspeaking peoples; had said, when court ing Pamela,
t hat _Ot hello_, "j ust t hat one play", was wor t h t he t ot al out put of any ot her dr amat ist in any
ot her language, and t hough he was conscious of hyperbole, he didn' t t hink t he exaggerat ion
ver y great . ( Pamela, of course, made incessant ef for t s t o bet ray her class and race, and so,
pr edict ably, pr ofessed herself hor rified, br acket ing Ot hello wit h Shylock and beat ing t he r acist
Shakespear e over t he head wit h t he br ace of t hem. ) He had been st r iving, like t he Bengali
writ er, Nir ad Chaudhur i, before him - - t hough wit hout any of t hat impish, colonial int elligence' s
ur ge t o be seen as an enf ant t er rible - - t o be wor t hy of t he challenge r epr esent ed by t he
phr ase _Civis Br it annicus sum_. Empir e was no mor e, but st ill he knew "all t hat was good and
living wit hin him" t o have been " made, shaped and quickened" by his encount er wit h t his islet
of sensibilit y, sur rounded by t he cool sense of t he sea. - - Of mat erial t hings, he had given his
love t o t his cit y, London, prefer ring it t o t he cit y of his bir t h or t o any ot her ; had been creeping
up on it , st ealt hily, wit h mount ing excit ement , fr eezing int o a st at ue when it looked in his
dir ect ion, dreaming of being t he one t o possess it and so, in a sense, become it , as when in t he
game of grandmot her' s f oot st eps t he child who t ouches t he one who' s _it _ ( "on it ", t oday' s
young Londoners would say) t akes over t hat cher ished ident it y; as, also, in t he myt h of t he
Golden Bough. London, it s conglomerat e nat ure mir roring his own, it s r et icence also his; it s
gar goyles, t he ghost ly foot f alls in it s st reet s of Roman f eet , t he honks of it s depar t ing migr ant
geese. I t s hospit alit y - - yes! - - in spit e of immigrat ion laws, and his own r ecent exper ience, he
st ill insist ed on t he t rut h of t hat : an imper fect welcome, t rue, one capable of bigot r y, but a real
t hing, nonet heless, as was at t est ed by t he exist ence in a Sout h London borough of a pub in
which no language but Ukrainian could be hear d, and by t he annual r eunion, in Wembley, a
st one' s t hr ow fr om t he gr eat st adium sur rounded by imper ial echoes - - Empir e Way, t he
Empir e Pool - - of more t han a hundr ed delegat es, all t r acing t heir ancest r y back t o a single,
small Goan village. - - "We Londoner s can be proud of our hospit alit y, " he' d t old Pamela, and
she, giggling helplessly, t ook him t o see t he Bust er Keat on movie of t hat name, in which t he
comedian, arr iving at t he end of an absur d r ailway line, get s a murderous r ecept ion. I n t hose
days t hey had enj oyed such opposit ions, and af t er hot disput es had ended up in bed. . . He
ret ur ned his wander ing t hought s t o t he subj ect of t he met ropolis. I t s - - he r epeat ed st ubbornly
t o himself - - long hist ory as a r ef uge, a role it maint ained in spit e of t he recalcit r ant ingrat it ude
of t he r ef ugees' children; and wit hout any of t he selfcongr at ulat ory huddled- masses rhet or ic of
t he "nat ion of immigr ant s" acr oss t he ocean, it self f ar from per fect ly open- - armed. Would t he
Unit ed St at es, wit h it s are- you- now- have- you- ever - beens, have per mit t ed Ho Chi Minh t o cook
in it s hot el kit chens? What would it s McCar ran- - Walt er Act have t o say about a lat t er - - day Kar l
Marx, st anding bushy- - bear ded at it s gat es, wait ing t o cross it s yellow lines? O Proper London!
Dull would he t ruly be of soul who did not prefer it s f aded splendour s, it s new hesit ancies, t o
t he hot cert aint ies of t hat t ransat lant ic New Rome wit h it s Nazified ar chit ect ur al gigant ism,
which employed t he oppr essions of size t o make it s human occupant s feel like worms . . .
London, in spit e of an incr ease in excr escences such as t he Nat West Tower - - a cor por at e logo
ext r uded int o t he t hird dimension - - preser ved t he human scale. _Viva! Zindabad! _
Pamela had always t aken a caust ic view of such rhapsodies. "These ar e museum- values, "
she used t o t ell him. " Sanct ified, hanging in golden fr ames on honorific walls. " She had never
had any t ime for what endured. Change everyt hing! Rip it up! He said: "I f you succeed you will
make it impossible for anybody like you, in one or t wo generat ions' t ime, t o come along. " She
celebr at ed t his vision of her own obsolescence. I f she ended up like t he dodo - - a st uff ed relic,
_Class Tr ait or , 1980s_ - - t hat would, she said, cert ainly suggest an improvement in t he world.
He begged t o diff er , but by t his t ime t hey had begun t o embr ace: which surely was an
impr ovement , so he conceded t he ot her point .
( One year, t he government had int r oduced admission char ges at museums, and groups of
angr y ar t - lover s picket ed t he t emples of cult ur e. When he saw t his, Chamcha had want ed t o
get up a placard of his own and st age a one- man count er - pr ot est . Didn' t t hese people know
what t he st uf f inside was _wort h?_ Ther e t hey were, cheer fully rot t ing t heir lungs wit h
cigaret t es wort h mor e per packet t han t he char ges t hey were pr ot est ing against ; what t hey
wer e demonst r at ing t o t he world was t he low value t hey placed upon t heir cult ural herit age. . .
Pamela put her foot down. "Don' t you dare, " she said. She held t he t hen- - corr ect view: t hat t he
museums were _t oo valuable_ t o char ge for. So: "Don' t you dare, " and t o his sur prise he f ound
he did not . He had not meant what he would have seemed t o mean. He had meant t hat he
would have given, maybe, in t he right cir cumst ances, his _lif e_ f or what was in t hose
museums. So he could not t ake ser iously t hese obj ect ions t o a char ge of a few pence. He quit e
saw, however , t hat t his was an obscur e and ill- defended posit ion. )
- - _And of human beings, Pamela, I loved you_. - -
Cult ure, cit y, wife; and a f our t h and final love, of which he had spoken t o nobody: t he love
of a dr eam. I n t he old days t he dream had r ecurr ed about once a mont h; a simple dream, set
in a cit y park, along an avenue of mat ur e elms, whose overar ching branches t ur ned t he avenue
int o a gr een t unnel int o which t he sky and t he sunlight wer e dripping, here and t here, t hr ough
t he perfect imper fect ions in t he canopy of leaves. I n t his sylvan secrecy, Saladin saw himself,
accompanied by a small boy of about five, whom he was t eaching t o ride a bicycle. The boy,
wobbling alarmingly at fir st , made heroic ef for t s t o gain and maint ain his balance, wit h t he
fer ocit y of one who wishes his fat her t o be proud of him. The dr eam- Chamcha r an along behind
his imagined son, holding t he bike upr ight by gripping t he par celrack over t he rear wheel. Then
he r eleased it , and t he boy ( not knowing himself t o be unsuppor t ed) kept going: balance came
like a gift of f light , and t he t wo of t hem were gliding down t he avenue, Chamcha r unning, t he
boy pedalling harder and har der. "You did it ! " Saladin rej oiced, and t he equally elat ed child
shout ed back: "Look at me! See how quickly I lear ned! Ar en' t you pleased wit h me? Ar en' t you
pleased?" I t was a dream t o weep at ; for when he awoke, t here was no bicycle and no child.
"What will you do now?" Mishal had asked him amid t he wreckage of t he Hot Wax
night club, and he' d answer ed, t oo light ly: "Me? I t hink I ' ll come back t o lif e. " Easier said t han
done; it was lif e, aft er all, t hat had r ewar ded his love of a dr eam- - child wit h childlessness; his
love of a woman, wit h her est r angement fr om him and her inseminat ion by his old college
friend; his love of a cit y, by hur ling him down t owar ds it from Himalayan height s; and his love
of a civilizat ion, by having him bedevilled, humiliat ed, br oken upon it s wheel. Not quit e br oken,
he r eminded himself; he was whole again, and t here was, t oo, t he example of Niccol
Machiavelli t o consider ( a wronged man, his name, like t hat of Muhammad- Mahon- Mahound, a
synonym for evil; wher eas in f act his st aunch republicanism had ear ned him t he rack, upon
which he survived, was it t hree t ur ns of t he wheel? - - enough, at any r at e, t o make most men
conf ess t o r aping t heir gr andmot hers, or anyt hing else, j ust t o make t he pain go away; - - yet
he had confessed t o not hing, having commit t ed no cr imes while serving t he Flor ent ine republic,
t hat all - - t oo- br ief int er rupt ion in t he power of t he Medici family) ; if Niccol could survive such
t r ibulat ion and live t o writ e t hat per haps embit t er ed, perhaps sar donic parody of t he
sycophant ic mir ror - - of - - pr inces lit erat ure t hen so much in vogue, _I l Principe_, f ollowing it wit h
t he magist erial _Discor si_, t hen he, Chamcha, need cer t ainly not permit himself t he luxur y of
defeat . Resur rect ion it was, t hen; r oll back t hat boulder fr om t he cave' s dar k mout h, and t o
hell wit h t he lega! pr oblems.
Mishal, Hanif Johnson and Pinkwalla - - in whose eyes Chamcha' s met amor phoses had made
t he act or a hero, t hrough whom t he magic of special - eff ect s f ant asy- movies ( _Labyr int h_,
_Legend_, _Howard t he Duck_) ent er ed t he Real - - drove Saladin over t o Pamela' s place in t he
DJ' s van; t his t ime, t hough, he squashed himself int o t he cab along wit h t he ot her t hree. I t was
ear ly af t er noon; Jumpy would st ill be at t he spor t s cent r e. "Good luck, " said Mishal, kissing
him, and Pinkwalla asked if t hey should wait . "No, t hanks, " Saladin r eplied. "When you' ve fallen
from t he sky, been abandoned by your fr iend, suffered police brut alit y, met amor phosed int o a
goat , lost your work as well as your wife, lear ned t he power of hat r ed and regained human
shape, what is t her e left t o do but , as you would no doubt phr ase it , demand your right s?" He
waved goodbye. "Good for you, " Mishal said, and t hey had gone. On t he st r eet cor ner t he usual
neighbourhood kids, wit h whom his relat ions had never been good, were bouncing a foot ball off
a lamp- post . One of t hem, an evil - looking piggy- eyed lout of nine or t en, point ed an imaginar y
video r emot e cont r ol at Chamcha and yelled: "Fast forward! " His was a gener at ion t hat
believed in skipping life' s bor ing, t roublesome, unlikable bit s, going fast - for war d fr om one
act ion- packed climax t o t he next . _Welcome home_, Saladin t hought , and r ang t he door bell.
Pamela, when she saw him, act ually caught at her t hroat . " I didn' t t hink people did t hat
any more, " he said. " Not since _Dr . St r angelove_. " Her pregnancy wasn' t visible yet ; he
inquired aft er it , and she blushed, but confir med t hat it was going well. "So far so good. " She
was nat urally of f balance; t he of fer of coffee in t he kit chen came several beat s t oo lat e ( she
"st uck wit h" her whisky, drinking r apidly in spit e of t he baby) ; but in point of fact Chamcha felt
one down ( t here had been a per iod in which he' d been an avid devot ee of St ephen Pot t er' s
amusing lit t le books) t hroughout t his encount er . Pamela clearly felt t hat she ought t o be t he
one in t he bad posit ion. She was t he one who had want ed t o break t he mar riage, who had
denied him at least t hrice; but he was as fumbling and abashed as she, so t hat t hey seemed t o
compet e for t he r ight t o occupy t he doghouse. The reason for Chamcha' s discomf it ur e - - and
he had not , let ' s r ecall, arr ived in t his awkward spirit , but in feist y, pugnacious mood - - was
t hat he had r ealized, on seeing Pamela, wit h her t oo- - br ight bright ness, her face like a saint ly
mask behind which who knows what worms feast ed on rot t ing meat ( he was alarmed by t he
host ile violence of t he images ar ising fr om his unconscious) , her shaven head under it s absur d
t ur ban, her whisky br eat h, and t he har d t hing t hat had ent er ed t he lit t le lines ar ound her
mout h, t hat he had quit e simply fallen out of love, and would not want her back even should
she want ( which was improbable but not inconceivable) t o r et urn. The inst ant he became
aware of t his he commenced f or some r eason t o feel guilt y, and, as a result , at a
conver sat ional disadvant age. The whit e- hair ed dog was gr owling at him, t oo. He r ecalled t hat
he' d never really cared f or pet s.
"I suppose, " she addressed her glass, sit t ing at t he old pine t able in t he spacious kit chen,
"t hat what I did was unforgivable, huh?"
That lit t le Americanizing _huh_ was new: anot her of her infinit e series of blows against her
br eeding? Or had she caught it fr om Jumpy, or some hip lit t le acquaint ance of his, like a
disease? ( The snar ling violence again: down wit h it . Now t hat he no longer want ed her , it was
ent irely inappropr iat e t o t he sit uat ion. ) "I don' t t hink I can say what I ' m capable of forgiving, "
he r eplied. " That part icular r esponse seems t o be out of my cont r ol; it eit her operat es or it
doesn' t and I find out in due course. So let ' s say, for t he moment , t hat t he j ur y' s out . " She
didn' t like t hat , she want ed him t o defuse t he sit uat ion so t hat t hey could enj oy t heir blast ed
coffee. Pamela had always made vile coffee: st ill, t hat wasn' t his pr oblem now. "I ' m moving
back in, " he said. "I t ' s a big house and t her e' s plent y of r oom. I ' ll t ake t he den, and t he r ooms
on t he floor below, including t he spar e bat hr oom, so I ' ll be quit e independent . I pr opose t o use
t he kit chen ver y sparingly. I ' m assuming t hat , as my body was never found, I ' m st ill of ficially
missingpresumed- dead, t hat you haven' t gone t o cour t t o have me wiped off t he slat e. I n
which case it shouldn' t t ake t oo long t o resuscit at e me, once I alert Bent ine, Milligan and
Sellers. " ( Respect ively, t heir lawyer , t heir account ant and Chamcha' s agent . ) Pamela list ened
dumbly, her post ure informing him t hat she wouldn' t be of fer ing any count er - argument s, t hat
what ever he want ed was okay: making amends wit h body language. "Af t er t hat , " he concluded,
"we sell up and you get your divor ce. " He swept out , making an exit bef or e he got t he shakes,
and made it t o his den j ust before t hey hit him. Pamela, downst air s, would be weeping; he had
never found crying easy, but he was a champion shaker . And now t here was his heart , t oo:
boom badoom doodoodoom.
_To be bor n again, fir st you have t o die_.
o o o
Alone, he all at once remember ed t hat he and Pamela had once disagr eed, as t hey
disagreed on ever yt hing, on a shor t - - st or y t hey' d bot h r ead, whose t heme was pr ecisely t he
nat ure of t he unfor givable. Tit le and aut hor eluded him, but t he st ory came back vividly. A man
and a woman had been int imat e f riends ( never lovers) for all t heir adult lives. On his t went y- -
first birt hday ( t hey wer e bot h poor at t he t ime) she had given him, as a j oke, t he most
horr ible, cheap glass vase she could find, it s colour s a garish par ody of Venet ian gaiet y. Twent y
years lat er , when t hey were bot h successf ul and gr eying, she visit ed his home and quar relled
wit h him over his t r eat ment of a mut ual fr iend. I n t he cour se of t he quar r el her eye fell upon
t he old vase, which he st ill kept in pr ide of place on his sit t ing- room mant elpiece, and, wit hout
pausing in her t ir ade, she swept it t o t he floor , smashing it beyond hope of r epair . He never
spoke t o her again; when she died, half a cent ur y lat er , he refused t o visit her deat hbed or
at t end her funeral, even t hough messengers wer e sent t o t ell him t hat t hese wer e her dear est
wishes. " Tell her , " he said t o t he emissaries, "t hat she never knew how much I valued what she
br oke. " The emissar ies argued, pleaded, r aged. I f she had not known how much meaning he
had invest ed in t he t rifle, how could she in all f airness be blamed? And had she not made
count less at t empt s, over t he years, t o apologize and at one? And she was dying, for heaven' s
sake; could not t his ancient , childish rif t be healed at t he last ? They had lost a lifet ime' s
friendship; could t hey not even say goodbye? " No, " said t he unforgiving man. - - "Really
because of t he vase? Or ar e you concealing some ot her , dar ker mat t er ?" - - "I t was t he vase, "
he answer ed, "t he vase, and not hing but . " Pamela t hought t he man pet t y and cr uel, but
Chamcha had even t hen appr eciat ed t he cur ious pr ivacy, t he inexplicable inwardness of t he
issue. " Nobody can j udge an int er nal inj ur y, " he had said, " by t he size of t he super ficial wound,
of t he hole. "
_Sunt lacr imae r er um_, as t he ex- t eacher Suf yan would have said, and Saladin had ample
opport unit y in t he next many days t o cont emplat e t he t ear s in t hings. He r emained at f irst
virt ually immobile in his den, allowing it t o gr ow back around him at it s own pace, wait ing for it
t o r egain somet hing of t he solid comf or t ing qualit y of it s old self, as it had been bef or e t he
alt er ing of t he univer se. He wat ched a good deal of t elevision wit h half an eye, channel - hopping
compulsively, f or he was a member of t he r emot e- cont r ol cult ur e of t he pr esent as much as t he
piggy boy on t he st r eet cor ner ; he, t oo, could comprehend, or at least ent er t he illusion of
comprehending, t he composit e video monst er his but t on- pushing br ought int o being . . . what a
leveller t his remot e- - cont r ol gizmo was, a Procr ust ean bed for t he t went iet h cent ur y; it
chopped down t he heavyweight and st r et ched out t he slight unt il all t he set ' s emissions,
commer cials, mur der s, game- - shows, t he t housand and one var ying j oys and t er rors of t he
real and t he imagined, acquir ed an equal weight ; - - and wher eas t he original Pr ocrust es, cit izen
of what could now be t ermed a "hands- on" cult ur e, had t o exer cise bot h brain and br awn, he,
Chamcha, could lounge back in his Parker - - Knoll recliner chair and let his f ingers do t he
chopping. I t seemed t o him, as he idled across t he channels, t hat t he box was f ull of fr eaks:
t here wer e mut ant s - - "Mut t s" - - on _Dr. Who_, bizarr e cr eat ur es who appeared t o have been
crossbred wit h diff er ent t ypes of indust rial machiner y: forage har vest ers, gr abber s, donkeys,
j ackhammers, saws, and whose cr uel pr iest - chief t ains were called _Mut ilasians_; children' s
t elevision appear ed t o be exclusively populat ed by humanoid robot s and cr eat ur es wit h
met amorphic bodies, while t he adult programmes of fered a cont inual parade of t he misshapen
human by- pr oduct s of t he newest not ions in moder n medicine, and it s accomplices, modern
disease and war . A hospit al in Guyana had appar ent ly pr eserved t he body of a f ully formed
mer man, complet e wit h gills and scales. Lycant hr opy was on t he incr ease in t he Scot t ish
Highlands. The genet ic possibilit y of cent aurs was being seriously discussed. A sex- - change
operat ion was shown. - - He was r eminded of an execr able piece of poet ry which Jumpy Joshi
had hesit ant ly shown him at t he Shaandaar B and B. I t s name, " I Sing t he Body Eclect ic", was
fully repr esent at ive of t he whole. - - But t he f ellow has a whole body, aft er all, Saladin t hought
bit t erly. He made Pamela' s baby wit h no t rouble at all: no br oken st icks on his damn
chromosomes. . . he caught sight of himself in a r er un of an old _Aliens Show_ "classic". ( I n
t he fast - - for war d cult ure, classic st at us could be achieved in as lit t le as six mont hs; somet imes
even overnight . ) The effect of all t his box- wat ching was t o put a severe dent in what remained
of his idea of t he normal, aver age qualit y of t he r eal; but t here wer e also count ervailing f or ces
at work.
On _Gardener s' Wor ld_ he was shown how t o achieve somet hing called a "chimeran
gr aft " ( t he ver y same, as chance would have it , t hat had been t he pr ide of Ot t o Cone' s
gar den) ; and alt hough his inat t ent ion caused him t o miss t he names of t he t wo t r ees t hat had
been bred int o one - - Mulber ry? Laburnum? Broom? - - t he t r ee it self made him sit up and t ake
not ice. Ther e it palpably was, a chimer a wit h r oot s, fir mly plant ed in and gr owing vigor ously
out of a piece of English eart h: a t r ee, he t hought , capable of t aking t he met aphor ic place of
t he one his fat her had chopped down in a dist ant garden in anot her , incompat ible world. I f
such a t r ee wer e possible, t hen so was he; he, t oo, could coher e, send down root s, survive.
Amid all t he t elevisual images of hybrid t r agedies - - t he uselessness of mer men, t he f ailur es of
plast ic sur gery, t he Esper ant o- like vacuit y of much moder n art , t he Coca- Colonizat ion of t he
planet - - he was given t his one gift . I t was enough. He swit ched of f t he set .
Gr adually, his animosit y t owar ds Gibr eel lessened. Nor did hor ns, goat - hoof s, et c. show
any signs of manifest ing t hemselves anew. I t seemed a cur e was in progress. I n point of fact ,
wit h t he passage of t he days not only Gibr eel, but ever yt hing which had bef allen Saladin of lat e
t hat was ir reconcilable wit h t he pr osiness of ever yday lif e came t o seem somehow ir r elevant ,
as even t he most st ubbor n of night mar es will once you' ve splashed your face, br ushed your
t eet h and had a st r ong, hot dr ink. He began t o make j our neys int o t he out side world - - t o
t hose pr ofessional advisers, lawyer account ant agent , whom Pamela used t o call " t he Goons",
and when sit t ing in t he panelled, book- and ledgerlined st abilit y of t hose offices in which
mir acles could plainly never happen he t ook t o speaking of his "br eakdown" , - - "t he shock of
t he accident ", - - and so on, explaining his disappearance as t hough he had never t umbled f rom
t he sky, singing "Rule, Brit annia" while Gibr eel yowled an air fr om t he movie _Shr ee 420_. He
made a conscious eff or t t o resume his old life of delicat e sensibilit ies, t aking himself off t o
concer t s and art galleries and plays, and if his responses wer e rat her dull; - - if t hese pursuit s
singular ly f ailed t o send him home in t he st at e of exalt at ion which was t he r et ur n he expect ed
from all high ar t ; - - t hen he insist ed t o himself t hat t he t hrill would soon ret ur n; he had had "a
bad exper ience", and needed a lit t le t ime.
I n his den, seat ed in t he Parker - Knoll armchair , surr ounded by his familiar obj ect s - - t he
china pier rot s, t he mir ror in t he shape of a car t oonist ' s hear t , Er os holding up t he globe of an
ant ique lamp - - he congr at ulat ed himself on being t he sort of per son who had found hat r ed
impossible t o sust ain for long. Maybe, aft er all, love was more durable t han hat e; even if love
changed, some shadow of it , some last ing shape, persist ed. Towar ds Pamela, for example, he
was now sure he felt not hing but t he most alt ruist ic aff ect ions. Hat r ed was per haps like a
finger - pr int upon t he smoot h glass of t he sensit ive soul; a mere gr ease- mark, which
disappear ed if left alone. Gibr eel? Pooh! He was for got t en; he no longer exist ed. There; t o
surr ender animosit y was t o become fr ee.
Saladin' s opt imism gr ew, but t he red t ape surr ounding his r et ur n t o life pr oved mor e
obst r uct ive t han he expect ed. The banks wer e t aking t heir t ime about unblocking his account s;
he was obliged t o borr ow fr om Pamela. Nor was work easy t o come by. His agent , Char lie
Sellers, explained over t he phone: " Client s get f unny. They st ar t t alking about zombies, t hey
feel sor t of unclean: as " if t hey were r obbing a grave. " Char lie, who st ill sounded in her early
fift ies like a disor ganized and somewhat daff y young t hing of t he best count y st ock, gave t he
impr ession t hat she rat her sympat hized wit h t he client s' point of view. "Wait it out , " she
advised. " They' ll come r ound. Af t er all, it isn' t as if you wer e Dracula, f or heaven' s sake. "
Thank you, Char lie.
Yes: his obsessive loat hing of Gibreel, his dr eam of exact ing some cruel and appropriat e
revenge, - - t hese wer e t hings of t he past , aspect s of a realit y incompat ible wit h his passionat e
desir e t o re- - est ablish or dinar y lif e. Not even t he sedit ious, deconst ruct ive imager y of t elevision
could deflect him. What he was rej ect ing was a por t rait of himself and Gibr eel as _monst rous_.
Monst r ous, indeed: t he most absur d of ideas. Ther e were r eal monst er s in t he world - - mass- -
mur der ing dict at or s, child r apist s. The Granny Ripper. ( Her e he was f or ced t o admit t hat in
spit e of his old, high est imat e of t he Met ropolit an Police, t he ar rest of Uhur u Simba was j ust t oo
dar ned neat . ) You only had t o open t he t abloids any day of t he week t o find crazed homosexual
I rishmen st uff ing babies' mout hs wit h ear t h. Pamela, nat ur ally, had been of t he view t hat
"monst er " was t oo - - what ? - - _j udgment al_ a t er m f or such per sons; compassion, she said,
requir ed t hat we see t hem as casualt ies of t he age. Compassion, he r eplied, demanded t hat we
see t heir vict ims as t he casualt ies. "Ther e' s not hing t o be done wit h you, " she had said in her
most pat rician voice. "You act ually do t hink in cheap debat ing point s. "
And ot her monst er s, t oo, no less r eal t han t he t abloid fiends: money, power, sex, deat h,
love. Angels and devils - - who needed t hem? "Why demons, when man himself is a demon?"
t he Nobel Laur eat e Singer ' s "last demon" asked fr om his at t ic in Tishevit z. To which Chamcha' s
sense of balance, his much- t o- be- said- for and- against reflex, wished t o add: "And why angels,
when man is angelic t oo?" ( I f t his wasn' t t r ue, how t o explain, for inst ance, t he Leonardo
Cart oon? Was Mozart r eally Beelzebub in a powder ed wig?) - - But , it had t o be conceded, and
t his was his original point , t hat t he cir cumst ances of t he age r equir ed no diabolic explanat ions.
o o o
I ' m saying not hing. Don' t ask me t o clear t hings up one way or t he ot her; t he t ime of
revelat ions is long gone. The r ules of Cr eat ion are pr et t y clear: you set t hings up, you make
t hem t hus and so, and t hen you let t hem r oll. Where' s t he pleasur e if you' r e always int er vening
t o give hint s, change t he r ules, fix t he f ight s? Well, I ' ve been pr et t y self - cont r olled up t o t his
point and I don' t plan t o spoil t hings now. Don' t t hink I haven' t want ed t o but t in; I have,
plent y of t imes. And once, it ' s t rue, I did. I sat on Alleluia Cone' s bed and spoke t o t he
super st ar , Gibreel. _Oopar vala or Neechayvala_, he want ed t o know, and I didn' t enlight en
him; I cert ainly don' t int end t o blab t o t his confused Chamcha inst ead.
I ' m leaving now. The man' s going t o sleep.
o o o
His rebor n, f ledgling, st ill - - fallible opt imism was har dest t o maint ain at night ; because at
night t hat ot herworld of hor ns and hoofs was not so easily denied. Ther e was t he mat t er , t oo,
of t he t wo women who had st art ed haunt ing his dr eams. The fir st - - it was hard t o admit t his,
even t o himself - - was none ot her t han t he child- woman of t he Shaandaar, his loyal ally in t hat
night mare t ime which he was now t rying so might ily t o conceal behind banalit ies and mist s, t he
aficionada of t he mart ial ar t s, Hanif Johnson' s lover, Mishal Suf yan.
The second - - whom he' d lef t in Bombay wit h t he knif e of his depart ur e st icking in her
hear t , and who must st ill t hink him dead - - was Zeeny Vakil.
o o o
The j umpiness of Jumpy Joshi when he learned t hat Saladin Chamcha had r et urned, in
human for m, t o r eoccupy t he upper st or eys of t he house in Not t ing Hill, was fr ight f ul t o behold,
and incensed Pamela mor e t han she could say. On t he fir st night - - she had decided not t o t ell
him unt il t hey were safely in bed - - he leaped, on hear ing t he news, a good t hr ee f eet clear of
t he bed and st ood on t he pale blue carpet , st ar k naked and quaking wit h his t humb st uck in his
mout h.
"Come back her e and st op being foolish, " she commanded, but he shook his head wildly,
and removed his t humb long enough t o gibber: " But if he' s _her e! _ I n t his _house! _ Then how
can _I _ . . . ?" - - Wit h which he snat ched up his clot hes in an unt idy bundle, and fled from her
pr esence; she hear d t humps and crashes which suggest ed t hat his shoes, possibly
accompanied by himself, had fallen down t he st air s. "Good, " she screamed aft er him. "Chicken,
br eak your neck. "
Some moment s lat er , however, Saladin was visit ed by t he purple- faced figur e of his
est r anged and naked- headed wife, who spoke t hickly t hrough clamped t eet h. " J. J. is st anding
out side in t he st reet . The damn fool says he can' t come in unless you say it ' s okay wit h you. "
She had, as usual, been dr inking. Chamcha, great ly ast onished, more or less blurt ed out :
"What about you, you want him t o come in?" Which Pamela int er pret ed as his way of rubbing
salt in t he wound. Tur ning an even deeper shade of purple she nodded wit h humiliat ed f er ocit y.
_Yes_.
So it was t hat on his fir st night home, Saladin Chamcha went out side - - "Hey, hombre!
You' r e r eally _well! _" Jumpy greet ed him in t err or, making as if t o slap palms, t o conceal his
fear - - and per suaded his wif e' s lover t o share her bed. Then he r et r eat ed upst air s, because
Jumpy' s mor t ificat ion now pr event ed him fr om ent ering t he house unt il Chamcha was safely
out of t he way.
"What a man! " Jumpy wept at Pamela. "He' s a _prince_, a _saint ! _"
"I f you don' t pack it in, " Pamela Chamcha warned apoplect ically, " I ' ll set t he fucking dog on
you. "
o o o
Jumpy cont inued t o f ind Chamcha' s presence dist r act ing, envisaging him ( or so it appeared
from his behaviour) as a minat ory shade t hat needed t o be const ant ly placat ed. When he
cooked Pamela a meal ( he had t ur ned out , t o her sur prise and relief, t o be quit e a Mughlai
chef ) he insist ed on asking Chamcha down t o j oin t hem, and, when Saladin demur red, t ook
him up a t ray, explaining t o Pamela t hat t o do ot herwise would be r ude, and also pr ovocat ive.
"Look what he per mit s under his own roof ! He' s a _giant _; least we can do is have good
manners. " Pamela, wit h mount ing r age, was obliged t o put up wit h a series of such act s and
t heir accompanying homilies. "I ' d never have believed you wer e so convent ional, " she f umed,
and Jumpy replied: " I t ' s j ust a quest ion of r espect . "
I n t he name of r espect , Jumpy car ried Chamcha cups of t ea, newspaper s and mail; he
never failed, on arr iving at t he big house, t o go upst airs for a visit of at least t went y minut es,
t he minimum t ime commensur at e wit h his sense of polit eness, while Pamela cooled her heels
and knocked back bour bon t hree floor s below. He br ought Saladin lit t le present s: pr opit iat or y
off er ings of books, old t heat re handbills, masks. When Pamela at t empt ed t o put her f oot
down, he ar gued against her wit h an innocent , but also mulish passion: "We can' t behave as if
t he man' s invisible. He' s her e, isn' t he? Then we must involve him in our lives. " Pamela r eplied
sour ly: "Why don' t you j ust ask him t o come down and j oin us in bed?" To which Jumpy,
seriously, replied: " I didn' t t hink you' d approve. "
I n spit e of his inabilit y t o relax and t ake for gr ant ed Chamcha' s residence upst air s,
somet hing in Jumpy Joshi was eased by r eceiving, in t his unusual way, his pr edecessor' s
blessings. Able t o reconcile t he imper at ives of love and fr iendship, he cheer ed up a good deal,
and found t he idea of fat her hood growing on him. One night he dr eamed a dream t hat made
him weep, t he next morning, in delight ed ant icipat ion: a simple dr eam, in which he was
running down an avenue of over arching t r ees, helping a small boy t o r ide a bicycle. "Ar en' t you
pleased wit h me?" t he boy cr ied in his elat ion. "Look: ar en' t you pleased?"
o o o
Pamela and Jumpy had bot h become involved in t he campaign mount ed t o pr ot est against
t he ar rest of Dr. Uhuru Simba f or t he so- called Gr anny Ripper Mur der s. This, t oo, Jumpy went
upst air s t o discuss wit h Saladin. "The whole t hing' s complet ely t r umped- up, based on
circumst ant ial evidence and insinuat ions. Hanif reckons he can drive a t ruck t hrough t he holes
in t he prosecut ion case. I t ' s j ust a st r aight for war d malicious f it - - up; t he only quest ion is how
far t hey' ll go. They' ll ver bal him for sur e. Maybe t here will even be wit nesses saying t hey saw
him do t he slicing. Depends how badly t hey want t o get him. Pret t y badly, I ' d say; he' s been a
loud voice ar ound t own for some while. " Charncha recommended caut ion. Recalling Mishal
Suf yan' s loat hing for Simba, he said: "The f ellow has - - has he not ? - - a r ecor d of violence
t owar ds women . . . " Jumpy t ur ned his palms out ward. "I n his per sonal lif e, " he owned, "t he
guy' s frankly a piece of shit . But t hat doesn' t mean he disembowels senior cit izens; you don' t
have t o be an angel t o be innocent . Unless, of cour se, you' re black. " Chamcha let t his pass.
"The point is, t his isn' t per sonal, it ' s polit ical, " Jumpy emphasized, adding, as he got up t o
leave, "Ur n, t her e' s a public meet ing about it t omorr ow. Pamela and I have t o go; please, I
mean if you' d like, if you' d be int er est ed, t hat is, come along if you want . "
"You asked him t o go wit h us?" Pamela was incr edulous. She had st art ed t o feel nauseous
most of t he t ime, and it did not hing f or her mood. "You act ually did t hat wit hout consult ing
me?" Jumpy looked cr est fallen. "Doesn' t mat t er, anyhow, " she let him off t he hook. "Cat ch
_him_ going t o anyt hing like _t hat _. "
I n t he morning, however , Saladin pr esent ed himself in t he hall, wear ing a smar t br own
suit , a camel coat wit h a silk collar , and a rat her nat t y br own homburg hat . "Where ar e you off
t o?" Pamela, in t ur ban, ar my- - surplus leat her j acket and t r acksuit bot t oms t hat r evealed t he
incipient t hickening of her middle, want ed t o know. "Bloody Ascot ?" "I believe I was invit ed t o a
meet ing, " Saladin answer ed in his least combat ive manner , and Pamela fr eaked. "You want t o
be careful, " she war ned him. "The way you look, you' ll pr obably get f ucking mugged. "
o o o
What drew him back int o t he ot her world, int o t hat undercit y whose exist ence he had so
long denied? - - What , or rat her who, f or ced him by t he simple f act of it s ( her ) exist ence, t o
emerge f rom t hat cocoon- den in which he was being - - or so he believed - - rest ored t o his
for mer self, and plunge once mor e int o t he perilous ( because unchar t ed) wat er s of t he world
and of himself ? " I ' ll be able t o fit in t he meet ing, " Jumpy Joshi had t old Saladin, "before my
karat e class. " - - Wher e his st ar pupil wait ed: long, rainbow- hair ed and, Jumpy added, j ust past
her eight eent h birt hday. - - Not knowing t hat Jumpy, t oo, was suf fering some of t he same illicit
longings, Saladin crossed t own t o be near er t o Mishal Sufyan.
o o o
He had expect ed t he meet ing t o be small, envisaging a back r oom somewhere f ull of
suspicious t ypes looking and t alking like clones of Malcolm X ( Chamcha could r emember finding
funny a TV comic' s j oke - - " Then t here' s t he one about t he black man who changed his name
t o Mr . X and sued t he _News of t he Wor ld_ for libel" - - and pr ovoking one of t he wor st quar rels
of his mar riage) , wit h maybe a few angr y- looking women as well; he had pict ur ed much fist -
clenching and r ight eousness. What he found was a lar ge hall, t he Brickhall Friends Meet ing
House, packed wall - t o- wall wit h ever y conceivable sort of per son - - old, wide women and
uniformed schoolchildren, Rast as and r est aurant wor kers, t he st aff of t he small Chinese
super mar ket in Plassey St reet , soberly dressed gent s as well as wild boys, whit es as well as
blacks; t he mood of t he crowd was f ar fr om t he kind of evangelical hyst er ia he' d imagined; it
was quiet , wor ried, want ing t o know what could be done. Ther e was a young black woman
st anding near him who gave his at t ire an amused once- over ; he st ared back at her, and she
laughed: "Okay, sorr y, no off ence. " She was wearing a lent icular badge, t he sor t t hat changed
it s message as you moved. At some angles it read, _Uhuru for t he Simba_; at ot hers,
_Fr eedom for t he Lion_. "I t ' s on account of t he meaning of his chosen name, " she explained
redundant ly. "I n Afr ican. " Which language? Saladin want ed t o know. She shrugged, and t urned
away t o list en t o t he speaker s. I t was Afr ican: born, by t he sound of her , in Lewisham or
Dept for d or New Cr oss, t hat was all she needed t o know . . . Pamela hissed int o his ear . "I see
you f inally found somebody t o feel super ior t o. " She could st ill r ead him like a book.
A minut e woman in her middle sevent ies was led up on t o t he st age at t he f ar end of t he
hail by a wir y man who, Chamcha was almost reassured t o obser ve, r eally did look like an
Amer ican Black Power leader , t he young St okely Carmichael, in f act - - t he same int ense
spect acles - - and who was act ing as a sort of compre. He t ur ned out t o be Dr . Simba' s kid
br ot her Walcot t Rober t s, and t he t iny lady was t heir mot her, Ant oinet t e. "God knows how
anyt hing as big as Simba ever came out of her , " Jumpy whispered, and Pamela frowned
angr ily, out of a new f eeling of solidarit y wit h all pregnant women, past as well as pr esent .
When Ant oinet t e Robert s spoke, however , her voice was big enough t o f ill t he r oom on lung-
power alone. She want ed t o t alk about her son' s day in court , at t he commit t al pr oceedings,
and she was quit e a per for mer. Her s was what Chamcha t hought of as an educat ed voice; she
spoke in t he B B C accent s of one who lear ned her English dict ion fr om t he Wor ld Service, but
t here was gospel in t her e, t oo, and hellfir e sermonizing. " My son filled t hat dock, " she t old t he
silent r oom. "Lord, he filled it up. Sylvest er - - you will pardon me if I use t he name I gave him,
not meaning t o belit t le t he warr ior ' s name he t ook for himself, but only out of ingr ained habit - -
Sylvest er, he bur st upwar ds f rom t hat dock like Leviat han fr om t he waves. I want you t o know
how he spoke: he spoke loud, and he spoke clear. He spoke looking his adver sar y in t he eye,
and could t hat pr osecut or st ar e him down? Never in a mont h of Sundays. And I want you t o
know what he said: ' I st and her e, ' my son declar ed, ' because I have chosen t o occupy t he old
and honourable r ole of t he uppit y nigger . I am her e because I have not been willing t o seem
reasonable. I am here f or my ingr at it ude. ' He was a colossus among t he dwar fs. ' Make no
mist ake, ' he said in t hat court , ' we ar e her e t o change t hings. I concede at once t hat we shall
ourselves be changed; African, Car ibbean, I ndian, Pakist ani, Bangladeshi, Cypr iot , Chinese, we
are ot her t han what we would have been if we had not cr ossed t he oceans, if our mot hers and
fat her s had not cr ossed t he skies in search of work and dignit y and a bet t er life for t heir
childr en. We have been made again: but I say t hat we shall also be t he ones t o r emake t his
societ y, t o shape it fr om t he bot t om t o t he t op. We shall be t he hewer s of t he dead wood and
t he gar deners of t he new. I t is our t ur n now. ' I wish you t o t hink on what my son, Sylvest er
Robert s, Dr . Uhur u Simba, said in t he place of j ust ice. Think on it while we decide what we
must do. "
Her son Walcot t helped her leave t he st age amid cheers and chant s; she nodded j udiciously
in t he direct ion of t he noise. Less charismat ic speeches followed. Hanif Johnson, Simba' s
lawyer, made a ser ies of suggest ions - - t he visit or s' galler y must be packed, t he dispenser s
ofj ust ice must know t hat t hey wer e being wat ched; t he court must be picket ed, and a r ot a
should be organized; t here was t he need for a financial appeal. Chamcha murmur ed t o Jumpy:
"Nobody ment ions his hist ory of sexual aggression. " Jumpy shr ugged. " Some of t he women
he' s at t acked are in t his r oom. Mishal, f or example, is over t here, look, in t he corner by t he
st age. But t his isn' t t he t ime or place for t hat . Simba' s bull craziness is, you could say, a
t r ouble in t he f amily. What we have here is t rouble wit h t he Man. " I n ot her circumst ances,
Saladin would have had a good deal t o say in r esponse t o such a st at ement . - - He would have
obj ect ed, for one t hing, t hat a man' s record of violence could not be set aside so easily when
he was accused of mur der . - - Also t hat he didn' t like t he use of such American t er ms as " t he
Man" in t he very different Br it ish sit uat ion, where t here was no hist or y of slaver y; it sounded
like an at t empt t o bor r ow t he glamour of ot her , mor e danger ous st ruggles, a t hing he also f elt
about t he or ganizers' decision t o punct uat e t he speeches wit h such meaning- - loaded songs as
_We Shall Over come_, and even, for Pet e' s sake, _Nkosi Sikelel" iAfr ika_. As if all causes wer e
t he same, all hist ories int er changeable. - - But he said none of t hese t hings, because his head
had begun t o spin and his senses t o reel, owing t o his having been given, for t he f ir st t ime in
his life, a st upefying premonit ion of his deat h.
- - Hanif Johnson was finishing his speech. _As Dr . Simba has wr it t en, newness will ent er
t his societ y by collect ive, not individual, act ions_. He was quot ing what Chamcha r ecognized as
one of Camus' s most popular slogans. _The passage f rom speech t o moral act ion, Hanif was
saying, has a name: t o become human_. - - And now a pret t y young Br it ish Asian woman wit h
a slight ly- t oobulbous nose and a dirt y, bluesy voice was launching int o Bob Dylan' s song, _I
Pit y t he Poor I mmigr ant _. Anot her false and impor t ed not e, t his: t he song act ually seemed
rat her host ile t owar ds immigr ant s, t hough t here wer e lines t hat st ruck chords, about t he
immigr ant ' s visions shat t ering like glass, about how he was obliged t o " build his t own wit h
blood" . Jumpy, wit h his ver sifying at t empt s t o r edefine t he old r acist image of t he r ivers of
blood, would appreciat e t hat . - - All t hese t hings Saladin experienced and t hought as if fr om a
consider able dist ance. - - What had happened? This: when Jumpy Joshi point ed out Mishal
Suf yan' s presence at t he Friends Meet ing House, Saladin Chamcha, looking in her dir ect ion,
saw a blazing f ire burning in t he cent r e of her forehead; and felt , in t he same moment , t he
beat ing, and t he icy shadow, of a pair of gigant ic wings. - - He exper ienced t he kind of blurr ing
associat ed wit h double vision, seeming t o look int o t wo worlds at once; one was t he br ight ly lit ,
no- smoking- allowed meet ing hall, but t he ot her was a wor ld of phant oms, in which Azr aeel, t he
ext er minat ing angel, was swooping t owar ds him, and a gir l' s f or ehead could burn wit h ominous
flames. - - _She' s deat h t o me, t hat ' s what it means_, Chamcha t hought in one of t he t wo
wor lds, while in t he ot her he t old himself not t o be foolish; t he r oom was f ull of people wear ing
t hose inane t r ibal badges t hat had lat t er ly gr own so popular , gr een neon haloes, devil- horns
paint ed wit h fluor escent paint ; Mishal pr obably had on some piece of space- age j unk j ewellery.
- - But his ot her self t ook over again, _she' s of f limit s t o you_, it said, _not all possibilit ies ar e
open t o us. The wor ld is f init e; our hopes spill over it s rim_. - - Whereupon his heart got in on
t he act , bababoom, boomba, dabadoom.
Now he was out side, wit h Jumpy fussing over him and even Pamela showing concer n. " I ' m
t he one wit h t he bun in t he oven, " she said wit h a gr uf f r emnant of affect ion. "What business
have you got t o pass out ?" Jumpy insist ed: " You' d best come wit h me t o my class; j ust sit
quiet ly, and af t er war ds I ' ll t ake you home. " - - But Pamela want ed t o know if a doct or was
requir ed. _No, no, I ' ll go wit h Jumpy, I ' ll be fine. I t was j ust hot in t here. Airless. My clot hes
t oo war m. A st upid t hing. A not hing_.
Ther e was an art cinema next t o t he Friends House, and he was leaning against a movie
post er . The film was _Mephist o_, t he st ory of an act or seduced int o a collabor at ion wit h
Nazism. I n t he post er, t he act or - - played by t he Ger man st ar Klaus Maria Brandauer - - was
dr essed up as Mephist ophilis, face whit e, body cloaked in black, ar ms upr aised. Lines from
_Faust _ st ood above his head:
- - _Who art t hou, t hen?_
- - _Part of t hat Power , not underst ood_,
_Which always wills t he Bad, and always wor ks t he Good_.
o o o
At t he spor t s cent re: he could scarcely bring himself t o glance in Mishal' s dir ect ion. ( She
t oo had lef t t he Simba meet ing in t ime t o make t he class. ) - - Alt hough she was all over him,
_you came back, I bet it was t o see me, isn' t t hat nice_, he could hardly speak a civil wor d,
much less ask _wer e you wearing a luminous somet hing in t he middle of your _, because she
wasn' t now, kicking her legs and flexing her long body, r esplendent in it s black leot ard. - - Unt il,
sensing t he coldness in him, she backed off , all confusion and inj ur ed pride.
"Our ot her st ar hasn' t t urned up t oday, " Jumpy ment ioned t o Saladin during a br eak in t he
exer cises. "Miss Alleluia Cone, t he one who climbed Ever est . I was meaning t o int r oduce you
t wo. She knows, I mean, she' s apparent ly wit h, Gibreel. Gibreel Farisht a, t he act or , your
fellow- - survivor of t he cr ash. "
_Things are closing in on me_. Gibreel was drif t ing t owar ds him, like I ndia when, having
come unst uck fr om t he Gondwanaland pr ot o- - cont inent , it float ed t owards Laur asia. ( His
pr ocesses of mind, he r ecognized absent ly, were coming up wit h some pr et t y st r ange
associat ions. ) When t hey collided, t he f or ce would hur l up Himalayas. - - What is a mount ain?
An obst acle; a t ranscendence; above all, an _eff ect _.
"Where ar e you going?" Jumpy was calling. " I t hought I was giving you a lift . Are you
okay?"
_I ' m f ine. I need t o walk, t hat ' s all_.
"Okay, but only if you' re sure. "
_Sur e_. Walk away fast , wit hout cat ching Mishal' s aggr ieved eye.
. . . I n t he st r eet . Walk quickly, out of t his wrong place, t his underwor ld. - - God: no
escape. Here' s a shop- front , a st or e selling musical inst r ument s, t rumpet s saxophones oboes,
what ' s t he name? - - _Fair Winds_, and here in t he window is a cheaply pr int ed handbill.
Announcing t he imminent r et urn of, t hat ' s right , t he Archangel Gibr eel. His r et urn and t he
salvat ion of t he ear t h. _Walk. Walk away fast _.
. . . Hail t his t axi. ( His clot hes inspire defer ence in t he driver . ) Climb in squir e do you mind
t he r adio. Some scient ist who got caught in t hat hij acking and lost t he halfof his t ongue.
Amer ican. They rebuilt it , he says, wit h flesh t aken fr om his post er ior , excuse my French.
Wouldn' t f ancy a mout hful of my own but t ock meat myself but t he poor bugger had no opt ion
did he. Funny bast ard. Got some funny ideas.
Eugene Dumsday on t he r adio discussed t he gaps in t he fossil r ecord wit h his new,
but t ocky t ongue. _The Devil t r ied t o silence me but t he good Lord and Amer ican sur gical
t echniques knew bet t er _. These gaps were t he cr eat ionist ' s main selling- - point : if nat ur al
select ion was t he t r ut h, wher e were all t he r andom mut at ions t hat got deselect ed? Where wer e
t he monst er - - childr en, t he deformed babies of evolut ion? The fossils wer e silent . No t hr ee-
legged hor ses t here. _No point ar guing wit h t hese geezers_, t he cabbie said. _I don' t hold wit h
God myself _. No point , one small par t of Chamcha' s consciousness agr eed. No point suggest ing
t hat " t he fossil recor d" wasn' t some sor t of perf ect filing cabinet . And evolut ion t heor y had
come a long way since Dar win. I t was now being argued t hat maj or changes in species
happened not in t he st umbling, hit - andmiss manner f irst envisaged, but in great , r adical leaps.
The hist or y of life was not t he bumbling progress - - t he ver y English middleclass pr ogr ess - -
Vict or ian t hought had want ed it t o be, but violent , a t hing of dr amat ic, cumulat ive
t r ansfor mat ions: in t he old f or mulat ion, mor e revolut ion t han evolut ion. - - I ' ve hear d enough,
t he cabbie said. Eugene Dumsday vanished fr om t he et her , t o be r eplaced by disco music. _Ave
at que vale_.
What Saladin Chamcha under st ood t hat day was t hat he had been living in a st at e of
phoney peace, t hat t he change in him was ir reversible. A new, dar k wor ld had opened up for
him ( or: wit hin him) when he f ell from t he sky; no mat t er how assiduously he at t empt ed t o r e-
- creat e his old exist ence, t his was, he now saw, a fact t hat could not be unmade. He seemed t o
see a road before him, for king t o lef t and r ight . Closing his eyes, set t ling back against t axicab
upholst er y, he chose t he left - - hand pat h.
2
The t emperat ure cont inued t o r ise; and when t he heat wave reached it s highest point , and
st ayed up t her e so long t hat t he whole cit y, it s edif ices, it s wat erways, it s inhabit ant s, came
per ilously close t o t he boil, - - t hen Mr . Billy Bat t ut a and his companion Mimi Mamoulian,
recent ly ret urned t o t he met ropolis aft er a period as guest s of t he penal aut hor it y of New York,
announced t heir " grand coming- out " par t y. Billy' s business connect ions downt own had
arr anged f or his case t o be hear d by a well- disposed j udge; his personal char m had persuaded
ever y one of t he wealt hy f emale " marks" from whom he' d ext r act ed such generous amount s for
t he purpose of t he re- pur chase of his soul fr om t he Devil ( including Mr s. St r uwelpet er) t o sign
a clemency pet it ion, in which t he mat r ons st at ed t heir convict ion t hat Mr. Bat t ut a had honest ly
repent ed him of his er ror, and asked, in t he light of his vow t o concent r at e hencefort h on his
st art lingly br illiant ent r epreneurial car eer ( whose social usefulness in t erms of wealt h creat ion
and t he pr ovision of employment t o many per sons, t hey suggest ed, should also be consider ed
by t he cour t in mit igat ion of his off ences) , and his f ur t her vow t o under go a full course of
psychiat r ic t r eat ment t o help him overcome his weakness f or criminal caper s, - - t hat t he
wor t hy j udge set t le upon some light er punishment t han a pr ison sent ence, " t he det er rent
pur pose underlying such incar cerat ion being bet t er ser ved her e, " in t he ladies' opinion, "by a
j udgment of a more Chr ist ian sort ". Mimi, adj udged t o be no more t han Billy' s love- duped
underling, was given a suspended sent ence; f or Billy it was deport at ion, and a st if f f ine, but
even t his was r endered consider ably less severe by t he j udge' s consent t o Billy' s at t or ney' s
plea t hat his client be allowed t o leave t he count r y volunt ar ily, wit hout having t he st igma of a
deport at ion or der st amped int o his passpor t , a t hing t hat would do gr eat damage t o his many
business int er est s. Twent y- four hour s af t er t he j udgment Billy and Mimi wer e back in London,
whooping it up at Crockford' s, and sending out fancy invit at ion car ds t o what pr omised t o be
_t he_ par t y of t hat st r angely swelt er ing season. One of t hese cards found it s way, wit h t he
assist ance of Mr . S. S. Sisodia, t o t he r esidence of Alleluia Cone and Gibreel Farisht a; anot her
arr ived, a lit t le belat edly, at Saladin Chamcha' s den, slipped under t he door by t he solicit ous
Jumpy. ( Mimi had called Pamela t o invit e her, adding, wit h her usual dir ect ness: "Any not ion
wher e t hat husband of your s has got t en t o?" - - Which Pamela answered, wit h English
awkwar dness, _yes er but _. Mimi got t he whole st ory out of her in less t han half an hour,
which wasn' t bad, and concluded t riumphant ly: "Sounds like your life is looking up, Pam. Bring
"em bot h; br ing anyone. I t ' s going t o be quit e a cir cus. ")
The locat ion for t he par t y was anot her of Sisodia' s inexplicable t r iumphs: t he giant sound
st age at t he Shepper t on f ilm st udios had been pr ocur ed, appar ent ly at no cost , and t he guest s
would be able, t her efore, t o t ake t heir pleasur es in t he huge re- creat ion of Dickensian London
t hat st ood wit hin. A musical adapt at ion of t he great wr it er ' s last complet ed novel, renamed
_Fr iend! _, wit h book and lyrics by t he celebrat ed genius of t he musical st age, Mr . Jeremy
Bent ham, had pr oved a mammot h hit in t he West End and on Br oadway, in spit e of t he
macabr e nat ur e of some of it s scenes; now, accor dingly, _The Chums_, as it was known in t he
business, was r eceiving t he accolade of a big- - budget movie product ion. " The pipi PR people, "
Sisodia t old Gibreel on t he phone, "t hink t hat such a fufufuck, _f unct ion_, which is t o be most
ist a ist a ist ar ist a ist a ist udded, will be good for t heir bibuild up cacampaign. "
The appoint ed night arr ived: a night of dreadful heat .
o o o
Shepper t on! - - Pamela and Jumpy ar e already her e, bor ne on t he wings of Pamela' s MG,
when Chamcha, having disdained t heir company, arr ives in one of t he fleet of coaches t he
evening' s host s have made available t o t hose guest s wishing for what ever reason t o be driven
rat her t han t o drive. - - And someone else, t oo, - - t he one wit h whom our Saladin fell t o ear t h, -
- has come; is wander ing wit hin. - - Chamcha ent er s t he ar ena; and is amazed. - - Her e London
has been alt ered - - no, _condensed_, - - accor ding t o t he imper at ives of film. - - Why, her e' s t he
St ucconia of t he Veneerings, t hose bran- new, spick and span new people, lying shockingly
adj acent t o Port man Squar e, and t he shady angle cont aining var ious Podsnaps. - - And worse:
behold t he dust man' s mounds of Boffin' s Bower, supposedly in t he near vicinit y of Holloway,
looming in t his abridged met r opolis over Fascinat ion Fledgeby' s r ooms in t he Albany, t he West
End' s ver y heart ! - - But t he guest s are not disposed t o gr umble; t he r eborn cit y, even
rearr anged, st ill t akes t he br eat h away; most par t icularly in t hat part of t he immense st udio
t hr ough which t he river winds, t he r iver wit h it s fogs and Gaf fer Hexam' s boat , t he ebbing
Thames flowing beneat h t wo bridges, one of ir on, one of st one. - - Upon it s cobbled banks t he
guest s' gay foot st eps fall; and t her e sound mournful, mist y, foot falls of ominous not e. A dr y ice
pea- souper lif t s across t he set .
Societ y gr andees, fashion models, f ilm st ar s, corporat ion bigwigs, a brace of minor r oyal
Per sonages, usef ul polit icians and suchlike riff - raff perspir e and mingle in t hese count er feit
st reet s wit h number s of men and women as sweat - glist ened as t he "r eal" guest s and as
count er feit as t he cit y: hired ext ras in period cost ume, as well as a select ion of t he movie' s
leading players. Chamcha, who r ealizes in t he moment of sight ing him t hat t his encount er has
been t he whole pur pose of his j our ney, - - which fact he has succeeded in keeping fr om himself
unt il t his inst ant , - - spot s Gibreel in t he incr easingly r iot ous cr owd.
Yes: t her e, on London Br idge Which I s Of St one, wit hout a doubt , Gibreel! - - And t hat must
be his Alleluia, his I cequeen Cone! - - What a dist ant expr ession he seems t o be wearing, how
he list s a f ew degr ees t o t he left ; and how she seems t o dot e on him - - how ever yone ador es
him: f or he is among t he very great est at t he part y, Bat t ut a t o his left , Sisodia at Allie' s r ight ,
and all about a host of faces t hat would be r ecognized f rom Per u t o Timbuct oo! - - Chamcha
st ruggles t hrough t he crowd, which grows ever mor e dense as he near s t he bridge; - - but he is
resolved - - Gibr eel, he will reach Gibreel! - - when wit h a clash of cymbals loud music st rikes
up, one of Mr . Bent ham' s immort al, showst opping t unes, and t he cr owd part s like t he Red Sea
befor e t he children of I srael. - - Chamcha, of f- - balance, st aggers back, is cr ushed by t he part ing
crowd against a fake half - t imbered edifice - - what else? - - a Cur iosit y Shop; and, t o save
himself, r et r eat s wit hin, while a great singing t hrong of bosomy ladies in mobcaps and fr illy
blouses, accompanied by an over - sufficiency of st ovepipe- hat t ed gent s, comes rollicking down
t he r iver side st reet , singing for all t hey' re wort h.
_What kind of fellow is Our Mut ual Friend?_
_What does he int end?_
_I s he t he kind of fellow on whom we may depend?_
_et c. et c. et c. _
"I t ' s a funny t hing, " a woman' s voice says behind him, "but when we wer e doing t he show
at t he C- - Theat r e, t here was an out br eak of lust among t he cast ; quit e unpar alleled, in my
exper ience. People st ar t ed missing t heir cues because of t he shenanigans in t he wings. "
The speaker, he obser ves, is young, small, buxom, f ar from unat t ract ive, damp f rom t he
heat , f lushed wit h wine, and evident ly in t he gr ip of t he libidinous fever of which she speaks. - -
The "room" has lit t le light , but he can make out t he glint in her eye. " We' ve got t ime, " she
cont inues mat t er - - of - - fact ly. "Af t er t his lot finish t her e' s Mr. Podsnap' s solo. " Wher eupon,
arr anging herself in an exper t par ody of t he Marine I nsurance agent ' s selfimport ant post ure,
she launches int o her own ver sion of t he scheduled musical Podsnapper y:
_Ours is a Copious Language_,
_A Language Trying t o St r anger s_;
_Ours is t he Favoured Nat ion_,
_Blest , and Safe f rom Dangers_ . . .
Now, in Rex- Har risonian speech- song, she addresses an invisible Foreigner . " And How Do
You Like London? - - ' Aynormaymong r ich?' - - Enormously Rich, we say. Our English adverbs do
Not t er minat e in Mong. - - And Do You Find, Sir, Many Evidences of our Br it ish Const it ut ion in
t he St reet s of t he Wor ld' s Met r opolis, London, Londres, London? - - I would say, " she adds, st ill
Podsnapping, "t hat t here is in t he Englishman a combinat ion of qualit ies, a modest y, an
independence, a r esponsibilit y, a r epose, which one would seek in vain among t he Nat ions of
t he Eart h. "
The cr eat ure has been appr oaching Chamcha while delivering herself of t hese lines; - -
unfast ening, t he while, her blouse; - - and he, mongoose t o her cobra, st ands t here t r ansfixed;
while she, exposing a shapely r ight br east , and off er ing it t o him, point s out t hat she has dr awn
upon it , - - as an act of civic pride, - - t he map of London, no less, in r ed magic- marker , wit h t he
river all in blue. The met r opolis summons him; - - but he, giving an ent irely Dickensian cry,
pushes his way out of t he Cur iosit y Shop int o t he madness of t he st reet .
Gibr eel is looking direct ly at him fr om London Br idge; t heir eyes - - or so it seems t o
Chamcha - - meet . Yes: Gibreel lif t s, and waves, an unexcit ed arm.
o o o
What follows is t r agedy. - - Or , at t he least t he echo of t ragedy, t he f ull- blooded original
being unavailable t o moder n men and women, so it ' s said. - - A burlesque for our degr aded,
imit at ive t imes, in which clowns re- enact what was first done by her oes and by kings. - - Well,
t hen, so be it . - - The quest ion t hat ' s asked here r emains as large as ever it was: which is, t he
nat ure of evil, how it ' s bor n, why it grows, how it t akes unilat er al possession of a many- sided
human soul. Or , let ' s say: t he enigma of I ago.
I t ' s not unknown f or lit er ar y- - t heat rical exeget es, defeat ed by t he char act er, t o ascribe his
act ions t o " mot iveless malignit y" . Evil is evil and will do evil, and t hat ' s t hat ; t he ser pent ' s
poison is his very definit ion. - - Well, such shr uggings- off will not pass must er here. My
Chamcha may be no Ancient of Venice, my Allie no smot her ed Desdemona, Farisht a no mat ch
for t he Moor , but t hey will, at least , be cost umed in such explanat ions as my underst anding will
allow. - - And so, now, Gibr eel waves in greet ing; Chamcha approaches; t he cur t ain rises on a
dar kening st age.
o o o
Let ' s obser ve, f ir st , how isolat ed t his Saladin is; his only willing companion an inebr iat ed
and car t ographically bosomed st ranger, he st ruggles alone t hr ough t hat part ying t hrong in
which all persons appear t o be ( and are not ) one anot her ' s fr iends; - - while t here on London
Bridge st ands Farisht a, beset by admir er s, at t he very cent r e of t he cr owd;
and, next , let us appr eciat e t he effect on Chamcha, who loved England in t he f or m of his
lost English wif e, - - of t he golden, pale and glacial pr esence by Far isht a' s side of Alleluia Cone;
he snat ches a glass f rom a passing wait er' s t r ay, drinks t he wine f ast , t akes anot her; and
seems t o see, in dist ant Allie, t he ent iret y of his loss;
and in ot her ways, as well, Gibr eel is fast becoming t he sum of Saladin' s defeat s; - - t her e
wit h him now, at t his ver y moment , is anot her t rait or; mut t on dr essed as lamb, fift y plus and
bat t ing her eyelashes like an eight eenyear - - old, is Chamcha' s agent , t he redoubt able Char lie
Sellers; - - you wouldn' t liken him t o a Transylvanian bloodsucker , would you, Char lie, t he ir at e
wat cher inwar dly cries; - - and grabs anot her glass; - - and sees, at it s bot t om, his own
anonymit y, t he ot her ' s equal celebrit y, and t he great inj ust ice of t he division;
most especially - - he bit t erly reflect s - - because Gibr eel, London' s conquer or , can see no
value in t he world now f alling at his feet ! - - why, t he bast ard always sneer ed at t he place,
Proper London, Vilayet , t he English, Spoono, what cold fish t hey ar e, I swear ; - - Chamcha,
moving inexorably t owar ds him t hr ough t he crowd, seems t o see, _r ight now_, t hat same
sneer upon Far isht a' s face, t hat scor n of an inver t ed Podsnap, f or whom all t hings English are
wor t hy of derision inst ead of pr aise; - - O God, t he cr uelt y of it , t hat he, Saladin, whose goal
and cr usade it was t o make t his t own his own, should have t o see it kneeling bef or e his
cont empt uous r ival! - - so t her e is also t his: t hat Chamcha longs t o st and in Farisht a' s shoes,
while his own f oot wear is of no int er est what soever t o Gibr eel.
What is unforgivable?
Chamcha, looking upon Farisht a' s f ace f or t he f irst t ime since t heir r ough part ing in Rosa
Diamond' s hail, seeing t he st range blankness in t he ot her' s eyes, r ecalls wit h overwhelming
for ce t he earlier blankness, Gibreel st anding on t he st air s and doing not hing while he,
Chamcha, horned and capt ive, was dragged int o t he night ; and feels t he r et urn of hat r ed, feels
it filling him bot t om- - t o- - t op wit h fr esh gr een bile, _never mind about excuses_, it cr ies, _t o
hell wit h mit igat ions and what - could- he- have- dones; what ' s beyond f or giveness is beyond. You
can' t j udge an int ernal inj ur y by t he size of t he hole_.
So: Gibreel Farisht a, put on t r ial by Chamcha, get s a rougher ride t han Mimi and Billy in
New York, and is declar ed guilt y, for all per pet uit y, of t he I nexcusable Thing. From which what
follows, follows. - - But we may per mit our selves t o speculat e a while about t he t r ue nat ure of
t his Ult imat e, t his I nexpiable Offence. - - I s it really, can it be, simply his silence on Rosa' s
st airs? - - Or ar e t her e deeper r esent ment s here, gr ipes for which t his so- called Primar y Cause
is, in t r ut h, no mor e t han a subst it ut e, a fr ont ? - - For ar e t hey not conj oined opposit es, t hese
t wo, each man t he ot her ' s shadow? - - One seeking t o be t r ansf or med int o t he for eignness he
admir es, t he ot her prefer ring, cont empt uously, t o t r ansfor m; one, a hapless fellow who seems
t o be cont inually punished for uncommit t ed cr imes, t he ot her, called angelic by one and all, t he
t ype of man who get s away wit h everyt hing. - - We may descr ibe Chamcha as being somewhat
less t han life- - size; but loud, vulgar Gibr eel is, wit hout quest ion, a good deal lar ger t han life, a
disparit y which might easily inspir e neo- Procr ust ean lust s in Chamcha: t o st ret ch himself by
cut t ing Far isht a down t o size.
What is unforgivable?
What if not t he shiver ing nakedness of being _wholly known_ t o a per son one does not
t r ust ? - - And has not Gibr eel seen Saladin Chamcha in circumst ances - - hij ack, fall, ar rest - - in
which t he secret s of t he self were ut t er ly exposed?
Well, t hen. - - Are we coming closer t o it ? Should we even say t hat t hese ar c t wo
fundament ally" diff er ent _t ypes_ of self? Might we not agree t hat Gibr eel, f or all his st age- -
name and perf or mances; and in spit e of bor n- again slogans, new beginnings, rnet amor phoses;
- - has wished t o r emain, t o a large degree, _cont inuous_ - - t hat is, j oined t o and ar ising fr om
his past ; - - t hat he chose neit her near - - fat al illness nor t r ansmut ing f all; t hat , in point of f act ,
he fear s above all t hings t he alt er ed st at es in which his dreams leak int o, and over whelm, his
waking self, making him t hat angelic Gibr eel he has no desir e t o be; - - so t hat his is st ill a self
which, for our pr esent purposes, we may descr ibe as "t rue" . . . whereas Saladin Chamcha is a
creat ure of _select ed_ dis- - cont inuit ies, a _willing_ r e- - invent ion; his _pr efer r ed_ r evolt
against hist or y being what makes him, in our chosen idiom, "f alse"? And might we t hen not go
on t o say t hat it is t his falsit y of self t hat makes possible in Chamcha a worse and deeper
falsit y - - call t his "evil" - - and t hat t his is t he t rut h, t he door, t hat was opened in him by his
fall? - - While Gibr eel, t o f ollow t he logic of our est ablished t er minology, is t o be consider ed
"good" by vir t ue of _wishing t o r emain_, for all his vicissit udes, at bot t om an unt r anslat ed
man.
- - But , and again but : t his sounds, does it not , danger ously like an int ent ionalist fallacy? - -
Such dist inct ions, rest ing as t hey must on an idea of t he self as being ( ideally) homogeneous,
non- hybr id, " pur e", - - an ut t er ly fant ast ic not ion! - - cannot , must not , suff ice. No! Let ' s r at her
say an even har der t hing: t hat evil may not be as f ar beneat h our surf aces as we like t o say it
is. - - That , in f act , we fall t owards it _nat urally_, t hat is, _not against our nat ures_. - - And t hat
Saladin Chamcha set out t o dest r oy Gibr eel Far isht a because, finally, it pr oved so easy t o do;
t he t rue appeal of evil being t he seduct ive ease wit h which one may embark upon t hat road.
( And, let us add in conclusion, t he lat er impossibilit y of r et ur n. )
Saladin Chamcha, however , insist s on a simpler line. "I t was his t reason at Rosa Diamond' s
house; his silence, not hing more. "
He set s foot upon t he count er feit London Br idge. From a nearby r ed- and- whit e- st riped
puppet eer' s boot h, Mr . Punch - - whacking Judy - - calls out t o him: _That ' s t he way t o do it ! _
Af t er which Gibreel, t oo, speaks a gr eet ing, t he ent husiasm of t he wor ds undone by t he
incongruous list lessness of t he voice: "Spoono, is it you. You bloody devil. There you ar e, big
as life. Come here, you Salad baba, old Chumch. "
o o o
This happened:
The moment Saladin Chamcha got close enough t o Allie Cone t o be t r ansfixed, and
somewhat chilled, by her eyes, he felt his r eborn animosit y t owar ds Gibreel ext ending it self t o
her, wit h her degree- zer o go- t o- hell look, her air of being privy t o some great , secret myst ery
of t he universe; also, her qualit y of what he would aft erwards t hink of as _wilder ness_, a hard,
sparse t hing, ant isocial, self - cont ained, an essence. Why did it annoy him so much? Why,
befor e she' d even opened her mout h, had he char act erized her as part of t he enemy?
Per haps because he desir ed her ; and desired, even more, what he t ook t o be t hat inner
cert aint y of hers; lacking which, he envied it , and sought t o damage what he envied. I f love is
a yearning t o be like ( even t o become) t he beloved, t hen hat red, it must be said, can be
engendered by t he same ambit ion, when it cannot be fulfilled.
This happened: Chamcha invent ed an Allie, and became his fict ion' s ant agonist . . . he
showed none of t his. He smiled, shook hands, was pleased t o meet her ; and embr aced Gibreel.
_I follow him t o ser ve my t urn upon him_. Allie, suspect ing not hing, excused herself . The t wo
of t hem must have so much t o cat ch up on, she said; and, promising t o ret urn soon, depart ed:
off , as she put it , t o explor e. He not iced t hat she hobbled slight ly f or a st ep or t wo; t hen
paused, and st r ode off st rongly. Among t he t hings he did not know about her was her pain.
Not knowing t hat t he Gibr eel st anding befor e him, r emot e of eye and perf unct ory in his
gr eet ing, was under t he most at t ent ive medical super vision; - - or t hat he was obliged t o t ake,
on a daily basis, cer t ain drugs t hat dulled his senses, because of t he very r eal possibilit y of a
recurr ence of his no- - longer - - nameless illness, t hat is t o say, paranoid schizophr enia; - - or t hat
he had long been kept away, at Allie' s absolut e insist ence, from t he movie people whom she
had come st rongly t o dist r ust , ever since his last r ampage; - - or t hat t heir presence at t he
Bat t ut a- - Mamoulian par t y was a t hing t o which she had been whole- hear t edly opposed,
acquiescing only aft er a t er rible scene in which Gibr eel had r oar ed t hat he would be kept a
pr isoner no longer, and t hat he was det er mined t o make a fur t her ef for t t o re- - ent er his "real
lif e" ; - - or t hat t he ef for t of looking aft er a dist ur bed lover who was capable of seeing small
bat - like imps hanging upside down in t he refr iger at or had worn Allie t hin as a wor n- out shir t ,
for cing upon her t he r oles of nur se, scapegoat and cr ut ch - - requiring her , in sum, t o act
against her own complex and t roubled nat ure; - - not knowing any of t his, failing t o
comprehend t hat t he Gibreel at whom he was looking, and believed he saw, Gibr eel t he
embodiment of all t he good f or t une t hat t he Fur y- haunt ed Chamcha so signally lacked, was as
much t he creat ure of his fancy, as much a fict ion, as his invent ed- - resent ed Allie, t hat classic
dr op- - dead blonde or femme fat ale conj ur ed up by his envious, t orment ed, Orest eian
imaginat ion, - - Saladin in his ignor ance never t heless penet r at ed, by t he mer est chance, t he
chink in Gibr eel' s ( admit t edly somewhat quixot ic) armour , and underst ood how his hat ed Ot her
might most swift ly be unmade.
Gibr eel' s banal quest ion made t he opening. Limit ed by sedat ives t o small- t alk, he asked
vaguely: "And how, t ell me, is your goodwife?" At which Chamcha, his t ongue loosened by
alcohol, blurt ed out : " How? Knocked up. Enceint e. Great wit h fucking child. " Soporific Gibr eel
missed t he violence in t his speech, beamed absent ly, placed an ar m ar ound Saladin' s
shoulder s. "Shabash, mubarak, " he offer ed congr at ulat ions. " Spoono! Damn speedy work. "
"Congr at ulat e her lover, " Saladin t hickly raged. "My old f riend, Jumpy Joshi. Now t her e, I
admit it , is a man. Women go wild, it seems. God knows why. They want his goddamn babies
and t hey don' t even wait t o ask his leave. "
"For inst ance who?" Gibr eel yelled, making heads t ur n and Chamcha r ecoil in surpr ise.
"Who who who?" he hoot ed, causing t ipsy giggles. Saladin Chamcha laughed, t oo: but wit hout
pleasur e. "I ' ll t ell you who for inst ance. My wif e for inst ance, t hat ' s who. That is no lady, mist er
Far isht a, Gibr eel. Pamela, my nolady wife. "
At t his very moment , as luck would have it , - - while Saladin in his cups was quit e ignorant
of t he effect his words wer e having on Gibr eel, - - for whom t wo images had explosively
combined, t he fir st being his sudden memor y of Rekha Mer chant on a flying carpet war ning him
of Allie' s secret wish t o have a baby wit hout informing t he fat her, _who asks t he seed for
per mission t o plant _, and t he second being an envisioning of t he body of t he mart ial ar t s
inst r uct or conj oined in high- - kicking carnalit y wit h t he same Miss Alleluia Cone, - - t he figure of
Jumpy Joshi was seen crossing "Sout hwar k Br idge" in a st at e of some agit at ion, - - hunt ing, in
fact , for Pamela, fr om whom he had become separ at ed dur ing t he same rush of singing
Dickensians which had pushed Saladin t owar ds t he met ropolit an breast s of t he young woman
in t he Curiosit y Shop. "Talk of t he devil, " Saladin point ed. "Ther e t he bast ar d goes. " He t urned
t owar ds Gibreel: but Gibr eel had gone.
Allie Cone reappear ed, angry, f rant ic. "Where is he? Jesus! Can' t I even leave him for a
fucking _second?_ Couldn' t you have kept your sodding _eyes_ on him?"
"Why, what ' s t he mat t er - - ?" But now Allie had plunged int o t he cr owd, so t hat when
Chamcha saw Gibreel cr ossing "Sout hwar k Bridge" she was out of earshot . - - And here was
Pamela, demanding: "Have you seen Jumpy?" - - And he point ed, " That way, " wher eupon she,
t oo, vanished wit hout a wor d of cour t esy; and now Jumpy was seen, crossing "Sout hwar k
Bridge" in t he opposit e direct ion, cur ly hair wilder t han ever , coat hanger shoulder s hunched
inside t he great coat he had refused t o r emove, eyes sear ching, t humb homing in on mout h; - -
and, a lit t le lat er , Gibreel headed acr oss t he simulacrum of t hat br idge Which I s Of I r on, going
t he same way as Jumpy went .
I n shor t , event s had begun t o border on t he far cical; but when, some minut es lat er, t he
act or playing t he role of "Gaff er Hexam", who kept wat ch over t hat st ret ch of t he Dickensian
Thames for float ing cor pses, t o relieve t hem of t heir valuables bef or e handing t hem over t o t he
police, - - came r owing r apidly down t he st udio r iver wit h his st ipulat ed r agged, grizzled hair
st anding st raight up on end, t he far ce was inst ant ly t erminat ed; for t here in his disreput able
boat lay t he insensat e body of Jumpy Joshi in his wat er logged gr eat coat . "Knocked cold, " t he
boat man cried, point ing t o t he huge lump rising up at t he back of Jumpy' s skull, "and being
unconscious in t he wat er it ' s a miracle he never drowned. "
o o o
One week aft er t hat , in response t o an impassioned t elephone call f rom Allie Cone, who
had t r acked him down via Sisodia, Bat t ut a and finally Mimi, and who appeared t o have
defr ost ed quit e a bit , Saladin Chamcha found himself in t he passenger seat of a t hree- - year- old
silver Cit r on st at ion wagon which t he fut ure Alicj a Boniek had present ed t o her daught er
befor e leaving f or an ext ended Califor nian st ay. Allie had met him at Carlisle st at ion, r epeat ing
her ear lier t elephonic apologies - - "I ' d no right t o speak t o you like t hat ; you knew not hing, I
mean about his, well, t hank heavens nobody saw t he at t ack, and it seems t o have been hushed
up, but t hat poor man, an oar on t he head f rom behind, it ' s t oo bad; t he point is, we' ve t aken a
place up nor t h, fr iends of mine ar e away, it j ust seemed best t o get out of r ange of human
beings, and, well, he' s been asking for you; you could r eally help him, I t hink, and t o be fr ank I
could do wit h t he help myself, " which left Saladin lit t le t he wiser but consumed by cur iosit y - -
and now Scot land was r ushing past t he Cit r on windows at alar ming speed: an edge of
Hadr ian' s Wall, t he old eloper s' haven Gr et na Gr een, and t hen inland t owards t he Sout her n
Uplands; Ecclefechan, Lockerbie, Beat t ock, Elvanfoot . Chamcha t ended t o t hink of all non-
met r opolit an locales as t he deeps of int er st ellar space, and j ourneys int o t hem as f raught wit h
per il: for t o br eak down in such empt iness would sur ely be t o die alone and undiscover ed. He
had not ed warily t hat one of t he Cit r on' s headlamps was br oken, t hat t he fuel gauge was in
t he r ed ( it t ur ned out t o be br oken, t oo) , t he daylight was failing, and Allie was dr iving as if t he
A74 were t he t rack at Silver st one on a sunny day. " He can' t get far wit hout t r anspor t , but you
neverknow, " she explained grimly. "Thr ee days ago he st ole t he car keys and t hey found him
heading t he wr ong way up an exit road on t he Mo, shout ing about damnat ion. _Pr epar e for t he
vengeance of t he Lord_, he t old t he mot orway cops, _for I shall soon summon my lieut enant ,
Azr aeel_. They wr ot e it all down in t heir lit t le books. " Chamcha, his heart st ill filled wit h his
own vengeful lust s, affect ed sympat hy and shock. " And Jumpy?" he inquired. Allie t ook bot h
hands of f t he wheel and spread t hem in an I - giveup gest ure, while t he car wobbled t er rif yingly
acr oss t he bendy road. " The doct or s say t he possessive j ealousy could be par t of t he same
t hing; at least , it can set t he madness off , like a fuse. "
She was glad of t he chance t o t alk; and Chamcha lent her a willing ear . I f she t r ust ed him,
it was because Gibr eel did, t oo; he had no int ent ion of damaging t hat t r ust . _Once he bet r ayed
my t r ust ; now let him, f or a t ime, have conf idence in me_. He was a t yro puppet eer ; it was
necessary t o st udy t he st r ings, t o find out what was connect ed t o what . . . "I can' t help it , "
Allie was saying. "I feel in some obscure way t o blame for him. Our life isn' t wor king out and
it ' s my fault . My mot her get s angr y when I t alk like t his. " Alicj a, on t he ver ge of cat ching t he
plane west , ber at ed her daught er at Ter minal Three. "I don' t underst and wher e you get t hese
not ions from, " she cried amid backpacker s, briefcases and weeping Asian mums. "You could
say your fat her' s life didn' t go according t o plan, eit her. So he should be blamed for t he camps?
St udy hist or y, Alleluia. I n t his cent ury hist ory st opped paying at t ent ion t o t he old psychological
or ient at ion of r ealit y. I mean, t hese days, char act er isn' t dest iny any mor e. Economics is
dest iny. I deology is dest iny. Bombs are dest iny. What does a famine, a gas chamber , a
gr enade care how you lived your lif e? Cr isis comes, deat h comes, and your pat het ic individual
self doesn' t have a t hing t o do wit h it , only t o suf fer t he effect s. This Gibr eel of your s: maybe
he' s how hist or y happens t o you. " She had r et ur ned, wit hout warning, t o t he grand st yle of
wardr obe pr ef er r ed by Ot t o Cone, and, it seemed, t o an orat orical manner t hat suit ed t he big
black hat s and fr illy suit s. "Enj oy Califor nia, Mot her , " Allie said shar ply. "One of us is happy, "
Alicj a said. "Why shouldn' t it be me?" And bef or e her daught er could answer, she swept off
past t he passenger s- - only bar rier , flourishing passpor t , boar ding- pass, t icket , heading for t he
dut y- free bot t les of Opium and Gor don' s Gin, which wer e on sale beneat h an illuminat ed sign
reading SAY HELLO TO THE GOOD BUYS.
I n t he last light , t he r oad rounded a spur of t r eeless, heat her - cover ed hills. Long ago, in
anot her count r y, anot her t wilight , Chamcha had rounded anot her such spur and come int o
sight of t he r emains of Per sepolis. Now, however , he was heading for a human ruin; not t o
admir e, and maybe even ( f or t he decision t o do evil is never finally t aken unt il t he ver y inst ant
of t he deed; t here is always a last chance t o wit hdraw) t o vandalize. To scrawl his name in
Gibr eel' s flesh: _Saladin woz ear _. "Why st ay wit h him?" he asked Allie, and t o his surpr ise she
blushed. " Why not spar e your self t he pain?"
"I don' t really know you, not at all, r eally, " she began, t hen paused and made a choice.
"I ' m not pr oud of t he answer, but it ' s t he t r ut h, " she said. "I t ' s t he sex. We' r e unbelievable
t oget her, perfect , like not hing I ' ve known. Dream lover s. He j ust seems t o, t o _know_. To
know _me_. " She fell silent ; t he night hid her face. Chamcha' s bit t er ness surged up again.
Dream lovers wer e all around him; he, dr eamless, could only wat ch. He grit t ed angry t eet h;
and bit , by mist ake, his t ongue.
Gibr eel and Allie had holed up in Durisdeer, a village so small it didn' t have a pub, and
wer e living in a deconsecr at ed Fr eekir k conver t ed - - t he quasi - religious t erm sounded st r ange
t o Chamcha - - by an archit ect f riend of Allie' s who had made a f or t une out of such
met amorphoses of t he sacr ed int o t he pr of ane. I t st r uck Saladin as a gloomy sor t of place, for
all it s whit e walls, recessed spot light s and wall - t o- - wall shag- - pile carpet ing. There wer e
gr avest ones in t he gar den. As a r et r eat for a man suff er ing from par anoid delusions of being
t he chief ar changel of God, Chamcha r ef lect ed, it wouldn' t have been his own fir st choice. The
Fr eekir k was set a lit t le apart f rom t he dozen or so ot her st one- - and- - t ile houses t hat made up
t he communit y: isolat ed even wit hin t his isolat ion. Gibreel was st anding at t he door, a shadow
against t he illuminat ed hallway, when t he car pulled up. "You got her e, " he shout ed. "Yaar , t oo
good. Welcome t o bloody j ail. "
The dr ugs made Gibreel clumsy. As t he t hr ee of t hem sat ar ound t he pit ch- pine kit chen
t able beneat h t he gent rif ied pulldown dimmer - swit ched light ing, he t wice knocked over his
coffee- - cup ( he was ost ent at iously off booze; Allie, pouring t wo gener ous shot s of Scot ch, kept
Chamcha company) , and, cur sing, st umbled about t he kit chen for paper - t owels t o mop up t he
mess. "When I get sick of being t his way I j ust cut down wit hout t elling her, " he confessed.
"And t hen t he shit st ar t s happening. I swear t o you, Spoono, I can' t bear t he bloody idea t hat it
will never st op, t hat t he only choice is dr ugs or bugs in t he br ain. I can' t bloody bear it . I
swear, yaar, if I t hought t hat was it , t hen, bas, I don' t know, I "d, I don' t know what . "
"Shut your face, " Allie soft ly said. But he shout ed out : "Spoono, I even hit her , do you
know t hat ? Bloody hell. One day I t hought she was some rakshasa t ype of demon and I j ust
went f or her . Do you know how st rong it is, t he st rengt h of madness?"
"For t unat ely for me I ' d been going t o - - oops, eek - - t hose self def ence classes, " Allie
gr inned. "He' s exaggerat ing t o save face. Act ually he was t he one who ended up banging his
head on t he f loor. " - - "Right her e, " Gibreel sheepishly assent ed. The kit chen floor was made of
lar ge flagst ones. " Painful, " Chamcha hazarded. " Damn r ight , " Gibr eel r oared, st rangely cheerful
now. "Knocked me bilkul cold. "
The Fr eekirk' s int erior had been divided int o a lar ge t wost or ey ( in est at e agent ' s j argon,
"double volume") r ecept ion- room - - t he f or mer hall of congr egat ion - - and a more convent ional
half, wit h kit chen and ut ilit ies downst air s and bedrooms and bat hr oom above. Unable for some
reason t o sleep, Chamcha wandered at midnight int o t he great ( and cold: t he heat wave might
be cont inuing in t he sout h of England, but t her e wasn' t a ripple of it up here, wher e t he climat e
was aut umnal and chill) livingroom, and wandered among t he ghost - voices of banished
pr eachers while Gibr eel and Allie made high- volume love. _Like Pamela_. He t ried t o t hink of
Mishal, of Zeeny Vakil, but it didn' t work. St uffing his finger s in his ear s, he fought against t he
sound effect s of t he copulat ion of Farisht a and Alleluia Cone.
Their s had been a high- risk conj oining f rom t he st ar t , he reflect ed: fir st , Gibr eel' s dramat ic
abandonment of career and rush across t he ear t h, and now, Allie' s uncompr omising
det erminat ion t o _see it t hrough_, t o defeat in him t his mad, angelic divinit y and r est or e t he
humanit y she loved. No compromises f or t hem; t hey wer e going f or br oke. Whereas he,
Saladin, had declared himself cont ent t o live under t he same r oof as his wife and her lover boy.
Which was t he bet t er way? Capt ain Ahab drowned, he reminded himself; it was t he t rimmer ,
I shmael, who sur vived.
o o o
I n t he morning Gibr eel or der ed an ascent of t he local "Top". But Allie declined, alt hough it
was plain t o Chamcha t hat her ret ur n t o t he count ryside had caused her t o glow wit h j oy.
"Bloody f lat foot mame, " Gibr eel cursed her lovingly. "Come on, Salad. Us damn cit y slickers
can show t he Everest conquer or how t o climb. What a bloody upsidedown life, yaar . We go
mount ain- climbing while she sit s here and makes business calls. " Saladin' s t hought s were
racing: he under st ood, now, t hat st range hobble at Shepper t on; under st ood, t oo, t hat t his
secluded haven would have t o be t emporar y - - t hat Allie, by coming her e, was sacrif icing her
own life, and wouldn' t be able t o go on doing so indefinit ely. What should he do? Anyt hing?
Not hing? - - I f r evenge was t o be t aken, when and how? "Get t hese boot s on, " Gibr eel
commanded. "You t hink t he r ain will hold off all fucking day?"
I t didn' t . By t he t ime t hey r eached t he st one cairn at t he summit of Gibr eel' s chosen climb,
t hey wer e enveloped in a fine dr izzle. "Damn good show, " Gibr eel pant ed. "Look: t her e she is,
down t here, sit t ing back like t he Gr and Panj andrum. " He point ed down at t he Freekirk.
Chamcha, his hear t pounding, was feeling f oolish. He must st art behaving like a man wit h a
t icker pr oblem. Where was t he glor y in dying of heart failur e on t his not hing of a Top, f or
not hing, in t he r ain? Then Gibr eel got out his fieldglasses and st art ed scanning t he valley.
Ther e were har dly any moving figur es t o be seen - - t wo or t hr ee men and dogs, some sheep,
no more. Gibr eel t r acked t he men wit h his binocular s. "Now t hat we' re alone, " he suddenly
said, " I can t ell you why we really came away t o t his damn empt y hole. I t ' s because of her .
Yes, yes; don' t be fooled by my act ! I t ' s all her bloody beaut y. Men, Spoono: t hey chase her
like goddamn flies. I swear! I see t hem, slobber ing and gr abbing. I t isn' t right . She is a ver y
pr ivat e person, t he most pr ivat e person in t he wor ld. We have t o pr ot ect her fr om lust . "
This speech t ook Saladin by surpr ise. You poor bast ar d, he t hought , you r eally are going of f
your wr et ched head at a rat e of knot s. And, hard on t he heels of t his t hought , a second
sent ence appeared, as if by magic, in his head: _Don' t imagine t hat means I ' ll let you of f_.
o o o
On t he drive back t o t he Carlisle r ailway st at ion, Chamcha ment ioned t he depopulat ion of
t he count r yside. "There' s no work, " Allie said. "So it ' s empt y. Gibreel says he can' t get used t o
t he idea t hat all t his space indicat es pover t y: says it looks like luxury t o him, aft er I ndia' s
crowds. " - - " And your work?" Chamcha asked. " What about t hat ?" She smiled at him, t he ice- -
maiden faade long gone. " You' re a nice man t o ask. I keep t hinking, one day it ' ll be my life in
t he middle, t aking fir st place. Or, well, alt hough I f ind it har d t o use t he f irst per son plur al: our
lif e. That sounds bet t er , r ight ?"
"Don' t let him cut you of f, " Saladin advised. "From Jumpy, fr om your own worlds,
what ever . " This was t he moment at which his campaign could t r uly be said t o have begun;
when he set a f oot upon t hat effort less, seduct ive road on which t her e was only one way t o go.
"You' re r ight , " Allie was saying. "God, if he only knew. His pr ecious Sisodia, f or example: it ' s
not j ust sevenfoot st arlet s he goes for, t hough he sure as hell likes t hose. " - - "He made a
pass, " Chamcha guessed; and, simult aneously, filed t he infor mat ion away for possible lat er
use. "He' s t ot ally shameless, " Allie laughed. "I t was r ight under Gibreel' s nose. He doesn' t mind
rej ect ion, t hough: he j ust bows, and mur murs _no off off of fence_, and t hat ' s t hat . Can you
imagine if I t old Gibreel?"
Chamcha at t he railway st at ion wished Allie luck. "We' ll have t o be in London f or a couple
of weeks, " she said t hr ough t he car window. "I ' ve got meet ings. Maybe you and Gibreel can get
t oget her t hen; t his has r eally done him good. "
"Call any t ime, " he waved goodbye, and wat ched t he Cit r on unt il it was out of sight .
o o o
That Allie Cone, t he t hir d point of a t riangle of fict ions - - for had not Gibr eel and Allie come
t oget her very largely by imagining, out of t heir own needs, an " Allie" and a "Gibr eel" wit h
whom each could f all in love; and was not Chamcha now imposing on t hem t he requirement s of
his own t roubled and disappoint ed heart ? - - was t o be t he unwit t ing, innocent agent of
Chamcha' s revenge, became even plainer t o t he plot t er, Saladin, when he found t hat Gibr eel,
wit h whom he had ar ranged t o spend an equat or ial London af t er noon, want ed not hing so much
as t o descr ibe in embar r assing det ail t he carnal ecst asy of shar ing Allie' s bed. What manner of
people wer e t hese, Saladin wondered wit h dist ast e, who enj oyed inf lict ing t heir int imacies on
non- par t icipat ing ot hers? As Gibreel ( wit h somet hing like relish) descr ibed posit ions, love- -
bit es, t he secret vocabular ies of desir e, t hey st r olled in Br ickhall Fields among schoolgir ls and
roller - - skat ing infant s and f at hers t hrowing boomerangs and fr isbees incompet ent ly at scornful
sons, and picked t heir way t hr ough br oiling hor izont al secr et ar ial flesh; and Gibreel int err upt ed
his erot ic r hapsody t o ment ion, madly, t hat "I somet imes look at t hese pink people and inst ead
of skin, Spoono, what I see is rot t ing meat ; I smell t heir put r efact ion her e, " he t apped his
nost r ils fer vent ly, as if r evealing a myst er y, "in my _nose_. " Then once again t o Allie' s inner
t highs, her cloudy eyes, t he perf ect valley of her lower back, t he lit t le cries she liked t o make.
This was a man in imminent danger of coming apar t at t he seams. The wild ener gy, t he manic
par t icularit y of his descript ions suggest ed t o Chamcha t hat he' d been cut t ing down on his
dosages again, t hat he was rolling upwar ds t owar ds t he cr est of a der anged high, t hat
condit ion of febr ile excit ement t hat was like blind drunkenness in one r espect ( accor ding t o
Allie) , namely t hat Gibreel could r emember not hing of what he said or did when, as was
inevit able, he came down t o ear t h. - - On and on went t he descript ions, t he unusual lengt h of
her nipples, her dislike of having her navel int erf er ed wit h, t he sensit ivit y of her t oes. Chamcha
t old himself t hat , madness or no madness, what all t his sex- t alk revealed ( because t her e had
been Allie in t he Cit ron t oo) was t he _weakness_ of t heir so- - called "grand passion" - - a
t er m which Allie had only half - j okingly employed - - because, in a phr ase, t here was not hing
else about it t hat was any good; t here was simply no ot her aspect of t heir t oget her ness t o
rhapsodize about . - - At t he same t ime, however , he felt himself becoming aroused. He began
t o see himself st anding out side her window, while she st ood t here naked like an act ress on a
scr een, and a man' s hands caressed her in a t housand ways, br inging her closer and closer t o
ecst asy; he came t o see himself as t hat pair of hands, he could almost feel her coolness, her
responses, almost hear her cries. - - He cont rolled himself. His desir e disgust ed him. She was
unat t ainable; t his was pur e voyeur ism, and he would not succumb t o it . - - But t he desir e
Gibr eel' s revelat ions had aroused would not go away.
Gibr eel' s sexual obsession, Chamcha r eminded himself , act ually made t hings easier. "She' s
cert ainly a very at t r act ive woman, " he murmur ed by way of an experiment , and was gr at if ied
t o r eceive a fur ious, st r ung- out glare in r et ur n. Aft er which Gibr eel, making a show of
cont r olling himself, put his arm around Saladin and boomed: " Apologies, Spoono, I ' m a bad-
t empered bugger where she' s concer ned. But you and me! We' re bhaibhai! Been t hrough t he
wor st and come out smiling; come on now, enough of t his lit t le nowher e park. Let ' s hit t own. "
Ther e is t he moment before evil; t hen t he moment of; t hen t he t ime aft er, when t he st ep
has been t aken, and each subsequent st r ide becomes progressively easier . "Fine wit h me, "
Chamcha r eplied. "I t ' s good t o see you looking so well. "
A boy of six or seven cycled past t hem on a BMX bike. Chamcha, t ur ning his head t o f ollow
t he boy' s progr ess, saw t hat he was moving smoot hly away down an avenue of overar ching
t r ees, t hrough which t he hot sunlight managed here and t her e t o drip. The shock of discovering
t he locat ion of his dream disor ient ed Chamcha br ief ly, and left him wit h a bad t ast e in his
mout h: t he sour flavour of might - have- beens. Gibr eel hailed a t axi; and r equest ed Tr afalgar
Squar e.
O, he was in a high good humour t hat day, r ubbishing London and t he English wit h much of
his old br io. Where Chamcha saw at t ract ively faded gr andeur, Gibr eel saw a wr eck, a Cr usoe-
cit y, marooned on t he island of it s past , and t rying, wit h t he help of a Man- Fr iday underclass,
t o keep up appearances. Under t he gaze of st one lions he chased pigeons, shout ing: "I swear ,
Spoono, back home t hese fat t ies wouldn' t last one day; let ' s t ake one home for dinner. "
Chamcha' s Englished soul cr inged f or shame. Lat er, in Covent Gar den, he described for
Gibr eel' s benefit t he day t he old fruit and veget able market moved t o Nine Elms. The
aut hor it ies, wor ried about r at s, had sealed t he sewer s and killed t ens of t housands; but
hundreds mor e survived. "That day, st ar ving rat s swarmed out on t o t he pavement s, " he
recalled. "All t he way down t he St r and and over Wat er loo Br idge, in and out of t he shops,
desper at e for f ood. " Gibr eel snort ed. " Now I know t his is a sinking ship, " he cr ied, and
Chamcha felt fur ious at having given him t he opening. "Even t he bloody r at s are off. " And,
aft er a pause: "What t hey needed was a pied piper , no? Leading t hem t o dest ruct ion wit h a
t une. "
When he wasn' t insult ing t he English or descr ibing Allie' s body fr om t he r oot s of her hair t o
t he soft t r iangle of "t he loveplace, t he goddamn yoni, " he seemed t o wish t o make list s: what
wer e Spoono' s t en favourit e books, he want ed t o know; also movies, female film st ar s, food.
Chamcha offered convent ional cosmopolit an answers. His movie- - list included _Pot emkin_,
_Kane_, _Ot t o e Mezzo_, _The Seven Samurai_, _Alphaville_, _El Angel Ext er m inador_.
"You' ve been br ainwashed, " Gibreel scof fed. "All t his West ern ar t - house cr ap. " His t op t en of
ever yt hing came fr om "back home", and was aggr essively lowbr ow. _Mot her I ndia_, _Mr.
I ndia_, _Shree Charsawbees_: no Ray, no Mr inal Sen, no Ar avindan or Ghat ak. "Your head' s so
full of j unk, " he advised Saladin, "you forgot ever yt hing wort h knowing. "
His mount ing excit ement , his babbling det er minat ion t o t ur n t he wor ld int o a clust er of hit
par ades, his fier ce walking pace - - t hey must have walked t went y miles by t he end of t heir
t r avels - - suggest ed t o Chamcha t hat it wouldn' t t ake much, now, t o push him over t he edge.
_I t seems I t ur ned out t o be a confidence man, t oo, Mimi. The ar t of t he assassin is t o draw t he
vict im close; makes him easier t o knj f e_. "I ' m get t ing hungr y, " Gibr eel imper iously announced.
"Take me t o one of your t op- t en eat er ies. "
I n t he t axicab, Gibreel needled Chamcha, who had not inf or med him of t he dest inat ion.
"Some Fr enchy j oint , na? Or Japanese, wit h r aw fishes and oct opuses. God, why I t r ust your
t ast e. "
They arr ived at t he Shaandaar Caf.
o o o
Jumpy wasn' t t her e.
Nor , apparent ly, had Mishal Sufyan pat ched t hings up wit h her mot her ; Mishal and Hanif
wer e absent , and neit her Anahit a nor her mot her gave Chamcha a greet ing t hat could be
descr ibed as war m. Only Haj i Sufyan was welcoming: "Come, come, sit ; you' r e looking good. "
The caf was oddly empt y, and even Gibr eel' s presence f ailed t o cr eat e much of a st ir. I t t ook
Chamcha a f ew seconds t o under st and what was up; t hen he saw t he quar t et of whit e yout hs
sit t ing at a corner t able, spoiling f or a f ight .
The young Bengali wait er ( whom Hind had been obliged t o employ af t er her elder
daught er ' s depart ure) came over and t ook t heir or der - - aubergmes, sikh kababs, r ice - - while
st aring angr ily in t he dir ect ion of t he t roublesome quart et , who wer e, as Saladin now
per ceived, ver y dr unk indeed. The wait er , Amin, was as annoyed wit h Suf yan as t he dr unks.
"Should never have let t hem sit , " he mumbled t o Chamcha and Gibreel. "Now I ' m obliged t o
serve. I t ' s okay f or t he set h; he' s not t he fr ont line, see. "
The dr unks got t heir food at t he same t ime as Chamcha and Gibreel. When t hey st ar t ed
complaining about t he cooking, t he at mosphere in t he room grew even more highly char ged.
Finally t hey st ood up. " We' r e not eat ing t his shit , you cunt s, " yelled t he leader , a t iny, r unt y
fellow wit h sandy hair, a pale t hin face, and spot s. "I t ' s shit . You can go fuck your selves,
fucking cunt s. " His t hr ee companions, giggling and swear ing, lef t t he caf . The leader lingered
for a moment . "Enj oying your food?" he screamed at Chamcha and Gibr eel. "I t ' s fucking shit . I s
t hat what you eat at home, is it ? Cunt s. " Gibreel was wearing an expr ession t hat said, loud and
clear: so t his is what t he Br it ish, t hat great nat ion of conquerors, have become in t he end. He
did not r espond. The lit t le rat - - faced speaker came over . " I asked you a fucking quest ion, " he
said. " I said. Ar e you f ucking enj oying your f ucking _shit dinner ?_" And Saladin Chamcha,
per haps out of his annoyance t hat Gibreel had not been conf ront ed by t he man he' d all but
killed - - cat ching him of f guar d fr om behind, t he cowar d' s way - - found himself answer ing: "We
would be, if it wasn' t for you. " Rat boy, swaying on his f eet , digest ed t his informat ion; and t hen
did a very sur prising t hing. Taking a deep breat h, he drew himself up t o his full five f oot five;
t hen leaned forward, and spat violent ly and copiously all over t he food.
"Baba, if t hat ' s in your t op t en, " Gibr eel said in t he t axi home, "don' t t ake me t o t he places
you don' t like so much. "
"' Minnamin, Gut mag alkan, Pern dir st an, ' " Chamcha r eplied. "I t means, ' My darling, God
makes hungr y, t he Devil t hir st y. ' Nabokov. "
"Him again, " Gibreel complained. "What bloody language?"
"He made it up. I t ' s what Kinbot e' s Zemblan nurse t ells him as a child. I n _Pale Fir e_. "
"_Perndirst an_, " Far isht a r epeat ed. "Sounds like a count ry: Hell, maybe. I give up,
anyway. How are you supposed t o read a man who writ es in a made- up lingo of his own?"
They were almost back at Allie' s flat over looking Br ickhall Fields. " The playwr ight
St r indber g, " Chamcha said, absent ly, as if following some pr ofound t rain of t hought , " aft er t wo
unhappy mar r iages, wedded a famous and lovely t went y- year- - old act ress called Harr iet Bosse.
I n t he _Dr eam_ she was a gr eat Puck. He wr ot e for her , t oo: t he par t of Eleanor a in _East er _.
An ' angel of peace' . The young men went cr azy for her , and St r indberg, well, he got so j ealous
he almost lost his mind. He t r ied t o keep her locked up at home, far fr om t he eyes of men. She
want ed t o t ravel; he br ought her t ravel books. I t was like t he old Cliff Richard song: _Gonna
lock her up in a t r unk/ so no big hunk/ can st eal her away fr om me_. "
Far isht a' s heavy head nodded in r ecognit ion. He had fallen int o a kind of r ever ie. "What
happened?" he inquir ed as t hey r eached t heir dest inat ion. "She left him, " Chamcha innocent ly
declar ed. " She said she could not r econcile him wit h t he human race. "
o o o
Alleluia Cone r ead, as she walked home fr om t he Tube, her mot her ' s deliriously happy
let t er f rom St anford, Calif. "I f people t ell you happiness is unat t ainable, " Alicj a wrot e in lar ge,
looping, back- leaning, left - handed let t ers, " kindly point t hem in my dir ect ion. I ' ll put t hem
st raight . I found it t wice, t he first t ime wit h your fat her, as you know, t he second wit h t his
kind, broad man whose f ace is t he exact colour of t he or anges t hat grow all over t hese part s.
Cont ent ment , Allie. I t beat s excit ement . Try it , you' ll like it . " When she looked up, Allie saw
Maurice Wilson' s ghost sit t ing at op a lar ge copper beech- t r ee in his usual woollen at t ir e - - t am-
- o" - - shant er , diamond- - pat t ern Pringle j er sey, plus- - four s - - looking uncomf or t ably
over dressed in t he heat . "I ' ve no t ime f or you now, " she t old him, and he shr ugged. _I can
wait _. Her f eet were bad again. She set her j aw and marched on.
Saladin Chamcha, concealed behind t he very copper beech fr om which Maur ice Wilson' s
ghost was sur veying Allie' s painf ul pr ogr ess, observed Gibr eel Far isht a bur st ing out of t he f ront
door of t he block of flat s in which he' d been wait ing impat ient ly f or her r et ur n; obser ved him
red- eyed and r aving. The demons of j ealousy wer e sit t ing on his shoulder s, and he was
scr eaming out t he same old song, wheret hehell whot he what t he dont t hinkyoucanpullt hewool
howdar eyou bit chbit chbit ch. I t appear ed t hat St r indberg had succeeded where Jumpy ( because
absent ) had f ailed.
The wat cher in t he upper branches demat er ialized; t he ot her , wit h a sat isf ied nod, st rolled
away down an avenue of shady, spr eading t r ees.
o o o
The t elephone calls which now began t o be received, first at t heir London r esidence and
subsequent ly at a remot e addr ess in Dumfries and Galloway, by bot h Allie and Gibr eel, wer e
not t oo f requent ; t hen again, t hey could not be t er med infr equent . Nor were t here t oo many
voices t o be plausible; t hen again, t her e wer e quit e enough. These wer e not br ief calls, such as
t hose made by heavy br eat her s and ot her abuser s of t he t elephone net wor k, but , conversely,
t hey never last ed long enough for t he police, eavesdr opping, t o t rack t hem t o t heir source. Nor
did t he whole unsavour y episode last ver y long - - a mere mat t er of t hr ee and a half weeks,
aft er which t he caller s desist ed f or ever ; but it might also be ment ioned t hat it went on exact ly
as long as it needed t o, t hat is, unt il it had driven Gibr eel Far isht a t o do t o Allie Cone what he
had pr eviously done t o Saladin - - namely, t he Unfor givable Thing.
I t should be said t hat nobody, not Allie, not Gibreel, not even t he professional phone-
t appers t hey br ought in, ever suspect ed t he calls of being a single man' s work; but for Saladin
Chamcha, once r enowned ( if only in somewhat specialist circles) as t he Man of a Thousand
Voices, such a decept ion was a simple mat t er , ent ir ely lacking in ef for t or risk. I n all, he was
obliged t o select ( f rom his t housand voices and a voice) a t ot al of no mor e t han t hirt y- - nine.
When Allie answer ed, she hear d unknown men mur mur ing int imat e secret s in her ear ,
st rangers who seemed t o know her body' s most remot e r ecesses, f aceless beings who gave
evidence of having learned, by exper ience, her choicest pr eferences among t he myr iad forms
of love; and once t he at t empt s at t racing t he calls had begun her humiliat ion gr ew, because
now she was unable simply t o r eplace t he r eceiver, but had t o st and and list en, hot in t he face
and cold along t he spine, making at t empt s ( which didn' t wor k) act ually t o pr olong t he calls.
Gibr eel also got his shar e of voices: super b Byronic ar ist ocrat s boast ing of having
"conquered Ever est " , sneering gut t er snipes, unct uous best - friend voices mingling war ning and
mockcommiser at ion, _a wor d t o t he wise, how st upid can you, don' t you know yet what she' s,
anyt hing in t rousers, you poor moron, t ake it from a pal_. But one voice st ood out fr om t he
rest , t he high soulf ul voice of a poet , one of t he fir st voices Gibr eel heard and t he one t hat got
deepest under his skin; a voice t hat spoke exclusively in r hyme, r ecit ing dogger el verses of an
underst at ed navet y, even innocence, which cont r ast ed so gr eat ly wit h t he mast urbat ory
coarseness of most of t he ot her caller s t hat Gibr eel soon came t o t hink of it as t he most
insidiously menacing of all.
_I like coff ee, I like t ea_,
_I like t hings you do wit h me_.
_Tell her t hat _, t he voice swooned, and r ang off. Anot her day it ret urned wit h anot her
j ingle:
_I like but t er , I like t oast _,
_You' r e t he one I love t he most _.
_Give her t hat message, t oo; if you' d be so kind_. Ther e was somet hing demonic, Gibreel
decided, somet hing profoundly immor al about cloaking corr upt ion in t his greet ings- - car d t um- -
t i - t um.
_Rosy apple, lemon t ar t _,
_Here' s t he name of my sweet heart _.
A . . . l . . . l . . . Gibr eel, in disgust and f ear , banged down t he r eceiver ; and t r embled. Af t er
t hat t he versifier st opped calling for a while; but his was t he voice Gibr eel st art ed wait ing for,
dr eading it s r eappearance, having per haps accept ed, at some level deeper t han consciousness,
t hat t his infer nal, childlike evil was what would finish him off f or good.
o o o
But O how easy it all t urned out t o be! How comfor t ably evil lodged in t hose supple,
infinit ely flexible vocal cor ds, t hose puppet mast er' s st rings! How sur ely it st epped out along t he
high wir es of t he t elephone syst em, poised as a bar ef oot acr obat ; how confident ly it ent ered
t he vict ims' presence, as cer t ain of it s effect as a handsome man in a per fect ly t ailored suit !
And how carefully it bided it s t ime, sending f or t h ever y voice but t he voice t hat would deliver
t he coup de grace - - for Saladin, t oo, had under st ood t he dogger el' s special pot ency - -
deep voices and squeaky voices, slow ones, quick ones, sad and cheerful, aggression- - laden
and shy. One by one, t hey dripped int o Gibreel' s ear s, weakening his hold on t he r eal world,
dr awing him lit t le by lit t le int o t heir deceit ful web, so t hat lit t le by lit t le t heir obscene, invent ed
women began t o coat t he r eal woman like a viscous, gr een f ilm, and in spit e of his
pr ot est at ions t o t he cont r ary he st art ed slipping away fr om her ; and t hen it was t ime for t he
ret ur n of t he lit t le, sat anic ver ses t hat made him mad.
o o o
_Roses are r ed, violet s ar e blue_,
_Sugar never t ast ed sweet as you_.
_Pass it on_. He r et ur ned as innocent as ever, giving birt h t o a t urmoil of but t er flies in
Gibr eel' s knot t ing st omach. Aft er t hat t he rhymes came t hick and fast . They could have t he
smut t iness of t he school playground:
_When she' s down at Wat er loo_
_She don' t wear no yes she do_
_When she' s up at Leicest er Squar e_
_She don' t wear no under wear_;
or , once or t wice, t he rhyt hm of a cheer leader' s chant .
_Knicker knacker , firecr acker _,
_Sis! Boom! Bah! _
_Alleluia! Alleluia! _
_Rah! Rah! Rah! _
And last ly, when t hey had r et urned t o London, and Allie was absent at t he ceremonial
opening of a fr eezer f ood mar t in Hounslow, t he last r hyme.
_Violet s ar e blue, r oses ar e r ed_,
_I ' ve got her r ight here in my bed_.
_Goodbye, sucker _.
Dialling t one.
o o o
Alleluia Cone r et ur ned t o find Gibreel gone, and in t he vandalized silence of her apart ment
she det ermined t hat t his t ime she would not have him back, no mat t er in what sor ry condit ion
or how wheedlingly he came crawling t o her , pleading for f or giveness and f or love; because
befor e he left he had wr ought a t err ible vengeance upon her, dest roying every one of t he
surr ogat e Himalayas she had collect ed over t he years, t hawing t he iceEver est she kept in her
freezer , pulling down and r ipping t o shr eds t he parachut e- silk peaks t hat rose above her bed,
and hacking t o pieces ( he' d used t he small axe she kept wit h t he fir e ext inguisher in t he broom
cupboar d) t he pr iceless whit t led mement o of her conquest of Chomolungma, given her by
Pemba t he sher pa, as a warning as well as a commemor at ion. _To Ali Bibi. We u" er e luck. Not
t o t r y again_.
She flung open sash windows and scr eamed abuse at t he innocent Fields beneat h. "Die
slowly! Burn in hell! "
Then, weeping, she r ang Saladin Chamcha t o t ell him t he bad news.
o o o
Mr. John Maslama, owner of t he Hot Wax night club, t he r ecor d chain of t he same name,
and of "Fair Winds", t he legendar y st or e where you could get your self t he finest hor ns - -
clarinet s, saxophones, t rombones - - t hat a person could find t o blow in t he whole of London
t own, was a busy man, so he would always ascr ibe t o t he int ervent ion of Divine Providence t he
happy chance t hat caused him t o be pr esent in t he t r umpet st or e when t he Ar changel of God
walked in wit h t hunder and light ning sit t ing like laurels upon his noble br ow. Being a pr act ical
businessman, Mr . Maslama had up t o t his point concealed from his employees his
ext r acur ricular work as t he chief her ald of t he ret ur ned Celest ial and Semi - Godlike Being,
st icking post ers in his shopwindows only when he was sure he was unobserved, neglect ing t o
sign t he display adver t isement s he bought in newspapers and magazines at considerable
per sonal expense, proclaiming t he imminent Glory of t he Coming of t he Lor d. He issued pr ess
releases t hrough a public r elat ions subsidiar y of t he Valance agency, asking t hat his own
anonymit y be guar ded carefully. "Our client is in a posit ion t o st at e, " t hese r eleases - - which
enj oyed, for a t ime, an amused vogue among Fleet St r eet diar ist s - - cr ypt ically announced,
"t hat his eyes have seen t he Glory r efer red t o above. Gibr eel is among us at t his moment ,
somewhere in t he inner cit y of London - - probably in Camden, Brickhall, Tower Hamlet s or
Hackney - - and he will reveal himself soon, perhaps wit hin days or weeks. " - - All of t his was
obscure t o t he t hr ee t all, languid, male at t endant s in t he Fair Winds st or e ( Maslama refused t o
employ women sales assist ant s her e; "my mot t o, " he was f ond of saying, " is t hat nobody t r ust s
a female t o help him wit h his horn") ; which was why none of t hem could believe t heir eyes
when t heir hard- nosed employer suddenly under went a complet e change of personalit y, and
rushed over t o t his wild, unshaven st ranger as if he wer e God Almight y - - wit h his t wo- t one
pat ent leat her shoes, Ar mani suit and slicked down Robert de Nir o hair above pr olifer at ing
eyebr ows, Maslama didn' t look t he cr awling t ype, but t hat ' s what he was _doing_, all r ight , on
his goddamn _belly_, pushing his st aff aside, _I ' ll at t end t o t he gent leman myself_, bowing and
scr aping, walking backwar ds, would you believe? - - Anyway, t he st ranger had t his _fat money-
belt _ under his shir t and st ar t ed hauling out numbers of high- denominat ion not es; he point ed
at a t rumpet on a high shelf , _t hat ' s t he one_, j ust like t hat , hardly looked at it , and Mr.
Maslama was up t he ladder _pr ont o_, I " ll- - get - - it - - I - - said- - I "ll - - get - - it , and now t he t r uly
amazing par t , he t ried t o r efuse payment , Maslama! , it was no no _sir_ no char ge _sir _, but
t he st r anger paid anyway, st uffing t he not es int o Maslama' s upper j acket - pocket as if he wer e
some sort of _bellhop_, you had t o be t her e, and last of all t he cust omer t urns t o t he whole
st or e and yells at t he t op of his voice, _I am t he r ight hand of God_. - - St raight up, you
wouldn' t credit it , t he bloody day of j udgment was at hand. - - Maslama was right out of it aft er
t hat , well shaken he was, he act ually fell t o his act ual knees. - - Then t he st r anger held t he
t r umpet up over his head and shout ed _I name t his t r umpet Azr aeel, t he Last Trump, t he
Ext er minat or of Men! _ - - and we j ust st ood t here, I t ell you, t urned t o st one, because all
around t he fucking insane, _cert ifiable_ bast ar d' s head t here was t his bright glow, you know?,
st reaming out , like, fr om a point behind his head.
A halo.
_Say what you like_, t he t hree shop- at t endant s aft erwards repeat ed t o anyone who would
list en, _say what you like, but we saw what we saw_.
3
The deat h of Dr . Uhur u Simba, f or mer ly Sylvest er Robert s, while in cust ody await ing t r ial,
was descr ibed by t he Br ickhall const abular y' s communit y liaison officer , a cert ain I nspect or
St ephen Kinch, as " a million- - t o- - one shot " . I t appear ed t hat Dr. Simba had been experiencing
a night mar e so t er r if ying t hat it had caused him t o scream pier cingly in his sleep, at t r act ing t he
immediat e at t ent ion of t he t wo dut y officer s. These gent lemen, rushing t o his cell, arr ived in
t ime t o see t he st ill- - sleeping f or m of t he gigant ic man lit er ally lift off it s bunk under t he
malign influence of t he dr eam and plunge t o t he f loor. A loud, snap was heard by bot h off icers;
it was t he sound of Dr . Uhuru Simba' s neck breaking. Deat h had been inst ant aneous.
The dead man' s minuscule mot her , Ant oinet t e Robert s, st anding in a cheap black hat and
dr ess on t he back of her younger son' s pick- up t r uck, t he veil of mour ning pushed defiant ly
back off her f ace, was not slow t o seize upon I nspect or Kinch' s words and hurl t hem back int o
his florid, loose- chinned, impot ent face, whose hangdog expr ession bor e wit ness t o t he
humiliat ion of being referr ed t o by his br ot her of ficers as _nigger j immy_ and, wor se,
_mushr oom_, meaning t hat he was kept per manent ly in t he dar k, and from t ime t o t ime - - for
example in t he present r egr et t able cir cumst ances - - people t hr ew shit all over him. "I want you
t o under st and, " Mr s. Robert s declaimed t o t he sizeable cr owd t hat had gat hered angrily out side
t he High St r eet police st at ion, "t hat t hese people are gambling wit h our lives. They ar e laying
odds on our chances of survival. I want you all t o consider what t hat means in t erms of t heir
respect f or us as human beings. " And Hanif Johnson, as Uhuru Simba' s solicit or , added his own
clarif icat ion f rom Walcot t Robert s' s pick- up t r uck, point ing out t hat his client ' s alleged f at al
plunge had been fr om t he lower of t he t wo bunks in his cell; t hat in an age of ext reme
over cr owding in t he count r y' s lock- - ups it was unusual, t o say t he least , t hat t he ot her bunk
should have been unoccupied, ensuring t hat t her e were no wit nesses t o t he deat h except for
pr ison of ficer s; and t hat a night mare was by no means t he only possible explanat ion for t he
scr eams of a black man in t he hands of t he cust odial aut hor it ies. I n his concluding r emarks,
aft er war ds t ermed " inf lammat or y and unprofessional" by I nspect or Kinch, Hanif linked t he
communit y liaison officer ' s words t o t hose of t he not orious r acist John Kingsley Read, who had
once r esponded t o news of a black man' s deat h wit h t he slogan, "One down; one million t o go. "
The cr owd mur mured and bubbled; it was a hot and malicious day. " St ay hot , " Simba' s br ot her
Walcot t cr ied out t o t he assembly. "Don' t anybody cool off. Maint ain your r age. "
As Simba had in eff ect already been t ried and convict ed in what he had once called t he
"rainbow pr ess - - red as r ags, yellow as st reaks, blue as movies, gr een as slime", his end
st ruck many whit e people as r ough j ust ice, a mur der ous monst er ' s r et r ibut ive f all. But in
anot her court , silent and black, he had r eceived an ent ir ely mor e favour able j udgment , and
t hese diff er ing est imat ions of t he deceased moved, in t he aft ermat h of his deat h, on t o t he cit y
st reet s, and ferment ed in t he unending t r opical heat . The "r ainbow pr ess" was full of Simba' s
suppor t for Qazhafi, Khomeini, Louis Farr akhan; while in t he st r eet s of Br ickhall, young men
and women maint ained, and fanned, t he slow flame of t heir anger , a shadow- flame, but one
capable of blot t ing out t he light .
Two night s lat er , behind t he Char ringt ons Brewery in Tower Hamlet s, t he " Gr anny Ripper "
st ruck again. And t he night af t er t hat , an old woman was murdered near t he advent ur e
playground in Vict or ia Par k, Hackney; once again, t he Ripper ' s hideous "signat ure" - - t he r it ual
arr angement of t he int ernal organs around t he vict im' s body, whose precise configur at ion had
never been made public - - had been added t o t he crime. When I nspect or Kinch, looking
somewhat r agged at t he edges, appear ed on t elevision t o pr opound t he ext r aor dinar y t heor y
t hat a "copycat killer " had somehow discover ed t he t r ademark which had been so car ef ully
concealed for so long, and had t her ef or e t aken up t he mant le which t he lat e Uhuru Simba had
let dr op, - - t hen t he Commissioner of Police also deemed it wise, as a precaut ionar y measur e,
t o quadruple t he police pr esence on t he st reet s of Brickhall, and t o hold such large number s of
police in r eser ve t hat it pr oved necessary t o cancel t he capit al' s foot ball pr ogr amme for t he
weekend. And, in t r ut h, t emper s wer e fr aying all over Uhuru Simba' s old pat ch; Hanif Johnson
issued a st at ement t o t he effect t hat t he increased police pr esence was " provocat ive and
incendiary", and at t he Shaandaar and t he Pagal Khana t here began t o assemble gr oups of
young blacks and Asians det er mined t o confr ont t he cr uising panda car s. At t he Hot Wax, t he
eff igy chosen for _melt down_ was none ot her t han t he per spir ing and already deliquescent
figur e of t he communit y liaison officer . And t he t emper at ure cont inued, inexor ably, t o r ise.
Violent incident s began t o occur mor e fr equent ly: at t acks on black f amilies on council
est at es, harassment of black schoolchildren on t heir way home, brawls in pubs. At t he Pagal
Khana a r at - faced yout h and t hr ee of his cr onies spat over many people' s food; as a r esult of
t he ensuing affr ay t hree Bengali wait er s were char ged wit h assault and t he causing of act ual
bodily har m; t he expect orat ing quart et was not , however , det ained. St or ies of police brut alit y,
of black yout hs hauled swif t ly int o unmar ked car s and vans belonging t o t he special pat rol
gr oups and flung out , equally discr eet ly, covered in cut s and bruises, spr ead t hr oughout t he
communit ies. Self - defence pat r ols of young Sikh, Bengali and Afr o- Caribbean males - -
descr ibed by t heir polit ical opponent s as _vigilant e gr oups_ - - began t o r oam t he borough, on
foot and in old For d Zodiacs and Cor t inas, det ermined not t o "t ake it lying down". Hanif
Johnson t old his live- in lover, Mishal Suf yan, t hat in his opinion one more Ripper killing would
light t he fuse. " That killer' s not j ust cr owing about being fr ee, " he said. "He' s laughing about
Simba' s deat h as well, and t hat ' s what t he people can' t st omach. "
Down t hese simmer ing st r eet s, one unseasonally humid night , came Gibr eel Far isht a,
blowing his golden horn.
o o o
At eight o"clock t hat evening, a Sat ur day, Pamela Chamcha st ood wit h Jumpy Joshi - - who
had refused t o let her go unaccompanied - - next t o t he Phot o- Me machine in a corner of t he
main concour se of Eust on st at ion, f eeling ridiculously conspir at or ial. At eight - fift een she was
appr oached by a wiry young man who seemed t aller t han she r emembered him; following him
wit hout a word, she and Jumpy got int o his bat t er ed blue pick- up t r uck and were dr iven t o a
t iny flat above an off - licence in Railt on Road, Br ixt on, wher e Walcot t Rober t s int roduced t hem
t o his mot her , Ant oinet t e. The t hree men whom Pamela aft erwards t hought of as Hait ians f or
what she recognized t o be st ereot ypical r easons were not int r oduced. "Have a glass of ginger
wine, " Ant oinet t e Rober t s commanded. " Good for t he baby, t oo. "
When Walcot t had done t he honours Mr s. Rober t s, looking lost in a voluminous and
t hr eadbar e armchair ( her surpr isingly pale legs, mat chst ick- - t hin, emerging fr om beneat h her
black dr ess t o end in mut inous, pink ankle- - socks and sensible lace- - ups, f ailed by some
dist ance t o reach t he floor ) , got t o business. " These gent lemen wer e colleagues of my boy, "
she said. "I t t urns out t hat t he pr obable r eason for his mur der was t he work he was doing on a
subj ect which I am t old is also of int er est t o you. We believe t he t ime has come t o wor k mor e
for mally, t hr ough t he channels you represent . " Here one of t he t hree silent "Hait ians" handed
Pamela a r ed plast ic br ief case. "I t cont ains, " Mr s. Rober t s mildly explained, "ext ensive evidence
of t he exist ence of wit ches' covens t hr oughout t he Met ropolit an Police. "
Walcot t st ood up. "We should go now, " he said firmly. "Please. " Pamela and Jumpy rose.
Mrs. Rober t s nodded vaguely, absent ly, cr acking t he j oint s of her loose- skinned hands.
"Goodbye, " Pamela said, and off er ed convent ional regret s. "Girl, don' t wast e breat h, " Mrs.
Robert s broke in. " Just nail me t hose warlocks. Nail t hem t hr ough t he _heart _. "
o o o
Walcot t Rober t s dr opped t hem in Not t ing Hill at t en. Jumpy was coughing badly and
complaining of t he pains in t he head t hat had recur red a number of t imes since his inj uries at
Shepper t on, but when Pamela admit t ed t o being nervous at possessing t he only copy of t he
explosive document s in t he plast ic br ief case, Jumpy once again insist ed on accompanying her
t o t he Brickhall communit y r elat ions council' s of fices, where she planned t o make phot ocopies
t o dist r ibut e t o a number of t r ust ed fr iends and colleagues. So it was t hat at t en- - fift een t hey
wer e in Pamela' s beloved MG, heading east across t he cit y, int o t he gat hering st or m. An old,
blue Mercedes panel van followed t hem, as it had followed Walcot t ' s pick- up t r uck; t hat is,
wit hout being not iced.
Fif t een minut es ear lier , a pat rol group of seven lar ge young Sikhs j ammed int o a Vauxhall
Cavalier had been driving over t he Malaya Cr escent canal br idge in sout hern Br ickhall. Hear ing
a cr y f rom t he t owpat h under t he bridge, and hurr ying t o t he scene, t hey found a bland, pale
man of medium height and build, fair hair f lopping forwar d over hazel eyes, leaping t o his f eet ,
scalpel in hand, and r ushing away f rom t he body of an old woman whose blue wig had f allen off
and lay float ing like a j ellyf ish in t he canal. The young Sikhs easily caught up wit h and
over power ed t he r unning man.
By eleven pm t he news of t he mass mur derer' s capt ure had penet rat ed every cranny of t he
bor ough, accompanied by a slew of rumour s: t he police had been r eluct ant t o char ge t he
maniac, t he pat rol member s had been det ained for quest ioning, a cover up was being planned.
Crowds began t o gat her on st r eet cor ner s, and as t he pubs empt ied a ser ies of fight s br oke
out . Ther e was some damage t o pr oper t y: t hr ee car s had t heir windows smashed, a video st ore
was loot ed, a few br icks wer e t hr own. I t was at t his point , at half - - past eleven on a Sat urday
night , wit h t he clubs and dance- halls beginning t o yield up t heir excit ed, highly charged
populat ions, t hat t he divisional superint endent of police, in consult at ion wit h higher aut hor it y,
declar ed t hat riot condit ions now exist ed in cent ral Brickhall, and unleashed t he full might of
t he Met ropolit an Police against t he "r iot ers".
Also at t his point , Saladin Chamcha, who had been dining wit h Allie Cone at her apart ment
over looking Br ickhall Fields, keeping up appear ances, sympat hizing, mur mur ing encouraging
insincer it ies, emerged int o t he night ; found a _t est udo_ of helmet ed men wit h plast ic shields at
t he r eady moving t owar ds him acr oss t he Fields at a st eady, inexorable t rot ; wit nessed t he
arr ival overhead of giant , locust - swar ming helicopt er s from which light was f alling like heavy
rain; saw t he advance of t he wat er cannons; and, obeying an irr esist ible primal reflex, t ur ned
t ail and ran, not knowing t hat he was going t he wr ong way, running full speed in t he dir ect ion
of t he Shaandaar.
o o o
Television camer as arr ive j ust in t ime for t he r aid on Club Hot Wax.
This is what a t elevision camera sees: less gift ed t han t he human eye, it s night vision is
limit ed t o what klieg light s will show. A helicopt er hovers over t he night club, ur inat ing light in
long golden st r eams; t he camera underst ands t his image. The machine of st at e bearing down
upon it s enemies. - - And now t here' s a camera in t he sky; a news edit or somewher e has
sanct ioned t he cost of aer ial phot ogr aphy, and from anot her helicopt er a news t eam is
_shoot ing down_. No at t empt is made t o chase t his helicopt er away. The noise of r ot or blades
dr owns t he noise of t he crowd. I n t his respect , again, video recor ding equipment is less
sensit ive t han, in t his case, t he human ear.
- - Cut . - - A man lit by a sun- gun speaks r apidly int o a micr ophone. Behind him t her e is a
disor der ment of shadows. But bet ween t he r epor t er and t he disor dered shadow- - lands
t here st ands a wall: men in r iot helmet s, carr ying shields. The repor t er speaks gr avely;
pet rolbombs plast icbullet s policeinj uries wat er - - cannon loot ing, confining himself, of cour se, t o
fact s. But t he camer a sees what he does not say. A camera is a t hing easily br oken or
pur loined; it s fr agilit y makes it fast idious. A camer a r equires law, or der , t he t hin blue line.
Seeking t o preserve it self , it r emains behind t he shielding wall, observing t he shadow- lands
from af ar, and of course fr om above: t hat is, it chooses sides.
- - Cut . - - Sun- guns illuminat e a new face, saggy- j owled, flushed. This face is named: sub- -
t it led words appear across his t unic. _I nspect or St ephen Kinch_. The camera sees him for what
he is: a good man in an impossible j ob. A fat her , a man who likes his pint . He speaks: cannot - -
t oler at e- - no- - go- areas bet t erpr ot ect ion- - requir ed- for - - policemen see- - t he- - plast ic- - riot - -
shields- - cat ching- - fire. He r ef er s t o organized cr ime, polit ical agit at ors, bomb- - fact or ies,
dr ugs. "We under st and some of t hese kids may feel t hey have gr ievances but we will not and
cannot be t he whipping boys of societ y. " Emboldened by t he light s and t he pat ient , silent
lenses, he goes furt her . These kids don' t know how lucky t hey ar e, he suggest s. They should
consult t heir kit h and kin. Afr ica, Asia, t he Caribbean: now t hose ar e places wit h r eal problems.
Those are places wher e people might have grievances wort h r espect ing. Things ar en' t so bad
here, not by a long chalk; no slaught er s here, no t ort ure, no milit ary coups. People should
value what t hey' ve got befor e t hey lose it . Ours always was a peaceful land, he says. Our
indust r ious island race. - - Behind him, t he camer a sees st ret chers, ambulances, pain. - - I t sees
st range humanoid shapes being hauled up f rom t he bowels of t he Club Hot Wax, and
recognizes t he effigies of t he might y. I nspect or Kinch explains. They cook t hem in an oven
down t here, t hey call it fun, I wouldn' t call it t hat myself. - - The camer a observes t he wax
models wit h dist ast e. - - I s t here not somet hing _wit chy_ about t hem, somet hing cannibalist ic,
an unwholesome smell? Have _black art s_ been pr act ised here? - - The camer a sees br oken
windows. I t sees somet hing burning in t he middle dist ance: a car, a shop. I t cannot
underst and, or demonst r at e, what any of t his achieves. These people ar e bur ning t heir own
st reet s.
- - Cut . - - Her e is a br ight ly lit video st or e. Several set s have been lef t on in t he windows;
t he camer a, most delir ious of narcissist s, wat ches TV, creat ing, for an inst ant , an infinit e
recession of t elevision set s, diminishing t o a point . - - Cut . - - Her e is a serious head bat hed in
light : a st udio discussion. The head is t alking about _out laws_. Billy t he Kid, Ned Kelly: t hese
wer e men who st oodfor as well as _against _. Moder n mass- mur der ers, lacking t his her oic
dimension, ar e no more t han sick, damaged beings, ut t er ly blank as personalit ies, t heir crimes
dist inguished by an at t ent ion t o procedur e, t o met hodology - - let ' s say _r it ual_ - - driven,
per haps, by t he nonent it y' s longing t o be not iced, t o r ise out of t he. r uck and become, for a
moment , a st ar. - - Or by a kind of t r ansposed deat hwish: t o kill t he beloved and so dest roy t he
self . - - _Which is t he Gr anny Ripper ?_ a quest ioner asks. _And what about Jack?_ - - The t rue
out law, t he head insist s, is a dark mir ror - image of t he hero. - - _These riot er s, perhaps?_
comes t he challenge. _Ar en' t you in danger of glamor izing, of "legit imizing"?_ - - The head
shakes, lament s t he mat er ialism of moder n yout h. Loot ing video st ores is not what t he head
has been t alking about . - - _But what about t he old- t imer s, t hen? But ch Cassidy, t he James
br ot hers, Capt ain Moonlight , t he Kelly gang. They all robbed - - did t hey not ? - - banks_. - - Cut .
- - Lat er t hat night , t he camera will r et urn t o t his shop- window. The t elevision set s will be
missing.
- - From t he air, t he camera wat ches t he ent r ance t o Club Hot Wax. Now t he police have
finished wit h wax eff igies and are br inging out real human beings. The camer a homes in on t he
arr est ed per sons: a t all albino man; a man in an Ar mani suit , looking like a dar k mir ror - image
of de Niro; a young girl of - - what ? - - four t een, f ift een? - - a sullen young man of t went y or
t hereabout s. No names are t it led; t he camer a does not know t hese f aces. Gradually, however,
t he _fact s_ emerge. The club DJ, Sewsunker Ram, known as "Pinkwalla", and it s propriet or , Mr.
John Maslama, ar e t o be charged wit h r unning a large- scale nar cot ics operat ion - - cr ack, br own
sugar, hashish, cocaine. The man ar rest ed wit h t hem, an employee at Maslama' s nearby
"Fair Winds" music st or e, is t he r egist er ed owner of a van in which an unspecified quant it y of
"hard dr ugs" has been discovered; also number s of "hot " video r ecorders. The young girl' s
name is Anahit a Suf yan; she is under - age, is said t o have been dr inking heavily, and, it is
hint ed, having sex wit h at least one of t he t hree arr est ed men. She is fur t her report ed t o have
a hist or y of t ruancy and associat ion wit h known cr iminal t ypes: a delinquent , clear ly. - - An
illuminat ed j our nalist will offer t he nat ion t hese t it bit s many hours aft er t he event , but t he
news is alr eady r unning wild in t he st reet s: Pinkwalla! - - And t he _Wax_: t hey smashed t he
place up - - _t ot alled_ it ! - - Now it ' s _war _.
This happens, however - - as does a great deal else - - in places which t he camer a cannot
see.
o o o
Gibr eel:
moves as if t hrough a dream, because aft er days of wandering t he cit y wit hout eat ing or
sleeping, wit h t he t rumpet named Azr aeel t ucked safely in a pocket of his gr eat coat , he no
longer r ecognizes t he dist inct ion bet ween t he waking and dr eaming st at es; - - he underst ands
now somet hing of what omnipr esence must be like, because he is moving t hr ough sever al
st or ies at once, t here is a Gibreel who mourns his bet rayal by Alleluia Cone, and a Gibr eel
hovering over t he deat h- bed of a Pr ophet , and a Gibreel wat ching in secr et over t he progress of
a pilgr image t o t he sea, wait ing for t he moment at which he will reveal himself, and a Gibreel
who f eels, more power fully ever y day, t he will of t he adversary, dr awing him ever closer ,
leading him t owards t heir final embrace: t he subt le, deceiving adversary, who has t aken t he
face of his fr iend, of Saladin his t ruest fr iend, in or der t o lull him int o lower ing his guar d. And
t here is a Gibreel who walks down t he st r eet s of London, t r ying t o underst and t he will of God.
I s he t o be t he agent of God' s wr at h?
Or of his love?
I s he vengeance or forgiveness? Should t he fat al t r umpet r emain in his pocket , or should
he t ake it out and blow?
( I ' m giving him no inst ruct ions. I , t oo, am int er est ed in his choices - - in t he r esult of his
wrest ling mat ch. Charact er vs dest iny: a free- st yle bout . Two falls, t wo submissions or a
knockout will decide. )
Wrest ling, t hr ough his many st ories, he pr oceeds.
Ther e are t imes when he aches f or her, Alleluia, her very name an exalt at ion; but t hen he
remember s t he diabolic verses, and t ur ns his t hought s away. The hor n in his pocket demands
t o be blown; but he r est rains himself . Now is not t he t ime. Sear ching for clues - - _what is t o be
done?_ - - he st alks t he cit y st r eet s.
Somewher e he sees a t elevision set t hr ough an evening window. There is a woman' s head
on t he screen, a famous "present er ", being int er viewed by an equally f amous, t winkling I r ish
"host " . - - What would be t he wor st t hing you could imagine? - - Oh, I t hink, I ' m sur e, it would
be, oh, _yes_: t o be alone on Christ mas Eve. You' d really have t o face your self, wouldn' t you,
you' d look int o a harsh mirr or and ask your self, _is t his all t here is?_ - - Gibr eel, alone, not
knowing t he dat e, walks on. I n t he mirr or , t he adver sar y appr oaches at t he same pace as his
own, beckoning, st ret ching out his arms.
The cit y sends him messages. Her e, it says, is wher e t he Dut ch king decided t o live when
he came over t hree cent ur ies ago. I n t hose days t his was out of t own, a village, set in green
English fields. But when t he King arr ived t o set up house, London squar es spr ang up amid t he
fields, r ed- br ick buildings wit h Dut ch cr enellat ions rising against t he sky, so t hat his court iers
might have places in which t o r eside. Not all migrant s are powerless, t he st ill - st anding edifices
whisper . They impose t heir needs on t heir new eart h, br inging t heir own coherence t o t he new-
found land, imagining it afr esh. But look out , t he cit y war ns. I ncoherence, t oo, must have it s
day. Riding in t he parkland in which he' d chosen t o live - - which he' d _civilized_ - - William I I I
was t hr own by his horse, fell hard against t he r ecalcit r ant ground, and broke his r oyal neck.
Some days he finds himself among walking corpses, gr eat cr owds of t he dead, all of t hem
refusing t o admit t hey' re done for , corpses mut inously cont inuing t o behave like living people,
shopping, cat ching buses, f lirt ing, going home t o make love, smoking cigaret t es. _But you' r e
dead_, he shout s at t hem. _Zombies, get int o your gr aves_. They ignor e him, or laugh, or look
embar rassed, or menace him wit h t heir fist s. He falls silent , and hur ries on.
The cit y becomes vague, amor phous. I t is becoming impossible t o describe t he wor ld.
Pilgr image, pr ophet , adver sar y mer ge, fade int o mist s, emer ge. As does she: Allie, Al - - Lat .
_She is t he exalt ed bird. Great ly t o be desired_. He r emembers now: she t old him, long ago,
about Jumpy' s poet r y. _He' s t rying t o make a collect ion. A book_. The t humb- - sucking ar t ist
wit h his inf er nal views. A book is a pr oduct of a pact wit h t he Devil t hat invert s t he Faust ian
cont r act , he' d t old Allie. Dr . Faust us sacrif iced et er nit y in ret ur n for t wo dozen years of power ;
t he wr it er agr ees t o t he ruinat ion of his life, and gains ( but only if he' s lucky) maybe not
et ernit y, but post erit y, at least . Eit her way ( t his was Jumpy' s point ) it ' s t he Devil who wins.
What does a poet writ e? Ver ses. What j ingle- j angles in Gibreel' s br ain? Ver ses. What broke
his hear t ? Ver ses and again ver ses.
The t r umpet , Azraeel, calls out f rom a great coat pocket : _Pick me up! Yesyesyes: t he
Trump. To hell wit h it all, t he whole sorr y mess: j ust puff up your cheeks and root y- t oot - t oot .
Come on, it ' s par t y t ime_.
How hot it is: st eamy, close, int oler able. This is no Pr oper London: not t his improper cit y.
Air st r ip One, Mahagonny, Alphaville. He wanders t hr ough a conf usion of languages. Babel: a
cont r act ion of t he Assyr ian "babilu". " The gat e of God. " Babylondon.
Wher e' s t his?
- - Yes. - - He meander s, one night , behind t he cat hedr als of t he I ndust r ial Revolut ion, t he
railway t er mini of nor t h London. Anonymous King' s Cr oss, t he bat - like menace of t he St
Pancr as t ower, t he r ed- and- black gas- holder s inflat ing and deflat ing like giant ir on lungs.
Wher e once in bat t le Queen Boudicca fell, Gibreel Farisht a wr est les wit h himself .
The Goodsway: - - but O what succulent goods lounge in door ways and under t ungst en
lamps, what delicacies ar e on off er in t hat way! - - Swinging handbags, calling out , silver -
skir t ed, wearing fish- net t ight s: t hese are not only young goods ( average age t hirt een t o
fift een) but also cheap. They have short , ident ical hist ories: all have babies st ashed away
somewhere, all have been t hrown out of t heir homes by ir at e, pur it anical par ent s, none of
t hem ar e whit e. Pimps wit h knives t ake ninet y per cent of t heir ear nings. Goods are only
goods, aft er all, especially when t hey' re t r ash.
- - Gibr eel Far isht a in t he Goodsway is hailed fr om shadows and lamps; and quickens, at
first , his pace. _What ' s t his t o do wit h me? Bloody pussies- galor e_. But t hen he slows and
st ops, hearing somet hing else calling t o him fr om lamps and shadows, some need, some
wor dless plea, hidden j ust under t he t inny voices of t enpound t ar t s. His foot st eps slow
down, t hen halt . He is held by t heir desir es. _For what ?_ They are moving t owards him now,
dr awn t o him like fishes on unseen hooks. As t hey near him t heir walks change, t heir hips lose
t heir swagger, t heir faces st ar t looking t heir age, in spit e of all t he make- - up. When t hey r each
him, t hey kneel. _Who do you say t hat I am?_ he asks, and want s t o add: _I know your
names. I met you once befor e, elsewhere, behind a cur t ain: Twelve of you t hen as now.
Ayesha, Hafsah, Ram lah, Sawdah, Zainab, Zainab, Maimunah, Saf ia, Juwair iyah, Umm
Salamah t he Makhzumit e, Rehana t he Jew, and t he beaut if ul Mary t he Copt _. Silent ly, t hey
remain on t heir knees. Their wishes ar e made known t o him wit hout wor ds. _What is an
archangel but a puppet ? Kat hput li, mar ionet t e. The fait hf ul bend us t o t heir will. We ar e forces
of nat ur e and t hey, our mast er s. Mist r esses, t oo_. The heaviness in his limbs, t he heat , and in
his ears a buzzing like bees on summer aft ernoons. I t would be easy t o faint .
He does not f aint .
He st ands among t he kneeling childr en, wait ing f or t he pimps.
And when t hey come, he at last t akes out , and pr esses t o his lips, his unquiet horn: t he
ext er minat or, Azraeel.
o o o
Af t er t he st r eam of fir e has emer ged fr om t he mout h of his golden t rumpet and consumed
t he appr oaching men, wr apping t hem in a cocoon of f lame, unmaking t hem so complet ely t hat
not even t heir shoes remain sizzling on t he sidewalk, Gibr eel under st ands.
He is walking again, leaving behind him t he grat it ude of t he whores, heading in t he
dir ect ion of t he borough of Brickhall, Azraeel once mor e in his capacious pocket . Things are
becoming clear .
He is t he Ar changel Gibr eel, t he angel of t he Recit at ion, wit h t he power of revelat ion in his
hands. He can r each int o t he breast s of men and women, pick out t he desires of t heir inmost
hear t s, and make t hem r eal. He is t he quencher of desires, t he slaker of lust s, t he fulf iller of
dr eams. He is t he genie of t he lamp, and his mast er is t he Roc.
What desires, what imperat ives are in t he midnight air ? He breat hes t hem in. - - And nods,
so be it , yes. - - Let it be fir e. This is a cit y t hat has cleansed it self in flame, pur ged it self by
bur ning down t o t he gr ound.
Fir e, falling fir e. "This is t he j udgment of God in his wr at h, " Gib- - reel Farisht a proclaims t o
t he r iot ous night , "t hat men be gr ant ed t heir heart ' s desir es, and t hat t hey be by t hem
consumed. "
Low- cost high- rise housing enfolds him. _Nigger eat whit e man' s shit _, suggest t he
unoriginal walls. The buildings have names: "I sandhlwana", "Rorke' s Drift ". But a r evisionist
ent er prise is under way, for t wo of t he four t ower s have been r enamed, and bear , now, t he
names "Mandela" and "Toussaint l" Ouver t ur e" . - - The t owers st and up on st ilt s, and in t he
concret e formlessness beneat h and bet ween t hem t her e is t he howling of a per pet ual wind, and
t he eddying of debr is: der elict kit chen unit s, def lat ed bicycle t yr es, shards of br oken door s,
dolls' legs, veget able refuse ext r act ed fr om plast ic disposal bags by hungr y cat s and dogs,
fast food packet s, r olling cans, shat t ered j ob prospect s, abandoned hopes, lost illusions,
expended anger s, accumulat ed bit t er ness, vomit ed fear , and a rust ing bat h. He st ands
mot ionless while small gr oups of resident s r ush past in dif ferent direct ions. Some ( not all) ar e
car rying weapons. Clubs, bot t les, knives. All of t he groups cont ain whit e youngst ers as well as
black. He r aises his t rumpet t o his lips and begins t o play.
Lit t le buds of flame spr ing up on t he concr et e, f uelled by t he discarded heaps of
possessions and dr eams. Ther e is a lit t le, rot t ing pile of envy: it bur ns greenly in t he night . The
fires are every colour of t he rainbow, and not all of t hem need fuel. He blows t he lit t le fir e-
flower s out of his horn and t hey dance upon t he concr et e, needing neit her combust ible
mat er ials nor r oot s. Her e, a pink one! There, what would be nice?, I know: a silver rose. - - And
now t he buds ar e blossoming int o bushes, t hey ar e climbing like cr eepers up t he sides of t he
t owers, t hey r each out t owar ds t heir neighbours, for ming hedges of mult icolour ed f lame. I t is
like wat ching a luminous gar den, it s gr owt h accelerat ed many t housands of t imes, a gar den
blossoming, flour ishing, becoming overgr own, t angled, becoming impenet r able, a gar den of
dense int er t wined chimer as, r ivalling in it s own incandescent f ashion t he t hor nwood t hat
sprang up ar ound t he palace of t he sleeping beaut y in anot her fairy- t ale, long ago.
But here, t her e is no beaut y, sleeping wit hin. Ther e is Gibreel Farisht a, walking in a wor ld
of fire. I n t he High St reet he sees houses built of f lame, wit h walls of fir e, and flames like
gat hered cur t ains hanging at t he windows. - - And t here ar e men and women wit h fier y skins
st rolling, running, milling ar ound him, dressed in coat s of f ir e. The St r eet has become r ed hot ,
molt en, a r iver t he colour of blood. - - All, all is ablaze as he t oot s his mer r y horn, _giving t he
people what t hey want _, t he hair and t eet h of t he cit izenr y ar e smoking and r ed, glass burns,
and bir ds fly overhead on blazing wings.
The adversary is ver y close. The adver sar y is a magnet , is a whir lpool' s eye, is t he
ir r esist ible cent r e of a black hole, his gravit at ional force cr eat ing an event hor izon fr om which
neit her Gibr eel, nor light , can escape. _This way_, t he adversary calls. _I ' m over here_.
Not a palace, but only a caf . And in t he rooms above, a bed and breakf ast j oint . No
sleeping princess, but a disappoint ed woman, overpowered by smoke, lies unconscious here;
and beside her, on t he floor beside t heir bed, and likewise unconscious, her husband, t he
Mecca- ret ur ned ex- schoolt eacher, Suf yan. - - While, elsewhere in t he burning Shaandaar ,
faceless per sons st and at windows waving pit eously for help, being unable ( no mout hs) t o
scr eam.
The adversary: t here he blows!
Silhouet t ed against t he backdr op of t he ignit ed Shaandaar Caf , see, t hat ' s t he ver y fellow!
Azr aeel leaps unbidden int o Farisht a' s hand.
Even an ar changel may exper ience a revelat ion, and when Gibreel cat ches, for t he most
fleet ing of inst ant s, Saladin Chamcha' s eye, - - t hen in t hat f ract ional and infinit e moment t he
veils ar e ripped away fr om his sight , - - he sees himself walking wit h Chamcha in Brickhall
Fields, lost in a r hapsody, r evealing t he most int imat e secret s of his lovemaking wit h Alleluia
Cone, - - t hose same secr et s which af t er wards wer e whisper ed int o t elephones by a host of evil
voices, - - beneat h all of which Gibr eel now discerns t he unifying t alent of t he adver sar y, who
could be gut t ur al and high, who insult ed and ingrat iat ed, who was bot h insist ent and shy, who
was pr osaic, - - yes! - - and versif ying, t oo. - - And now, at last , Gibr eel Far isht a r ecognizes for
t he fir st t ime t hat t he adver sar y has not simply adopt ed Chamcha' s feat ures as a disguise; - -
nor is t his any case of par anormal possession, of body- snat ching by an invader up fr om Hell;
t hat , in shor t , t he evil is not ext er nal t o Saladin, but spr ings fr om some recess of his own t r ue
nat ure, t hat it has been spreading t hr ough his self hood like a cancer, er asing what was good in
him, wiping out his spirit , - - and doing so wit h many decept ive f eint s and dodges, seeming at
t imes t o r ecede; while, in f act , dur ing t he illusion of remission, under cover of it , so t o speak, it
cont inued perniciously t o spread; - - and now, no doubt , it has f illed him up; now t her e is
not hing left of Saladin but t his, t he dar k f ir e of evil in his soul, consuming him as wholly as
t he ot her fire, mult icolour ed and engulfing, is devour ing t he screaming cit y. Truly t hese ar e
"most hor rid, malicious, bloody flames, not like t he fine flame of an or dinar y f ire".
The fire is an ar ch across t he sky. Saladin Chamcha, t he adver sar y, who is also _Spoono,
my old Chumch_, has disappeared int o t he door way of t he Shaandaar Caf . This is t he maw of
t he black hole; t he horizon closes ar ound it , all ot her possibilit ies f ade, t he universe shr inks t o
t his solit ar y and ir r esist ible point . Blowing a gr eat blast on his t rumpet , Gibreel plunges
t hr ough t he open door.
o o o
The building occupied by t he Brickhall communit y relat ions council was a single- - st or ey
monst er in pur ple brick wit h bullet proof windows, a bunker - like cr eat ion of t he 1960s, when
such lines were consider ed sleek. I t was not an easy building t o ent er; t he door had been fit t ed
wit h an ent ryphone and opened on t o a narr ow alley down one side of t he building which ended
at a second, also secur it y- locked, door . There was also a burglar alar m.
This alar m, it aft er war ds t r anspired, had been swit ched off , pr obably by t he t wo per sons,
one male, one f emale, who had eff ect ed an ent ry wit h t he assist ance of a key. I t was off icially
suggest ed t hat t hese per sons had been bent on an act of sabot age, an "inside j ob", since one
of t hem, t he dead woman, had in f act been an employee of t he organizat ion whose offices
t hese wer e. The reasons for t he cr ime remained obscure, and as t he miscreant s had per ished
in t he blaze, it was unlikely t hat t hey would ever come t o light . An "own goal" r emained,
however, t he most probable explanat ion.
A t ragic affair ; t he dead woman had been heavily pregnant .
I nspect or St ephen Kinch, issuing t he st at ement in which t hese f act s were st at ed, made a
"linkage" bet ween t he f ire at t he Br ickhall CRC and t hat at t he Shaandaar Caf , wher e t he
second dead per son, t he male, had been a semi- - per manent r esident . I t was possible t hat t he
man had been t he real fir ebug and t he woman, who was his mist ress alt hough marr ied t o and
st ill cohabit ing wit h anot her man, had been no more t han his dupe. Polit ical mot ives - - bot h
par t ies wer e well known f or t heir r adical views - - could not be discount ed, t hough such was t he
muddiness of t he wat er in t he f ar - left gr oupuscules t hey fr equent ed t hat it would be har d ever
t o get a clear pict ur e of what such mot ives might have been. I t was also possible t hat t he t wo
crimes, even if commit t ed by t he same man, could have had differ ent mot ivat ions. Possibly t he
man was simply t he hired criminal, bur ning down t he Shaandaar for t he insurance money at
t he behest of t he now- deceased owners, and t orching t he CRC at t he behest of his lover,
per haps on account of some int r a- - off ice vendet t a?
That t he bur ning of t he CRC was an act of ar son was beyond doubt . Quant it ies of pet rol
had been pour ed over desks, papers, curt ains. "Many people do not under st and how quickly a
pet rol f ir e spr eads, " I nspect or Kinch st at ed t o scribbling j ournalist s. The cor pses, which had
been so badly bur ned t hat dent al records had been r equir ed for ident ificat ion purposes, had
been found in t he phot ocopying room. "That ' s all we have. " The end.
I have more.
I have cer t ain quest ions, anyhow. - - About , for inst ance, an unmar ked blue Mer cedes panel
van, which followed Walcot t Rober t s' s pick- up t r uck, and t hen Pamela Chamcha' s MG. - - About
t he men who emer ged f rom t his van, t heir faces behind Hallowe" en masks, and f or ced t heir
way int o t he CRC offices j ust as Pamela unlocked t he out er door. - - About what r eally
happened inside t hose of fices, because purple br ick and bullet proof glass cannot easily be
penet r at ed by t he human eye. - - And about , f inally, t he wher eabout s of a red plast ic
br iefcase, and t he document s it cont ains.
I nspect or Kinch? Ar e you t her e?
No. He' s gone. He has no answers for me.
o o o
Here is Mr . Saladin Chamcha, in t he camel coat wit h t he silk collar , running down t he High
St r eet like some cheap cr ook. - - The same, t err ible Mr. Chamcha who has j ust spent his
evening in t he company of a dist r aught Alleluia Cone, wit hout feeling a f licker of remorse. - - "I
look down t owards his feet , " Ot hello said of I ago, "but t hat ' s a fable. " Nor is Chamcha fabulous
any more; his humanit y is sufficient for m and explanat ion for his deed. He has dest royed what
he is not and cannot be; has t aken r evenge, r et ur ning t r eason f or t r eason; and has done so by
exploit ing his enemy' s weakness, br uising his unprot ect ed heel. - - Ther e is sat isfact ion in t his. -
- St ill, her e is Mr . Chamcha, r unning. The wor ld is full of anger and event . Things hang in t he
balance. A building bur ns.
_Boomba_, pounds his heart . _Doomba, boomba, dadoom_.
Now he sees t he Shaandaar , on fir e; and comes t o a skidding halt . He has a const r ict ed
chest ; - - _badoomba! _ - - and t here' s a pain in his left arm. He doesn' t not ice; is st aring at t he
bur ning building.
And sees Gibr eel Far isht a.
And t ur ns; and runs inside.
"Mishal! Sufyan! Hind! " cr ies evil Mr . Chamcha. The ground f loor is not as yet ablaze. He
flings open t he door t o t he st air s, and a scalding, pest ilent ial wind dr ives him back. _Dragon' s
br eat h_, he t hinks. The landing is on fir e; t he flames reach in sheet s f rom f loor t o ceiling. No
possibilit y of advance.
"Anybody?" scr eams Saladin Chamcha. " I s anybody t here?" But t he dragon roars louder
t han he can shout .
Somet hing invisible kicks him in t he chest , sends him t oppling backwards, on t o t he caf
floor, amid t he empt y t ables. _Doom_, sings his hear t . _Take t his. And t his_.
Ther e is a noise above his head like t he scur r ying of a billion r at s, spect r al rodent s
following a ghost ly piper. He looks up: t he ceiling is on fire. He f inds he cannot st and. As he
wat ches, a sect ion of t he ceiling det aches it self, and he sees t he segment of beam f alling
t owar ds him. He crosses his arms in feeble self - - defence.
The beam pins him t o t he floor , breaking bot h his arms. His chest is full of pain. The wor ld
recedes. Breat hing is hard. He can' t speak. He is t he Man of a Thousand Voices, and t her e isn' t
one lef t .
Gibr eel Far isht a, holding Azraeel, ent er s t he Shaandaar Caf .
o o o
_What happens when you win?_
_When your enemies ar e at your mer cy: how will you act t hen? Compromise is t he
t empt at ion of t he weak; t his is t he t est for t he st r ong_. - - "Spoono, " Gibr eel nods at t he fallen
man. "You r eally fooled me, mist er ; ser iously, you' r e quit e a guy. " - - And Chamcha, seeing
what ' s in Gibreel' s eyes, cannot deny t he knowledge he sees t her e. "Wha, " he begins, and
gives up. _What are you going t o do?_ Fir e is f alling all around t hem now: a sizzle of golden
rain. " Why' d you do it ?" Gibreel asks, t hen dismisses t he quest ion wit h a wave of t he hand.
"Damnfool t hing t o be asking. Might as well inquir e, what possessed you t o rush in here?
Damnfool t hing t o do. People, eh, Spoono? Cr azy bast ards, t hat ' s all. "
Now t her e are pools of fir e all ar ound t hem. Soon t hey will be encircled, marooned in a
t emporar y island amid t his let hal sea. Chamcha is kicked a second t ime in t he chest , and j er ks
violent ly. Facing t hr ee deat hs - - by fir e, by "nat ur al causes", and by Gibreel - - he st r ains
desper at ely, t rying t o speak, but only cr oaks emer ge. "Fa. Gur . Mmm. " _For give me_. "Ha.
Pa. " _Have pit y_. The caf t ables are burning. Mor e beams fall from above. Gibr eel seems t o
have fallen int o a t r ance. He repeat s, vaguely: " Bloody damnf ool t hings. "
I s it possible t hat evil is never t ot al, t hat it s vict or y, no mat t er how over whelming, is never
absolut e?
Consider t his fallen man. He sought wit hout remor se t o shat t er t he mind of a fellow human
being; and exploit ed, t o do so, an ent irely blameless woman, at least par t ly owing t o his own
impossible and voyeur ist ic desir e for her . Yet t his same man has risked deat h, wit h scarcely
any hesit at ion, in a f oolhardy rescue at t empt .
What does t his mean?
The fire has closed ar ound t he t wo men, and smoke is ever ywhere. I t can only be a mat t er
of seconds before t hey ar e over come. There ar e more urgent quest ions t o answer t han t he
_damnf ool_ ones above.
What choice will Far isht a make?
Does he have a choice?
Gibr eel let s fall his t rumpet ; st oops; fr ees Saladin f rom t he prison of t he fallen beam; and
lif t s him in his ar ms. Chamcha, wit h br oken r ibs as well as arms, gr oans feebly, sounding like
t he cr eat ionist Dumsday before he got a new t ongue of choicest r ump. "Ta. La. " _I t ' s t oo lat e_.
A lit t le lick of fir e cat ches at t he hem of his coat . Acrid black smoke fills all available space,
creeping behind his eyes, deaf ening his ear s, clogging his nose and lungs. - - Now, however ,
Gibr eel Far isht a begins soft ly t o exhale, a long, cont inuous exhalat ion of ext r aor dinary
dur at ion, and as his breat h blows t owards t he door it slices t hr ough t he smoke and fir e like a
knif e; - - and Saladin Chamcha, gasping and f aint ing, wit h a mule inside his chest , seems t o see
- - but will ever aft erwards be unsur e if it was t r uly so - - t he fir e part ing befor e t hem like t he
red sea it has become, and t he smoke dividing also, like a curt ain or a veil; unt il t here lies
befor e t hem a clear pat hway t o t he door ; - - wher eupon Gibr eel Far isht a st eps quickly for war d,
bear ing Saladin along t he pat h of f or giveness int o t he hot night air ; so t hat on a night when t he
cit y is at war , a night heavy wit h enmit y and rage, t here is t his small redeeming vict or y f or
love.
o o o
Conclusions.
Mishal Sufyan is out side t he Shaandaar when t hey emer ge, weeping f or her par ent s, being
comfor t ed by Hanif. - - I t is Gibr eel' s t urn t o collapse; st ill carr ying Saladin, he passes out at
Mishal' s feet .
Now Mishal and Hanif ar e in an ambulance wit h t he t wo unconscious men, and while
Chamcha has an oxygen mask over his nose and mout h Gibr eel, suffering not hing worse t han
exhaust ion, is t alking in his sleep: a delir ious babble about a magic t r umpet and t he fire t hat
he blew, like music, fr om it s mout h. - - And Mishal, who r emember s Chamcha as a devil, and
has come t o accept t he possibilit y of many t hings, wonder s: " Do you t hink - - ?" - - But Hanif is
definit e, fir m. " Not a chance. This is Gibreel Farisht a, t he act or , don' t you r ecognize? Poor guy' s
j ust playing out some movie scene. " Mishal won' t let it go. "But , Hanif, " - - and he becomes
emphat ic. Speaking gent ly, because she has j ust been or phaned, aft er all, he absolut ely insist s.
"What has happened her e in Brickhall t onight is a socio- - polit ical phenomenon. Let ' s not fall
int o t he t r ap of some damn myst icism. We' re t alking about hist or y: an event in t he hist ory of
Brit ain. About t he pr ocess of change. "
At once Gibreel' s voice changes, and his subj ect - - mat t er also. He ment ions _pilgrims_, and
a _dead baby_, and _like in "The Ten Commandment s" _, and a _decaying mansion_, and a
_t r ee_; because in t he aft ermat h of t he purif ying fir e he is dreaming, f or t he ver y last t ime,
one of his ser ial dr eams; - - and Hanif says: "List en, Mishu, darling. Just make- believe, t hat ' s
all. " He put s his ar m ar ound her, kisses her cheek, holding her f ast . _St ay wit h me. The wor ld
is r eal. We have t o live in it ; we have t o live her e, t o live on_.
Just t hen Gibr eel Far isht a, st ill asleep, shout s at t he t op of his voice.
"Mishal! Come back! Not hing' s happening! Mishal, for pit y' s sake; t urn ar ound, come back,
come back. "
VI I I
The
Part ing of t he Arabian Sea
I t had been t he habit of Sr inivas t he t oy mer chant t o t hr eat en his wif e and childr en, fr om
t ime t o t ime, t hat one day, when t he mat erial wor ld had lost it s savour, he would dr op
ever yt hing, including his name, and t ur n sanyasi, wander ing from village t o village wit h a
begging bowl and a st ick. Mrs. Sr inivas t reat ed t hese t hreat s t olerant ly, knowing t hat her
gelat inous and good- humour ed husband liked t o be t hought of as a devout man, but also a bit
of an advent ur er ( had he not insist ed on t hat absurd and scarifying f light int o t he Grand
Canyon in Amr ika years ago?) ; t he idea of becoming a mendicant holy man sat isfied bot h
needs. Yet , when she saw his ample post er ior so comfort ably ensconced in an ar mchair on t heir
front por ch, looking out at t he world t hr ough st out wire net t ing, - - or when she wat ched him
playing wit h t heir youngest daught er , fiveyear - old Minoo, - - or when she observed t hat his
appet it e, far fr om diminishing t o begging- bowl pr opor t ions, was increasing cont ent edly wit h t he
passing year s - - t hen Mr s. Srinivas pucker ed up her lips, adopt ed t he insouciant expression of a
film beaut y ( t hough she was as plump and wobbling as her spouse) and went whist ling indoor s.
As a result , when she found his chair empt y, wit h his glass of lime- j uice unfinished on one of it s
arms, it t ook her complet ely by sur pr ise.
To t ell t he t rut h, Sr inivas himself could never proper ly explain what made him leave t he
comfor t of his mor ning por ch and st r oll acr oss t o wat ch t he ar rival of t he villager s of Tit lipur .
The ur chin boys who knew ever yt hing an hour befor e it happened had been shout ing in t he
st reet about an impr obable pr ocession of people coming wit h bags and baggage down t he
pot at o t r ack t owards t he grand t r unk road, led by a girl wit h silver hair , wit h gr eat
exclamat ions of but t er flies over t heir heads, and, br inging up t he rear, Mir za Saeed Akht ar in
his olive- - gr een Mer cedes- - Benz st at ion wagon, looking like a mango- st one had got st uck in his
t hr oat .
For all it s pot at o silos and famous t oy fact ories, Chat napat na was not such a big place t hat
t he ar rival of one hundr ed and fift y per sons could pass unnot iced. Just bef or e t he pr ocession
arr ived Srinivas had r eceived a deput at ion f rom his f act ory worker s, asking f or permission t o
close down operat ions for a couple of hours so t hat t hey could wit ness t he gr eat event .
Knowing t hey would pr obably t ake t he t ime off anyway, he agreed. But he himself r emained,
for a t ime, st ubbor nly plant ed on his porch, t rying t o pr et end. t hat t he but t erf lies of excit ement
had not begun t o st ir in his capacious st omach. Lat er, he would confide t o Mishal Akht ar : "I t
was a present iment . What t o say? I knew you- all were not here f or r ef reshment s only. She had
come for me. "
Tit lipur arr ived in Chat napat na in a const ernat ion of howling babies, shout ing childr en,
creaking oldst ers, and sour j okes fr om t he Osman of t he boom- boom bullock for whom Srinivas
did not car e one j ot . Then t he ur chins informed t he t oy king t hat among t he t ravellers wer e t he
wife and mot her - - in- - law of t he zamindar Mir za Saeed, and t hey were on foot like t he
peasant s, wear ing simple kurt a- - paj amas and no j ewels at all. This was t he point at which
Sr inivas lumber ed over t o t he r oadside cant een around which t he Tit lipur pilgrims were
crowding while pot at o bhur t a and par at has wer e handed round. He arr ived at t he same t ime as
t he Chat napat na police j eep. The I nspect or was st anding on t he passenger seat , shout ing
t hr ough a megaphone t hat he int ended t o t ake st r ong act ion against t his "communal" mar ch if
it was not disbanded at once. Hindu- - Muslim business, Srinivas t hought ; bad, bad.
The police wer e t r eat ing t he pilgrimage as some kind of sect arian demonst r at ion, but when
Mirza Saeed Akht ar st epped f or war d and t old t he I nspect or t he t r ut h t he of ficer became
conf used. Sri Srinivas, a Brahmin, was obviously not a man who had ever consider ed making a
pilgr image t o Mecca, but he was impr essed nevert heless. He pushed up t hr ough t he cr owd t o
hear what t he zamindar was saying: " And it is t he purpose of t hese good people t o walk t o t he
Ar abian Sea, believing as t hey do t hat t he wat er s will part f or t hem. " Mir za Saeed' s voice
sounded weak, and t he I nspect or, Chat napat na' s St at ion Head Officer , was unconvinced. " Are
you serious, j i?" Mir za Saeed said: "Not me. They, but , ar e ser ious as hell. I ' m planning t o
change t heir minds bef or e anyt hing crazy happens. " The SHO, all st r aps, moust achioes and
self - impor t ance, shook his head. "But , see her e, sir , how can I permit so many individuals t o
congr egat e on t he st reet ? Tempers can be inflamed; incident is possible. " Just t hen t he cr owd
of pilgr ims part ed and Srinivas saw for t he f ir st t ime t he fant ast ic figure of t he girl dr essed
ent irely in but t er flies, wit h snowy hair flowing down as far as her ankles. "Ar r deo, " he
shout ed, "Ayesha, is it you?" And added, f oolishly: " Then where ar e my Family Planning dolls?"
His out burst was ignored; everybody was wat ching Ayesha as she appr oached t he puff -
chest ed SHO. She said not hing, but smiled and nodded, and t he fellow seemed t o grow t went y
years younger, unt il in t he manner of a boy of t en or eleven he said, "Okay okay, mausi. Sorr y,
ma. No off ence. I beg your par don, please. " That was t he end of t he police t r ouble. Lat er t hat
day, in t he aft ernoon heat , a gr oup of t own yout hs known t o have RSS and Vishwa Hindu
Parishad connect ions began t hr owing st ones f rom nearby rooft ops; wher eupon t he St at ion
Head Officer had t hem arr est ed and in j ail in t wo minut es flat .
"Ayesha, daught er , " Srinivas said aloud t o t he empt y air, "what t he hell happened t o you?"
Dur ing t he heat of t he day t he pilgrims rest ed in what ever shade t hey could f ind. Srinivas
wander ed among t hem in a kind of daze, filled up wit h emot ion, r ealizing t hat a gr eat t ur ning- -
point in his life had unaccount ably ar rived. His eyes kept sear ching out t he t ransfor med figure
of Ayesha t he seer , who was r est ing in t he shade of a pipal- t r ee in t he company of Mishal
Akht ar , her mot her Mrs. Qureishi, and t he lovesick Osman wit h his bullock. Event ually
Sr inivas bumped int o t he zamindar Mirza Saeed, who was st r et ched out on t he back seat of his
Mer cedes- - Benz, unsleeping, a man in t orment . Sr inivas spoke t o him wit h a humbleness born
of his wonder ment . "Set hj i, you don' t believe in t he girl?"
"Srinivas, " Mirza Saeed sat up t o r eply, " we are modern men. We know, for inst ance, t hat
old people die on long j ourneys, t hat God does not cur e cancer, and t hat oceans do not par t .
We have t o st op t his idiocy. Come wit h me. Plent y of room in t he car . Maybe you can help t o
t alk t hem out of it ; t hat Ayesha, she' s grat eful t o you, per haps she' ll list en. "
"To come in t he car ?" Srinivas felt helpless, as t hough might y hands were gr ipping his
limbs. " Ther e is my business, but . "
"This is a suicide mission for many of our people, " Mir za Saeed ur ged him. "I need help.
Nat urally I could pay. "
"Money is no obj ect , " Srinivas r et r eat ed, af fr ont ed. "Excuse, please, Set hj i. I must
consider . "
"Don' t you see?" Mirza Saeed shout ed af t er him. "We are not communal people, you and I .
Hindu- - Muslim bhaibhai! We can open up a secular fr ont against t his mumbo- j umbo. "
Sr inivas t ur ned back. "But I am not an unbeliever, " he pr ot est ed. "The pict ur e of goddess
Lakshmi is always on my wall. "
"Wealt h is an excellent goddess for a businessman, " Mir za Saeed said.
"And in my heart , " Sr inivas added. Mirza Saeed lost his t emper . "But goddesses, I swear .
Even your own philosophers admit t hat t hese are abst ract concept s only. Embodiment s of
shakt i which is it self an abst ract not ion: t he dynamic power of t he gods. "
The t oy mer chant was looking down at Ayesha as she slept under her quilt of but t erflies. "I
am no philosopher, Set hj i, " he said. And did not say t hat his heart had leapt int o his mout h
because he had r ealized t hat t he sleeping girl and t he goddess in t he calendar on his f act or y
wall had t he ident ical, same- t o- same, f ace.
o o o
When t he pilgr image left t own, Srinivas accompanied it , t ur ning a deaf ear t o t he ent r eat ies
of his wild- hair ed wife who picked up Minoo and shook her in her husband' s face. He explained
t o Ayesha t hat while he did not wish t o visit Mecca he had been seized by a longing t o walk
wit h her a while, perhaps even as far as t he sea.
As he t ook his place among t he Tit lipur villager s and fell int o st ep wit h t he man next t o
him, he obser ved wit h a mixt ur e of incompr ehension and awe t hat inf init e but t er fly swar m over
t heir heads, like a gigant ic umbr ella shading t he pilgrims fr om t he sun. I t was as if t he
but t erflies of Tit lipur had t aken over t he funct ions of t he great t ree. Next he gave a lit t le cry of
fear, ast onishment and pleasure, because a few dozen of t hose chameleon- winged creat ur es
had set t led on his shoulder s and t urned, upon t he inst ant , t he exact shade of scarlet of his
shirt . Now he recognized t he man at his side as t he Sar panch, Muhammad Din, who had
chosen not t o walk at t he fr ont . He and his wife Khadij a st rode cont ent edly forwar d in spit e of
t heir advanced year s, and when he saw t he lepidopt eral blessing t hat had descended on t he
t oy mer chant , Muhammad Din reached out and gr asped him by t he hand.
o o o
I t was becoming clear t hat t he r ains would fail. Lines of bony cat t le migr at ed acr oss t he
landscape, sear ching for a dr ink. _Love is Wat er _, someone had wr it t en in whit ewash on t he
br ick wall of a scoot er fact or y. On t he r oad t hey met ot her families heading sout h wit h t heir
lives bundled up on t he backs of dying donkeys, and t hese, t oo, wer e heading hopefully
t owar ds wat er . " But not bloody salt wat er , " Mirza Saeed shout ed at t he Tit lipur pilgrims. " And
not t o see it divide it self in t wo! They want t o st ay alive, but you cr azies want t o die. " Vult ures
herded t oget her by t he r oadside and wat ched t he pilgr ims pass.
Mirza Saeed spent t he f irst weeks of t he pilgrimage t o t he Ar abian Sea in a st at e of
per manent , hyst er ical agit at ion. Most of t he walking was done in t he mornings and lat e
aft er noons, and at t hese t imes Saeed would of t en leap out of his st at ion wagon t o plead wit h
his dying wife. "Come t o your senses, Mishu. You' r e a sick woman. Come and lie down at least ,
let me pr ess your feet a while. " But she refused, and her mot her shooed him away. "See,
Saeed, you' r e in such a negat ive mood, it get s depressing. Go and dr ink your Coke- shoke in
your AC vehicle and leave us yat r is in peace. " Aft er t he fir st week t he Air Condit ioned vehicle
lost it s driver . Mirza Saeed' s chauffeur resigned and j oined t he foot - pilgr ims; t he zamindar was
obliged t o get behind t he wheel himself. Aft er t hat , when his anxiet y over came him, it was
necessary t o st op t he car, par k, and t hen rush madly back and f or t h among t he pilgr ims,
t hr eat ening, ent r eat ing, offer ing br ibes. At least once a day he cur sed Ayesha t o her face f or
ruining his lif e, but he could never keep up t he abuse because every t ime he looked at her he
desir ed her so much t hat he felt ashamed. The cancer had begun t o t urn Mishal' s skin gr ey,
and Mrs. Qureishi, t oo, was beginning t o fray at t he edges; her societ y chappals had
disint egrat ed and she was suf fering fr om fr ight f ul f oot - blist er s t hat looked like lit t le wat er - -
balloons. When Saeed off er ed her t he comfort of t he car, however, she cont inued t o refuse
point - blank. The spell t hat Ayesha had placed upon t he pilgr ims was st ill holding firm. - - And at
t he end of t hese sor t ies int o t he hear t of t he pilgrimage Mir za Saeed, sweat ing and giddy fr om
t he heat and his growing despair , would realize t hat t he mar chers had lef t his car some way
behind, and he would have t o t ot t er back t o it by himself, sunk in gloom. One day he got back
t o t he st at ion wagon t o find t hat an empt y coconut - shell t hr own f rom t he window of a passing
bus had smashed his laminat ed windscr een, which looked, now, like a spider ' s web f ull of
diamond flies. He had t o knock all t he pieces out , and t he glass diamonds seemed t o be
mocking him as t hey f ell on t o t he r oad and int o t he car , t hey seemed t o speak of t he
t r ansience and wort hlessness of eart hly possessions, but a secular man lives in t he world of
t hings and Mirza Saeed did not int end t o be broken as easily as a windscr een. At night he
would go t o lie beside his wife on a bedr oll under t he st ar s by t he side of t he grand t r unk road.
When he t old her about t he accident she offer ed him cold comfort . "I t ' s a sign, " she said.
"Abandon t he st at ion wagon and j oin t he rest of us at last . "
"Abandon a Mer cedes- Benz?" Saeed yelped in genuine hor ror.
"So what ?" Mishal r eplied in her gr ey, exhaust ed voice. " You keep t alking about ruinat ion.
Then what dif ference is a Mercedes going t o make?"
"You don' t under st and, " Saeed wept . "Nobody under st ands me. "
Gibr eel dr eamed a dr ought :
The land br owned under t he rainless skies. The cor pses of buses and ancient monument s
rot t ing in t he fields beside t he crops. Mir za Saced saw, t hr ough his shat t ered windscreen, t he
onset of calamit y: t he wild donkeys fucking wearily and dropping dead, while st ill conj oined, in
t he middle of t he r oad, t he t rees st anding on root s exposed by soil er osion and looking like
huge wooden claws scr abbling f or wat er in t he eart h, t he dest it ut e f armers being obliged t o
wor k f or t he st at e as manual labourer s, digging a r eservoir by t he t runk road, an empt y
cont ainer f or t he rain t hat wouldn' t f all. Wret ched roadside lives: a woman wit h a bundle
heading for a t ent of st ick and rag, a gir l condemned t o scour, each day, t his pot , t his pan, in
her pat ch of f ilt hy dust . "Ar e such lives r eally wor t h as much as our s?" Mir za Saeed Akht ar
asked himself. "As much as mine? As Mishal"s? How lit t le t hey have experienced, how lit t le
t hey have on which t o feed t he soul. " A man in a dhot i and loose yellow pugri st ood like a bird
on t op of a milest one, per ched t her e wit h one foot on t he opposit e knee, one hand under t he
opposit e elbow, smoking a bin. As Mir za Saeed Akht ar passed him he spat , and caught t he
zamindar full in t he f ace.
The pilgr image advanced slowly, t hree hours' walking in t he mor nings, t hr ee mor e aft er t he
heat , walking at t he pace of t he slowest pilgrim, subj ect t o infinit e delays, t he sickness of
childr en, t he har assment of t he aut hor it ies, a wheel coming of f one of t he bullock cart s; t wo
miles a day at best , one hundred and f if t y miles t o t he sea, a j ourney of approximat ely eleven
weeks. The f irst deat h happened on t he eight eent h day. Khadij a, t he t act less old lady who had
been for half a cent ury t he cont ent ed and cont ent ing spouse of Sar panch Muhammad Din, saw
an archangel in a dr eam. "Gibreel, " she whisper ed, " is it you?"
"No, " t he appar it ion replied. "I t ' s I , Azraeel, t he one wit h t he lousy j ob. Excuse t he
disappoint ment . "
The next mor ning she cont inued wit h t he pilgr image, saying not hing t o her husband about
her vision. Aft er t wo hours t hey near ed t he r uin of one of t he Mughal milepost inns t hat had, in
t imes long gone, been built at five- - mile int er vals along t he highway. When Khadij a saw t he
ruin she knew not hing of it s past , of t he wayfar er s robbed in t heir sleep and so on, but she
underst ood it s pr esent well enough. " I have t o go in t here and lie down, " she said t o t he
Sarpanch, who pr ot est ed: "But , t he mar ch! " " Never mind t hat , " she said gent ly. "You can cat ch
t hem up lat er. "
She lay down in t he r ubble of t he old r uin wit h her head on a smoot h st one which t he
Sarpanch f ound for her . The old man wept , but t hat didn' t do any good, and she was dead
wit hin a minut e. He ran back t o t he march and conf ront ed Ayesha angrily. "I should never have
list ened t o you, " he t old her. "And now you have killed my wife. "
The march st opped. Mirza Saeed Akht ar , spot t ing an opport unit y, insist ed loudly t hat
Khadij a be t aken t o a proper Muslim burial gr ound. But Ayesha obj ect ed. "We are order ed by
t he ar changel t o go direct ly t o t he sea, wit hout ret urns or det ours. " Mirza Saeed appealed t o
t he pilgrims. " She is your Sar panch' s beloved wif e, " he shout ed. " Will you dump her in a hole
by t he side of t he road?"
When t he Tit lipur villagers agr eed t hat Khadij a should be buried at once, Saeed could not
believe his ears. He r ealized t hat t heir det erminat ion was even gr eat er t han he had suspect ed:
even t he ber eaved Sarpanch acquiesced. Khadij a was bur ied in t he cor ner of a barr en f ield
behind t he r uined way- st at ion of t he past .
The next day, however, Mirza Saeed not iced t hat t he Sarpanch had come unst uck f rom t he
pilgr image, and was mooching along disconsolat ely, a lit t le dist ance apar t fr om t he r est ,
sniffing t he bougainvillaea bushes. Saeed j umped out of t he Mercedes and rushed off t o
Ayesha, t o make anot her scene. " You monst er! " he shout ed. "Monst er wit hout a heart ! Why did
you br ing t he old woman her e t o die?" She ignored him, but on his way back t o t he st at ion
wagon t he Sarpanch came over and said: "We were poor people. We knew we could never
hope t o go t o Mecca Sharif , unt il she per suaded. She per suaded, and now see t he out come of
her deeds. "
Ayesha t he kahin asked t o speak t o t he Sar panch, but gave him not a single word of
consolat ion. "Harden your f ait h, " she scolded him. "She who dies on t he great pilgrimage is
assur ed of a home in Paradise. Your wif e is sit t ing now among t he angels and t he flower s; what
is t her e for you t o r egr et ?"
That evening t he Sarpanch Muhammad Din approached Mir za Saeed as he sat by a small
campfir e. "Excuse, Set hj i, " he said, " but is it possible t hat I r ide, as you once off er ed, in your
mot or - - car ?"
Unwilling wholly t o abandon t he pr oj ect f or which his wife had died, unable t o maint ain any
longer t he absolut e belief which t he ent er pr ise required, Muhammad Din ent ered t he st at ion
wagon of scept icism. "My f ir st conver t , " Mirza Saeed r ej oiced.
o o o
By t he four t h week t he defect ion of Sar panch Muhammad Din had begun t o have it s ef fect .
He sat on t he back seat of t he Mercedes as if he were t he zamindar and Mir za Saeed t he
chauf feur , and lit t le by lit t le t he leat her upholst ery and t he aircondit ioning unit and t he whisky-
soda cabinet and t he elect rically oper at ed mirr or - glass windows began t o t each him haut eur ;
his nose t ilt ed int o t he air and he acquir ed t he super cilious expression of a man who can see
wit hout being seen. Mir za Saeed in t he dr iver ' s seat f elt his eyes and nose filling up wit h t he
dust t hat came in t hrough t he hole where t he windscr een used t o be, but in spit e of such
discomfort s he was feeling bet t er t han before. Now, at t he end of each day, a clust er of
pilgr ims would congregat e around t he Mer cedes- Benz wit h it s gleaming st ar , and Mirza Saeed
would t r y and t alk sense int o t hem while t hey wat ched Sarpanch Muhammad Din raise and
lower t he mir rorglass r ear windows, so t hat t hey saw, alt er nat ely, his feat ures and t heir own.
The Sarpanch' s pr esence in t he Mercedes lent new aut hor it y t o Mirza Saeed' s words.
Ayesha didn' t t ry t o call t he villager s away, and so f ar her confidence had been j ust if ied;
t here had been no fur t her def ect ions t o t he camp of t he f ait hless. But Saeed saw her cast ing
numerous glances in his direct ion and whet her she was a visionar y or not Mir za Saeed would
have bet good money t hat t hose were t he bad- t empered glances of a young gir l who was no
longer sur e of get t ing her own way.
Then she disappear ed.
She went off dur ing an aft er noon siest a and did not r eappear for a day and a half, by which
t ime t here was pandemonium among t he pilgrims - - she always knew how t o whip up an
audience' s feelings, Saeed conceded; t hen she saunt ered back up t o t hem acr oss t he dust - -
clouded landscape, and t his t ime her silver hair was st reaked wit h gold, and her eyebr ows, t oo,
wer e golden. She summoned t he villagers t o her and t old t hem t hat t he ar changel was
displeased t hat t he people of Tit lipur had been filled up wit h doubt s j ust because of t he ascent
of a mar t yr t o Paradise. She warned t hat he was seriously t hinking of wit hdrawing his off er t o
par t t he wat ers, "so t hat all you' ll get at t he Ar abian Sea is a salt - - wat er bat h, and t hen it ' s
back t o your deser t ed pot at o fields on which no rain will ever fall again. " The villagers were
appalled. " No, it can' t be, " t hey pleaded. "Bibij i, f or give us. " I t was t he first t ime t hey had used
t he name of t he longago saint t o descr ibe t he girl who was leading t hem wit h an absolut ism
t hat had begun t o f right en t hem as much as it impressed. Aft er her speech t he Sarpanch and
Mirza Saeed were left alone in t he st at ion wagon. "Second round t o t he archangel, " Mirza
Saeed t hought .
o o o
By t he fift h week t he healt h of most of t he older pilgrims had det er ior at ed sharply, food
supplies were r unning low, wat er was har d t o find, and t he children' s t ear duct s were dr y. The
vult ur e her ds wer e never far away.
As t he pilgr ims left behind t he r ural ar eas and came t owards more densely populat ed
zones, t he level of harassment increased. The long- - dist ance buses and t r ucks of t en r efused t o
deviat e and t he pedest r ians had t o leap, screaming and t umbling over each ot her, out of t heir
way. Cyclist s, families of six on Raj doot mot or - - scoot er s, pet t y shop- - keepers hur led abuse.
"Cr azies! Hicks! Muslims! " Oft en t hey were obliged t o keep marching f or an ent ir e night
because t he aut hor it ies in t his or t hat small t own didn' t want such r iff - raff sleeping on t heir
pavement s. More deat hs became inevit able.
Then t he bullock of t he conver t , Osman, fell t o it s knees amid t he bicycles and camel- dung
of a nameless lit t le t own. "Get up, idiot , " he yelled at it impot ent ly. "What do you t hink you' re
doing, dying on me in fr ont of t he fr uit - - st alls of st rangers?" The bullock nodded, t wice for yes,
and expir ed.
But t erf lies covered t he corpse, adopt ing t he colour of it s gr ey hide, it s horn- cones and
bells. The inconsolable Osman r an t o Ayesha ( who had put on a dir t y sari as a concession t o
ur ban prudery, even t hough but t erf ly clouds st ill t r ailed of f her like glory) . " Do bullocks go t o
Heaven?" he asked in a pit eous voice; she shr ugged. " Bullocks have no souls, " she said coolly,
"and it is souls we mar ch t o save. " Osman looked at her and r ealized he no longer loved her.
"You' ve become a demon, " he t old her in disgust .
"I am not hing, " Ayesha said. " I am a messenger . "
"Then t ell me why your God is so anxious t o dest r oy t he innocent , " Osman r aged. "What ' s
he af raid of? I s he so unconfident t hat he needs us t o die t o pr ove our love?"
As t hough in r esponse t o such blasphemy, Ayesha imposed even st rict er disciplinary
measur es, insist ing t hat all pilgr ims say all five pr ayers, and decreeing t hat Fr idays would be
days of fast ing. By t he end of t he sixt h week she had forced t he mar chers t o leave four more
bodies where t hey f ell: t wo old men, one old woman, and one six- year- old gir l. The pilgrims
marched on, t urning t heir backs on t he dead; behind t hem, however, Mirza Saeed Akht ar
gat hered up t he bodies and made sure t hey r eceived a decent bur ial. I n t his he was assist ed by
t he Sar panch, Muhammad Din, and t he f or mer unt ouchable, Osman. On such days t hey would
fall quit e a way behind t he mar ch, but a Mercedes- Benz st at ion wagon doesn' t t ake long t o
cat ch up wit h over a hundr ed and fort y men, women and childr en walking wearily t owar ds t he
sea.
o o o
The dead gr ew in number , and t he groups of unset t led pilgr ims ar ound t he Mercedes got
lar ger night by night . Mir za Saeed began t o t ell t hem st or ies. He t old t hem about lemmings,
and how t he enchant r ess Circe t ur ned men int o pigs; he t old, t oo, t he st or y of a pipe- player
who lur ed a t own' s childr en int o a mount ain- crack. When he had t old t his t ale in t heir own
language he r ecit ed verses in English, so t hat t hey could list en t o t he music of t he poet r y even
t hough t hey didn' t under st and t he wor ds. "Hamelin t own' s in Br unswick, " he began. "Near
famous Hanover Cit y. The River Weser, deep and wide, washes it s walls on t he sout hern side .
. . "
Now he had t he sat isfact ion of seeing t he gir l Ayesha advance, looking f ur ious, while t he
but t erflies glowed like t he campfir e behind her , making it appear as t hough flames were
st reaming fr om her body.
"Those who list en t o t he Devil' s verses, spoken in t he Devil' s t ongue, " she cried, "will go t o
t he Devil in t he end. "
"I t ' s a choice, t hen, " Mir za Saeed answered her, "bet ween t he devil and t he deep blue sea. "
o o o
Eight weeks had passed, and relat ions bet ween Mirza Saeed and his wif e Mishal had so
det eriorat ed t hat t hey were no longer on speaking t erms. By now, and in spit e of t he cancer
t hat had t urned her as gr ey as funer al ash, Mishal had become Ayesha' s chief lieut enant and
most devot ed disciple. The doubt s of ot her mar chers had only st r engt hened her own fait h, and
for t hese doubt s she unequivocally blamed her husband.
"Also, " she had rebuked him in t heir last conversat ion, "t her e is no war mt h in you any
mor e. I f eel af raid t o approach. "
"No war mt h?" he yelled. "How can you say it ? No warmt h? For whom did I come r unning
on t his damnfool pilgr image? To look af t er whom? Because I love whom? Because I am so
wor ried about , so sad about , so filled wit h miser y about whom? No war mt h? Ar e you a
st ranger? How can you say such a t hing?"
"List en t o your self, " she said in a voice which had begun t o fade int o a kind of smokiness,
an opacit y. " Always anger . Cold anger, icy, like a f or t . "
"This isn' t anger , " he bellowed. "This is anxiet y, unhappiness, wr et chedness, inj ury, pain.
Wher e can you hear anger ?"
"I hear it , " she said. "Ever yone can hear , f or miles ar ound. "
"Come wit h me, " he begged her. "I ' ll t ake you t o t he t op clinics in Eur ope, Canada, t he
USA. Tr ust in West er n t echnology. They can do mar vels. You always liked gadget s, t oo. "
"I am going on a pilgrimage t o Mecca, " she said, and t ur ned away.
"You damn . st upid bit ch, " he roared at her back. "Just because you' re going t o die doesn' t
mean you have t o t ake all t hese people wit h you. " But she walked away acr oss t he r oadside
camp- - sit e, never looking back; and now t hat he' d proved her point by losing cont rol and
speaking t he unspeakable he fell t o his knees and wept . Aft er t hat quar rel Mishal refused t o
sleep beside him any mor e. She and her mot her rolled out t heir bedding next t o t he but t er fly-
shrouded pr ophet ess of t heir Meccan quest .
By day, Mishal worked ceaselessly among t he pilgr ims, reassuring t hem, bolst er ing t heir
fait h, gat her ing t hem t oget her beneat h t he wing of her gent leness. Ayesha had st art ed
ret reat ing deeper and deeper int o silence, and Mishal Akht ar became, t o all int ent s and
pur poses, t he leader of t he pilgr ims. But t her e was one pilgrim over whom she lost her gr ip:
Mrs. Qureishi, her mot her, t he wif e of t he dir ect or of t he st at e bank.
The arr ival of Mr. Qur eishi, Mishal' s f at her, was quit e an event . The pilgr ims had st opped in
t he shade of a line of plane- t r ees and were busy gat her ing brushwood and scouring cookpot s
when t he mot orcade was sight ed. At once Mrs. Qureishi, who was t went y- five pounds light er
t han she had been at t he beginning of t he walk, leaped squeakily t o her feet and t r ied
frant ically t o br ush t he dirt off her clot hes and t o put her hair in order. Mishal saw her mot her
fumbling f eebly wit h a molt en lipst ick and asked, "What ' s bugging you, ma? Relax, na. "
Her mot her point ed f eebly at t he appr oaching cars. Moment s lat er t he t all, sever e figure of
t he gr eat banker was st anding over t hem. "I f I had not seen it I would not have believed, " he
said. " They t old me, but I pooh- poohed. Ther ef or e it t ook me t his long t o find out . To vanish
from Per ist an wit hout a wor d: now what in t arnat ion?"
Mrs. Qureishi shook helplessly under her husband' s eyes, beginfling t o cr y, feeling t he
calluses on her feet and t he f at igue t hat had sunk int o every por e of her body. "O God, I don' t
know, I am sorr y, " she said. "God knows what came over. "
"Don' t you know I occupy a delicat e post ?" Mr . Qureishi cr ied. "Public confidence is of
essence. How does it look t hen t hat my wif e gallivant s wit h bhangis?"
Mishal, embr acing her mot her , t old her fat her t o st op bullying. Mr . Akht ar saw f or t he first
t ime t hat his daught er had t he mark of deat h on her for ehead and deflat ed inst ant ly like an
inner t ube. Mishal t old him about t he cancer, and t he pr omise of t he seer Ayesha t hat a miracle
would occur in Mecca, and she would be complet ely cur ed.
"Then let me f ly you t o Mecca, pr ont o, " her fat her pleaded. "Why walk if you can go by
Air bus?"
But Mishal was adamant . " You should go away, " she t old her f at her . " Only t he fait hful can
make t his t hing come about . Mummy will look aft er me. "
Mr. Qur eishi in his limousine helplessly j oined Mir za Saeed at t he r ear of t he pr ocession,
const ant ly sending one of t he t wo ser vant s who had accompanied him on mot or - scoot er s t o
ask Mishal if she would like f ood, medicine, Thums Up, anyt hing at all. Mishal t urned down all
his of fers, and af t er t hree days - - because banking is banking - - Mr . Qureishi depart ed for t he
cit y, leaving behind one of t he mot or - - scoot er chapr assis t o ser ve t he women. "He is your s t o
command, " he t old t hem. " Don' t be st upid now. Make t his as easy as you can. "
The day af t er Mr . Qureishi' s depar t ure, t he chapr assi Gul Muhammad dit ched his scoot er
and j oined t he foot - pilgr ims, knot t ing a handkerchief around his head t o indicat e his devot ion.
Ayesha said not hing, but when she saw t he scoot er - wallah j oin t he pilgr image she grinned an
impish grin t hat r eminded Mirza Saeed t hat she was, af t er all, not on" y a figur e out of a dream,
but also a flesh- and- blood young gir l.
Mrs. Qureishi began t o complain. The brief cont act wit h her old lif e had br oken her resolve,
and now t hat it was t oo lat e she had st art ed t hinking const ant ly about par t ies and soft cushions
and glasses of iced fr esh lime soda. I t suddenly seemed wholly unreasonable t o her t hat a
per son of her br eeding should be asked t o go bar efoot like a common sweeper. She present ed
herself t o Mirza Saeed wit h a sheepish expr ession on her face.
"Saeed, son, do you hat e me complet ely?" she wheedled, her plump f eat ures arr anging
t hemselves in a parody of coquet t ishness.
Saeed was appalled by her gr imace. "Of cour se not , " he managed t o say.
"But you do, you loat he me, and my cause is hopeless, " she f lirt ed.
"Ammaj i, " Saeed gulped, "what ar e you saying?"
"Because I have from t ime t o t ime spoken roughly t o you. "
"Please forget it , " Saeed said, bemused by her per formance, but she would not . " You must
know it was all for love, isn' t it ? Love, " said Mr s. Qur eishi, "it is a many- - splendour ed t hing. "
"Makes t he wor ld go round, " Mir za Saeed agr eed, t rying t o ent er int o t he spir it of t he
conver sat ion.
"Love conquer s all, " Mr s. Qur eishi conf irmed. "I t has conquered my anger . This I must
demonst rat e t o you by r iding wit h you in your mot or . "
Mirza Saeed bowed. "I t is yours, Ammaj i. "
"Then you will ask t hose t wo village men t o sit in fr ont wit h you. Ladies must be prot ect ed,
isn' t it ?"
"I t is, " he replied.
o o o
The st or y of t he village t hat was walking t o t he sea had spr ead all over t he count r y, and in
t he nint h week t he pilgrims were being pest er ed by j our nalist s, local polit icos in search of
vot es, businessmen who of fered t o sponsor t he mar ch if t he yat r is would only consent t o wear
sandwich boards adver t ising var ious goods and ser vices, f or eign t our ist s looking for t he
myst eries of t he East , nost algic Gandhians, and t he kind of human vult ur es who go t o mot or - -
car races t o wat ch t he crashes. When t hey saw t he host of chameleon but t erflies and t he way
t hey bot h clot hed t he gir l Ayesha and provided her wit h her only solid food, t hese visit ors were
amazed, and ret reat ed wit h confounded expect at ions, t hat is t o say wit h a hole in t heir pict ur es
of t he wor ld t hat t hey could not paper over. Phot ographs of Ayesha wer e appear ing in all t he
paper s, and t he pilgrims even passed advert ising hoar dings on which t he lepidopt er al beaut y
had been paint ed t hree t imes as large as life, beside slogans reading _Our clot hs also ar e as
delicat e as a but t er fly' s wing_, or suchlike. Then mor e alar ming news reached t hem. Cert ain
religious ext r emist groupings had issued st at ement s denouncing t he " Ayesha Haj " as an
at t empt t o "hij ack" public at t ent ion and t o "incit e communal sent iment ". Leaflet s wer e being
dist ribut ed - - Mishal picked t hem up off t he r oad - - in which it was claimed t hat "Padyat ra, or
foot - - pilgr image, is an ancient , pre- - I slamic t radit ion of nat ional cult ur e, not impor t ed pr opert y
of Mughal immigr ant s. " Also: "Pur loining of t his t radit ion by so- - called Ayesha Bibij i is f lagrant
and deliber at e inflammat ion of alr eady sensit ive sit uat ion. "
"There will be no t rouble, " t he kahin br oke her silence t o announce.
o o o
Gibr eel dr eamed a subur b:
As t he Ayesha Haj near ed Sarang, t he out er most suburb of t he gr eat met r opolis on t he
Ar abian Sea t owards which t he visionary girl was leading t hem, j ournalist s, polit icos and police
off icers redoubled t heir visit s. At first t he policemen t hr eat ened t o disband t he mar ch f or cibly;
t he polit icians, however , advised t hat t his would look ver y like a sect ar ian act and could lead t o
out breaks of communal violence f rom t op t o bot t om of t he count ry. Event ually t he police chiefs
agr eed t o permit t he mar ch, but gr oused menacingly about being " unable t o guar ant ee safe
passages" for t he pilgrims. Mishal Akht ar said: " We ar e going on. "
The subur b of Sar ang owed it s r elat ive af fluence t o t he presence of subst ant ial coal
deposit s near by. I t t ur ned out t hat t he coalminer s of Sar ang, men whose lives were spent
bor ing pat hways t hrough t he ear t h - - "par t ing" it , one might say - - could not st omach t he
not ion t hat a gir l could do t he same, wit h a wave of her hand, f or t he sea. Cadres of cert ain
communalist gr oupings had been at work, incit ing t he miners t o violence, and as a result of t he
act ivit ies of t hese agent s provocat eurs a mob was for ming, car rying banners demanding: NO
I SLAMI C PADYATRA! BUTTERFLY WI TCH, GO HOME.
On t he night before t hey were due t o ent er Sar ang, Mir za Saeed made anot her f ut ile
appeal t o t he pilgr ims. "Give up, " he implor ed uselessly. "Tomorr ow we will all be killed. "
Ayesha whispered in Mishal' s ear , and she spoke up: "Bet t er a mar t yr t han a cowar d. Ar e t her e
any cowar ds here?"
Ther e was one. Sr i Sr inivas, explor er of t he Gr and Canyon, pr opr iet or of a Toy Univas,
whose mot t o was cr eat ivit y and sincer iet y, sided wit h Mir za Saeed. As a devout follower of t he
goddess Lakshmi, whose face was so perplexingly also Ayesha' s, he felt unable t o part icipat e in
t he coming host ilit ies on eit her side. "I am a weak fellow, " he confessed t o Saeed. " I have
loved Miss Ayesha, and a man should f ight f or what he loves; but , what t o do, I requir e neut ral
st at us. " Srinivas was t he f ift h member of t he renegade societ y in t he Mer cedes- - Benz, and now
Mrs. Qureishi had no opt ion but t o shar e t he back seat wit h a common man. Sr inivas gr eet ed
her unhappily, and, seeing her bounce gr umpily along t he seat away fr om him, at t empt ed t o
placat e. "Please t o accept a t oken of my est eem. " - - And produced, fr om an inside pocket , a
Family Planning doll.
That night t he deser t er s remained in t he st at ion wagon while t he fait hful prayed in t he
open air. They had been allowed t o camp in a disused goods t rain mar shalling yar d, guar ded by
milit ar y police. Mir za Saeed couldn' t sleep. He was t hinking about somet hing Sr inivas had said
t o him, about being a Gandhian in his head, "but I ' m t oo weak t o put such not ions int o
pr act ice. Excuse me, but it ' s t r ue. I was not cut out for suf fering, Set hj i. I should have st ayed
wit h wife and kiddies and cut out t his advent ure disease t hat has made me land up in such a
place. "
I n my f amily, t oo, Mir za Saeed in his insomnia answered t he sleeping t oy merchant , we
have suffer ed f rom a kind of disease: one of det achment , of being unable t o connect ourselves
t o t hings, event s, feelings. Most people define t hemselves by t heir work, or wher e t hey come
from, or suchlike; we have lived t oo far inside our heads. I t makes act ualit y damn hard t o
handle.
Which was t o say t hat he f ound it hard t o believe t hat all t his was really happening; but it
was.
o o o
When t he Ayesha Pilgr ims wer e r eady t o set of f t he next mor ning, t he huge clouds of
but t erflies t hat had t r avelled wit h t hem all t he way fr om Tit lipur suddenly broke up and
vanished from view, r evealing t hat t he sky was filling up wit h ot her , mor e prosaic clouds. Even
t he cr eat ur es t hat had been clot hing Ayesha - - t he elit e corps, so t o speak - - decamped, and
she had t o lead t he procession dr essed in t he mundanit y of an old cot t on sar i wit h a block-
pr int ed hem of leaves. The disappearance of t he mir acle t hat had seemed t o validat e t heir
pilgr image depr essed all t he marcher s; so t hat in spit e of all Mishal Akht ar ' s exhor t at ions t hey
wer e unable t o sing as t hey moved forwar ds, depr ived of t he benedict ion of t he but t er flies, t o
meet t heir fat e.
o o o
The No I slamic Padyat r a st reet mob had pr epared a welcome f or Ayesha in a st r eet lined
on bot h sides wit h t he shacks of bicycle r epair ers. They had blocked t he pilgrims' rout es wit h
dead bicycles, and wait ed behind t his bar ricade of broken wheels, bent handlebars and
silenced bells as t he Ayesha Haj ent ered t he nor t her n sect or of t he st r eet . Ayesha walked
t owar ds t he mob as if it did not exist , and when she r eached t he last cr ossr oads, beyond which
t he clubs and knives of t he enemy await ed her , t here was a t hunder clap like t he t rumpet of
doom and an ocean fell down out of t he sky. The dr ought had br oken t oo lat e t o save t he
crops; aft er war ds many of t he pilgr ims believed t hat God had been saving up t he wat er for j ust
t his pur pose, let t ing it build up in t he sky unt il it was as endless as t he sea, sacr if icing t he
year' s har vest in order t o save his pr ophet ess and her people.
The st unning force of t he downpour unnerved bot h pilgrims and assailant s. I n t he confusion
of t he f lood a second doomt r umpet was heard. This was, in point of f act , t he hor n of Mir za
Saeed' s Mercedes- Benz st at ion wagon, which he had driven at high speed t hrough t he
suffocat ing side gullies of t he subur b, bringing down r acks of shirt s hanging on rails, and
pumpkin bar r ows, and t r ays of cheap plast ic not ions, unt il he r eached t he st reet of basket - -
wor kers t hat int er sect ed t he st reet of bicycle repairer s j ust t o t he nort h of t he bar ricade. Her e
he acceler at ed as har d as he could and charged t owards t he crossroads, scat t er ing pedest r ians
and wicker wor k st ools in all direct ions. He reached t he cr ossr oads immediat ely aft er t he sea f ell
out of t he sky, and br aked violent ly. Sri Srinivas and Osman leaped out , seized Mishal Akht ar
and t he pr ophet ess Ayesha, and hauled t hem int o t he Mercedes in a flurr y of legs, sput um and
abuse. Saeed accelerat ed away fr om t he scene befor e anybody had managed t o get t he
blinding wat er out of t heir eyes.
I nside t he car: bodies heaped in an angr y j umble. Mishal Akht ar shout ed abuse at her
husband f rom t he bot t om of t he pile: "Sabot eur ! Tr ait or ! Scum f rom somewher e! Mule! " - - To
which Saeed sarcast ically r eplied, "Mart yr dom is t oo easy, Mishal. Don' t you want t o wat ch t he
ocean open, like a flower?"
And Mrs. Qureishi, st icking her head out t hr ough Osman' s invert ed legs, added in a pink-
faced gasp: "Okay, come on, Mishu, quit . We meant well. "
o o o
Gibr eel dr eamed a flood:
When t he rains came, t he miners of Sar ang had been wait ing for t he pilgrims wit h t heir
pickaxes in t heir hands, but when t he bicycle bar ricade was swept away t hey could not avoid
t he idea t hat God had t aken Ayesha' s side. The t own' s dr ainage syst em surr endered inst ant ly
t o t he over whelming assault of t he wat er, and t he miners were soon st anding in a muddy f lood
t hat r eached as high as t heir waist s. Some of t hem t ried t o move t owar ds t he pilgrims, who
also cont inued t o make ef fort s t o advance. But now t he rainst orm redoubled it s f or ce, and t hen
doubled it again, falling fr om t he sky in t hick slabs t hrough which it was get t ing difficult t o
br eat he, as t hough t he ear t h were being engulfed, and t he firmament above wer e r eunit ing
wit h t he fir mament below.
Gibr eel, dr eaming, found his vision obscur ed by wat er.
o o o
The rain st opped, and a wat er y sun shone down on a Venet ian scene of devast at ion. The
roads of Sarang wer e now canals, along which t here j our neyed all manner of flot sam. Wher e
only r ecent ly scoot er - - rickshaws, camel - - car t s and r epair ed bicycles had gone, t here now
float ed newspapers, f lowers, bangles, wat ermelons, umbrellas, chappals, sunglasses, basket s,
excrement , medicine bot t les, playing car ds, dupat t as, pancakes, lamps. The wat er had an odd,
reddish t int t hat made t he sodden populace imagine t hat t he st r eet was flowing wit h blood.
Ther e was no t r ace of bully- boy miner s or of Ayesha Pilgr ims. A dog swam acr oss t he
int ersect ion by t he collapsed bicycle bar ricade, and all ar ound t her e lay t he damp silence of t he
flood, whose wat er s lapped at mar ooned buses, while childr en st ared fr om t he r oofs of
deliquescent gullies, t oo shocked t o come out and play.
Then t he but t erf lies ret urned.
Fr om nowhere, as if t hey had been hiding behind t he sun; and t o celebrat e t he end of t he
rain t hey had all t aken t he colour of sunlight . The arr ival of t his immense carpet of light in t he
sky ut t er ly bewilder ed t he people of Sar ang, who wer e alr eady r eeling in t he af t er mat h of t he
st or m; fear ing t he apocalypse, t hey hid indoor s and closed t heir shut t er s. On a near by hillside,
however, Mir za Saeed Akht ar and his par t y obser ved t he mir acle' s r et urn and wer e filled, all of
t hem, even t he zamindar , wit h a kind of awe.
Mirza Saeed had driven hell- for - - leat her , in spit e of being half - - blinded by t he r ain which
poured t hrough t he smashed windscr een, unt il on a r oad t hat led up and ar ound t he bend of a
hill he came t o a halt at t he gat es of t he No. i Sarang Coalfield. The pit heads wer e dimly visible
t hr ough t he r ain. " Brainbox, " Mishal Akht ar cur sed him weakly. "Those bums ar e wait ing f or us
back t here, and you drive us up her e t o see t heir pals. Tip- t op not ion, Saeed. Ext ra fine. "
But t hey had no more t r ouble fr om miners. That was t he day of t he mining disast er t hat
left f ift een t housand pit men buried alive beneat h t he Sarangi hill. Saeed, Mishal, t he Sar panch,
Osman, Mr s. Qur eishi, Sr inivas and Ayesha st ood exhaust ed and soaked t o t he skin by t he
roadside as ambulances, f ir e- - engines, salvage oper at or s and pit bosses ar rived in lar ge
quant it ies and lef t , much lat er, shaking t heir heads. The Sar panch caught his earlobes bet ween
t humbs and for efinger s. "Lif e is pain, " he said. " Life is pain and loss; it is a coin of no value,
wor t h even less t han a kaur i or a dam. "
Osman of t he dead bullock, who, like t he Sar panch, had lost a dearly loved companion
dur ing t he pilgrimage, also wept . Mr s. Qur eishi at t empt ed t o look on t he br ight side: "Main
t hing is t hat we' re okay, " but t his got no response. Then Ayesha closed her eyes and r ecit ed in
t he sing- - song voice of prophecy, "I t is a j udgment upon t hem for t he bad at t empt t hey made. "
Mirza Saeed was angry. "They weren' t at t he bloody bar r icade, " he shout ed. "They wer e
wor king under t he goddamned ground. "
"They dug t heir own graves, " Ayesha r eplied.
o o o
This was when t hey sight ed t he r et urning but t er flies. Saeed wat ched t he golden cloud in
disbelief, as it first gat her ed and t hen sent out st reams of winged light in every direct ion.
Ayesha want ed t o r et ur n t o t he crossroads. Saeed obj ect ed: "I t ' s f looded down t here. Our only
chance is t o dr ive down t he opposit e side of t his hill and come out t he ot her side of t own. " But
Ayesha and Mishal had already st art ed back; t he pr ophet ess was suppor t ing t he ot her, ashen
woman, holding her ar ound t he waist .
"Mishal, for God' s sake, " Mir za Saeed called aft er his wife. " For t he love of God. What will I
do wit h t he mot or - car ?"
But she went on down t he hill, t owar ds t he flood, leaning heavily on Ayesha t he seer ,
wit hout looking round.
This was how Mir za Saeed Akht ar came t o abandon his beloved Mer cedes- Benz st at ion
wagon near t he ent r ance t o t he dr owned mines of Sarang, and j oin in t he foot - pilgr image
t o t he Arabian Sea.
The seven bedr aggled t r aveller s st ood t high- - deep in wat er at t he int er sect ion of t he st reet
of bicycle repairers and t he alley of t he basket - weaver s. Slowly, slowly, t he wat er had begun t o
go down. " Face it , " Mirza Saeed ar gued. "The pilgr image is finished. The villager s are who
knows where, maybe drowned, possibly murdered, cert ainly lost . Ther e' s nobody left t o follow
you but us. " He st uck his f ace int o Ayesha' s. "So for get it , sist er; you' re sunk. "
"Look, " Mishal said.
Fr om all sides, out of t he lit t le t inkers' gullies, t he villagers of Tit lipur were r et urning t o t he
place of t heir dispersal. They were all coat ed fr om neck t o ankles in golden but t er flies, and long
lines of t he lit t le creat ures went before t hem, like r opes drawing t hem t o saf et y out of a well.
The people of Sarang wat ched in t err or f rom t heir windows, and as t he wat er s of r et ribut ion
receded, t he Ayesha Haj re- for med in t he middle of t he road.
"I don' t believe it , " said Mirza Saeed.
But it was t r ue. Every single member of t he pilgr image had been t racked down by t he
but t erflies and br ought back t o t hF main road. And st ranger claims wer e lat er made: t hat when
t he cr eat ur es had set t led on a broken ankle t he inj ur y had healed, or t hat an open wound had
closed as if by magic. Many mar chers said t hey had awoken f rom unconsciousness t o find t he
but t erflies flut t ering about t heir lips. Some even believed t hat t hey had been dead, dr owned,
and t hat t he but t erf lies had brought t hem back t o life.
"Don' t be st upid, " Mir za Saeed cr ied. "The st or m saved you; it washed away your enemies,
so it ' s not sur prising f ew of you ar e hur t . Let ' s be scient ific, please. "
"Use your eyes, Saeed, " Mishal t old him, indicat ing t he pr esence before t hem of over a
hundred men, women and children enveloped in glowing but t erf lies. " What does your science
say about t his?"
o o o
I n t he last days of t he pilgr image, t he cit y was all ar ound t hem. Officer s from t he Municipal
Cor por at ion met wit h Mishal and Ayesha and planned a rout e t hr ough t he met r opolis. On t his
rout e wer e mosques in which t he pilgr ims could sleep wit hout clogging up t he st reet s.
Excit ement in t he cit y was int ense: each day, when t he pilgr ims set of f t owar ds t heir next
rest ing- - place, t hey were wat ched by enor mous cr owds, some sneer ing and host ile, but many
br inging pr esent s of sweet meat s, medicines and food.
Mirza Saeed, wor n- out and filt hy, was in a st at e of deep fr ust rat ion on account of his failure
t o convince mor e t han a handful of t he pilgrims t hat it was bet t er t o put one' s t rust in reason
t han in mir acles. Miracles had been doing pret t y well f or t hem, t he Tit lipur villager s point ed
out , r easonably enough. "Those blast ed but t er flies, " Saeed mut t ered t o t he Sar panch. " Wit hout
t hem, we' d have a chance. "
"But t hey have been wit h us f rom t he st ar t , " t he Sar panch replied wit h a shr ug.
Mishal Akht ar was clearly close t o deat h; she had begun t o smell of it , and had t urned a
chalky whit e colour t hat fr ight ened Saeed badly. But Mishal wouldn' t let him come near her.
She had ost r acized her mot her, t oo, and when her fat her t ook t ime off fr om banking t o visit her
on t he pilgr image' s first night in a cit y mosque, she t old him t o buzz off . "Things have come t o
t he point , " she announced, " wher e only t he pure can be wit h t he pure. " When Mirza Saeed
hear d t he dict ion of Ayesha t he pr ophet ess emerging fr om his wife' s mout h he lost all but t he
t iniest speck of hope.
Fr iday came, and Ayesha agreed t hat t he pilgrimage could halt for a day t o par t icipat e in
t he Friday prayers. Mir za Saeed, who had forgot t en almost all t he Arabic ver ses t hat had once
been st uffed int o him by r ot e, and could scar cely r emember when t o st and wit h his hands held
in f ront of him like a book, when t o genuflect , when t o press his for ehead t o t he gr ound,
st umbled t hrough t he cer emony wit h gr owing self - disgust . At t he end of t he pr ayers, however,
somet hing happened t hat st opped t he Ayesha Haj in it s t racks.
As t he pilgr ims wat ched t he congr egat ion leaving t he court yar d of t he mosque, a
commot ion began out side t he main gat e. Mir za Saeed went t o invest igat e. "What ' s t he hoo- -
hah?" he asked as he st r uggled t hrough t he crowd on t he mosque st eps; t hen he saw t he
basket sit t ing on t he bot t om st ep. - - And hear d, r ising fr om t he basket , t he baby' s cry.
The foundling was per haps t wo weeks old, clearly illegit imat e, and it was equally plain t hat
it s opt ions in life wer e limit ed. The crowd was in a doubt ful, confused mood. Then t he mosque' s
I mam appeared at t he head of t he f light of st eps, and beside him was Ayesha t he seer, whose
fame had spr ead t hr oughout t he cit y.
The cr owd part ed like t he sea, and Ayesha and t he I mam came down t o t he basket . The
I mam examined t he baby briefly; rose; and t urned t o addr ess t he crowd.
"This child was bor n in devilment , " he said. "I t is t he Devil' s child. " He was a young man.
The mood of t he cr owd shift ed t owards anger . Mir za Saeed Akht ar shout ed out : "You,
Ayesha, kahin. What do you say?"
"Ever yt hing will be asked of us, " she replied.
The cr owd, needing no clear er invit at ion, st oned t he baby t o deat h.
o o o
Af t er t hat t he Ayesha Pilgrims r ef used t o move on. The deat h of t he foundling had cr eat ed
an at mosphere of mut iny among t he weary villager s, none of whom had lift ed or t hr own a
st one. Mishal, snow- whit e now, was t oo enfeebled by her illness t o r ally t he marcher s; Ayesha,
as ever, r ef used t o disput e. " I f you t urn your backs on God, " she warned t he villagers, " don' t
be surpr ised when he does t he same t o you. "
The pilgr ims wer e squat t ing in a group in a cor ner of t he large mosque, which was paint ed
lime- gr een on t he out side and bright blue wit hin, and lit , when necessary, by mult icoloured
neon " t ube light s". Aft er Ayesha' s war ning t hey t urned t heir backs on her and huddled closer
t oget her, alt hough t he weat her was warm and humid enough. Mir za Saeed, spot t ing his
opport unit y, decided t o challenge Ayesha dir ect ly once again. "Tell me, " he asked sweet ly,
"how exact ly does t he angel give you all t his inf or mat ion? You never t ell us his pr ecise wor ds,
only your int er pr et at ions of t hem. Why such indir ect ion? Why not simply quot e?"
"He speaks t o me, " Ayesha answer ed, "in clear and memorable for ms. "
Mirza Saeed, f ull of t he bit t er ener gy of his desire for her , and t he pain of his est r angement
from his dying wife, and t he memor y of t he t r ibulat ions of t he march, smelled in her r et icence
t he weakness he had been probing for. "Kindly be mor e specif ic, " he insist ed. "Or why should
anyone believe? What ar e t hese for ms?"
"The archangel sings t o me, " she admit t ed, "t o t he t unes of popular hit songs. "
Mirza Saeed Akht ar clapped his hands delight edly and began t o laugh t he loud, echoing
laught er of r evenge, and Osman t he bullock- boy j oined in, beat ing on his dholki and prancing
around t he squat t ing villager s, singing t he lat est f ilmi ganas and making naut ch- - gir l eyes.
"Hoj i! " he car olled. "This is how Gibr eel r ecit es, ho j i! Ho j i! "
And one aft er t he ot her, pilgrim af t er pilgrim rose and j oined in t he dance of t he cir cling
dr ummer, dancing t heir disillusion and disgust in t he cour t yard of t he mosque, unt il t he I mam
came r unning t o shriek at t he ungodliness of t heir deeds.
o o o
Night fell. The villagers of Tit lipur wer e grouped ar ound t heir Sar panch, Muhammad Din,
and serious t alks about r et ur ning t o Tit lipur wer e under way. Perhaps a lit t le of t he har vest
could be saved. Mishal Akht ar lay dying wit h her head in her mot her ' s lap, r acked by pain, wit h
a single t ear emerging fr om her lef t eye. And in a f ar corner of t he court yard of t he gr eenblue
mosque wit h it s t echnicolour t ube- light ing, t he visionar y and t he zamindar sat alone and
t alked. A moon - - new, hor ned, cold - - shone down.
"You' re a clever man, " Ayesha said. "You knew how t o t ake your chance. "
This was when Mir za Saeed made his of fer of a compromise. "My wife is dying, " he said.
"And she want s ver y much t o go t o Mecca Shar if . So we have int erest s in common, you and I . "
Ayesha list ened. Saeed pr essed on: "Ayesha, I ' m not a bad man. Let me t ell you, I ' ve been
damn impr essed by many t hings on t his walk; damn impressed. You have given t hese people a
pr ofound spir it ual exper ience, no quest ion. Don' t t hink we moder n t ypes lack a spirit ual
dimension. "
"The people have lef t me, " Ayesha said.
"The people are confused, " Saeed replied. "Point is, if you act ually t ake t hem t o t he sea
and t hen not hing happens, my God, t hey r eally could t ur n against you. So her e' s t he deal. I
gave a t inkle t o Mishal' s papa and he agreed t o underwr it e half t he cost . We propose t o f ly you
and Mishal, and let ' s say t en - - t welve! - - of t he villager s, t o Mecca, wit hin for t y- eight hours,
per sonally. Reservat ions are available. We leave it t o you t o select t he individuals best suit ed t o
t he t rip. Then, t ruly, you will have perf or med a mir acle for some inst ead of for none. And in my
view t he pilgr image it self has been a mir acle, in a way. So you will have done very much. "
He held his breat h.
"I must t hink, " Ayesha said.
"Think, t hink, " Saeed encouraged her happily. "Ask your ar changel. I f he agr ees, it must be
right . "
o o o
Mirza Saeed Akht ar knew t hat when Ayesha announced t hat t he Ar changel Gibreel had
accept ed his offer her power would be dest royed forever , because t he villagers would per ceive
her fr audulence and her desperat ion, t oo. - - But how could she t ur n him down? - - What
choice did she really have? "Revenge is sweet , " he t old himself. Once t he woman was
discr edit ed, he would cert ainly t ake Mishal t o Mecca, if t hat wer e st ill her wish.
The but t erflies of Tit lipur had not ent er ed t he mosque. They lined it s ext er ior walls and
onion dome, glowing greenly in t he dar k.
Ayesha in t he night : st alking t he shadows, lying down, rising t o go on t he pr owl again.
Ther e was an uncer t aint y about her; t hen t he slowness came, and she seemed t o dissolve int o
t he shadows of t he mosque. She r et urned at dawn.
Af t er t he mor ning pr ayer she asked t he pilgrims if she might addr ess t hem; and t hey,
doubt fully, agr eed.
"Last night t he angel did not sing, " she said. "He t old me, inst ead, about doubt , and how
t he Devil makes use of it . I said, but t hey doubt me, what can I do? He answer ed: only proof
can silence doubt . "
She had t heir full at t ent ion. Next she t old t hem what Mir za Saeed had suggest ed in t he
night . " He t old me t o go and ask my angel, but I know bet t er , " she cr ied. "How could I choose
bet ween you? I t is all of us, or none. "
"Why should we f ollow you, " t he Sar panch asked, "af t er all t he dying, t he baby, and all?"
"Because when t he wat er s par t , you will be saved. You will ent er int o t he Glor y of t he Most
High. "
"What wat ers?" Mir za Saeed yelled. " How will t hey divide?"
"Follow me, " Ayesha concluded, "and j udge me by t heir par t ing. "
His of fer had cont ained an old quest ion: _What kind of idea are you?_ And she, in t urn, had
off er ed him an old answer. _I was t empt ed, but am r enewed; am uncompromising; absolut e;
pur e_.
o o o
The t ide was in when t he Ayesha Pilgrimage mar ched down an alley beside t he Holiday I nn,
whose windows were full of t he mist r esses of film st ars using t heir new Polaroid camer as, - -
when t he pilgr ims felt t he cit y' s asphalt t urn gr it t y and soft en int o sand, - - when t hey f ound
t hemselves walking t hr ough a t hick mulch of r ot t ing coconut s abandoned cigar et t e packet s
pony t ur ds non- degr adable bot t les fr uit peelings j ellyf ish and paper, - - on t o t he mid- br own
sand overhung by high leaning cocopalms and t he balconies of luxury sea- view apar t ment
blocks, - - past t he t eams of young men whose muscles were so well - honed t hat t hey looked
like defor mit ies, and who were perf or ming gymnast ic cont ort ions of all sort s, in unison, like a
mur der ous ar my of ballet dancers, - - and t hr ough t he beachcomber s, clubmen and families
who had come t o t ake t he air or make business cont act s or scavenge a living fr om t he sand, - -
and gazed, for t he fir st t ime in t heir lives, upon t he Ar abian Sea.
Mirza Saeed saw Mishal, who was being support ed by t wo of t he village men, because she
was no longer st r ong enough t o st and up by herself . Ayesha was beside her, and Saeed had
t he idea t hat t he pr ophet ess had somehow st epped out of t he dying woman, t hat all t he
br ight ness of Mishal had hopped out of her body and t aken t his myt hological shape, leaving a
husk behind t o die. Then he was angr y wit h himself for allowing Ayesha' s supernat uralism t o
infect him, t oo.
The villager s of Tit lipur had agr eed t o follow Ayesha aft er a long discussion in which t hey
had asked her not t o t ake part . Their common sense t old t hem t hat it would be foolish t o t urn
back when t hey had come so f ar and were in sight of t heir f ir st goal; but t he new doubt s in
t heir minds sapped t heir st r engt h. I t was as if t hey were emerging fr om some Shangr i- La of
Ayesha' s making, because now t hat t hey wer e simply walking behind her r at her t han following
her in t he t r ue sense, t hey seemed t o age and sicken wit h every st ep t hey t ook. By t he t ime
t hey saw t he sea t hey wer e a lame, t ot t er ing, rheumy, fever ish, red- eyed bunch, and Mirza
Saeed wonder ed how many of t hem would manage t he final few yards t o t he wat er ' s edge.
The but t erflies wer e wit h t hem, high over t heir heads.
"What now, Ayesha?" Saeed called out t o her, filled wit h t he horr ible not ion t hat his
beloved wife might die her e under t he hoofs of ponies for r ent and beneat h t he eyes of
sugarcane- j uice vendor s. "You have br ought us all t o t he edges of ext inct ion, but here is an
unquest ionable fact : t he sea. Where is your angel now?"
She climbed up, wit h t he villagers' help, on t o an unused t hela lying next t o a soft - - dr ink
st all, and didn' t answer Saeed unt il she could look down at him fr om her new per ch. "Gibr eel
says t he sea is like our souls. When we open t hem, we can move t hrough int o wisdom. I f we
can open our heart s, we can open t he sea. "
"Par t it ion was quit e a disast er her e on land, " he t aunt ed her. "Quit e a few guys died, you
might r emember. You t hink it will be differ ent in t he wat er ?"
"Shh, " said Ayesha suddenly. " The angel' s almost here. "
I t was, on t he f ace of it , surpr ising t hat aft er all t he at t ent ion t he mar ch had r eceived t he
crowd at t he beach was no bet t er t han moderat e; but t he aut hor it ies had t aken many
pr ecaut ions, closing r oads, diver t ing t r affic; so t her e were per haps t wo hundr ed gawper s on
t he beach. Not hing t o wor ry about .
What _was_ st r ange was t hat t he spect at or s did not see t he but t erf lies, or what t hey did
next . But Mirza Saeed clear ly observed t he gr eat glowing cloud fly out over t he sea; pause;
hover; and for m it self int o t he shape of a colossal being, a radiant giant const r uct ed wholly of
t iny beat ing wings, st r et ching fr om hor izon t o hor izon, f illing t he sky.
"The angel! " Ayesha called t o t he pilgr ims. "Now you see! He' s been wit h us all t he way. Do
you believe me now?" Mir za Saeed saw absolut e fait h r et ur n t o t he pilgrims. "Yes, " t hey wept ,
begging her forgiveness. "Gibreel! Gibr eel! Ya Allah. "
Mirza Saeed made his last ef fort . "Clouds t ake many shapes, " he shout ed. "Elephant s, film
st ars, anyt hing. Look, it ' s changing even now. " But nobody paid any at t ent ion t o him; t hey
wer e wat ching, f ull of amazement , as t he but t erflies dived int o t he sea.
The villager s wer e shout ing and dancing for j oy. "The par t ing! The par t ing! " t hey cr ied.
Byst anders called out t o Mir za Saeed: "Hey, mist er, what ar e t hey get t ing so fir ed up about ?
We can' t see anyt hing going on. "
Ayesha had begun t o walk t owards t he wat er , and Mishal was being dr agged along by her
t wo helper s. Saeed ran t o her and began t o st ruggle wit h t he village men. " Let go of my wife.
At once! Damn you! I am your zamindar . Release her ; r emove your filt hy hands! " But Mishal
whisper ed: "They won' t . Go away, Saeed. You ar e closed. The sea only opens f or t hose who ar e
open. "
"Mishal! " he scr eamed, but her feet wer e already wet .
Once Ayesha had ent ered t he wat er t he villager s began t o r un. Those who could not leapt
upon t he backs of t hose who could. Holding t heir babies, t he mot her s of Tit lipur r ushed int o t he
sea; grandsons bor e t heir gr andmot hers on t heir shoulder s and rushed int o t he waves. Wit hin
minut es t he ent ire village was in t he wat er, splashing about , falling over , get t ing up, moving
st eadily forwards, t owards t he horizon, never looking back t o shor e. Mir za Saeed was in t he
wat er , t oo. "Come back, " he beseeched his wif e. "Not hing is happening; come back. "
At t he wat er ' s edge st ood Mr s. Qureishi, Osman, t he Sarpanch, Sri Srinivas. Mishal' s
mot her was sobbing oper at ically: " O my baby, my baby. What will become?" Osman said:
"When it becomes clear t hat mir acles don' t happen, t hey will t urn back. " "And t he but t erf lies?"
Sr inivas asked him, quer ulously. "What wer e t hey? An accident ?"
I t dawned on t hem t hat t he villagers were not coming back. "They must be nearly out of
t heir dept h, " t he Sar panch said. "How many of t hem can swim?" asked blubbering Mrs.
Qureishi. "Swim?" shout ed Sr inivas. "Since when can village folk swim?" They wer e all
scr eaming at one anot her as if t hey were miles apar t , j umping from f oot t o foot , t heir bodies
willing t hem t o ent er t he wat er, t o do somet hing. They looked as if t hey wer e dancing on a fir e.
The inchar ge of t he police squad t hat had been sent down f or crowd cont rol purposes came up
as Saeed came r unning out of t he wat er .
"What is bef alling?" t he off icer asked. "What is t he agit at ion?"
"St op t hem, " Mirza Saeed pant ed, point ing out t o sea.
"Are t hey miscr eant s?" t he policeman asked.
"They ar e going t o die, " Saeed replied.
I t was t oo lat e. The villagers, whose heads could be seen bobbing about in t he dist ance,
had reached t he edge of t he underwat er shelf. Almost all t oget her , making no visible at t empt
t o save t hemselves, t hey dr opped beneat h t he wat er ' s sur face. I n moment s, every one of t he
Ayesha Pilgr ims had sunk out of sight .
None of t hem reappeared. Not a single gasping head or t hrashing ar m.
Saeed, Osman, Srinivas, t he Sar panch, and even fat Mrs. Qur eishi ran int o t he wat er ,
shrieking: "God have mer cy; come on, ever ybody, help. "
Human beings in danger of dr owning st r uggle against t he wat er. I t is against human nat ur e
simply t o walk forwards meekly unt il t he sea swallows you up. But Ayesha, Mishal Akht ar and
t he villagers of Tit lipur subsided below sea- level; and wer e never seen again.
Mrs. Qureishi was pulled t o shore by policemen, her face blue, her lungs full of wat er, and
needed t he kiss of lif e. Osman, Sr inivas and t he Sar panch were dr agged out soon aft er war ds.
Only Mir za Saeed Akht ar cont inued t o dive, furt her and f ur t her out t o sea, st aying under f or
longer and longer per iods; unt il he, t oo, was r escued fr om t he Ar abian Sea, spent , sick and
faint ing. The pilgr image was over .
Mirza Saecd awoke in a hospit al war d t o find a CI D man by his bedside. The aut hor it ies
wer e considering t he f easibilit y of char ging t he sur vivor s of t he Ayesha expedit ion wit h
at t empt ed illegal emigrat ion, and det ect ives had been inst r uct ed t o get down t heir st ories
befor e t hey had had a chance t o confer.
This was t he t est imony of t he Sar panch of Tit lipur, Muhammad Din: "Just when my
st rengt h had failed and I t hought I would surely die t here in t he wat er , I saw it wit h my own
eyes; I saw t he sea divide, like hair being combed; and t hey were all t here, far away, walking
away f rom me. She was t here also, my wif e, Khadij a, whom I loved. "
This is what Osman t he bullock- boy t old t he det ect ives, who had been badly shaken by t he
Sarpanch' s deposit ion: "At fir st I was in great fear of dr owning myself . St ill, I was sear ching
searching, mainly for her , Ayesha, whom I knew f rom before her alt er at ion. And j ust at t he
last , I saw it happen, t he mar vellous t hing. The wat er opened, and I saw t hem go along t he
oceanfloor , among t he dying fish. "
Sr i Sr inivas, t oo, swore by t he goddess Lakshmi t hat he had seen t he par t ing of t he
Ar abian Sea; and by t he t ime t he det ect ives got t o Mrs. Qureishi, t hey wer e ut t er ly unnerved,
because t hey knew t hat it was impossible for t he men t o have cooked up t he st ory t oget her .
Mishal' s mot her, t he wife of t he gr eat banker, t old t he same st or y in her own wor ds. "Believe
don' t believe, " she f inished emphat ically, "but what my eyes have seen my t ongue r epeat s. "
Goosepimply CI D men at t empt ed t he t hir d degree: "List en, Sarpanch, don' t shit fr om your
mout h. So many wer e t her e, nobody saw t hese t hings. Alr eady t he dr owned bodies ar e float ing
t o shor e, swollen like balloons and st inking like hell. I f you go on lying we will t ake you and
st ick your nose in t he t r ut h. "
"You can show me what ever you want , " Sarpanch Muhammad Din t old his int err ogat ors.
"But I st ill saw what I saw. "
"And you?" t he CI D men assembled, once he awoke, t o ask Mir za Saeed Akht ar . " What did
you see at t he beach?"
"How can you ask?" he pr ot est ed. "My wife has dr owned. Don' t come hammer ing wit h your
quest ions. "
When he found out t hat he was t he only sur vivor of t he Ayesha Haj not t o have wit nessed
t he par t ing of t he waves - - Sri Srinivas was t he one who t old him what t he ot her s saw, adding
mournfully: " I t is our shame t hat we were not t hought wor t hy t o accompany. On us, Set hj i, t he
wat er s closed, t hey slammed in our f aces like t he gat es of Par adise" - - Mirza Saeed br oke down
and wept f or a week and a day, t he dry sobs cont inuing t o shake his body long af t er his t ear
duct s had r un out of salt .
Then he went home.
o o o
Mot hs had eat en t he punkahs of Perist an and t he librar y had been consumed by a billion
hungry worms. When he t ur ned on t he t aps, snakes oozed out inst ead of wat er, and cr eepers
had t wined t hemselves ar ound t he four - post er bed in which Viceroys had once slept . I t was as
if t ime had accelerat ed in his absence, and cent ur ies had somehow elapsed inst ead of mont hs,
so t hat when he t ouched t he giant Per sian carpet r olled up in t he ballr oom it crumbled under
his hand, and t he bat hs were full of f rogs wit h scar let eyes. At night t her e were j ackals howling
on t he wind. The gr eat t r ee was dead, or close t o deat h, and t he f ields were bar ren as t he
deser t ; t he gar dens of Per ist an, in which, long ago, he fir st saw a beaut iful young gir l, had long
ago yellowed int o ugliness. Vult ures wer e t he only bir ds in t he sky.
He pulled a rocking- chair out on t o his veranda, sat down, and r ocked himself gent ly t o
sleep.
Once, only once, he visit ed t he t ree. The village had crumbled int o dust ; landless peasant s
and loot er s had t r ied t o seize t he abandoned land, but t he dr ought had driven t hem away.
Ther e had been no rain here. Mirza Saeed ret urned t o Per ist an and padlocked t he rust y gat es.
He was not int erest ed in t he fat e of his fellow- survivor s; he went t o t he t elephone and r ipped it
out of t he wall.
Af t er an uncount ed passage of days it occur red t o him t hat he was st arving t o deat h,
because he could smell his body reeking of nail- varnish remover ; but as he f elt neit her hungry
nor t hir st y, he decided t here was no point bot hering t o find food. For what ? Much bet t er t o rock
in t his chair, and not t hink, not t hink, not t hink.
On t he last night of his life he hear d a noise like a giant crushing a f or est beneat h his f eet ,
and smelled a st ench like t he giant ' s far t , and he r ealized t hat t he t r ee was burning. He got out
of his chair and st aggered dizzily down t o t he gar den t o wat ch t he fir e, whose flames were
consuming hist ories, memor ies, genealogies, pur ifying t he ear t h, and coming t owards him t o
set him fr ee; - - because t he wind was blowing t he fire t owar ds t he grounds of t he mansion, so
soon enough, soon enough, it would be his t ur n. He saw t he t r ee explode int o a t housand
fragment s, and t he t r unk cr ack, like a hear t ; t hen he t ur ned away and r eeled t owards t he place
in t he gar den where Ayesha had fir st caught his eye; - - and now he f elt a slowness come upon
him, a gr eat heaviness, and he lay down on t he wit hered dust . Bef or e his eyes closed he f elt
somet hing brushing at his lips, and saw t he lit t le clust er of but t er flies st r uggling t o ent er his
mout h. Then t he sea pour ed over him, and he was in t he wat er beside Ayesha, who had
st epped mir aculously out of his wife' s body . . . "Open, " she was cr ying. "Open wide! " Tent acles
of light wer e flowing f rom her navel and he chopped at t hem, chopped, using t he side of his
hand. "Open, " she screamed. "You' ve come t his far , now do t he rest . " - - How could he hear her
voice? - - They wer e under wat er , lost in t he roar ing of t he sea, but he could hear her clear ly,
t hey could all hear her , t hat voice like a bell. "Open, " she said. He closed.
He was a f or t ress wit h clanging gat es. - - He was dr owning. - - She was dr owning, t oo. He
saw t he wat er fill her mout h, hear d it begin t o gurgle int o her lungs. Then somet hing wit hin
him r efused t hat , made a dif ferent choice, and at t he inst ant t hat his hear t broke, he opened.
His body split apar t fr om his adam"s- apple t o his gr oin, so t hat she could reach deep wit hin
him, and now she was open, t hey all wer e, and at t he moment of t heir opening t he wat er s
par t ed, and t hey walked t o Mecca across t he bed of t he Ar abian Sea.
I X
A Wonder ful Lamp
1
Eight een mont hs aft er his hear t at t ack, Saladin Chamcha t ook t o t he air again in r esponse
t o t he t elegraphed news t hat his f at her was in t he t erminal st ages of mult iple myeloma, a
syst emic cancer of t he bone mar row t hat was "one hundred per cent fat al", as Chamcha' s GP
unsent iment ally put it when he t elephoned her t o check. Ther e had been no real cont act
bet ween fat her and son since Changez Chamchawala sent Saladin t he pr oceeds from his felled
walnut - - t r ee all t hose et er nit ies ago. Saladin had sent a br ief not e report ing t hat he had
survived t he _Bost an_ disast er, and had been sent an even t er ser missive in ret ur n: "Rec. ' d yr.
communicat ion. This inf or mat ion alr eady t o hand. " When t he bad news t elegr am ar rived,
however - - t he signat ory was t he unknown second wife, Nasreen I I , and t he t one was pret t y
unvar nished: FATHER GOI NG FAST + I F DESI ROUS OF SEEI NG BETTER MOVE I T + N
CHAMCHAWALA ( MRS) - - he discovered t o his sur prise t hat aft er a lif et ime of t angled
relat ionships wit h his fat her , aft er long years of crossed wires and "irr evocable sunder ings", he
was once again capable of an uncomplicat ed r eact ion. Simply, overwhelmingly, it was
imper at ive t hat he r each Bombay before Changez lef t it for good.
He spent t he best part of a day first st anding in t he visa queue at t he consular sect ion of
I ndia House, and t hen t r ying t o per suade a j aded of ficial of t he ur gency of his applicat ion. He
had st upidly forgot t en t o bring t he t elegram, and was t old, as a r esult , t hat "it is issue of pr oof.
You see, anybody could come and t ell t hat t heir fat her is dying, isn' t it ? I n or der t o expedit e. "
Chamcha fought t o r est rain his anger , but finally bur st . " Do I look like a Khalist an zealot t o
you?" The official shr ugged. " I ' ll t ell you who I am, " Chamcha bellowed, incensed by t hat
shrug, "I ' m t he poor bast ar d who got blown up by t er ror ist s, fell t hir t y t housand feet out of t he
sky because of t err or ist s, and now because of t hose same t er rorist s I have t o be insult ed by
pen- pusher s like you. " His visa applicat ion, placed fir mly at t he bot t om of a large pile by his
adver sary, was not gr ant ed unt il t hr ee days lat er . The f irst available flight was t hir t y- - six hour s
aft er t hat : and it was an Air I ndia 747, and it s name was _Gulist an_.
Gulist an and Bost an, t he t win gar dens of Par adise - - one blew apar t , and t hen t here was
one. . . Chamcha, moving down one of t he dr ains t hrough which Terminal Thr ee dripped
passenger s int o aircraft , saw t he name paint ed next t o t he 747' s open door, and t urned a
couple of shades paler . Then he hear d t he sar i- clad I ndian st ewar dess gr eet ing him in an
unmist akably Canadian accent , and lost his nerve, spinning away f rom t he plane in a reflex of
st raight forward t err or. As he st ood t her e, facing t he irr it able t hr ong of passenger s wait ing t o
boar d, he was conscious of how absurd he must look, wit h his brown leat her holdall in one
hand, t wo zippered suit - hanger bags in t he ot her , and his eyes out on st alks; but f or a long
moment he was ent irely unable t o move. The cr owd grew r est ive; _if t his is an ar t er y_, he
found himself t hinking, _t hen I ' m t he blast ed clot _. "I used t o chichi chicken out also, " said a
cheer ful voice. " But now I ' ve got t he t it rick. I faf a flap my hands dur ing t at ake- off and t he
plane always mama makes it int o t he isk isk isky. "
o o o
"Today t he t op gogo goddess is absolut ely Lakshmi, " Sisodia confided over whisky once
t hey wer e saf ely alof t . ( He had been as good as his word, flapping his ar ms wildly as
_Gulist an_ r ushed down t he runway, and aft erwards set t led back cont ent edly in his seat ,
beaming modest ly. " Wowowor ks every t ime. " They wer e bot h t r avelling in t he 747' s upper
deck, r eserved for business class non- smokers, and Sisodia had moved int o t he empt y seat
next t o Chamcha like air filling a vacuum. "Call me Whisky, " he insist ed. " What lie lie line ar e
you in? How mum much do you ear n? How long you bibi been away? You know any women in
t own, or you want heh heh help?") Chamcha closed his eyes and fixed his t hought s on his
fat her . The saddest t hing, he r ealized, was t hat he could not r emember a single happy day wit h
Changez in his ent ir e life as a man. And t he most gladdening t hing was t he discover y t hat even
t he unfor givable cr ime of being one' s fat her could be forgiven, af t er all, in t he end. _Hang on_,
he pleaded silent ly. _I ' m coming as f ast as I can_. " I n t hese hihighly mat er ial t imes, " Sisodia
explained, "who else but goddess of wewealt h? I n Bombay t he young businessmen ar e hoho
holding all night poopoo pooj a part ies. St at ue of Lakshmi pr esides, wit h hands t ut urned out ,
and light bulbs r unning down her fifi f ingers, light ing in sequence, you get me, as if t he wealt h
is paw paw pour ing down her palms. " On t he cabin' s movie scr een a st ewardess was
demonst rat ing t he var ious safet y pr ocedur es. I n a cor ner of t he scr een an inset male figur e
t r anslat ed her int o sign language. This was pr ogr ess, Chamcha r ecognized. Film inst ead of
human beings, a small incr ease in sophist icat ion ( t he signing) and a lar ge incr ease in cost . High
t echnology at t he ser vice, ost ensibly, of safet y; while in realit y air t ravel got daily mor e
dangerous, t he wor ld' s st ock of aircraft was ageing and nobody could af ford t o r enew it .
Bit s fell off planes ever y day, or so it seemed, and collisions and near - - misses were also on t he
up. So t he film was a kind of lie, because by exist ing it said: _Obser ve t he lengt hs we' ll go t o
for your secur it y. We' ll even make you a movie about it _. St yle inst ead of subst ance, t he image
inst ead of t he r ealit y . . . " I ' m planning a big bubudget pict ur e about her , " Sisodia said. "This is
in st rict est coco confidence. Maybe a Sridevi weewee wehicle, I hohope so. Now t hat Gibr eel' s
comeback is flaw flaw f lopping, she is number one supr eme. "
Chamcha had heard t hat Gibreel Farisht a had hit t he comeback t r ail. His first film, _The
Part ing of t he Arabian Sea_, had bombed badly; t he special eff ect s looked home- made, t he gir l
in t he cent ral Ayesha role, a cert ain Pimple Billimor ia, had been woef ully inadequat e, and
Gibr eel' s own por t rayal of t he archangel had st r uck many cr it ics as nar cissist ic and
megalomaniac. The days when he could do no wr ong wer e gone; his second f eat ur e,
_Mahound_, had hit every imaginable r eligious r eef, and sunk wit hout t r ace. "You see, he
chochose t o go wit h ot her pr oducer s, " Sisodia lament ed. "The gr eegreed of t he ist a ist a ist ar.
Wit h me t he if if effect s always wor k and t he good t at ast e also you can t ake f or gug, gr unt ,
gr ant ed. " Saladin Chamcha closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat . He had dr unk his
whisky t oo fast on account of his f ear of f lying, and his head had begun t o spin. Sisodia
appear ed not t o recall his past connect ion t o Far isht a, which was fine. That was where t he
connect ion belonged: in t he past . "Shh shh Sr idevi as Lakshmi, " Sisodia sang out , not ver y
conf ident ially. " Now t hat is sosolid gold. You ar e an ack act or. You should wor k back hohome.
Call me. Maybe we can do bubusiness. This pict ur e: solid pap pap _plat inum_. "
Chamcha' s head whir led. What st range meanings words were t aking on. Only a f ew days
ago t hat _back home_ would have r ung false. But now his fat her was dying and old emot ions
wer e sending t ent acles out t o gr asp him. Maybe his t ongue was t wist ing again, sending his
accent East along wit h t he r est of him. He har dly dar ed open his mout h.
Almost t went y years earlier, when t he young and newly renamed Saladin was scr at ching a
living on t he margins of t he London t heat re, in or der t o maint ain a safe dist ance fr om his
fat her ; and when Changez was ret r eat ing in ot her ways, becoming bot h r eclusive and r eligious;
back t hen, one day, out of t he blue, t he fat her had writ t en t o t he son, offering him a house.
The pr oper t y was a rambling mansion in t he hill- st at ion of Solan. "The first proper t y I ever
owned, " Changez wr ot e, " and so it is t he fir st I am gift ing t o you. " Saladin' s inst ant react ion
was t o see t he of fer as a snare, a way of r ej oining him t o home, t o t he webs of his fat her ' s
power; and when he learned t hat t he Solan proper t y had long ago been requisit ioned by t he
I ndian Gover nment in r et ur n for a peppercor n r ent , and t hat it had f or many years been
occupied by a boys' school, t he gift st ood revealed as a delusion as well. What did Chamcha
car e if t he school wer e willing t o t r eat him, on any visit s he car ed t o make, as a visit ing Head
of St at e, put t ing on march- - past s and gymnast ic displays? That sor t of t hing appealed t o
Changez' s enormous vanit y, but Chamcha want ed none of it . The point was, t he school wasn' t
budging; t he gift was useless, and pr obably an administ rat ive headache as well. He wr ot e t o
his fat her r efusing t he off er . I t was t he last t ime Changez Chamchawala t ried t o give him
anyt hing. _Home_ receded fr om t he pr odigal son.
"I never f or get a faf ace, " Sisodia was saying. "You' re mimi Mimi' s fr iend. The _Bost an_
susurvivor. Knew it t he moment I saw you papa panic at t he gaga gat e. Hope you' r e not
feefeeling t oo baba bad. " Saladin, his heart sinking, shook his head, no, I ' m fine, honest ly.
Sisodia, gleaming, knee- like, winked hideously at a passing st ewardess and summoned mor e
whisky. "Such a shashame about Gibr eel and his lady, " Sisodia went on. "Such a nice name
t hat she had, alla alla Alleluia. What a t emper on t hat boy, what aj caj ealous t at a t ype. Har d for
a momodern gaga gir l. They bus bust up. " Saladin ret r eat ed, once again, int o a pret ence of
sleep. _I have only j ust r ecover ed from t he past . Go, go away_.
He had for mally declar ed his recover y complet e only f ive weeks ear lier , at t he wedding of
Mishal Sufyan and Hanif Johnson. Aft er t he deat h of her parent s in t he Shaandaar f ir e
Mishal had been assailed by a t er r ible, illogical guilt t hat caused her mot her t o appear t o her in
dr eams and admonish her: " I f only you' d passed t he fire ext inguisher when I asked. I f only
you' d blown a lit t le harder . But you never list en t o what I say and your lungs ar e so cigar et t e-
rot t en t hat you could not blow out one candle let alone a burning house. " Under t he severe eye
of her mot her' s ghost Mishal moved out of Hanif' s apar t ment , t ook a r oom in a place wit h t hree
ot her women, applied for and got Jumpy Joshi' s old j ob at t he sport s cent re, and f ought t he
insur ance companies unt il t hey paid up. Only when t he Shaandaar was r eady t o reopen under
her management did Hind Sufyan' s ghost agr ee t hat it was t ime t o be of f t o t he aft er - lif e;
wher eupon Mishal t elephoned Hanif and asked him t o marr y her. He was t oo surpr ised t o reply,
and had t o pass t he t elephone t o a colleague who explained t hat t he cat had got Mr . Johnson' s
t ongue, and accept ed Mishal' s offer on t he dumbst r uck lawyer' s behalf . So everybody was
recovering fr om t he t r agedy; even Anahit a, who had been obliged t o live wit h a st iflingly old-
fashioned aunt , managed t o look pleased at t he wedding, per haps because Mishal had
pr omised her her own r ooms in t he r enovat ed Shaandaar Hot el. Mishal had asked Saladin t o be
her chief wit ness in r ecognit ion of his at t empt t o save her par ent s' life, and on t heir way t o t he
regist ry office in Pinkwalla' s van ( all char ges against t he DJ and his boss, John Maslama, had
been dropped for lack of evidence) Chamcha t old t he bride: "Today feels like a new st ar t for
me, t oo; perhaps for all of us. " I n his own case t her e had been bypass surger y, and t he
dif ficult y of coming t o t erms wit h so many deat hs, and night mar e visions of being
met amorphosed once mor e int o some sor t of suiphur ous, cloven- hoof demon. He was also, for
a t ime, professionally crippled by a shame so pr ofound t hat , when client s finally did begin t o
book him once more and ask f or one of his voices, for example t he voice of a frozen pea or a
glove- puppet packet of sausages, he felt t he memory of his t elephonic cr imes welling up in his
t hr oat and st rangling t he impersonat ions at bir t h. At Mishal' s wedding, however , he suddenly
felt f ree. I t was quit e a cer emony, largely because t he young couple could not refr ain fr om
kissing one anot her t hroughout t he pr ocedur e, and had t o be ur ged by t he regist r ar ( a pleasant
young woman who also exhor t ed t he guest s not t o drink t oo much t hat day if t hey planned t o
dr ive) t o hur ry up and get t hr ough t he wor ds bef or e it was t ime f or t he next wedding par t y t o
arr ive. Aft er wards at t he Shaandaar t he kissing cont inued, t he kisses becoming gr adually
longer and more explicit , unt il finally t he guest s had t he feeling t hat t hey were int ruding on a
pr ivat e moment , and slipped quiet ly away leaving Hanif and Mishal t o enj oy a passion so
engulf ing t hat t hey did not even not ice t heir fr iends' depart ure; t hey r emained oblivious, t oo, of
t he small cr owd of children t hat gat her ed out side t he windows of t he Shaandaar Caf t o wat ch
t hem. Chamcha, t he last guest t o leave, did t he newlyweds t he favour of pulling down t he
blinds, much t o t he childr en' s annoyance; and st r olled off down t he rebuilt High St reet feeling
so light on his f eet t hat he act ually gave a kind of embarr assed skip.
Not hing is f or ever, he t hought beyond closed eyelids somewher e over Asia Minor . Maybe
unhappiness is t he cont inuum t hrough which a human life moves, and j oy j ust a ser ies of blips,
of islands in t he st r eam. Or if not unhappiness, t hen at least melancholy . . . These br oodings
wer e int er rupt ed by a lust y snore f rom t he seat beside him. Mr . Sisodia, whisky- glass in hand,
was asleep.
The pr oducer was evident ly a hit wit h t he st ewardesses. They fussed around his sleeping
per son, det aching t he glass fr om his f ingers and r emoving it t o a place of safet y, spr eading a
blanket over his lower half, and t rilling admiringly over his snoring head: "Doesn' t he look
poochie? Just a lit t le cut eso, I swear ! " Chamcha was reminded unexpect edly of t he societ y
ladies of Bombay pat t ing him on t he head dur ing his mot her' s lit t le soirees, and fought back
t ear s of surpr ise. Sisodia act ually looked faint ly obscene; he had removed his spect acles before
falling asleep, and t heir absence gave him an oddly naked appearance. To Chamcha' s eyes he
resembled not hing so much as an out size Shiva lingam. Maybe t hat account ed for his
popularit y wit h t he ladies.
Flicking t hr ough t he magazines and newspaper s he was offer ed by t he st ewardesses,
Saladin chanced upon an old acquaint ance in t r ouble. Hal Valance' s sanit ized _Aliens
Show_ had f lopped badly in t he Unit ed St at es and was being t aken off t he air. Worse st ill, his
adver t ising agency and it s subsidiar ies had been swallowed by an Amer ican leviat han, and it
was pr obable t hat Hal was on t he way out , conquered by t he t r ansat lant ic dr agon he had set
out t o t ame. I t was har d t o f eel sor ry for Valance, unemployed and down t o his last f ew
millions, abandoned by his beloved Mrs. Tor t ur e and her pals, r elegat ed t o t he limbo reserved
for f allen favour it es, along wit h bust ed ent repreneur . - boff ins and insider dealing f inancier s and
renegade ex- minist er s; but Chamcha, flying t o his f at her' s deat hbed, was in so height ened an
emot ional condit ion t hat he managed a valedict or y lump in t he t hr oat even f or wicked Hal. _At
whose pool t able_, he wonder ed vaguely, _is Baby playing now?_
I n I ndia, t he war bet ween men and women showed no sign of abat ing. I n t he _I ndian
Expr ess_ he read an account of t he lat est "br ide suicide" . _The husband, Praj apat i, is
absconding_. On t he next page, in t he weekly small - - ad marr iage mar ket , t he parent s of young
men st ill demanded, and t he parent s of young women pr oudly of fered, br ides of "wheat ish"
complexions. Chamcha r emembered Zeeny' s fr iend, t he poet Bhupen Gandhi, speaking of such
t hings wit h passionat e bit t er ness. "How t o accuse ot her s of being pr ej udiced when our own
hands are so dir t y?" he had declaimed. "Many of you in Br it ain speak of vict imizat ion. Well. I
have not been t here, I don' t know your sit uat ion, but in my personal exper ience I have never
been able t o f eel comf or t able about being described as a vict im. I n class t er ms, obviously, I am
not . Even speaking cult urally, you find here all t he bigot r ies, all t he procedures associat ed wit h
oppressor gr oups. So while many I ndians ar e undoubt edly oppr essed, I don' t t hink any of us
are ent it led t o lay claim t o such a glamor ous posit ion. "
"Tr ouble wit h Bhupen' s radical cr it iques, " Zeeny had remar ked, " is t hat r eact ionaries like
Salad baba her e j ust love t o lap t hem up. "
An armament s scandal was r aging; had t he I ndian gover nment paid kickbacks t o
middlemen, and t hen gone in f or a cover - up? Vast sums of money wer e involved, t he Pr ime
Minist er ' s cr edibilit y had been weakened, but Chamcha couldn' t be bot her ed wit h any of it . He
was st aring at t he fuzzy phot ograph, on an inside page, of indist inct , bloat ed shapes float ing
down- river in large number s. I n a nort h I ndian t own t here had been a massacr e of Muslims,
and t heir corpses had been dumped in t he wat er, where t hey await ed t he minist r at ions of some
t went iet h- - cent ury Gaffer Hexam. Ther e wer e hundr eds of bodies, swollen and rancid; t he
st ench seemed t o r ise of f t he page. And in Kashmir a once- popular Chief Minist er who had
"made an accommodat ion" wit h t he Congress - - I had shoes hurled at him dur ing t he Eid
pr ayer s by irat e gr oups of I slamic fundament alist s. Communalism, sect ar ian t ension, was
omnipresent : as if t he gods were going t o war . I n t he et er nal st r uggle bet ween t he world' s
beaut y and it s cr uelt y, cr uelt y was gaining gr ound by t he day. Sisodia' s voice int r uded on t hese
mor ose t hought s. The pr oducer had woken up t o see t he phot ograph fr om Meer ut st ar ing up
from Chamcha' s fold- - out t able. "Fact is, " he said wit hout any of his usual bonhomie, " religious
fafait h, which encodes t he highest ass ass aspir at ions of human r ace, is now, in our cocount ry,
t he ser vant of lowest inst inct s, and gogo God is t he cr eat ur e of evil. "
KNOWN HI STORY SHEETERS RESPONSI BLE FOR KI LLI NGS, a gover nment spokesman
alleged, but "pr ogr essive element s" r ej ect ed t his analysis. CI TY CONSTABULARY
CONTAMI NATED BY COMMUNAL AGI TATORS, t he count er - argument suggest ed. HI NDU
NATI ONALI STS RUN AMUCK. A polit ical fort night ly cont ained a phot ograph of signboar ds t hat
had been mount ed out side t he Juma Masj id in Old Delhi. The I mam, a loose- bellied man wit h
cynical eyes, who could be found most mor nings in his "gar den" - - a r ed- ear t h- and- rubble
wast e land in t he shadow of t he mosque - - count ing r upees donat ed by t he f ait hful and r olling
up each not e individually, so t hat he seemed t o be holding a handful of t hin beedi- like
cigaret t es - - and who was no st ranger t o com- - munalist polit ics himself, was apparent ly
det ermined t hat t he Meerut hor ror should be t ur ned t o good account . _Quench t he Fir e under
our Breast _, t he signboar ds cried. _Salut e wit h Rever ence t hose who met Mar t yr dom f rom t he
Bullet s of t he Po lis_. Also: _Alas! Alas! Alas! Awak t he Pr ime Minist er ! _ And finally, t he call
t o act ion: _Bandh will be obser ved_, and t he dat e of t he st rike.
"Bad days, " Sisodia went on. "For t he moomoo movies also TV and economics have Delhi
Delhi delet erious eff ect s. " Then he cheered up as st ewar desses approached. "I will confess t o
being a mem member of t he mile high cluck cluck club, " he said gaily wit hin t he at t endant s'
hear ing. "And you? Should I see what I can ficfic f ix?"
O, t he dissociat ions of which t he human mind is capable, marvelled Saladin gloomily. O,
t he conflict ing selves j ost ling and j oggling wit hin t hese bags of skin. No wonder we ar e unable
t o r emain f ocused on anyt hing for very long; no wonder we invent r emot e- cont r ol channel -
hopping devices. I f we t urned t hese inst rument s upon ourselves we' d discover mor e channels
t han a cable or sat ellit e mogul ever dreamed of . . . He himself had f ound his t hought s st raying,
no mat t er how har d he t r ied t o f ix t hem on his fat her , t owar ds t he quest ion of Miss Zeenat
Vakil. He had wir ed ahead, infor ming her of his ar rival; would she meet t he flight ? What might
or might not happen bet ween t hem? Had he, by leaving her , by not r et ur ning, by losing t ouch
for a t ime, done t he Unfor givable Thing? Was she - - he t hought , and was shocked by t he
realizat ion t hat it had simply not occur red t o him earlier - - marr ied? I n love? I nvolved? And as
for himself: what did he r eally want ? _I ' ll know when I see her_, he t hought . The fut ur e, even
when it was only a quest ion- shrouded glimmer, would not be eclipsed by t he past ; even when
deat h moved t owards t he cent r e of t he st age, life went on fight ing for equal r ight s.
The flight passed wit hout incident .
Zeenat Vakil was not wait ing at t he air por t .
"Come along, " Sisodia waved. "My car has come t o pipi pick, so please t o lelet me drop. "
o o o
Thir t y- - five minut es lat er Saladin Chamcha was at Scandal Point , st anding at t he gat es of
childhood wit h holdall and suit - bags, looking at t he import ed video- cont r olled ent r y syst em.
Ant inarcot ics slogans had been paint ed on t he perimet er wall: DREAMS ALL DROWN/ WHEN
SUGAR I S BROWN. And: FUTURE I S BLACK/ WHEN SUGAR I S BROWN. Courage, my old, he
br aced himself; and rang as direct ed, once, f irmly, for at t ent ion.
o o o
I n t he luxuriant gar den t he st ump of t he felled walnut - t r ee caught his unquiet eye. They
pr obably used it as a picnic t able now, he mused bit t erly. His f at her had always had a gif t for
t he melodr amat ic, self - pit ying gest ur e, and t o eat his lunch off a surface which packed such an
emot ional wallop - - wit h, no doubt , many profound sighs bet ween t he large mout hfuls - - would
be r ight in charact er . Was he going t o camp up his deat h, t oo, Saladin wonder ed. What a
gr andst and play for sympat hy t he old bast ard could make now! Anyone in t he vicinit y of a
dying man was ut t erly at his mer cy. Punches delivered f rom a deat hbed left br uises t hat never
faded.
His st epmot her emerged fr om t he dying man' s marbled mansion t o gr eet Chamcha wit hout
a hint of rancour. "Salahuddin. Good you came. I t will lift his spirit , and now it is his spirit t hat
he must fight wit h, because his body is more or less kaput . " She was per haps six or seven
years younger t han Saladin' s mot her would have been, but out of t he same bir dlike mould. His
lar ge, expansive fat her had been r emarkably consist ent in t hese mat t er s at least . "How long
does he have?" Saladin asked. Nasreen was as undeceived as her t elegram had suggest ed. "I t
could be any day. " The myeloma was present t hroughout Changez' s "long bones" - - t he cancer
had br ought it s own vocabular y t o t he house; one no longer spoke of _ar ms and legs_ - -
and in his skull. Cancerous cells had even been det ect ed in t he blood around t he bones. "We
should have spot t ed it , " Nasr een said, and Saladin began t o feel t he old lady' s power, t he force
of will wit h which she was r eining in her feelings. " His pronounced weight - loss t hese past t wo
years. Also he has complained of aches and pains, f or inst ance in t he knees. You know how it
is. Wit h an old man, you blame . his age, you don' t imagine t hat a vile, hideous disease. " She
st opped, needing t o cont rol her voice. Kast ur ba, t he ex- ayah, had come out t o j oin t hem in t he
gar den. I t t urned out t hat her husband Vallabh had died almost a year ear lier , of old age, in his
sleep: a kinder deat h t han t he one now eat ing it s way out of t he body of his employer , t he
seducer of his wife. Kast ur ba was st ill dr essing in Nasr een I ' s old, loud sar is: t oday she had
chosen one of t he dizziest of t he Op- - Ar t black- - and- whit e pr int s. She, t oo, greet ed Saladin
warmly: hugs kisses t ear s. "As for me, " she sobbed, "I will never st op pr aying for a mir acle
while t her e is one breat h lef t in his poor lungs. "
Nasr een I I embr aced Kast ur ba; each woman r est ed her head on t he ot her ' s shoulder. The
int imacy bet ween t he t wo women was spont aneous and unt arnished by r esent ment s; as if t he
pr oximit y of deat h had washed away t he quarr els and j ealousies of life. The t wo old ladies
comfor t ed one anot her in t he garden, each consoling t he ot her f or t he imminent loss of t he
most precious of t hings: love. Or, r at her: t he beloved. "Come on, " Nasreen finally said t o
Saladin. "He should see you, pr ont o. "
"Does he know?" Saladin asked. Nasr een answer ed evasively. "He is an int elligent man. He
keeps asking, wher e has all t he blood gone? He says, t here ar e only t wo illnesses in which t he
blood vanishes like t his. One is t uberculosis. " But , Saladin pressed, he never act ually speaks
t he word? Nasreen lower ed her head. The word had not been spoken, eit her by Changez or in
his presence. "Shouldn' t he know?" Chamcha asked. "Doesn' t a man have t he right t o prepare
for his deat h?" He saw Nasr een' s eyes blaze for an inst ant . _Who do you t hink you are t o t ell
us our dut y. You have sacr ificed all right s_. Then t hey faded, and when she spoke her voice
was level, unemot ional, low. " Maybe you' r e corr ect . " But Kast ur ba wailed: "No! How t o t ell him,
poor man? I t will br eak his hear t . "
The cancer had t hickened Changez' s blood t o t he point at which his hear t was having t he
gr eat est difficult y pumping it r ound his body. I t had also pollut ed t he bloodst ream wit h alien
bodies, plat elet s, t hat would at t ack any blood wit h which he was t r ansfused, even blood of his
own t ype. _So, even in t his small way, I can' t help him_, Saladin under st ood. Changez could
easily die of t hese side- eff ect s before t he cancer did for him. I f he did die f rom t he cancer , t he
end would t ake t he f or m eit her of pneumonia or of kidney failur e; t he doct ors, knowing t hey
could do not hing for him, had sent him home t o wait f or it . " Because myeloma is syst emic,
chemot her apy and r adiat ion t r eat ment are not used, " Nasr een explained. "Only medicament is
t he dr ug Melphalan, which can in some cases pr olong life, even for years. However , we are
infor med he is in t he cat egory which will not respond t o Melphalan t ablet s. " _But he has not
been t old_, Saladin' s inner voices insist ed. _And t hat ' s wr ong, wrong, wr ong_. "St ill, a mir acle
has happened, " Kast ur ba cried. " The doct or s t old t hat normally t his is one of t he most painful
cancers; but your f at her is in no pain. I f one pr ays, t hen somet imes a kindness is grant ed. " I t
was on account of t he fr eak absence of pain t hat t he cancer had t aken so long t o diagnose; it
had been spr eading in Changez' s body f or at least t wo years. "I must see him now, " Saladin
gent ly asked. A bear er had t aken his holdall and suit - bags indoors while t hey spoke; now, at
last , he followed his garment s indoor s.
The int erior of t he house was unchanged - - t he gener osit y of t he second Nasreen t owar ds
t he memor y of t he f irst seemed boundless, at least dur ing t hese days, t he last on ear t h of t heir
mut ual spouse - - except t hat Nasreen I I had moved in her collect ion of st uf fed birds ( hoopoes
and rar e parr ot s under glass bellj ar s, a full - gr own King Penguin in t he mar ble- and- mosaic hall,
it s beak swar ming wit h t iny red ant s) and her cases of impaled but t erf lies. Saladin moved past
t his colourf ul galler y of dead wings t owards his fat her' s st udy - - Changez had insist ed on
vacat ing his bedr oom and having a bed moved downst airs int o t hat wood- panelled ret reat
full of rot t ing books, so t hat people didn' t have t o run up and down all day t o look aft er him - -
and came, at last , t o deat h' s door.
Ear ly in life Changez Chamchawala had acquired t he disconcert ing knack of sleeping wit h
his eyes wide open, "st aying on guard" , as he liked t o say. Now, as Saladin quiet ly ent ered t he
room, t he eff ect of t hose open grey eyes st ar ing blindly at t he ceiling was posit ively unner ving.
For a moment Saladin t hought he was t oo lat e; t hat Changez had died while he' d been chat t ing
in t he gar den. Then t he man on t he bed emit t ed a series of small coughs, t ur ned his head, and
ext ended an uncer t ain arm. Saladin Chamcha went t owards his f at her and bowed his head
beneat h t he old man' s car essing palm.
o o o
To fall in love wit h one' s fat her af t er t he long angry decades was a serene and beaut iful
feeling; a r enewing, life- giving t hing, Saladin want ed t o say, but did not , because it sounded
vampirish; as if by sucking t his new life out of his f at her he was making room, in Changez' s
body, for deat h. Alt hough he kept it quiet , however, Saladin felt hourly closer t o many old,
rej ect ed selves, many alt er nat ive Saladins - - or r at her Salahuddins - - which had split off fr om
himself as he made his var ious lif e choices, but which had appar ent ly cont inued t o exist ,
per haps in t he parallel univer ses of quant um t heory. Cancer had st ripped Changez
Chamchawala lit erally t o t he bone; his cheeks had collapsed int o t he hollows of t he skull, and
he had t o place a foam- rubber pillow under his but t ocks because of t he at r ophying of his flesh.
But it had also st r ipped him of his fault s, of all t hat had been domineering, t yrannical and cruel
in him, so t hat t he mischievous, loving and brilliant man beneat h lay exposed, once again, for
all t o see. _I f only he could have been t his person all his life_, Saladin ( who had begun t o find
t he sound of his f ull, unEnglished name pleasing for t he f ir st t ime in t went y year s) f ound
himself wishing. How hard it was t o f ind one' s fat her j ust when one had no choice but t o say
goodbye.
On t he mor ning of his r et urn Salahuddin Chamchawala was asked by his fat her t o give him
a shave. "These old women of mine don' t know which side of a Philishave is t he business end. "
Changez' s skin hung of f his face in sof t , leat hery j owls, and his hair ( when Salahuddin empt ied
t he machine) looked like ashes. Salahuddin could not remember when he had last t ouched his
fat her ' s face t his way, gent ly drawing t he skin t ight as t he cor dless shaver moved acr oss it , and
t hen st r oking it t o make sure it f elt smoot h. When he had finished he cont inued for a moment
t o r un his finger s along Changez' s cheeks. " Look at t he old man, " Nasreen said t o Kast urba as
t hey ent er ed t he r oom, "he can' t t ake his eyes off his boy. " Changez Chamchawala gr inned an
exhaust ed gr in, revealing a mout h full of shat t er ed t eet h, f lecked wit h spit t le and crumbs.
When his fat her fell asleep again, af t er being for ced by Kast urba and Nasr een t o drink a
small quant it y of wat er, and gazed up at - - what ? - - wit h his open, dreaming eyes, which could
see int o t hr ee wor lds at once, t he act ual wor ld of his st udy, t he visionar y wor ld of dreams, and
t he appr oaching af t er - lif e as well ( or so Salahuddin, in a fanciful moment , found himself
imagining) ; - - t hen t he son went t o Changez' s old bedroom for a rest . Gr ot esque heads in
paint ed t er racot t a glowered down at him f rom t he walls: a hor ned demon; a leering Ar ab wit h
a falcon on his shoulder ; a bald man r olling his eyes upwards and put t ing his t ongue out in
panic as a huge black f ly set t led on his eyebr ow. Unable t o sleep beneat h t hese figures, which
he had known all his lif e and also hat ed, because he had come t o see t hem as por t rait s of
Changez, he moved finally t o a diff er ent , neut ral room.
Waking up in t he ear ly evening, he went downst air s t o find t he t wo old women out side
Changez' s room, t r ying t o wor k out t he det ails of his medicat ion. Apart f rom t he daily
Melphalan t ablet , he had been prescribed a whole bat t er y of dr ugs in an at t empt t o combat t he
cancer' s per nicious side- eff ect s: anaemia, t he st r ain on t he hear t , and so on. I sosorbide
dinit rat e, t wo t ablet s, four t imes a day; Furosemide, one t ablet , t hr ee t imes; Pr ednisolone,
six t ablet s, t wice daily . . . " I ' ll do t his, " he t old t he r elieved old women. "At least it is one t hing
I can do. " Agarol for his const ipat ion, Spironolact one f or goodness knew what , and a zylor ic,
Allopur inol: he suddenly remembered, crazily, an ant ique t heat r e review in which t he English
crit ic, Kennet h Tynan, had imagined t he polysyllabic charact er s in Marlowe' s _Tamburlaine t he
Gr eat _ as " a hor de of pills and wonder dr ugs bent on decimat ing one anot her" :
_Bear d' st t hou me her e, t hou bold Bar bit ur at e?_
_Sir rah, t hy gr andam' s dead - - old Nembut al_.
_The spangled st ars shall weep for Nembut al_ . . .
_I s it not passing br ave t o be a king_,
_Aur eomycin and For maldehyde_,
_I s it not passing br ave t o be a king_
_And r ide in t riumph t hr ough Amphet amine?_
The t hings one' s memory t hrew up! But perhaps t his pharmaceut ical _Tamburlaine_ was
not such a bad eulogy for t he fallen monar ch lying here in his bookwormed st udy, st ar ing int o
t hr ee wor lds, wait ing f or t he end. "Come on, Abba, " he mar ched cheer ily int o t he pr esence.
"Time t o save your life. "
St ill in it s place, on a shelf in Changez' s st udy: a cert ain copper - - and- br ass lamp, reput ed
t o have t he power of wish fulfilment , but as yet ( because never rubbed) unt est ed. Somewhat
t ar nished now, it looked down upon it s dying owner; and was obser ved, in it s t ur n, by his only
son. Who was sorely t empt ed, for an inst ant , t o get it down, rub t hree t imes, and ask t he
t ur banned dj inni for a magic spell . . . however , Salahuddin left t he lamp where it was. Ther e
was no place f or dj inns or ghouls or af reet s her e; no spooks or f ancies could be permit t ed. No
magic for mulae; j ust t he impot ence of t he pills. "Here' s t he medicine man, " Salahuddin sang
out , r at t ling t he lit t le bot t les, r ousing his f at her fr om sleep. "Medicine, " Changez grimaced
childishly. " Eek, bhaak, t hoo. "
o o o
That night , Salahuddin forced Nasr een and Kast ur ba t o sleep comfort ably in t heir own beds
while he kept wat ch over Changez f rom a mat t r ess on t he floor . Af t er his midnight dose of
I sosorbide, t he dying man slept for t hr ee hours, and t hen needed t o go t o t he t oilet .
Salahuddin vir t ually lif t ed him t o his f eet , and was ast onished at Changez' s light ness. This had
always been a weight y man, but now he was a living lunch f or t he advancing cancer cells . . . in
t he t oilet , Changez refused all help. " He won' t let you do one t hing, " Kast urba had complained
lovingly. "Such a shy f ellow t hat he is. " On his way back t o bed he leaned light ly on
Salahuddin' s arm, and shuffled along flat - foot ed in old, wor n bedroom slipper s, his r emaining
hair s st icking out at comical angles, his head st uck beakily f or war d on it s scrawny, f ragile neck.
Salahuddin suddenly longed t o pick t he old man up, t o cr adle him in his arms and sing soft ,
comfor t ing songs. I nst ead, he blur t ed out , at t his least appropriat e of moment s, an appeal for
reconciliat ion. " Abba, I came because I didn' t want t her e t o be t rouble bet ween us any mor e . .
. " _Fucking idiot . The Devil damn t hee black, t hou cream- fac' d loon. I n t he middle of t he
bloody night ! And if he hasn' t guessed he' s dying, t hat lit t le deat hbed speech will cer t ainly have
let him know_. Changez cont inued t o shuffle along; his grip on his son' s ar m t ight ened very
slight ly. "That doesn' t mat t er any more, " he said. "I t ' s forgot t en, what ever it was. "
I n t he morning, Nasr een and Kast urba arr ived in clean sar is, looking r est ed and
complaining, " I t was so t err ible sleeping away fr om him t hat we didn' t sleep one wink. " They
fell upon Changez, and so t ender wer e t heir car esses t hat Salahuddin had t he same sense of
spying on a privat e moment t hat he' d had at t he wedding of Mishal Suf yan. He left t he room
quiet ly while t he t hree lovers embr aced, kissed and wept .
Deat h, t he gr eat fact , wove it s spell around t he house on Scandal Point . Salahuddin
surr endered t o it like everyone else, even Changez, who, on t hat second day, oft en smiled his
old crooked smile, t he one t hat said I know what ' s up, I ' ll go along wit h it , j ust don' t t hink I ' m
fooled. Kast urba and Nasreen fussed over him const ant ly, br ushing his hair , coaxing him t o eat
and dr ink. His t ongue had grown fat in his mout h, slur ring his speech slight ly, making it hard t o
swallow; he refused anyt hing at all fibr ous or st ringy, even t he chicken br east s he had loved all
his life. A mout hf ul of soup, pur ed pot at oes, a t ast e of cust ar d. Baby food. When he sat up in
bed Salahuddin sat behind him; Changez leaned against his son' s body while he at e.
"Open t he house, " Changez commanded t hat mor ning. "I want t o see some smiling f aces
here, inst ead of your t hree glum mugs. " So, af t er a long t ime, people came: young and old,
half - for got t en cousins, uncles, aunt s; a f ew comr ades fr om t he old days of t he nat ionalist
movement , poker - - backed gent lemen wit h silver hair , achkan j acket s and monocles;
employees of t he var ious foundat ions and philant hropical ent er prises set up by Changez year s
ago; r ival manufact ur er s of agricult ur al spr ays and art if icial dung. A r eal bag of ailsort s,
Salahuddin t hought ; but mar velled, also, at how beaut ifully everyone behaved in t he presence
of t he dying man: t he young spoke t o him int imat ely about t heir lives, as if r eassur ing him t hat
lif e it self was invincible, of fering him t he rich consolat ion of being a member of t he gr eat
pr ocession of t he human r ace, - - while t he old evoked t he past , so t hat he knew not hing was
for got t en, not hing lost ; t hat in spit e of t he year s of self - imposed sequest r at ion he remained
j oined t o t he wor ld. Deat h br ought out t he best in people; it was good t o be shown - -
Salahuddin realized - - t hat t his, t oo, was what human beings wer e like: consider at e, loving,
even noble. We ar e st ill capable of exalt at ion, he t hought in celebrat ory mood; in spit e of
ever yt hing, we can st ill t ranscend. A pr et t y young woman - - it occurr ed t o Salahuddin t hat she
was pr obably his niece, and he felt ashamed t hat he didn' t know her name - - was t aking
Polar oid snapshot s of Changez wit h his visit ors, and t he sick man was enj oying himself hugely,
pulling faces, t hen kissing t he many pr offered cheeks wit h a light in his eyes t hat Salahuddin
ident if ied as nost algia. " I t ' s like a birt hday part y, " he t hought . Or: like Finnegan' s wake. The
dead man refusing t o lie down and let t he living have all t he f un.
"We have t o t ell him, " Salahuddin insist ed when t he visit ors had lef t . Nasr een bowed her
head; and nodded. Kast ur ba burst int o t ears.
They t old him t he next mor ning, having asked t he specialist t o at t end t o answer any
quest ions Changez might have. The specialist , Panikkar ( a name t he English would
mispronounce and giggle over , Salahuddin t hought , like t he Muslim "Fakhar ") , arr ived at t en,
shining wit h self - - est eem. " I should t ell him, " he said, t aking cont r ol. "Most pat ient s feel
ashamed t o let t heir loved ones see t heir fear. " "The hell you will, " Salahuddin said wit h a
vehemence t hat t ook him by surpr ise. "Well, in t hat case, " Panikkar shr ugged, making as if t o
leave; which won t he ar gument , because now Nasr een and Kast urba pleaded wit h Salahuddin:
"Please, let ' s not f ight . " Salahuddin, defeat ed, ushered t he doct or int o his fat her ' s presence;
and shut t he st udy door.
"I have a cancer, " Changez Chamchawala said t o Nasreen, Kast urba and Salahuddin aft er
Panikkar ' s depar t ure. He spoke clear ly, enunciat ing t he word wit h def iant , exagger at ed car e.
"I t is very far advanced. I am not sur prised. I said t o Panikkar : ' This is what I t old you t he ver y
first day. Where else could all t he blood have gone?' " - - Out side t he st udy, Kast ur ba said t o
Salahuddin: "Since you came, t here was a light in his eye. Yest erday, wit h all t he people, how
happy he was! But now his eye is dim. Now he won' t fight . "
That aft ernoon Salahuddin f ound himself alone wit h his fat her while t he t wo women
napped. He discover ed t hat he, who had been so det er mined t o have everyt hing out in t he
open, t o say t he wor d, was now awkwar d and inart iculat e, not knowing how t o speak. But
Changez had somet hing t o say.
"I want you t o know, " he said t o his son, " t hat I have no pr oblem about t his t hing at all. A
man must die of somet hing, and it is not as t hough I were dying young. I have no illusions; I
know I am not going anywher e aft er t his. I t ' s t he end. That ' s okay. The only t hing I ' m af raid of
is pain, because when t her e is pain a man loses his dignit y. I don' t want t hat t o happen. "
Salahuddin was awest r uck. _Fir st one falls in love wit h one' s f at her all over again, and t hen one
lear ns t o look up t o him, t oo_. "The doct ors say you' r e a case in a million, " he replied
t r ut hf ully. "I t looks like you have been spar ed t he pain. " Somet hing in Changez relaxed at t hat ,
and Salahuddin realized how af raid t he old man had been, how much he' d needed t o be t old. . .
"Bas, " Changez Chamchawala said gr uf fly. "Then I ' m ready. And by t he way: you get t he lamp,
aft er all. "
An hour lat er t he diar rhoea began: a t hin black t rickle. Nasreen' s anguished phone calls t o
t he emer gency r oom of t he Br each Candy Hospit al est ablished t hat Panikkar was unavailable.
"Take him off t he Agar ol at once, " t he dut y doct or ordered, and prescribed I modium inst ead. I t
didn' t help. At seven pm t he r isk of dehydrat ion was growing, and Changez was t oo weak t o sit
up f or his food. He had vir t ually no appet it e, but Kast urba managed t o spoon- feed him a few
dr ops of semolina wit h skinned apr icot s. " Yum, yum, " he said ironically, smiling his cr ooked
smile.
He fell asleep, but by one o"clock had been up and down t hr ee t imes. "For God' s sake, "
Salahuddin shout ed down t he t elephone, "give me Panikkar' s home number. " But t hat was
against hospit al pr ocedur e. "You must j udge, " said t he dut y doct or , "if t he t ime has come t o
br ing him down. " Bit ch, Salahuddin Chamchawala mout hed. "Thanks a lot . "
At t hr ee o"clock Changez was so weak t hat Salahuddin mor e or less car ried him t o t he
t oilet . "Get t he car out , " he shout ed at Nasr een and Kast ur ba. " We' r e going t o t he hospit al.
Now. " The proof of Changez' s decline was t hat , t his last t ime, he permit t ed his son t o help him
out . " Black shit is bad, " he said, pant ing f or br eat h. His lungs had filled up alarmingly; t he
br eat h was like bubbles pushing t hrough glue. " Some cancers are slow, but I t hink t his is ver y
fast . Det er ior at ion is very rapid. " And Sala- - huddin, t he apost le of t rut h, t old comfort ing lies:
_Abba, don' t worr y. You' ll be fine_. Changez Chamchawala shook his head. " I ' m going, son, "
he said. His chest heaved; Salahuddin gr abbed a lar ge plast ic mug and held it under Changez' s
mout h. The dying man vomit ed up more t han a pint of phlegm mixed up wit h blood: and aft er
t hat was t oo weak t o t alk. This t ime Salahuddin did have t o carr y him, t o t he back seat of t he
Mer cedes, wher e he sat bet ween Nasr een and Kast urba while Salahuddin dr ove at t op speed t o
Breach Candy Hospit al, half a mile down t he road. " Shall I open t he window, Abba?" he asked
at one point , and Changez shook his head and bubbled: "No. " Much lat er , Salahuddin realized
t his had been his f at her ' s last wor d.
The emergency war d. Running f eet , order lies, wheelchair , Changez being heaved on t o a
bed, curt ains. A young doct or , doing what had t o be done, ver y quickly but wit hout t he
appear ance of speed. _I like him_, Salahuddin t hought . Then t he doct or looked him in t he eye
and said: "I don' t t hink he' s going t o make it . " I t felt like being punched in t he st omach.
Salahuddin realized he' d been clinging on t o a fut ile hope, _t hey' ll f ix him and we' ll t ake him
home; t his isn' t " it " _, and his inst ant react ion t o t he doct or ' s words was r age. _You' re t he
mechanic. Don' t t ell me t he car won' t st ar t ; mend t he damn t hing_. Changez was flat out ,
dr owning in his lungs. "We can' t get at his chest in t his kur t a; may we . . . " _Cut it off Do what
you have t o do_. Drips, t he blip of a weakening hear t beat on a scr een, helplessness. The young
doct or murmuring: "I t won' t be long now, so . . . " At which, Salahuddin Chamchawala did a
crass t hing. He t urned t o Nasr een and Kast ur ba and said: " Come quickly now. Come and say
goodbye. " " For God' s sake! " t he doct or exploded . . . t he women did not weep, but came
up t o Changez and t ook a hand each. Salahuddin blushed for shame. He would never know if
his fat her heard t he deat h- sent ence dripping fr om t he lips of his son.
Now Salahuddin found bet t er wor ds, his Ur du ret urning t o him aft er a long absence. _We' re
all beside you, Abba. We all love you ver y much_. Changez could not speak, but t hat was, - -
was it not ? - - yes, it must have been - - a lit t le nod of r ecognit ion. _He heard me_. Then all of a
sudden Changez Chamchawala left his face; he was st ill alive, but he had gone somewhere
else, had t ur ned inwar ds t o look at what ever t here was t o see. _He is t eaching me how t o die_,
Salahuddin t hought . _He does not avert his eyes, but looks deat h right in t he face_. At no point
in his dying did Changez Chamchawala speak t he name of God.
"Please, " t he doct or said, " go out side t he cur t ain now and let us make our eff or t . "
Salahuddin t ook t he t wo women a few st eps away; and now, when a cur t ain hid Changez fr om
t heir sight , t hey wept . "He swor e he would never leave me, " Nasreen sobbed, her iron cont r ol
br oken at last , "and he has gone away. " Salahuddin went t o wat ch t hrough a cr ack in t he
curt ain; - - and saw t he volt age being pumped int o his fat her ' s body, t he sudden gr een
j aggedness of t he pulse on t he monit or scr een; saw doct or and nurses pounding his f at her ' s
chest ; saw def eat .
The last t hing he had seen in his f at her' s face, j ust befor e t he medical st aff' s f inal, useless
eff or t , was t he dawning of a t err or so profound t hat it chilled Salahuddin t o t he bone. What had
he seen? What was it t hat wait ed for him, for all of us, t hat br ought such f ear t o a br ave man' s
eyes? - - Now, when it was over, he ret urned t o Changez' s bedside; and saw his fat her ' s mout h
curved upwar ds, in a smile.
He caressed t hose sweet cheeks. _I didn' t shave him t oday. He died wit h st ubble on his
chin_. How cold his face was already; but t he brain, t he br ain ret ained a lit t le war mt h. They
had st uffed cot t onwool int o his nost rils. _But suppose t her e' s been a mist ake? What if he want s
t o br eat he?_ Nasr een Chamchawala was beside him. "Let ' s t ake your fat her home, " she said.
o o o
Changez Chamchawala ret urned home in an ambulance, lying in an aluminium t ray on t he
floor bet ween t he t wo women who had loved him, while Salahuddin followed in t he car.
Ambulance men laid him t o rest in his st udy; Nasr een t urned t he air - - condit ioner up high. This
was, aft er all, a t r opical deat h, and t he sun would be up soon.
_What did he see?_ Salahuddin kept t hinking. _Why t he horr or ? And, whence t hat f inal
smile?_
People came again. Uncles, cousins, fr iends t ook charge, arr anging ever yt hing. Nasr een
and Kast ur ba sat on whit e sheet s on t he f loor of t he r oom in which, once upon a t ime, Saladin
and Zeeny had visit ed t he ogre, Changez; women sat wit h t hem t o mourn, many of t hem
recit ing t he qalmah over and over , wit h t he help of count ing beads. Salahuddin was irr it at ed by
t his; but lacked t he will t o t ell t hem t o st op. - - Then t he mullah came, and sewed Changez' s
winding- sheet , and it was t ime t o wash t he body; and even t hough t her e wer e many men
pr esent , and t her e was no need for him t o help, Salahuddin insist ed. _I f he could look his deat h
in t he eye, t hen I can do it , t oo_. - - And when his fat her was being washed, his body rolled t his
way and t hat at t he mullah' s command, t he flesh bruised and slabby, t he appendix scar long
and br own, Salahuddin r ecalled t he only ot her t ime in his life when he' d seen his physically
demure f at her naked: he' d been nine year s old, blundering int o a bat hr oom where Changez
was t aking a shower, and t he sight of his fat her' s penis was a shock he' d never for got t en. That
t hick squat organ, like a club. O t he power of it ; and t he insignificance of his own. . . " His eyes
won' t close, " t he mullah complained. " You should have done it before. " He was a st ocky,
pr agmat ic fellow, t his mullah wit h his mous- - t acheless beard. He t r eat ed t he dead body as a
commonplace t hing, needing washing t he way a car does, or a window, or a dish. "You ar e
from London? Pr oper London? - - I was t her e many year s. I was doorman at Claridge' s Hot el. "
_Oh? Really? How int er est ing_. The man want ed t o make small - - t alk! Salahuddin was appalled.
_That ' s my f at her, don' t you underst and?_ "These gar ment s, " t he mullah asked, indicat ing
Changez' s last kur t a- - paj ama out fit , t he one which t he hospit al st af f had cut open t o get at his
chest . "You have need of t hem?" _No, no. Take t hem. Please_. "You ar e very kind. " Small
pieces of black clot h were being st uffed int o Changez' s mout h and under his eyelids. "This clot h
has been t o Mecca, " t he mullah said. _Get it out ! _ "I don' t under st and. I t is holy fabr ic. " _You
hear d me: out , out _. "May God have mercy on your soul. "
And:
The bier , st r ewn wit h flowers, like an out size baby' s cot .
The body, wr apped in whit e, wit h sandalwood shavings, f or fr agrance, scat t er ed all about
it .
Mor e flower s, and a gr een silken covering wit h Qur anic ver ses embr oidered upon it in gold.
The ambulance, wit h t he bier rest ing in it , await ing t he widows' per mission t o depar t .
The last far ewells of women.
The gr aveyar d. Male mour ner s r ushing t o lift t he bier on t heir shoulder s t r ample
Salahuddin' s foot , r ipping off a segment of t he nail on his big t oe.
Among t he mour ner s, an est ranged old f riend of Changez' s, here in spit e of double
pneumonia; - - and anot her old gent leman, weeping copiously, who will die himself t he ver y
next day; - - and all sor t s, t he walking r ecords of a dead man' s life.
The gr ave. Salahuddin climbs down int o it , st ands at t he head end, t he gravedigger at t he
foot . Changez Chamchawala is lowered down. _The weight of my fat her ' s head, lying in my
hand. I laid it down; t o r est _.
The wor ld, somebody wr ot e, is t he place we pr ove real by dying in it .
o o o
Wait ing for him when he ret ur ned from t he graveyard: a copper and- - br ass lamp, his
renewed inher it ance. He went int o Changez' s st udy and closed t he door . Ther e were his old
slipper s by t he bed: he had become, as he' d foret old, "a pair of empt ied shoes" . The bedclot hes
st ill bor e t he impr int of his fat her' s body; t he room was full of sickly per fume: sandalwood,
camphor , cloves. He t ook t he lamp f rom it s shelf and sat at Changez' s desk. Taking a
handker chief fr om his pocket , he r ubbed br iskly: once, t wice, t hrice.
The light s all went on at once.
Zeenat Vakil ent er ed t he r oom.
"O God, I ' m sor ry, maybe you want ed t hem off, but wit h t he blinds closed it was j ust so
sad. " Waving her arms, speaking loudly in her beaut iful cr oak of a voice, her hair woven, for
once, int o a waist - lengt h ponyt ail, here she was, his ver y own dj inn. "I f eel so bad I didn' t
come befor e, I was j ust t r ying t o hur t you, what a t ime t o choose, so bloody self - indulgent ,
yaar , it ' s good t o see you, you poor orphaned goose. "
She was t he same as ever, immersed in life up t o her neck, combining occasional ar t
lect ur es at t he univer sit y wit h her medical pract ice and her polit ical act ivit ies. "I was at t he
goddamn hospit al when you came, you know? I was r ight t here, but I didn' t know about your
dad unt il it was over, and even t hen I didn' t come t o give you a hug, what a bit ch, if you want
t o t hrow me out I will have no complaint s. " This was a gener ous woman, t he most generous
he' d known. _When you see her, you' ll know_, he had pr omised himself , and it t urned out t o
be t r ue. "I love you, " he heard himself saying, st opping her in her t racks. "Okay, I won' t hold
you t o t hat , " she finally said, looking hugely pleased. "Balance of your mind is obviously
dist ur bed. Lucky for you you ar en' t in one of our gr eat public hospit als; t hey put t he loonies
next t o t he her oin addict s, and t her e' s so much dr ug t raf fic in t he war ds t hat t he poor schizos
end up wit h bad habit s. - - Anyway, if you say it again aft er f or t y days, wat ch out , because
maybe t hen I ' ll t ake it ser iously. Just now it could be a disease. "
Undefeat ed ( and, it appear ed, unat t ached) , Zeeny' s r eent ry int o his lif e complet ed t he
pr ocess of r enewal, of regenerat ion, t hat had been t he most sur prising and par adoxical pr oduct
of his fat her' s t erminal illness. His old English life, it s bizarr eries, it s evils, now seemed very
remot e, even ir relevant , like his t r uncat ed st age- name. "About t ime, " Zeeny appr oved when he
t old her of his ret urn t o _Salahuddin_. " Now you can st op act ing at last . " Yes, t his looked like
t he st ar t of a new phase, in which t he world would be solid and real, and in which t her e was no
longer t he broad figure of a parent st anding bet ween himself and t he inevit abilit y of t he grave.
An or phaned life, like Muhammad" s; like everyone' s. A lif e illuminat ed by a st rangely r adiant
deat h, which cont inued t o glow, in his mind' s eye, like a sor t of magic lamp.
_I must t hink of myself, from now on, as living per pet ually in t he fir st inst ant of t he
fut ur e_, he resolved a f ew days lat er , in Zeeny' s apar t ment on Sophia College Lane, while
recovering in her bed fr om t he t oot hy ent husiasms of her lovemaking. ( She had invit ed him
home shyly, as if she wer e r emoving a veil af t er long concealment . ) But a hist or y is not so
easily shaken off; he was also living, aft er all, in t he _pr esent moment of t he past _, and his old
lif e was about t o surge ar ound him once again, t o complet e it s final act .
o o o
He became aware t hat he was a rich man. Under t he t erms of Changez' s will, t he dead
t ycoon' s vast fort une and myr iad business int erest s were t o be supervised by a group of
dist inguished t rust ees, t he income being divided equally bet ween t hr ee part ies: Changez' s
second wife Nasreen, Kast urba, whom he referr ed t o in t he document as "in every t rue sense,
my t hird", and his son, Salahuddin. Af t er t he deat hs of t he t wo women, however , t he t rust
could be dissolved whenever Salahuddin chose: he inher it ed, in short , t he lot . "On t he
condit ion, " Changez Chamchawala had mischievously st ipulat ed, "t hat t he scoundr el accept s
t he gift he previously spurned, viz. , t he requisit ioned schoolhouse sit uat ed at Solan, Himachal
Pradesh. " Changez might have chopped down a walnut - t r ee, but he had never at t empt ed t o cut
Salahuddin out of his will. - - The houses at Pali Hill and Scandal Point were excluded fr om
t hese pr ovisions, however . The f or mer passed t o Nasreen Chamchawala out right ; t he lat t er
became, wit h immediat e eff ect , t he sole pr oper t y of Kast ur babai, who quickly announced her
int ent ion of selling t he old house t o propert y developer s. The sit e was wort h crores, and
Kast ur ba was wholly unsent iment al about r eal est at e. Salahuddin prot est ed vehement ly, and
was slapped down har d. " I have lived my whole life here, " she inf or med him. "I t is t her efore for
me only t o say. " Nasreen Chamchawala was ent irely indiffer ent t o t he f at e of t he old place.
"One more high- rise, one less piece of old Bombay, " she shrugged. "What ' s t he differ ence?
Cit ies change. " She was already preparing t o move back t o Pali Hill, t aking t he cases of
but t erflies off t he walls, assembling her st uf fed birds in t he ball. "Let it go, " Zeenat Vakil said.
"You couldn' t live in t hat museum, anyway. "
She was r ight , of course; no sooner had he resolved t o set his f ace t owards t he f ut ur e t han
he st art ed mooning around and regret t ing childhood' s end. "I ' m off t o meet George and
Bhupen, you r emember, " she said. "Why don' t you come along? You need t o st ar t plugging int o
t he t own. " Geor ge Miranda had j ust complet ed a document ar y f ilm about communalism,
int erviewing Hindus and Muslims of all shades of opinion. Fundament alist s of bot h religions had
inst ant ly sought inj unct ions banning t he film f rom being shown, and, alt hough t he Bombay
cour t s had r ej ect ed t his r equest , t he case had gone up t o t he Supr eme Cour t . George, even
mor e st ubbly of chin, lank of hair and spr awling of st omach t han Salahuddin r emembered,
dr ank r um in a Dhobi Talao boozer and t humped t he t able wit h pessimist ic f ist s. "This is t he
Supr eme Court of Shah Bano f ame, " he cr ied, r ef er ring t o t he not or ious case in which, under
pr essur e fr om I slamic ext remist s, t he Cour t had ruled t hat alimony payment s were cont rary t o
t he will of Allah, t hus making I ndia' s laws even mor e r eact ionar y t han, f or example, Pakist an' s.
"So I don' t have much hope. " He t wist ed, disconsolat ely, t he waxy point s of his moust ache. His
new gir lfr iend, a t all, t hin Bengali woman wit h cropped hair t hat reminded Salahuddin a lit t le of
Mishal Sufyan, chose t his moment t o at t ack Bhupen Gandhi f or having published a volume of
poems about his visit t o t he "lit t le t emple t own" of Gagar i in t he West er n Ghat s. The poems
had been cr it icized by t he Hindu right ; one eminent Sout h I ndian professor had announced t hat
Bhupen had "forf eit ed his r ight t o be called an I ndian poet ", but in t he opinion of t he young
woman, Swat ilekha, Bhupen had been seduced by r eligion int o a dangerous ambiguit y. Gr ey
hair flopping ear nest ly, moon- face shining, Bhupen defended himself. "I have said t hat t he only
crop of Gagar i is t he st one gods being quarr ied fr om t he hills. I have spoken of herds of
legends, wit h sacr ed cowbells t inkling, grazing on t he hillsides. These are not ambiguous
images. " Swat ilekha wasn' t convinced. "These days, " she insist ed, " our posit ions must be
st at ed wit h cr yst al clarit y. All met aphor s ar e capable of misint erpr et at ion. " She offered her
t heor y. Societ y was or chest r at ed by what she called _gr and narr at ives_: hist ory, economics,
et hics. I n I ndia, t he development of a cor rupt and closed st at e appar at us had " excluded t he
masses of t he people from t he et hical proj ect " . As a r esult , t hey sought et hical sat isfact ions in
t he oldest of t he gr and narr at ives, t hat is, r eligious f ait h. "But t hese nar rat ives ar e being
manipulat ed by t he t heocr acy and var ious polit ical element s in an ent irely r et r ogr essive way. "
Bhupen said: "We can' t deny t he ubiquit y of fait h. I f we wr it e in such a way as t o pre- j udge
such belief as in some way deluded or false, t hen ar e we not guilt y of elit ism, of imposing our
wor ld- view on t he masses?" Swat ilekha was scornful. " Bat t le lines ar e being dr awn up in I ndia
t oday, " she cried. " Secular ver sus rat ional, t he light ver sus t he dar k. Bet t er you choose which
side you are on. "
Bhupen got up, angr ily, t o go. Zeeny pacified him: "We can' t aff or d schisms. There' s
planning t o be done. " He sat down again, and Swat ilekha kissed him on t he cheek. "I ' m sor ry, "
she said. "Too much college educat ion, George always says. I n f act , I loved t he poems. I was
only ar guing a case. " Bhupen, mollified, pr et ended t o punch her on t he nose; t he cr isis passed.
They had met , Salahuddin now gat her ed, t o discuss t heir par t in a r emarkable polit ical
demonst rat ion: t he for mat ion of a human chain, st r et ching fr om t he Gat eway of I ndia t o t he
out er most nor t her n suburbs of t he cit y, in suppor t of "nat ional int egr at ion". The Communist
Part y of I ndia ( Mar xist ) had r ecent ly or ganized j ust such a human chain in Ker ala, wit h gr eat
success. "But , " Geor ge Mir anda argued, "here in Bombay it will be t ot ally anot her mat t er . I n
Kerala t he C P( M) is in power . Here, wit h t hese Shiv Sena bast ar ds in cont r ol, we can expect
ever y t ype of har assment , fr om police obst r uct ionism t o out and- - out assault s by mobs on
segment s of t he chain - - especially when it passes, as it will have t o, t hr ough t he Sena' s
for t resses, in Mazagaon, et c. " I n spit e of t hese dangers, Zeeny explained t o Salahuddin, such
public demonst rat ions wer e essent ial. As communal violence escalat ed - - and Meer ut was only
t he lat est in a long line of mur der ous incident s - - it was imper at ive t hat t he f or ces of
disint egrat ion weren' t permit t ed t o have t hings all t heir own way. "We must show t hat t her e
are also count er forces at wor k. " Salahuddin was somewhat bemused at t he rapidit y wit h which,
once again, his life had begun t o change. _Me, t aking part in a CP( M) event . Wonder s will
never cease; I really must be in love_.
Once t hey had set t led mat t er s - - how many fr iends each of t hem might manage t o bring
along, where t o assemble, what t o car ry in t he way of food, dr ink and f irst - aid equipment - -
t hey r elaxed, dr ank down t he cheap, dark rum, and chat t er ed inconsequent ially, and t hat was
when Salahuddin heard, for t he f ir st t ime, t he r umours about t he odd behaviour of t he f ilm st ar
Gibr eel Far isht a t hat had st ar t ed circulat ing in t he cit y, and felt his old lif e prick him like a
hidden t horn; - - hear d t he past , like a dist ant t r umpet , ringing in his ears.
o o o
The Gibr eel Far isht a who ret ur ned t o Bombay fr om London t o pick up t he t hr eads of his
film car eer was not , by general consensus, t he old, irr esist ible Gibr eel. " Guy seems hell- - bent
on a suicide cour se, " George Mir anda, who knew all t he filmi gossip, declar ed. "Who knows
why? They say because he was unlucky in love he' s gone a lit t le wild. " Salahuddin kept his
mout h shut , but felt his f ace heat ing up. Allie Cone had refused t o have Gibr eel back aft er t he
fires of Brickhall. I n t he mat t er of for giveness, Salahuddin reflect ed, nobody had t hought t o
consult t he ent ir ely innocent and great ly inj ur ed Alleluia; _once again, we made her life
per ipheral t o our own. No wonder she' s st ill hopping mad_. Gibr eel had t old Salahuddin, in a
final and somewhat st rained t elephone call, t hat he was r et ur ning t o Bombay " in t he hope t hat
I never have t o see her , or you, or t his damn cold cit y, again in what r emains of my life". And
now here he was, by all account s, shipwr ecking himself again, and on home gr ound, t oo. "He' s
making some weird movies, " Geor ge went on. " And t his t ime he' s had t o put in his own cash.
Af t er t he t wo flops, pr oducer s have been pulling out fast . So if t his one goes down, he' s br oke,
done for, _funt oosh_. " Gibr eel had embarked on a modern- - dr ess remake of t he Ramayana
st or y in which t he heroes and heroines had become cor r upt and evil inst ead of pur e and fr ee
from sin. Her e was a lecherous, dr unken Rama and a f light y Sit a; while Ravana, t he demon-
king, was depict ed as an upr ight and honest man. "Gibreel is playing Ravana, " George
explained in fascinat ed horr or . "Looks like he' s t rying deliberat ely t o set up a f inal conf ront at ion
wit h r eligious sect arians, knowing he can' t win, t hat he' ll be br oken int o bit s. " Sever al member s
of t he cast had alr eady walked off t he pr oduct ion, and given lurid int erviews accusing Gibr eel of
"blasphemy", "sat anism" and ot her misdemeanours. His most recent mist r ess, Pimple
Billimoria, was seen on t he cover of _Cin- Blit z_, saying: "I t was like kissing t he Devil. "
Gibr eel' s old pr oblem of suiphur ous halit osis had evident ly r et ur ned wit h a vengeance.
His er r at ic behaviour had been causing t ongues t o wag even mor e t han his choice of
subj ect s t o film. " Some days he' s sweet ness and light , " Geor ge said. "On ot her s, he comes t o
wor k like lor d god almight y and act ually insist s t hat people get down and kneel. Per sonally I
don' t believe t he film will be finished unless and unt il he sort s out his ment al healt h which, I
genuinely f eel, is aff ect ed. First t he illness, t hen t he plane crash, t hen t he unhappy love af fair :
you can under st and t he guy' s pr oblems. " And t here wer e wor se r umour s: his t ax aff airs were
under invest igat ion; police officer s had visit ed him t o ask quest ions about t he deat h of Rekha
Mer chant , and Rekha' s husband, t he ball - bear ings king, had t hr eat ened t o "br eak ever y bone in
t he bast ar d' s body", so t hat for a few days Gibreel had t o be accompanied by bodyguards when
he used t he Ever est Vilas lift s; and wor st of all wer e t he suggest ions of his noct ur nal visit s t o
t he cit y' s red- light dist r ict where, it was hint ed, he had fr equent ed cer t ain For as Road
est ablishment s unt il t he dadas t hrew him out because t he women wer e get t ing hur t . "They say
some of t hem wer e very badly damaged, " George said. "That big hush- money had t o be paid. I
don' t know. People say any damn t hing. That Pimple of course j umped right on t he bandwagon.
_The Man t hat Hat es Women_. She' s making herself a f emme f at ale st ar out of all t his. But
t here is somet hing badly wrong wit h Farisht a. You know t he f ellow, I hear , " George f inished,
looking at Salahuddin; who blushed.
"Not very well. Just because of t he plane cr ash and so on. " He was in t ur moil. I t seemed
Gibr eel had not managed t o escape f rom his inner demons. He, Salahuddin, had believed - -
navely, it now t urned out - - t hat t he event s of t he Brickhall fire, when Gibreel saved his life,
had in some way cleansed t hem bot h, had driven t hose devils out int o t he consuming f lames;
t hat , in fact , love had shown t hat it could exert a humanizing power as great as t hat of hat red;
t hat virt ue could t r ansfor m men as well as vice. But not hing was forever ; no cur e, it appear ed,
was complet e.
"The film indust ry is full of wackos, " Swat ilekha was t elling George, affect ionat ely. "Just
look at you, mist er. " But Bhupen gr ew ser ious. "I always saw Gibr eel as a posit ive f or ce, " he
said. " An act or f rom a minorit y playing roles f rom many religions, and being accept ed. I f he
has fallen out of f avour , it ' s a bad sign. "
Two days lat er , Salahuddin Chamchawala read in his Sunday paper s t hat an int er nat ional
t eam of mount aineers, on t heir way t o at t empt an ascent of t he Hidden Peak, had ar rived in
Bombay; and when he saw t hat among t he t eam was t he famed "Queen of Everest " , Miss
Alleluia Cone, he had a st range sense of being haunt ed, a feeling t hat t he shades of his
imaginat ion wer e st epping out int o t he real wor ld, t hat dest iny was acquir ing t he slow, fat al
logic of a dr eam. "Now I know what a ghost is, " he t hought . " Unf inished business, t hat ' s what . "
o o o
Allie' s presence in Bombay came, in t he next t wo days, t o preoccupy him mor e and more.
His mind insist ed on making st r ange Connect ions, bet ween, for example, t he evident recover y
of her feet and t he end of her af fair wit h Gibr eel: as if he had been crippling her wit h his
j ealous love. His r at ional mind knew t hat , in f act , her problem wit h t he fallen ar ches had
pr eceded her relat ionship wit h Gibreel, but he had ent ered an oddly dr eamy mood, and seemed
imper vious t o logic. What was she r eally doing here? Why had she really come? Some t er rible
doom, he became convinced, was in st or e.
Zeeny, her medical sur ger ies, college lect ur es and wor k f or t he human- chain
demonst rat ion leaving her no t ime, at present , for Salahuddin and his moods, mist akenly saw
his int r over t ed silence as expr essive of doubt s - - about his r et ur n t o Bombay, about being
dr agged int o polit ical act ivit y of a t ype t hat had always been abhor rent t o him, about her. To
disguise her fear s, she spoke t o him in t he for m of a lect ur e. "I f you' re ser ious about shaking
off your f or eignness, Salad baba, t hen don' t fall int o some kind of r oot less limbo inst ead. Okay?
We' re all her e. We' r e right in fr ont of you. You should r eally t ry and make an adult
acquaint ance wit h t his place, t his t ime. Try and embrace t his cit y, as it is, not some childhood
memory t hat makes you bot h nost algic and sick. Dr aw it close. The act ually exist ing place.
Make it s fault s your own. Become it s cr eat ur e; belong. " He nodded, absent ly; and she, t hinking
he was pr epar ing t o leave her once again, st or med out in a rage t hat left him ut t er ly perplexed.
Should he t elephone Allie? Had Gibreel t old her about t he voices?
Should he t r y t o see Gibreel?
_Somet hing is about t o happen, his inner voice war ned. I t ' s going t o happen, and you don' t
know what it is, and you can' t do a damn t hing about it . Oh yes: it ' s somet hing bad_.
o o o
I t happened on t he day of t he demonst r at ion, which, against all t he odds, was a pr et t y fair
success. A few minor skir mishes wer e repor t ed fr om t he Mazagaon dist rict , but t he event was,
in gener al, an or der ly one. CPI ( M) obser vers r eport ed an unbroken chain of men and women
linking hands f rom t op t o bot t om of t he cit y, and Salahuddin, st anding bet ween Zeeny and
Bhupen on Muhammad Ali Road, could not deny t he power of t he image. Many people in
t he chain wer e in t ear s. The or der t o j oin hands had been given by t he or ganizers - - Swat ilekha
pr ominent among t hem, r iding on t he back of a j eep, megaphone in hand - - at eight am
pr ecisely; one hour lat er , as t he cit y' s r ush- - hour t r affic r eached it s blaring peak, t he crowd
began t o disperse. However , in spit e of t he t housands involved in t he event , in spit e of it s
peacef ul nat ure and posit ive message, t he for mat ion of t he human chain was not r epor t ed on
t he Door dar shan t elevision news. Nor did All - I ndia Radio carr y t he st ory. The maj orit y of t he
( government - suppor t ing) "language press" also omit t ed any ment ions. . . one English- language
daily, and one Sunday paper , carr ied t he st or y; t hat was all. Zeeny, recalling t he t r eat ment of
t he Ker ala chain, had forecast t his deafening silence as she and Salahuddin walked home. "I t ' s
a Communist show, " she explained. " So, of ficially, it ' s a non- - event . "
What grabbed t he evening paper headlines?
What screamed at r eader s in inch- - high let t er s, while t he human chain was not permit t ed
so much as a small- - pr int whisper?
EVEREST QUEEN, FI LM MOGUL PERI SH
DOUBLE TRAGEDY ON MALABAR HI LL - - GI BREEL FARI SHTA
VANI SHES
CURSE OF EVEREST VI LAS STRI KES AGAI N
The body of t he r espect ed movie pr oducer , S. S. Sisodia, had been discovered by domest ic
st aff, lying in t he cent r e of t he livingroom rug in t he apart ment of t he celebrat ed act or Mr .
Gibr eel Far isht a, wit h a hole t hr ough t he hear t . Miss Alleluia Cone, in what was believed t o be a
"relat ed incident ", had fallen t o her deat h fr om t he r oof of t he skyscr aper, fr om which, a couple
of years previously, Mr s. Rekha Merchant had hurled her childr en and her self t owards t he
concret e below.
The mor ning papers wer e less equivocal about Far isht a' s lat est r ole. FARI SHTA, UNDER
SUSPI CI ON, ABSCONDS.
"I ' m going back t o Scandal Point , " Salahuddin t old Zeeny, who, misunderst anding t his
wit hdr awal int o an inner chamber of t he spir it , flar ed up, "Mist er , you' d bet t er make up your
mind. " Leaving, he did not know how t o reassur e her ; how t o explain his over whelming f eeling
of guilt , of _responsibilit y_: how t o t ell her t hat t hese killings were t he dark flowers of seeds he
had plant ed long ago? "I j ust need t o t hink, " he said, weakly, confir ming her suspicions. "Just a
day or t wo. "
"Salad baba, " she said har shly, "I ' ve got t o hand it t o you, man. Your t iming: really gr eat . "
o o o
On t he night aft er his par t icipat ion in t he making of t he human chain, Salahuddin
Chamchawala was looking out of t he window of his childhood bedroom at t he noct urnal
pat t erns of t he Arabian Sea, when Kast urba knocked urgent ly on his door . "A man is here t o
see you, " she said, almost hissing t he wor ds, plainly scar ed. Salahuddin had seen nobody
coming t hr ough t he gat e. " From t he servant s' ent rance, " Kast urba said in r esponse t o his
inquiry. "And, baba, list en, it is t hat Gibr eel. Gibr eel Far isht a, who t he paper s say . . . " her
voice t railed of f and she chewed, fr et fully, at t he nails on her lef t hand.
"Where is he?"
"What t o do, I was af raid, " Kast urba cr ied. "I t old him, in your fat her ' s st udy, he is wait ing
t here only. But maybe it is bet t er you don' t go. Should I call t he police? Baapu r , t hat such a
t hing. "
_No. Don' t call. I ' ll go see what he want s_.
Gibr eel was sit t ing on Changez' s bed wit h t he old lamp in his hands. He was wear ing a dirt y
whit e kur t a- paj ama out fit and looked like a man who had been sleeping rough. His eyes wer e
unfocused, light less, dead. "Spoono, " he said wearily, waving t he lamp in t he direct ion of an
armchair . " Make your self at home. "
"You look awful, " Salahuddin vent ur ed, elicit ing fr om t he ot her man a dist ant , cynical,
unfamiliar smile. "Sit down and shut up, Spoono, " Gibreel Farisht a said. " I ' m here t o t ell you a
st or y. "
_I t was you, t hen_, Salahuddin underst ood. _You r eally did it : you murdered t hem bot h_.
But Gibr eel had closed his eyes, put his f inger t ips t oget her and embarked upon his st or y, - -
which was also t he end of many st ories, - - t hus:
Kan ma kan
Fi qadim azzaman . . .
o o o
I t was so it was not in a t ime long forgot
Well, anyway goes somet hing like t his
I can' t be sure because when t hey came t o call I wasn' t myself no yaar not myself at all
some days are har d how t o t ell you what sickness is like somet hing like t his but I can' t be sure
Always one par t of me is st anding out side screaming no please don' t no but it does no good
you see when t he sickness comes
I am t he angel t he god damned angel of god and t hese days it ' s t he avenging angel Gibr eel
t he avenger always vengeance why
I can' t be sure somet hing like t his for t he cr ime of being human
especially female but not exclusively people must pay
Somet hing like t hat
So he br ought her along he meant no har m I know t hat now he j ust want ed us t o be
t oget her caca can' t you see he said she isn' t ohoh over you not by a longshot and you he said
st ill cr azy f ofor her everyone knows all he want ed was for us t o be t o be t o be
But I hear d ver ses
You get me Spoono
V e r s e s
Rosy apple lemon t ar t Sis boom bah
I like coff ee I like t ea
Violet s ar e blue r oses ar e red r emember me when I am dead dead dead
That t ype of t hing
Couldn' t get t hem out of my nut and she changed in fr ont of my eyes I called her names
whor e like t hat and him I knew about him
Sisodia lecher fr om somewher e I knew what t hey wer e up t o
laughing at me in my own home somet hing like t hat
I like but t er I like t oast
Ver ses Spoono who do you t hink makes such damn t hings up
So I called down t he wr at h of God I point ed my f inger I shot him in t he hear t but she bit ch
I t hought bit ch cool as ice
st ood and wait ed j ust wait ed and t hen I don' t know I can' t be sure we wer en' t alone
Somet hing like t his
Rekha was t here f loat ing on her car pet you r emember her Spoono
you r emember Rekha on her car pet when we f ell and someone else mad looking guy
Scot t ish get - up _gor a_ t ype
didn' t cat ch t he name
She saw t hem or she didn' t see t hem I can' t be sur e she j ust st ood t here
I t was Rekha' s idea t ake her upst airs summit of Ever est once you' ve been t here t he only
way is down
I point ed my f inger at her we went up
I didn' t push her
Rekha pushed her
I wouldn' t have pushed her
Spoono
Underst and me Spoono
Bloody hell
I loved t hat gir l.
o o o
Salahuddin was t hinking how Sisodia, wit h his remar kable gift for t he chance encount er
( Gibreel st epping out in fr ont of London t r aff ic, Salahuddin himself panicking before an open
air cr aft door, and now, it seemed, Alleluia Cone in her hot el lobby) had fmally bumped
accident ally int o deat h; - - and t hinking, t oo, about Allie, less lucky a faller t han himself,
making ( inst ead of her longed- for solo ascent of Ever est ) t his ignominiously fat al descent , - -
and about how he was going t o die f or his ver ses, but could not f ind it in himself t o call t he
deat h- sent ence unj ust .
Ther e was a knocking at t he door . _Open, please. Police_. Kast ur ba had called t hem, af t er
all.
Gibr eel t ook t he lid off t he wonder ful lamp of Changez Chamchawala and let it f all
clat t er ing t o t he floor .
_He' s hidden a gun inside_, Salahuddin r ealized. "Wat ch out , " he shout ed. "There' s an
armed man in here. " The knocking st opped, and now Gibr eel r ubbed his hand along t he side of
t he magic lamp: once, t wice, t hr ice.
The revolver j umped up, int o his ot her hand.
_A fearsome j innee of monst rous st at ur e appeared_, Salahuddin remember ed. _"What is
your wish? I am t he slave of him who holds t he lamp. "_ What a limit ing t hing is a weapon,
Salahuddin t hought , feeling oddly det ached from event s. - - Like Gibreel when t he sickness
came. - - Yes, indeed; a most confining manner of t hing. - - For how few t he choices wer e, now
t hat Gibreel was t he _ar med man_ and he, t he _unar med_; how t he univer se had shr unk! The
t r ue dj inns of old had t he power t o open t he gat es of t he I nfinit e, t o make all t hings possible,
t o r ender all wonders capable of being at t ained; how banal, in compar ison, was t his modern
spook, t his degraded descendant of might y ancest ors, t his feeble slave of a t went iet h- - cent ury
lamp.
"I t old you a long t ime back, " Gibr eel Far isht a quiet ly said, "t hat if I t hought t he sickness
would never leave me, t hat it would always r et ur n, I would not be able t o bear up t o it . " Then,
ver y quickly, bef or e Salahuddin could move a finger, Gibr eel put t he barr el of t he gun int o his
own mout h; and pulled t he t r igger ; and was fr ee.
He st ood at t he window of his childhood and looked out at t he Ar abian Sea. The moon was
almost full; moonlight , st ret ching fr om t he r ocks of Scandal Point out t o t he far hor izon,
creat ed t he illusion of a silver pat hway, like a part ing in t he wat er ' s shining hair , like a road t o
mir aculous lands. He shook his head; could no longer believe in fairy- t ales. Childhood was
over , and t he view fr om t his window was no mor e t han an old and sent iment al echo. To t he
devil wit h it ! Let t he bulldozer s come. I f t he old r ef used t o die, t he new could not be born.
"Come along, " Zeenat Vakil' s voice said at his shoulder. I t seemed t hat in spit e of all his
wrong- doing, weakness, guilt - - in spit e of his humanit y - - he was get t ing anot her chance.
Ther e was no account ing for one' s good for t une, t hat was plain. There it simply was, t aking his
elbow in it s hand. "My place, " Zeeny offer ed. "Let ' s get t he hell out of here. "
"I ' m coming, " he answered her, and t urned away fr om t he view.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The quot at ions f rom t he Qur an in t his book are composit es of t he English Ver sions of N. J.
Dawood in t he Penguin edit ion and of Maulana Muhammad Ali ( Lahor e, 1973) , wit h a few
t ouches of my own; t hat from Faiz Ahmad Faiz is a variant of t he t ranslat ion by Mahmood
Jamal in t he _Penguin Book of Modern Urdu Poet r y_. For t he descr ipt ion of t he Mant icor e, I ' m
indebt ed t o Jorge Luis Bor ges' s _Book of I maginar y Beings_, while t he mat er ial on Argent ina
der ives, in par t , from t he wr it ings of W. H. Hudson, especially _Far Away and Long Ago_. I
should like t o t hank Pauline Melville for unt angling my plait s fr om my dr eadlocks; and t o
conf ess t hat t he "Gagari" poems of "Bhupen Gandhi" are, in fact , echoes of Arun Kolat kar' s
collect ion _Jej uri_. The verses fr om "Living Doll" are by Lionel Bart ( 1959 Pet er Maurice Music
Co. Lt d. , all r ight s for t he U. S. and Canada administ ered by Colgems- EMI Music I nc. ) and t hose
by Kennet h Tynan in t he novel' s final sect ion have been t aken fr om _Tynan Right and Left _
( copyright Kennet h Tynan, 1967) .
The ident it ies of many of t he aut hors f rom whom I ' ve lear ned will, I hope, be clear from
t he t ext ; ot hers must r emain anonymous, but I t hank t hem, t oo.

Rushdie SVs

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Rushdie SVs

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

THE SATANI C VERSES

You might also like