And other omens1: comets were seen exploding above the Back Bay; it was reported that flowers had been seen bleeding real blood; and in February the snakes escaped from the Schaapsteker Institute. The rumour2 spread that a mad Bengali snake-charmer, a Tubriwallah, was travelling the country, charming reptiles3 from captivity4, leading them out of snake farms (such as the Schaapsteker, where snake venom5's medicinal functions were studied, and antivenenes devised) by the Pied Piper fascination6 of his flute7, in retribution for the partition of his beloved Golden Bengal. After a while the rumours8 added that the Tubriwallah was seven feet tall, with bright blue skin. He was Krishna come to chastise9 his people; he was the sky-hued Jesus of the missionaries10.
It seems that, in the aftermath of my changeling birth, while I enlarged myself at breakneck speed, everything that could possibly go wrong began to do so. In the snake winter of early 1948, and in the succeeding hot and rainy seasons, events piled upon events, so that by the time the Brass11 Monkey was born in September we were all exhausted12, and ready for a few years' rest.
Escaped cobras vanished into the sewers13 of the city; banded kraits were seen on buses. Religious leaders described the' snake escape as a warning - the god Naga had been unleashed14, they intoned, as a punishment for the nation's official renunciation of its deities15. ('We are a secular16 State,' Nehru announced, and Morarji and Patel and Menon all agreed; but still Ahmed Sinai shivered under the influence of the freeze.) And one day, when Mary had been asking, 'How are we going to live now, Madam?' Homi Catrack introduced us to Dr Schaapsteker himself. He was eighty-one years old; his tongue flicked17 constantly in and out between his papery lips; and he was prepared to pay cash rent for a top-floor apartment overlooking the Arabian Sea. Ahmed Sinai, in those days, had taken to his bed; the icy cold of the freeze impregnated his bedsheets; he downed vast quantities of whisky for medicinal purposes, but it failed to warm him up ... so it was Amina who agreed to let the upper storey of Buckingham Villa18 to the old snake-doctor. At the end of February, snake poison entered our lives.
Dr Schaapsteker was a man who engendered19 wild stories. The more superstitious20 orderlies at his Institute swore that he had the capacity of dreaming every night about being bitten by snakes, and thus remained immune to their bites.
Others whispered that he was half-snake himself, the child of an unnatural21 union between a woman and a cobra. His obsession22 with the venom of the banded krait - bungarus fasciatus - was becoming legendary23. There is no known antivenene to the bite of bungarus: but Schaapsteker had devoted24 his life to finding one. Buying broken-down horses from the Catrack stables (among others) he injected them with small doses of poison; but the horses, unhelpfully, failed to develop antibodies, frothed at the mouth, died standing26 up and had to be transformed into glue. It was said that Dr Schaapsteker - 'Sharpsticker sahib' - had now acquired the power of killing27 horses simply by approaching them with a hypodermic syringe ... but Amina paid no attention to these tall stories. 'He is an old gentleman,' she told Mary Pereira; 'What should we care about people who black-tongue him? He pays his rent, and permits us to live.' Amina was grateful to the European snake-doctor, particularly in those days of the freeze when Ahmed did not seem to have the nerve to fight.
'My beloved father and mother,' Amina wrote, 'By my eyes and head I swear I do not know why such things are happening to us ... Ahmed is a good man, but this business has hit him hard. If you have advice for your daughter, she is greatly in need of it.' Three days after they received this letter, Aadam Aziz and Reverend Mother arrived at Bombay Central Station by Frontier Mail; and Amina, driving them home in our 1946 Rover, looked out of a side window and saw the Mahalaxmi Racecourse; and had the first germ of her reckless idea.
'This modern decoration is all right for you young people, whatsits-name,'
Reverend Mother said. 'But give me one old-fashioned takht to sit on. These chairs are so soft, whatsitsname, they make me feel like I'm falling.'
'Is he ill?' Aadam Aziz asked. 'Should I examine him and prescribe medicines?'
'This is no time to hide in bed,' Reverend Mother pronounced. 'Now he must be a man, whatsitsname, and do a man's business.'
'How well you both look, my parents,' Amina cried, thinking that her father was turning into an old man who seemed to be getting shorter with the passing years; while Reverend Mother had grown so wide that armchairs, though soft, groaned28 beneath her weight... and sometimes, through a trick-of the light, Amina thought she saw, in the centre of her father's body, a dark shadow like a hole.
'What is left in this India?' Reverend Mother asked, hand slicing air. 'Go, leave it all, go to Pakistan. See how well that Zulfikar is doing - he will give you a start. Be a man, my son - get up and start again!'
'He doesn't want to speak now,' Amina said, 'he must rest.'
'Rest?' Aadam Aziz roared. 'The man is a jelly!'
'Even Alia, whatsitsname,' Reverend Mother said, 'all on her own, gone to Pakistan - even she is making a decent life, teaching in a fine school. They say she will be headmistress soon.'
'Shhh, mother, he wants to sleep ... let's go next door ...'
'There is a time to sleep, whatsitsname, and a time to wake! Listen: Mustapha is making many hundreds of rupees a month, whatsitsname, in the Civil Service. What is your husband? Too good to work?'
'Mother, he is upset. His temperature is so low ...'
'What food are you giving? From today, whatsitsname, I will run your kitchen.
Young people today - like babies, whatsitsname!'
'Just as you like, mother.'
'I tell you whatsitsname, it's those photos in the paper. I wrote -didn't I write? - no good would come of that. Photos take away pieces of you. My God, whatsitsname, when I saw your picture, you had become so transparent30 I could see the writing from the other side coming right through your face!'
'But that's only ...'
'Don't tell me your stories, whatsitsname! I give thanks to God you have recovered from that photography!'
After that day, Amina was freed from the exigencies31 of running her home.
Reverend Mother sat at the head of the dining-table, doling32 out food (Amina took plates to Ahmed, who stayed in bed, moaning from time to time, 'Smashed, wife! Snapped - like an icicle!'); while, in the kitchens, Mary Pereira took the time to prepare, for the benefit of their visitors, some of the finest and most delicate mango pickles33, lime chutneys and cucumber kasaundies in the world. And now, restored to the status of daughter in her own home, Amina began to feel the emotions of other people's food seeping34 into her - because Reverend Mother doled35 out the curries36 and meatballs of intransigence37, dishes imbued38 with the personality of their creator; Amina ate the fish salans of stubbornness and the birianis of determination. And, althiough Mary's pickles had a partially39 counteractive40 effect - since she had stirred into them the guilt41 of her heart, and the fear of discovery, so that, good as they tasted, they had the power of making those who ate them subject to nameless uncertainties42 and dreams of accusing fingers - the diet provided by Reverend Mother filled Amina with a kind of rage, and even produced slight signs of improvement in her defeated husband.
So that finally the day came when Amina, who had been watching me play incompetently43 with toy horses of sandal wood in the bath, inhaling44 the sweet odours of sandalwood which the bathwater released, suddenly rediscovered within herself the adventurous45 streak46 which was her inheritance from her fading father, the streak which had brought Aadam Aziz down from bis mountain valley; Amina turned to Mary Pereira and said, 'I'm fed up. If nobody in this house is going to put things right, then it's just going to be up to me!'
Toy horses galloped47 behind Amina's eyes as she left Mary to dry me and marched into her bedroom. Remembered glimpses of Mahalaxmi Racecourse cantered in her head as she pushed aside saris and petticoats. The fever of a reckless scheme flushed her cheeks as she opened the lid of an old tin trunk... filling her purse with the coins and rupee notes of grateful patients and wedding-guests, my mother went to the races.
With the Brass Monkey growing inside her, my mother stalked the paddocks of the racecourse named after the goddess of wealth; braving early-morning sickness and varicose veins48, she stood in line at the Tote window, putting money on three-horse accumulators and long-odds outsiders. Ignorant of the first thing about horses, she backed mares known not to be stayers to win long races; she put her money on jockeys because she liked their smiles. Clutching a purse full of the dowry which had lain untouched in its trunk since her own mother had packed it away, she took wild flutters on stallions who looked fit for the Schaapsteker Institute ... and won, and won, and won.
'Good news,' Ismail Ibrahim is saying, 'I always thought you should fight the bastards49. I'll begin proceedings50 at once ... but it will take cash, Amina. Have you got cash?'
'The money will be there.'
'Not for myself,' Ismail explains, 'My services are, as I said, free, gratis51 absolutely. But, forgive me, you must know how things are, one must give little presents to people to smooth one's way ...'
'Here,' Amina hands him an envelope, 'Will this do for now?'
'My God,' Ismail Ibrahim drops the packet in surprise and rupee notes in large denominations52 scatter53 all over his sitting-room54 floor, 'Where did you lay your hands on ...' And Amina, 'Better you don't ask - and I won't ask how you spend it.'
Schaapsteker money paid for our food bills; but horses fought our war. The streak of luck of my mother at the race-track was so long, a seam so rich, that if it hadn't happened it wouldn't have been credible55 ... for month after month, she put her money on a jockey's nice tidy hair-style or a horse's pretty piebald colouring; and she never left the track without a large envelope stuffed with notes.
'Things are going well,' Ismail Ibrahim told her, 'But Amina sister, God knows what you are up to. Is it decent? Is it legal?' And Amina: 'Don't worry your head. What can't be cured must be endured. I am doing what must be done.'
Never once in all that time did my mother take pleasure in her mighty56 victories; because she was weighed down by more than a baby - eating Reverend Mother's curries filled with ancient prejudices, she had become convinced that gambling58 was the next worst thing on earth, next to alcohol; so, although she was not a criminal, she felt consumed by sin.
Verrucas plagued her feet, although Purushottam the sadhu, who sat under our garden tap until dripping water created a bald patch amid the luxuriantly matted hair on his head, was a marvel59 at charming them away; but throughout the snake winter and the hot season, my mother fought her husband's fight.
You ask: how is it possible? How could a housewife, however assiduous, however determined60, win fortunes on the horses, day after racing62 day, month after month?
You think to yourself: aha, that Homi Catrack, he's a horse-owner; and everyone knows that most of the races are fixed63; Amina was asking her neighbour for hot tips! A plausible64 notion; but Mr Catrack himself lost as often as he won; he saw my mother at the race-track and was astounded65 by her success. ('Please,' Amina asked him, 'Catrack Sahib, let this be our secret. Gambling is a terrible thing; it would be so shaming if my mother found out.' And Catrack, nodding dazedly66, said, 'Just as you wish.') So it was not the Parsee who was behind it - but perhaps I can offer another explanation. Here it is, in a sky-blue crib in a sky-blue room with a fisherman's pointing finger on the wall: here, whenever his mother goes away clutching a purse full of secrets, is Baby Saleem, who has acquired an expression of the most intense concentration, whose eyes have been seized by a singleness of purpose of such enormous power that it has darkened them to deep navy blue, and whose nose is twitching67 strangely while he appears to be watching some distant event, to be guiding it from a distance, just as the moon controls the tides.
'Coming to court very soon,' Ismail Ibrahim said, 'I think you can be fairly confident ... my God, Amina, have you found King Solomon's Mines?'
The moment I was old enough to play board games, I fell in love with Snakes and Ladders. ?perfect balance of rewards and penalties! ?seemingly random68 choices made by tumbling dice57! Clambering up ladders, slithering down snakes, I spent some of the happiest days of my life. When, in my time of trial, my father challenged me to master the game of shatranj, I infuriated him by preferring to invite him, instead, to chance his fortune among the ladders and nibbling69 snakes.
All games have morals; and the game of Snakes and Ladders captures, as no other activity can hope to do, the eternal truth that for every ladder you climb, a snake is waiting just around the corner; and for every snake, a ladder will compensate70. But it's more than that; no mere71 carrot-and-stick affair; because implicit72 in the game is the unchanging twoness of things, the duality of up against down, good against evil; the solid rationality of ladders balances the occult sinuosities of the serpent; in the opposition73 of staircase and cobra we can see, metaphorically74, all conceivable oppositions75, Alpha against Omega, father against mother; here is the war of Mary and Musa, and the polarities of knees and nose ... but I found, very early in my life, that the game lacked one crucial dimension, that of ambiguity76 -beca use, as events are about to show, it is also possible to slither down a ladder and climb to triumph on the venom of a snake ... Keeping things simple for the moment, however, I record that no sooner had my mother discovered the ladder to victory represented by her racecourse luck than she was reminded that the gutters77 of the country were still teeming78 with snakes.
Amina's brother Hanif had not gone to Pakistan. Following the childhood dream which he had whispered to Rashid the rickshaw-boy in an Agra cornfield, he had arrived in Bombay and sought employ, ment in the great film studios.
Precociously79 confident, he had not only succeeded in becoming the youngest man ever to be given a film to direct in the history of the Indian cinema; he had also wooed and married one of the brightest stars of that celluloid heaven, the divine Pia, whose face was her fortune, and whose saris were made of fabrics80 whose designers had clearly set out to prove that it was possible to incorporate every colour known to man in a single pattern. Reverend Mother did not approve of the divine Pia, but Hanif of all my family was the one who was free of her confining influence; a jolly, burly man with the booming laugh of the boatman Tai and the explosive, innocent anger of his father Aadam Aziz, he took her to live simply in a small, un-filmi apartment on Marine81 Drive, telling her, 'Plenty of time to live like Emperors after I've made my name.' She acquiesced82; she starred in his first feature, which was partly financed by Homi Catrack and partly by D. W. Rama Studios (Pvt.) Ltd - it was called The Lovers of Kashmir, and one evening in the midst of her racing days Amina Sinai went to the premiere. Her parents did not come, thanks to Reverend Mother's loathing84 of the cinema, against which Aadam Aziz no longer had the strength to struggle - just as he, who had fought with Mian Abdullah against Pakistan, no longer argued with her when she praised the country, retaining just enough strength to dig in his heels and refuse to emigrate; but Ahmed Sinai, revived by his mother-in-law's cookery, but resentful of her continued presence, got to his feet and accompanied his wife. They took their seats, next to Hanif and. Pia and the male star of the film, one of India's most successful 'lover-boys', I. S. Nayyar.
And, although they didn't know it, a serpent waited in the wings... but in the meanwhile, let us permit Hanif Aziz to have his moment; because The Lovers of Kashmir contained a notion which was to provide my uncle with a spectacular, though brief, period of triumph. In those days it was not permitted for lover-boys and their leading ladies to touch one another on screen, for fear that their osculations might corrupt85 the nation's youth ... but thirty-three minutes after the beginning of The Lovers the premiere audience began to give off a low buzz of shock, because Pia and Nayyar had begun to kiss - not one another - but things.
Pia kissed an apple, sensuously86, with all the rich fullness of her painted lips; then passed it to Nayyar; who planted, upon its opposite face, a virilely passionate87 mouth. This was the birth of what came to be known as the indirect kiss - and how much more sophisticated a notion it was than anything in our current cinema; how pregnant with longing88 and eroticism! The cinema audience (which would, nowadays, cheer raucously89 at the sight of a young couple diving behind ?bush, which would then begin to shake ridiculously - so low have we sunk in our ability to suggest) watched, riveted90 to the screen, as the love of Pia and Nayyar, against a background of Dal Lake and ice-blue Kashmiri sky, expressed itself in kisses applied91 to cups of pink Kashmiri tea; by the fountains of Shalimar they pressed their lips to a sword ... but now, at the height of Hanif Aziz's triumph, the serpent refused to wait; under its influence, the house-lights came up. Against the larger-than-life figures of Pia and Nayyar, kissing mangoes as they mouthed to playback music, the figure of a timorous92, inadequately93 bearded man was seen, marching on to the stage beneath the screen, microphone in hand. The Serpent can take most unexpected forms; now, in the guise94 of this ineffectual house-manager, it unleashed its venom. Pia and Nayyar faded and died; and the amplified95 voice of the bearded man said: 'Ladies and gents, your pardon; but there is terrible news.' His voice broke - a sob96 from the Serpent, to lend power to its teeth! - and then continued, 'This afternoon, at Birla House in Delhi, our beloved Mahatma was killed. Some madman shot him in the stomach, ladies and gentlemen - our Bapu is gone!'
The audience had begun to scream before he finished; the poison of his words entered their veins - there were grown men rolling in the aisles97 clutching their bellies98, not laughing but crying, Hai Ram83! Hai Ram! - and women tearing their hair: the city's finest coiffures tumbling around the ears of the poisoned ladies - there were film-stars yelling like fishwives and something terrible to smell in the air - and Hanif whispered, 'Get out of here, big sister - if a Muslim did this thing there will be hell to pay.'
For every ladder, there is a snake ... and for forty-eight hours after the abortive99 end of The Lovers of Kashmir, our family remained within the walls of Buckingham Villa ('Put furniture against the doors, whatsitsname!' Reverend Mother ordered. 'If there are Hindu servants, let them go home!'); and Amina did not dare to visit the racetrack.
But for every snake, there is a ladder: and finally the radio gave us a name.
Nathuram Godse. 'Thank God,' Amina burst out, 'It's not a Muslim name!'
And Aadam, upon whom the news of Gandhi's death had placed a new burden of age: 'This Godse is nothing to be grateful for!'
Amina, however, was full of the light-headedness of relief, she was rushing dizzily up the long ladder of relief... 'Why not, after all? By being Godse he has saved our lives!'
Ahmed Sinai, after rising from his supposed sickbed, continued to behave like an invalid100. In a voice like cloudy glass he told Amina, 'So, you have told Ismail to go to court; very well, good; but we will lose. In these courts you have to buy judges...' And Amina, rushing to Ismail, 'Never - never under any circumstances - must you tell Ahmed about the money. A man must keep his pride.'
And, later on, 'No, janum, I'm not going anywhere; no, the baby is not being tiring at all; you rest, I must just go to shop - maybe I will visit Hanif- we women, you know, must fill up our days!'
And coming home with envelopes brimming with rupee-notes ... 'Take, Ismail, now that he's up we have to be quick and careful!' And sitting dutifully beside her mother in the evenings, 'Yes, of course you're right, and Ahmed will be getting so rich soon, you'll just see!'
And endless delays in court; and envelopes, emptying; and the growing baby, nearing the point at which Amina will not be able to insert herself behind the driving-wheel of the 1946 Rover; and can her luck hold?; and Musa and Mary, quarrelling like aged101 tigers.
What starts fights?
What remnants of guilt fear shame, pickled by time in Mary's intestines102, led her willingly? unwillingly103? to provoke the aged bearer in a dozen different ways - by a tilt104 of the nose to indicate her superior status; by aggressive counting of rosary beads105 under the nose of the devout106 Muslim; by acceptance of the title mausi, little mother, bestowed107 upon her by the other Estate servants, which Musa saw as a threat to his status; by excessive familiarity with the Begum Sahiba -little giggled108 whispers in corners, just loud enough for formal, stiff, correct Musa to hear and feel somehow cheated?
What tiny grain of grit109, in the sea of old age now washing over the old bearer, lodged110 between bis lips to fatten111 into the dark pearl of hatred112 - into what unaccustomed torpors did Musa fall, becoming leaden of hand and foot, so that vases were broken, ashtrays113 spilled, and a veiled hint of forthcoming dismissal - from Mary's conscious or unconscious lips? - grew into an obsessive114 fear, which rebounded115 upon the person who started it off?
And (not to omit social factors) what was the brutalizing effect of servant status, of a servants' room behind a blackstoved kitchen, in which Musa was obliged to sleep along with gardener, odd-job boy, and hamal - while Mary slept in style on a rush mat beside a new-born child?
And was Mary blameless or not? Did her inability to go to church -because in churches you found confessionals, and in confessionals secrets could not be kept - turn sour inside her and make her a little sharp, a little hurtful?
Or must we look beyond psychology116 - seeking our answer in statements such as, there was a snake lying in wait for Mary, and Musa was doomed117 to learn about the ambiguity of ladders? Or further still, beyond snake-and-ladder, should we see the Hand of Fate in the quarrel - and say, in order for Musa to return as explosive ghost, in order for him to adopt the role of Bomb-in-Bombay, it was necessary to engineer a departure ... or, descending118 from such sublimities to the ridiculous, could it be that Ahmed Sinai - whom whisky provoked, whom djinns goaded119 into excesses of rudeness - had so incensed120 the aged bearer that his crime, with which he equalled Mary's record, was committed out of the injured pride of an abused old servitor - and was nothing to do with Mary at all?
Ending questions, I confine myself to facts: Musa and Mary were perpetually at daggers121 drawn122. And yes: Ahmed insulted him, and Amina's pacifying123 efforts may not have been successful; and yes: the fuddling shadows of age had convinced him he would be dismissed, without warning, at any moment; and so it was that Amina came to discover, one August morning, that the house had been burgled.
The police came. Amina reported what was missing: a silver spittoon encrusted with lapis lazuli; gold coins; bejewelled samovars and silver tea-services; the contents of a green tin trunk. Servants were lined up in the hall and subjected to the threats of Inspector124 Johnny Vakeel. 'Come on, own up now' - lathi-stick tapping against his leg -'or you'll see what we can't do to you. You want to stand on one leg all day and night? You want water thrown over you, sometimes boiling hot, sometimes freezing cold? We have many methods in the Police Force ..." And now a cacophony125 of noise from servants, Not me, Inspector Sahib, I am honest boy; for pity's sake, search my things, sahib! And Amina: 'This is too much, sir, you go too far. My Mary I know, anyway, is innocent. I will not have her questioned.' Suppressed irritation126 of police officer. A search of belongings127 is instituted - 'Just in case, Madam. These fellows have limited intelligence - and maybe you discovered the theft too soon for the felon128 to abscond129 with the booty!'
The search succeeds. In the bedroll of Musa the old bearer: a silver spittoon.
Wrapped in his puny130 bundle of clothes: gold coins, a silver samovar. Secreted131 under his charpoy bed: a missing tea-service. And now Musa has thrown himself at Ahmed Sinai's feet; Musa is begging, 'Forgive, sahib! I was mad; I thought you were going to throw me into the street!' but Ahmed Sinai will not listen; the freeze is upon him; 'I feel so weak,' he says, and leaves the room; and Amina, aghast, asks: 'But, Musa, why did you make that terrible oath?'
... Because, in the interim132 between line-up in passageway and discoveries in servants' quarters, Musa had said to his master: 'It was not me, sahib. If I have robbed you, may I be turned into a leper! May my old skin run with sores!'
Amina, with horror on her face, awaits Musa's reply. The bearer's old face twists into a mask of anger; words are spat133 out. 'Begum Sahiba, I only took your precious possessions, but you, and your sahib, and his father, have taken my whole life; and in my old age you have humiliated134 me with Christian135 ayahs.'
There is silence in Buckingham Villa - Amina has refused to press charges, but Musa is leaving. Bedroll on his back, he descends136 a spiral iron staircase, discovering that ladders can go down as well as up; he walks away down hillock, leaving a curse upon the house.
And (was it the curse that did it?) Mary Pereira is about to discover that even when you win a battle; even when staircases operate in your favour, you can't avoid a snake.
Amina says, 'I can't get you any more money, Ismail; have you had enough?' And Ismail, 'I hope so - but you never know - is there any chance of... ?' But Amina: 'The trouble is, I've got so big and all, I can't get in the car any more. It will just have to do.'
... Time is slowing down for Amina once more; once again, her eyes look through leaded glass, in which red tulips, green-stemmed, dance in unison137; for a second time, her gaze lingers on a clocktower which has not worked since the rains of 1947; once again, it is raining. The racing season is over.
A pale blue clocktower: squat138, peeling, inoperational. It stood on black-tarred concrete at the end of the circus-ring - the flat roof of the upper storey of the buildings along Warden139 Road, which abutted140 our two-storey hillock, so that if you climbed over Buckingham Villa's boundary wall, flat black tar29 would be under your feet. And beneath black tar, Breach141 Candy Kindergarten School, from which, every afternoon during term, there rose the tinkling142 music of Miss Harrison's piano playing the unchanging tunes61 of childhood; and below that, the shops, Reader's Paradise, Fatbhoy Jewellery, Chimalker's Toys and Bombelli's, with its windows filled with One Yards of Chocolates. The door to the clocktower was supposed to be locked, but it was a cheap lock of a kind Nadir143 Khan would have recognized: made in India. And on three successive evenings immediately before my first birthday, Mary Pereira, standing by my window at night, noticed a shadowy figure floating across the roof, his hands full of shapeless objects, a shadow which filled her with an unidentifiable dread144. After the third night, she told my mother; the police were summoned; and Inspector Vakeel returned to Methwold's Estate, accompanied by a special squad145 of crack officers - 'all deadeye shots. Begum Sahiba; just you leave it all to us!' - who, disguised as sweepers, with guns concealed146 under their rags, kept the clocktower under surveillance while sweeping147 up the dust in the circus-ring.
Night fell. Behind curtains and chick-blinds, the inhabitants of Methwold's Estate peered fearfully in the direction of the clocktower. Sweepers, absurdly, went about their duties in the dark. Johnny Vakeel took up a position on our verandah, rifle just out of sight... and, at midnight, a shadow came over the side wall of the Breach Candy school and made its way towards the tower, with a sack slung148 over one shoulder ... 'He must enter,' Vakeel had told Amina; 'Must be sure we get the proper johnny.' The johnny, padding across flat tarred roof, arrived at the tower; entered.
'Inspector Sahib, what are you waiting for?'
'Shhh, Begum, this is police business; please go inside some way. We shall take him when he comes out; you mark my words. Caught,' Vakeel said with satisfaction, 'like a rat in a trap.'
'But who is he?'
'Who knows?' Vakeel shrugged149. 'Some badmaash for sure. There are bad eggs everywhere these days.'
... And then the silence of the night is split like milk by a single, sawn-off shriek150; somebody lurches against the inside of the clocktower door; it is wrenched151 open; there is a crash; and something streaks152 out on to black tarmac.
Inspector Vakeel leaps into action, swinging up his rifle, shooting from the hip153 like John Wayne; sweepers extract marksmen's weapons from their brushes and blaze away ... shrieks154 of excited women, yells of servants ... silence.
What lies, brown and black, banded and serpentine155 on the black tarmac? What, leaking black blood, provokes Dr Schaapsteker to screech156 from his top-floor vantage-point: 'You complete fools! Brothers of cockroaches157! Sons of transvestites!' ... what, flick-tongued, dies while Vakeel races on to tarred roof?
And inside the clocktower door? What weight, falling, created such an almighty158 crash? Whose hand wrenched a door open; in whose heel are visible the two red, flowing holes, filled with a venom for which there is no known antivenene, a poison which has killed stablefuls of worn-out horses? Whose body is carried out of the tower by plain-clothes men, in a dead march, coffinless, with imitation sweepers for pallbearers? Why, when the moonlight falls upon the dead face, does Mary Pereira fall like a sack of potatoes to the floor, eyes rolling upwards159 in their sockets160, in a sudden and dramatic faint?
And lining161 the interior walls of the clocktower: what are these strange mechanisms162, attached to cheap time-pieces - why are there so many bottles with rags stuffed into their necks?
'Damn lucky you called my boys out, Begum Sahiba,' Inspector Vakeel is saying.
'That was Joseph D'Costa - on our Most Wanted list. Been after him for a year or thereabouts. Absolute black-hearted badmaash. You should see the walls inside that clocktower! Shelves, filled from floor to ceiling with home-made bombs.
Enough explosive power to blow this hill into the sea!'
Melodrama163 piling upon melodrama; life acquiring the colouring of a Bombay talkie; snakes following ladders, ladders succeeding snakes; in the midst of too much incident, Baby Saleem fell ill. As if incapable164 of assimilating so many goings-on, he closed his eyes and became red and flushed. While Amina awaited the results of Ismail's case against the State authorities; while the Brass Monkey grew in her womb; while Mary entered a state of shock from which she would fully25 emerge only when Joseph's ghost returned to haunt her; while umbilical cord hung in pickle-jar and Mary's chutneys filled our dreams with pointing fingers; while Reverend Mother ran the kitchens, my grandfather examined me and said, 'I'm afraid there is no doubt; the poor lad has typhoid.'
'O God in heaven,' Reverend Mother cried out, 'What dark devil has come, whatsitsname, to sit upon this house?'
This is how I have heard the story of the illness which nearly stopped me before I'd started: day and night, at the end of August 1948, mother and grandfather looked after me; Mary dragged herself out of her guilt and pressed cold flannels165 to my forehead; Reverend Mother sang lullabies and spooned food into my mouth; even my father, forgetting momentarily his own disorders166, stood flapping helplessly in the doorway167. But the night came when Doctor Aziz, looking as broken as an old horse, said, 'There is nothing more I can do. He will be dead by morning.' And in the midst of wailing168 women and the incipient169 labour of my mother who had been pushed into it by grief and the tearing of Mary Pereira's hair there was a knock; a servant announced Dr Schaapsteker; who handed my grandfather a little bottle and said, 'I make no bones about it: this is kill or cure. Two drops exactly; then wait and see.'
My grandfather, sitting head in hands in the rubble170 of his medical learning, asked, 'What is it?' And Dr Schaapsteker, nearly eighty-two, tongue flicking171 at the corners of his mouth: 'Diluted172 venene of the king cobra. It has been known to work.'
Snakes can lead to triumph, just as ladders can be descended173: my grandfather, knowing I would die anyway, administered the cobra poison. The family stood and watched while poison spread through the child's body ... and six hours later, my temperature had returned to normal. After that, my growth-rate lost its phenomenal aspects; but something was given in exchange for what was lost: life, and an early awareness174 of the ambiguity of snakes.
While my temperature came down, my sister was being born at Narlikar's Nursing Home. It was September ist; and the birth was so uneventful, so effortless that it passed virtually unnoticed on Methwold's Estate; because on the same day Ismail Ibrahim visited my parents at the clinic and announced that the case had been won ... While Ismail celebrated175, I was grabbing the bars of my cot; while he cried, 'So much for freezes! Your assets are your own again! By order of the High Court!', I was heaving red-faced against gravity; and while Ismail announced, with a straight face, 'Sinai bhai, the rule of law has won a famous victory,' and avoided my mother's delighted, triumphant176 eyes, I, Baby Saleem, aged exactly one year, two weeks and one day, hauled myself upright in my cot.
The effects of the events of that day were twofold: I grew up with legs that were irretrievably bowed, because I had got to my feet too early; and the Brass Monkey (so called because of her thick thatch177 of red-gold hair, which would not darken until she was nine) learned that, if she was going to get any attention in her life, she would have to make plenty of noise.
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omens
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| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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chastise
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| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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sewers
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| n.阴沟，污水管，下水道( sewer的名词复数 ) | |
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unleashed
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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exigencies
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| n.急切需要 | |
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doling
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| 救济物( dole的现在分词 )； 失业救济金 | |
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pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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seeping
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的现在分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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doled
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| 救济物( dole的过去式和过去分词 )； 失业救济金 | |
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curries
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| n.咖喱食品( curry的名词复数 ) | |
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intransigence
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| n.妥协的态度；强硬 | |
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imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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counteractive
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| 反对的，反作用的，抵抗的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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incompetently
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| adv.无能力地 | |
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inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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46
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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47
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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49
bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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50
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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51
gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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52
denominations
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| n.宗派( denomination的名词复数 )；教派；面额；名称 | |
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53
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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54
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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55
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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56
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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57
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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58
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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59
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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61
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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63
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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66
dazedly
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| 头昏眼花地，眼花缭乱地，茫然地 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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metaphorically
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| adv. 用比喻地 | |
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oppositions
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| （强烈的）反对( opposition的名词复数 )； 反对党； （事业、竞赛、游戏等的）对手； 对比 | |
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ambiguity
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| n.模棱两可；意义不明确 | |
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77
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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78
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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79
precociously
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| Precociously | |
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fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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81
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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84
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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85
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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sensuously
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| adv.感觉上 | |
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87
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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raucously
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| adv.粗声地；沙哑地 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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inadequately
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| ad.不够地；不够好地 | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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amplified
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| 放大，扩大( amplify的过去式和过去分词 )； 增强； 详述 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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abortive
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| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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intestines
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| n.肠( intestine的名词复数 ) | |
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103
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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104
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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105
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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110
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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111
fatten
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| v.使肥，变肥 | |
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112
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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113
ashtrays
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| 烟灰缸( ashtray的名词复数 ) | |
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114
obsessive
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| adj. 着迷的, 强迫性的, 分神的 | |
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115
rebounded
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| 弹回( rebound的过去式和过去分词 )； 反弹； 产生反作用； 未能奏效 | |
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116
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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117
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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118
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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119
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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122
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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123
pacifying
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的现在分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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124
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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125
cacophony
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| n.刺耳的声音 | |
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126
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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127
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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128
felon
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| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
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129
abscond
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| v.潜逃，逃亡 | |
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puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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131
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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132
interim
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| adj.暂时的，临时的；n.间歇，过渡期间 | |
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133
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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135
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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137
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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138
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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139
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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141
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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143
nadir
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| n.最低点，无底 | |
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144
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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148
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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150
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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151
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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154
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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155
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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156
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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157
cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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158
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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160
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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161
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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162
mechanisms
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| n.机械( mechanism的名词复数 )；机械装置；[生物学] 机制；机械作用 | |
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163
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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164
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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165
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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166
disorders
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| n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 )；凌乱；骚乱；（身心、机能）失调 | |
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167
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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168
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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169
incipient
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| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
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170
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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171
flicking
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的现在分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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172
diluted
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| 无力的，冲淡的 | |
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173
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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174
awareness
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| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
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175
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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176
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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177
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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