There was turmoil1 in Bombay in the months after the election; there is turmoil in my thoughts as I recall those days. My error has upset me badly; so now, to regain2 my equilibrium3, I shall place myself firmly on the familiar ground of Methwold's Estate; leaving the history of the Midnight Children's Conference to one side, and the pain of the Pioneer Cafe to another, I shall tell you about the fall of Evie Burns.
I have titled this episode somewhat oddly. 'Alpha and Omega' stares back at me from the page, demanding to be explained - a curious heading for what will be my story's half-way point, one that reeks4 of beginnings and ends, when you could
say it should be more concerned with middles; but, unrepentantly, I have no intention of changing it, although there are many alternative titles, for instance 'From Monkey to Rhesus', or 'Finger Redux', or - in a more allusive5 style - 'The Gander', a reference, obviously, to the mythical6 bird, the hamsa or parahamsa, symbol of the ability to live in two worlds, the physical and the spiritual, the world of land-and-water and the world of air, of flight. But 'Alpha and Omega' it is; 'Alpha and Omega' it remains7. Because there are beginnings here, and all manner of ends; but you'll soon see what I mean.
Padma clicks her tongue in exasperation8. 'You're talking funny again,' she criticizes, 'Are you going to tell about Evie or not?'
... After the general election, the Central Government continued to shilly-shally about the future of Bombay. The State was to be partitioned; then not to be partitioned; then partition reared its head again. And as for the city itself - it was to be the capital of Maharashtra; or of both Maharashtra and Gujarat; or an independent state of its own ... while the government tried to work out what on earth to do, the city's inhabitants decided9 to encourage it to be quick. Riots proliferated10 (and you could still hear the old battle-song of the Mahrattas - How are you? I am well! I'll take a stick and thrash you to hell! - rising above the fray); and to make things worse, the weather joined in the melee11. There was a severe drought; roads cracked; in the villages, peasants were being forced to kill their cows; and on Christmas Day (of whose significance no boy who attended a mission school and was attended upon by a Catholic ayah could fail to be aware) there was a series of loud explosions at the Wal-keshwar Reservoir and the main fresh-water pipes which were the city's lifelines began to blow fountains into the air like giant steel whales. The newspapers were full of talk of saboteurs; speculation15 over the criminals'
identities and political affiliation16 jostled for space against reports of the continuing wave of whore-murders. (I was particularly interested to learn that the murderer had his own curious 'signature'. The corpses17 of the ladies of the night were all strangled to death; there were bruises18 on their necks, bruises too large to be thumbprints, but wholly consistent with the marks which would be left by a pair of giant, preternaturally powerful knees.)
But I digress. What, Padma's frown demands, does all this have to do with Evelyn Lilith Burns? Instantly, leaping to attention, as it were, I provide the answer: in the days after the destruction of the city's fresh-water supply, the stray cats of Bombay began to congregate19 in those areas of the city where water was still relatively20 plentiful21; that is to say, the better-off areas, in which each house owned its own overhead or underground water-tank. And, as a result, the two-storey hillock of Methwold's Estate was invaded by an army of thirsting felines13; cats swarming22 all over the circus-ring, cats climbing bougainvillaea creepers and leaping into sitting-rooms, cats knocking over flower-vases to drink the plant-stale water, cats bivouacked in bathrooms, slurping23 liquid out of water-closets, cats rampant24 in the kitchens of the palaces of William Methwold. The Estate's servants were vanquished25 in their attempts to repel26 the great cat invasion; the ladies of the Estate were reduced to helpless exclamations27 of horror. Hard dry worms of cat-excrement were everywhere; gardens were ruined by sheer feline14 force of numbers: and at night sleep became an impossibility as the army found voice, and sang its thirst at the moon. (The Baroness28 Simki von der Heiden refused to fight the cats; she was already showing signs of the disease which would shortly lead to her extermination29.)
Nussie Ibrahim rang my mother to announce, 'Amina sister, it is the end of the world.'
She was wrong; because on the third day after the great cat invasion, Evelyn
Lilith Burns visited each Estate household in turn, carrying her Daisy air-gun casually30 in one hand, and offered, in return for bounty31 money, to end the plague of pussies32 double-quick.
All that day, Methwold's Estate echoed with the sounds of Evie's air-gun and the agonized33 wauls of the cats, as Evie stalked the entire army one by one and made herself rich. But (as history so often demonstrates) the moment of one's greatest triumph also contains the seeds of one's final downfall; and so it proved, because Evie's persecution34 of the cats was,' as far as the Brass35 Monkey was concerned, absolutely the last straw.
'Brother,' the Monkey told me grimly, 'I told you I'd get that girl; now, right now, the time has come.'
Unanswerable questions: was it true that my sister had acquired the languages of cats as well as birds? Was it her fondness for feline life which pushed her over the brink36? ... by the time of the great cat invasion, the Monkey's hair had faded into brown; she had broken her habit of burning shoes; but still, and for whatever reason, there was a fierceness in her which none of the rest of us ever possessed37; and she went down into the circus-ring and yelled at the top of her voice: 'Evie! Evie Burns! You come out here, this minute, wherever you are!'
Surrounded by fleeing cats, the Monkey awaited Evelyn Burns. I went out on to the first-floor verandah to watch; from their verandahs, Sonny and Eyeslice and Hairoil and Cyrus were watching too. We saw Evie Burns appear from the direction of the Versailles Villa12 kitchens; she was blowing the smoke away from the barrel of her gun.
'You Indians c'n thank your stars you got me around,' Evie declared, 'or you'd just've got eaten by these cats!'
We saw Evie fall silent as she saw the thing sitting tensely in the Monkey's eyes; and then like a blur38 the Monkey descended39 on Evie and a battle began which lasted for what seemed like several hours (but it can only have been a few minutes). Shrouded40 in the dust of the circus-ring they rolled kicked scratched bit, small tufts of hair flew out of the dust-cloud and there were elbows and feet in dirtied white socks and knees and fragments of frock flying out of the cloud; grown-ups came running, servants couldn't pull them apart, and in the end Homi Catrack's gardener turned his hose on them to separate them... the Brass Monkey stood up a little crookedly42 and shook the sodden43 hem41 of her dress, ignoring the cries of retribution proceeding44 from the lips of Amina Sinai and Mary Pereira; because there in the hose-wet dirt of the circus-ring lay Evie Burns, her tooth-braces broken, her hair matted with dust and spittle, her spirit and her dominion45 over us broken for once and for all.
A few weeks later her father sent her home for good, 'To get a decent education away from these savages46,' he was heard to remark; I only heard from her once, six months later, when right out of the blue she wrote me the letter which informed me that she had knifed an old lady who had objected to her assault on a cat. 'I gave it to her all right,' Evie wrote, 'Tell your sister she just got lucky.' I salute47 that unknown old woman: she paid the Monkey's bill.
More interesting than Evie's last message is a thought which occurs to me now, as I look back down the tunnel of time. Holding before my eyes the image of Monkey and Evie rolling in the dirt, I seem to discern the driving force behind their battle to the death, a motive48 far deeper than the mere49 persecution of cats: they were fighting over me. Evie and my sister (who were, in many ways, not at all dissimilar) kicked and scratched, ostensibly over the fate of a few thirsty strays; but perhaps Evie's kicks were aimed at me, perhaps they were the violence of her anger at my invasion of her head; and then maybe the strength of the Monkey was the strength of sibling-loyalty, and her act of war was actually an act of love.
Blood, then, was spilled in the circus-ring. Another rejected title for these pages - you may as well know - was 'Thicker Than Water'. In those days of water shortages, something thicker than water ran down the face of Evie Burns; the loyalties50 of blood motivated the Brass Monkey; and in the streets of the city, rioters spilled each other's blood. There were bloody51 murders, and perhaps it is not appropriate to end this sanguinary catalogue by mentioning, once again, the rushes of blood to my mother's cheeks. Twelve million votes were coloured red that year, and red is the colour of blood. More blood will flow soon: the types of blood, A and O, Alpha and Omega - and another, a third possibility - must be kept in mind. Also other factors: zygosity, and Kell antibodies, and that most mysterious of sanguinary attributes, known as rhesus, which is also a type of monkey.
Everything has shape, if you look for it. There is no escape from form.
But before blood has its day, I shall take wing (like the parahamsa gander who can soar out of one element into another) and return, briefly52, to the affairs of my inner world; because although the fall of Evie Burns ended my ostracism53 by the hilltop children, still I found it difficult to forgive; and for a time, holding myself solitary54 and aloof55, I immersed myself in the events inside my head, in the early history of the association of the midnight children.
To be honest: I didn't like Shiva. I disliked the roughness of his tongue, the crudity56 of his ideas; and I was beginning to suspect him of a string of terrible crimes - although I found it impossible to find any evidence in his thoughts, because he, alone of the children of midnight, could close off from me any part of his thoughts he chose to keep to himself - which, in itself, increased my growing dislike and suspicion of the rat-faced fellow. However, I was nothing if not fair; and it would not have been fair to have kept him apart from the other members of the Conference.
I should explain that as my mental facility increased, I found that it was possible not only to pick up the children's transmissions; not only to broadcast my own messages; but also (since I seem to be stuck with this radio metaphor) to act as a sort of national network, so that by opening my transformed mind to all the children I could turn it into a kind of forum57 in which they could talk to one another, through me. So, in the early days of 1958, the five hundred and eighty-one children would assemble, for one hour, between midnight and one a.m., in the lok sabha or parliament of my brain.
We were as motley, as raucous58, as undisciplined as any bunch of five hundred and eighty-one ten year olds; and on top of our natural exuberance59, there was the excitement of our discovery of each other. After one hour of top-volume yelling jabbering60 arguing giggling61, I would fall exhausted62 into a sleep too deep for nightmares, and still wake up with a headache; but I didn't mind. Awake I was obliged to face the multiple miseries63 of maternal64 perfidy65 and paternal66 decline, of the fickleness67 of friendship and the varied68 tyrannies of school; asleep, I was at the centre of the most exciting world any child had ever discovered.
Despite Shiva, it was nicer to be asleep.
Shiva's conviction that he (or he-and-I) was the natural leader of our group by dint69 of his (and my) birth on the stroke of midnight had, I was bound to admit, one strong argument in its favour. It seemed to me then - it seems to me now - that the midnight miracle had indeed been remarkably70 hierarchical in nature, that the children's abilities declined dramatically on the basis of the distance of their time of birth from midnight; but even this was a point of view which was hotly contested ... 'Whatdoyoumeanhowcanyousaythat,' they chorused, the boy from the Gir forest whose face was absolutely blank and featureless (except for eyes noseholes spaceformouth) and could take on any features he chose, and Harilal who could run at the speed of the wind, and God knows how many others...
'Who says it's better to do one thing or another?' And, 'Can you fly? I can fly!' And, 'Yah, and me, can you turn one fish into fifty?' And, 'Today I went to visit tomorrow. You can do that? Well then -' ... in the face of such a storm of protest, even Shiva changed his tune71; but he was 'to find a new one, which would be much more dangerous - dangerous for the Children, and for me.
Because I had found that I was not immune to the lure72 of leadership. Who found the Children, anyway? Who formed the Conference? Who gave them their meeting-place? Was I not the joint-eldest, and should I not receive the respect and obeisances73 merited by my senior-ity? And didn't the one who provided the club-house run the club?... To which Shiva, 'Forget all that, man. That club-shub stuff is only for you rich boys!' But - for a time - he was overruled.
Parvati-the-witch, the conjurer's daughter from Delhi, took my part (just as, years later, she would save my life), and announced, 'No, listen now, every, body: without Saleem we are nowhere, we can't talk or anything, he is right. Let him be the chief!' And I, 'No, never mind chief, just think of me as a ... a big brother, maybe. Yes; we're a family, of a kind. I'm just the oldest, me.' To which Shiva replied, scornful, but unable to argue: 'Okay, big brother: so now tell us what we do?'
At this point I introduced the Conference to the notions which plagued me all this time: the notions of purpose, and meaning. 'We must think,' I said, 'what we are for.'
I record, faithfully, the views of a typical selection of the Conference members (excepting the circus-freaks, and the ones who, like Sundari the beggar-girl with the knife-scars, had lost their powers, and tended to remain silent in our debates, like poor relations at a feast): among the philosophies and aims suggested were collectivism - 'We should all get together and live somewhere, no? What would we need from anyone else?' - and individualism - 'You say we; but we together are unimportant; what matters is that each of us has a gift to use for his or her own good' - filial duty - 'However we can help our father-mother, that is what it is for us to do' - and infant revolution -'Now at last we must show all kids that it is possible to get rid of parents!' - capitalism75 - 'Just mink76 what businesses we could do! How rich, Allah, we could be!' - and altruism77 - 'Our country needs gifted people; we must ask the government how it wishes to use our skills' - science - 'We must allow ourselves to be studied* - and religion - 'Let us declare ourselves to the world, so that all may glory in God'
- courage - 'We should invade Pakistan!' - and cowardice78 - 'O heavens, we must stay secret, just mink what they will do to us, stone us for witches or what-all!'; there were declarations of women's rights and pleas for the improvement of the lot of untouchables; landless children dreamed of land and tribals from the hills, of Jeeps; and there were, also, fantasies of power.
"They can't stop us, man! We can bewitch, and fly, and read minds, and turn them into frogs, and make gold and fishes, and they will fall in love with us, and we can vanish through mirrors and change our sex ... how will they be able to fight?'
I won't deny I was disappointed. I shouldn't have been; there was nothing unusual about the children except for their gifts; their heads were full of all the usual things, fathers mothers money food land possessions fame power God.
Nowhere, in the thoughts .of the Conference, could I find anything as new as ourselves ... but then I was on the wrong track, too; I could not see any more clearly than anyone else; and even when Soumitra the time-traveller said, 'I'm telling you - all this is pointless - they'll finish us before we start!' we all ignored him; with the optimism of youth - which is a more virulent79 form of the same disease that once infected my grandfather Aadam Aziz - we refused to look on the dark side, and not a single one of us suggested that the purpose of Midnight's Children might be annihilation; that we would have no meaning until we were destroyed.
For the sake of their privacy, I am refusing to distinguish the voices from one another; and for other reasons. For one thing, my narrative80 could not cope with five hundred and eighty-one fully-rounded personalities81; for another, the children, despite their won-drously discrete82 and varied gifts, remained, to my mind, a sort of many-headed monster, speaking in the myriad83 tongues of Babel; they were the very essence of multiplicity, and I see no point in dividing them now. (But there were exceptions. In particular, there was Shiva; and there was Parvati-the-witch.)
... Destiny, historical role, numen: these were mouthfuls too large for ten-year-old gullets. Even, perhaps, for mine; despite the ever-present admonitions of the fisherman's pointing finger and the Prime Minister's letter, I was constantly distracted from my sniff-given marvels84 by the tiny occurrences of everyday life, by feeling hungry or sleepy, by monkeying around with the Monkey, or going to the cinema to see Cobra Woman or Vera Cruz, by my growing longing85 for long trousers and by the inexplicable86 below-the-belt heat engendered87 by the approaching School Social at which we, the boys of the Cathedral and John Connon Boys' High School, would be permitted to dance the box-step and the Mexican Hat Dance with the girls from our sister institution - such as Masha Miovic the champion breast-stroker ('湾?hee,' said Glandy Keith Colaco) and Elizabeth Purkiss and Janey Jackson - European girls, my God, with loose skirts and kissing ways! - in short, my attention was continually seized by the painful, engrossing88 torture of growing up.
Even a symbolic89 gander must come down, at last, to earth; so it isn't nearly enough for me now (as it was not then) to confine my story to its miraculous90 aspects; I must return (as I used to return) to the quotidian91; I must permit blood to spill.
The first mutilation of Saleem Sinai, which was rapidly followed by the second, took place one Wednesday early in 1958 - the Wednesday of the much-anticipated Social - under the auspices92 of the Anglo-Scottish Education Society. That is, it happened at school.
Saleem's assailant: handsome, frenetic, with a barbarian's shaggy moustache: I present the leaping, hair-tearing figure of Mr Emil Zagallo, who taught us geography and gymnastics, and who, that morning, unintentionally precipitated93 the crisis of my life. Zagallo claimed to be Peruvian, and was fond of calling us jungle-Indians, bead-lovers; he hung a print of a stern, sweaty soldier in a pointy tin hat and metal pantaloons above his blackboard and had a way of stabbing a finger at it in times of stress and shouting, 'You see heem, you savages? Thees man eez civilization! You show heem respect: he's got a sword!'
And he'd swish his cane94 through the stonewalled air. We called him Pagal-Zagal, crazy Zagallo, because for all his talk of llamas and conquistadores and the Pacific Ocean we knew, with the absolute certainty of rumour95, that he'd been born in a Mazagaon tenement96 and his Goanese mother had been abandoned by a decamped shipping97 agent; so he was not only an 'Anglo' but probably a bastard98 as well. Knowing this, we understood why Zagallo affected99 his Latin accent, and also why he was always in a fury, why he beat his fists against the stone walk of the classroom; but the knowledge didn't stop us being afraid. And this Wednesday morning, we knew we were in for trouble, because Optional Cathedral had been cancelled.
The Wednesday morning double period was Zagallo's geography class; but only idiots and boys with bigoted100 parents attended it, because it was also the time when we could choose to troop off to St Thomas's Cathedral in crocodile formation, a long line of boys of every conceivable religious denomination101, escaping from school into the bosom102 of the Christians103' considerately optional God. It drove Zagallo wild, but he was helpless; today, however, there was a dark glint in his eye, because the Croaker (that is to say, Mr Crusoe the headmaster) had announced at morning Assembly that Cathedral was cancelled. In a bare, scraped voice emerging from his face of an anaesthetized frog, he sentenced us to double geography and Pagal-Zagal, taking us all by surprise, because we hadn't realized that God was permitted to exercise an option, too.
Glumly104 we trooped into Zagallo's lair105; one of the poor idiots whose parents never allowed them to go to Cathedral whispered viciously into my ear, 'You jus'
wait: hell really get you guys today.'
Padma: he really did.
Seated gloomily in class: Glandy Keith Colaco, Fat Perce Fishwala, Jimmy Kapadia the scholarship boy whose father was a taxi-driver, Hairoil Sabarmati, Sonny Ibrahim, Cyrus-the-great and I. Others, too, but there's no time now, because with eyes narrowing in delight, crazy Zagallo is calling us to order.
'Human geography,' Zagallo announces. 'Thees ees what? Kapadia?'
'Please sir don't know sir.' Hands fly into the air - five belong to church-banned idiots, the sixth inevitably106 to Cyrus-the-great. But Zagallo is out for blood today: the godly are going to suffer. 'Feelth from the jongle,' he buffets107 Jimmy Kapadia, then begins to twist an ear casually, 'Stay in class sometimes and find out!'
'Ow ow ow yes sir sorry sir ...' Six hands are waving but Jimmy's ear is in danger of coming off. Heroism108 gets the better of me ... 'Sir please stop sir he has a heart condition sir!' Which is true; but the truth is dangerous, because now Zagallo is rounding on me: 'So, a leetle arguer, ees eet?' And I am being led by my hair to the front of the class. Under the relieved eyes of my fellow-pupils - thank God it's him not us - I writhe109 in agony beneath imprisoned110 tufts.
'So answer the question. You know what ees human geography?'
Pain fills my head, obliterating111 all notions of telepathic cheatery: 'Aiee sir no sir ouch!'
... And now it is possible to observe a joke descending112 on Zagallo, a joke pulling his face apart into the simulacrum of a smile; it is possible to watch his hand darting113 forward, thumb-and-forefinger extended; to note how thumb-and-forefinger close around the tip of my nose and pull downwards114 ...
where the nose leads, the head must follow, and finally the nose is hanging down and my eyes are obliged to stare damply at Zagallo's sandalled feet with their dirty toehails while Zagallo unleashes115 his wit.
'See, boys - you see what we have here? Regard, please, the heedeous face of thees primitive116 creature. It reminds you of?'
And the eager responses: 'Sir the devil sir.' 'Please sir one cousin of mine!'
'No sir a vegetable sir I don't know which.' Until Zagallo, shouting above the tumult117, 'Silence! Sons of baboons118! Thees object here' - a tug119 on my nose - 'thees is human geography!'
'How sir where sir what sir?'
Zagallo is laughing now. 'You don't see?' he guffaws120. 'In the face of thees ugly ape you don't see the whole map of India?'
'Yes sir no sir you show us sir!'
'See here - the Deccan peninsula hanging down!' Again ouchmy-nose.
'Sir sir if that's the map of India what are the stains sir?' It is Glandy Keith Colaco feeling bold. Sniggers, titters from my fellows. And Zagallo, taking the question in his stride: 'These stains,' he cries, 'are Pakistan! Thees birthmark on the right ear is the East Wing; and thees horrible stained left cheek, the West! Remember, stupid boys: Pakistan ees a stain on the face of India!'
'Ho ho,' the class laughs, 'Absolute master joke, sir!'
But now my nose has had enough; staging its own, unprompted revolt against the grasping thumb-and-forefinger, it unleashes a weapon of its own ... a large blob of shining goo emerges from the left nostril121, to plop into Mr Zagallo's palm.
Fat Perce Fishwala yells, 'Lookit that, sir! The drip from his nose, sir! Is that supposed to be Ceylon?'
His palm smeared122 with goo, Zagallo loses his jokey mood. 'Animal,' he curses me, 'You see what you do?' Zagallo's hand releases my nose; returns to hair. Nasal refuse is wiped into my neatly-parted locks. And now, once again, my hair is seized; once again, the hand is pulling... but upwards123 now, and my head has jerked upright, my feet are moving on to tiptoe, and Zagallo, 'What are you?
Tell me what you are!'
'Sir an animal sir!'
The hand pulls harder higher. 'Again.' Standing124 on my toenails now, I yelp125: 'Aiee sir an animal an animal please sir aiee!'
And still harder and still higher ... 'Once more!' But suddenly it ends; my feet are flat on the ground again; and the class has fallen into a deathly hush126.
'Sir,' Sonny Ibrahim is saying, 'you pulled his hair out, sir.'
And now the cacophony127: 'Look sir, blood.' 'He's bleeding sir.1 'Please sir shall I take him to the nurse?'
Mr Zagallo stood like a statue with a clump128 of my hair in his fist. While I - too shocked to feel any pain - felt the patch on my head where Mr Zagallo had created a monkish129 tonsure130, a circle where hair would never grow again, and realized that the curse of my birth, which connected me to my country, had managed to find yet one more unexpected expression of itself.
Two days later, Croaker Crusoe announced that, unfortunately, Mr Emil Zagallo was leaving the staff for personal reasons; but I knew what the reasons were. My uprooted131 hairs had stuck to his hands, like bloodstains that wouldn't wash out, and nobody wants a teacher with hair on Ids palms, 'The first sign of madness,'
as Glandy Keith was fond of saying, 'and the second sign is looking for them.'
Zagallo's legacy132: a monk's tonsure; and, worse than that, a whole set of new taunts133, which my classmates flung at me while we waited for school buses to take us home to get dressed for the Social: 'Snot-nose is a bal-die!' and, 'Sniffer's got a map-face!' When Cyrus arrived in the bus-queue, I tried to turn the crowd against him, by attempting to set up a chant of'Cyrus-the-great, Born on a plate, In nineteen hundred and forty-eight,' but nobody took up the offer.
So we come to the events of the Cathedral School Social. At which bullies134 became instruments of destiny, and fingers were transmuted135 into fountains, and Masha Miovic, the legendary136 breast-stroker, fell into a dead faint... I arrived at the Social with the nurse's bandage still on my head. I was late, because it hadn't been easy to persuade my mother to let me come; so by the time I stepped into the Assembly Hall, beneath streamers and balloons and the professionally suspicious gazes of bony female chaperones, all the best girls were already box-stepping and Mexican-Hatting with absurdly smug partners. Naturally, the prefects had the pick of the ladies; I watched them with passionate137 envy, Guzder and Joshi and Stevenson and Rushdie and Talyarkhan and Tayabali and Jussawalla and Wagle and King; I tried butting138 in on them during excuse-mes but when they saw my bandage and my cucumber of a nose and the stains on my face they just laughed and turned their backs ... hatred139 burgeoning140 in my bosom, I ate potato chips and drank Bubble-Up and Vimto and told myself, 'Those jerks; if they knew who I was they'd get out of my way pretty damn quick!' But still the fear of revealing my true nature was stronger than my somewhat abstract desire for the whirling European girls.
'Hey, Saleem, isn't it? Hey, man, what happened to you?' I was dragged out of my bitter, solitary reverie (even Sonny had someone to dance with; but then, he had his forcep-hollows, and he didn't wear underpants - there were reasons for his attractiveness) by a voice behind my left shoulder, a low, throaty voice, full of promises - but also of menace. A girl's voice. I turned with a sort of jump and found myself staring at a vision with golden hair and a prominent and famous chest ... my God, she was fourteen years old, why was she talking to me? ... 'My name is Masha Miovic,' the vision said, 'I've met your sister.'
Of course! The Monkey's heroines, the swimmers from Walsingham School, would certainly know the Schools champion breast-stroker!... 'I know ..." I stuttered, 'I know your name.'
'And I know yours,' she straightened my tie, 'so that's fair.' Over her shoulder, I saw Glandy Keith and Fat Perce watching us in drooling paroxysms of envy. I straightened my back and pushed out my shoulders. Masha Miovic asked again about my bandage. 'It's nothing,' I said in what I hoped was a deep voice, 'A sporting accident.' And then, working feverishly141 to hold my voice steady, 'Would you like to ... to dance?'
'Okay,' said Masha Miovic, 'But don't try any smooching.'
Saleem takes the floor with Masha Miovic, swearing not to smooch. Saleem and Masha, doing the Mexican Hat; Masha and Saleem, box- stepping with the best of them! I allow my face to adopt a superior expression; you see, you don't have to be a prefect to get a girl! ... The dance ended; and, still on top of my wave of elation74, I said, 'Would you care for a stroll, you know, in the quad142?'
Masha Miovic smiling privately143. 'Well, yah, just for a sec; but hands off, okay?'
Hands off, Saleem swears. Saleem and Masha, taking the air ... man, this is fine. This is the life. Goodbye Evie, hello breast-stroke ... Glandy Keith Colaco and Fat Perce Fishwala step out of the shadows of the quadrangle. They are giggling: '湾?hee.' Masha Miovic looks puzzled as they block our path. 'Hoo hoo,' Fat Perce says, 'Masha, hoo hoo. Some date you got there.' And I, 'Shut up, you.' Whereupon Glandy Keith, 'You wanna know how he got his war-wound, Mashy?' And Fat Perce, '湾?hoo ha.' Masha says, 'Don't be crude; he got it in a sporting accident!' Fat Perce and Glandy Keith are almost falling over with mirth; then Fishwala reveals all. 'Zagallo pulled his hair out in class!' 湾? hoo. And Keith, 'Snotnose is a bal-die!' And both together, 'Sniffer's got a map-face!' There is puzzlement on Masha Miovic's face. And something more, some budding spirit of sexual mischief144... 'Saleem, they're being so rude about you!'
'Yes,' I say, 'ignore them.' I try to edge her away. But she goes on, 'You aren't going to let them get away with it?' There are beads145 of excitement on her upper lip; her tongue is in the corner of her mouth; the eyes of Masha Miovic say, What are you? A man or a mouse? ... and under the spell of the champion breast-stroker, something else floats into my head: the image of two irresistible146 knees; and now I am rushing at Colaco and Fishwala; while they are distracted by giggles147, my knee drives into Glandy's groin; before he's dropped, a similar genuflection148 has laid Fat Perce low. I turn to my mistress; she applauds, softly. 'Hey man, pretty good.'
But now my moment has passed; and Fat Perce is picking himself up, and Glandy Keith is already moving towards me ... abandoning all pretence149 of manhood, I turn and run. And the two bullies are after me and behind them comes Masha Miovic calling, 'Where are you running, little hero?' But there's no time for her now, mustn't let them get me, into the nearest classroom and try and shut the door, but Fat Perce's foot is in the way and now the two of them are inside too and I dash at the door, I grab it with my right hand, trying to force it open, get out if you can, they are pushing the door shut, but I'm pulling with the strength of my fear, I have it open a few inches, my hand curls around it, and now Fat Perce slams all his weight against the door and it shuts too fast for me to get my hand out of the way and it's shut. A thud. And outside, Masha Miovic arrives and looks down at the floor; and sees the top third of my middle finger lying there like a lump of well-chewed bubble-gum. This was the point at which she fainted.
No pain. Everything very far away. Fat Perce and Glandy Keith fleeing, to get help or to hide. I look at my hand out of pure curiosity. My finger has become a fountain: red liquid spurts150 out to the rhythm of my heart-beat. Never knew a finger held so much blood. Pretty. Now here's nurse, don't worry, nurse. Only a scratch. Your parents are being phoned; Mr Crusoe is getting his car keys. Nurse is putting a great wad of cotton-wool over the stump151. Filling up like red candyfloss. And now Crusoe. Get in the car, Saleem, your mother is going straight to the hospital. Yes sir. And the bit, has anybody got the bit? Yes headmaster here it is. Thank you nurse. Probably no use but you never know. Hold this while I drive, Saleem ... and holding up my severed152 finger-dp in my unmutilated left hand, I am driven to the Breach153 Candy Hospital through the echoing streets of night.
At the hospital: white walls stretchers everyone talking at once. Words pour around me like fountains. 'O God preserve us, my little piece-of-the-moon, what have they done to you?' To which old Crusoe, 'Heh heh. Mrs Sinai. Accidents will happen. Boys will be.' But my mother, enraged154, 'What kind of school? Mr Caruso?
I'm here with my son's finger in pieces and you tell me. Not good enough. No, sir.' And now, while Crusoe, 'Actually the name's - like Robinson, you know - heh heh,' the doctor is approaching and a question is being asked, whose answer will change the world.
'Mrs Sinai, your blood group, please? The boy has lost blood. A transfusion155 may be necessary.' And Amina: 'I am A; but my husband, O.' And now she is crying, breaking down, and still the doctor, 'Ah; in that case, are you aware of your son's ...' But she, the doctor's daughter, must admit she cannot answer the question: Alpha or Omega? 'Well in that case a very quick test; but on the subject of rhesus?' My mother, through her tears: 'Both my husband and I, rhesus positive.' And the doctor, 'Well, good, that at least.'
But when I am on the operating table - 'Just sit there, son, I'll give you a local anaesthetic, no, madam, he's in shock, total anaesthesia would be impossible, all right son, just hold your finger up and still, help him nurse, and it'll be over in a jiffy' - while the surgeon is sewing up the stump and performing the miracle of transplanting the roots of the nail, all of a sudden there's a fluster156 in the background, a million miles away, and 'Have you got a second Mrs Sinai' and I can't hear properly ... words float across the in-finite distance ... Mrs Sinai, you are sure? ?and A? A and O? And rhesus negative, both of you? Heterozygous or homozygous? No, there must be some mistake, how can he be... I'm sorry, absolutely clear... positive ... and neither A nor ...
excuse me, Madam, but is he your ... not adopted or ... The hospital nurse interposes herself between me and miles-away chatter157, but it's no good, because now my mother is shrieking158, 'But of course you must believe me, doctor; my God, of course he is our son!'
Neither A nor O. And the rhesus factor: impossibly negative. And zygosity offers no clues. And present in the blood, rare Kell antibodies. And my mother, crying, crying-crying, crying... 'I don't understand. A doctor's daughter, and I don't understand.'
Have Alpha and Omega unmasked me? Is rhesus pointing its unanswerable finger?
And will Mary Pereira be obliged to ... I wake up in a cool, white, Venetian-blinded room with All-India Radio for company. Tony Brent is singing: 'Red Sails In The Sunset'.
Ahmed Sinai, his face ravaged159 by whisky and now by something worse, stands beside the Venetian blind. Amina, speaking in whispers. Again, snatches across the million miles of distance. Janumplease. Ibegyou. No, what are you saying. Of course it was. Of course you are the. How could you think I would. Who could it have. ?God don't just stand and look. I swear Iswearonmymother'shead. Now shh he is ...
A new song from Tony Brent, whose repertoire160 today is uncannily similar to Wee Willie Winkie's: 'How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?' hangs in the air, floating on radio waves. My father advances on my bed, towers over me, I've never seen him look like this before. 'Abba...' And he, 'I should have known.
Just look, where am I in that face. That nose, I should have ...' He turns on his heel and leaves the room; my mother follows him, too distraught to whisper now: 'No, janum, I won't let you believe such things about me! I'll kill myself! I'll,' and the door swings shut behind them. There is a noise outside: like a clap. Or a slap. Most of what matters in your life takes place in your absence.
Tony Brent begins crooning his latest hit into my good ear: and assures me, melodiously161, that 'The Clouds Will Soon Roll By'.
... And now I, Saleem Sinai, intend briefly to endow my self-then with the benefits of hindsight; destroying the unities162 and conventions of fine writing, I make him cognizant of what was to come, purely163 so that he can be permitted to think the following thoughts: 'O eternal opposition164 of inside and outside! Because a human being, inside himself, is anything but a whole, anything but homogeneous; all kinds of everywhichthing are jumbled165 up inside him, and he is one person one minute and another the next. The body, on the other hand, is homogeneous as anything. Indivisible, a one-piece suit, a sacred temple, if you will. It is important to preserve this wholeness. But the loss of my finger (which was conceivably foretold166 by the pointing digit167 of Raleigh's fisherman), not to mention the removal of certain hairs from my head, has undone168 all that.
Thus we enter into a state of affairs which is nothing short of revolutionary; and its effect on history is bound to be pretty damn startling. Uncork the body, and God knows what you permit to come tumbling out. Suddenly you are forever other than you were; and the world becomes such that parents can cease to be parents, and love can turn to hate. And these, mark you, are only the effects on private life. The consequences for the sphere of public action, as will be shown, are -were - will be no less profound.'
Finally, withdrawing my gift of foreknowledge, I leave you with the image of a ten-year-old boy with a bandaged finger, sitting in a hospital bed, musing169 about blood and noises-like-claps and the expression on his father's face; zooming170 out slowly into long-shot, I allow the sound-track music to drown my words, because Tony Brent is reaching the end of his medley171, and his finale, too, is the same as Winkie's: 'Good Night, Ladies' is the name of the song. Merrily it rolls along, rolls along, rolls along ...
(Fade-out.)
收听单词发音 |
1
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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reeks
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| n.恶臭( reek的名词复数 )v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的第三人称单数 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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allusive
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| adj.暗示的；引用典故的 | |
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mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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proliferated
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| 激增( proliferate的过去式和过去分词 )； （迅速）繁殖； 增生； 扩散 | |
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melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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felines
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| n.猫科动物( feline的名词复数 ) | |
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feline
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| adj.猫科的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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affiliation
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| n.联系，联合 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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congregate
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| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
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relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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slurping
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| v.啜食( slurp的现在分词 ) | |
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rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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extermination
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| n.消灭，根绝 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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pussies
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| n.（粗俚） 女阴( pussy的名词复数 )；（总称）（作为性对象的）女人；（主要北美使用，非正式）软弱的；小猫咪 | |
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33
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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crookedly
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| adv. 弯曲地，不诚实地 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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48
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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loyalties
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| n.忠诚( loyalty的名词复数 )；忠心；忠于…感情；要忠于…的强烈感情 | |
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51
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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52
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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53
ostracism
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| n.放逐；排斥 | |
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54
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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55
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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56
crudity
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| n.粗糙，生硬；adj.粗略的 | |
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57
forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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58
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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59
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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60
jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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61
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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62
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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63
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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64
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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perfidy
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| n.背信弃义，不忠贞 | |
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66
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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fickleness
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| n.易变；无常；浮躁；变化无常 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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71
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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72
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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73
obeisances
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| n.敬礼，行礼( obeisance的名词复数 )；敬意 | |
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74
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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75
capitalism
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| n.资本主义 | |
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mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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altruism
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| n.利他主义，不自私 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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82
discrete
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| adj.个别的，分离的，不连续的 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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84
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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85
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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86
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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87
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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engrossing
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| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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91
quotidian
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| adj.每日的，平凡的 | |
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92
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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93
precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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94
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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95
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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96
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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97
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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98
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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99
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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100
bigoted
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| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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101
denomination
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| n.命名，取名，(度量衡、货币等的)单位 | |
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102
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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103
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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104
glumly
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| adv.忧郁地，闷闷不乐地；阴郁地 | |
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105
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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106
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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107
buffets
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| （火车站的）饮食柜台( buffet的名词复数 )； （火车的）餐车； 自助餐 | |
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108
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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109
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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110
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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112
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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113
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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114
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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115
unleashes
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的第三人称单数 ) | |
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116
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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117
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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118
baboons
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| n.狒狒( baboon的名词复数 ) | |
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119
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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120
guffaws
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| n.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的名词复数 )v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的第三人称单数 ) | |
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121
nostril
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| n.鼻孔 | |
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122
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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123
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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124
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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125
yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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126
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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127
cacophony
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| n.刺耳的声音 | |
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128
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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129
monkish
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| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
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130
tonsure
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| n.削发；v.剃 | |
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131
uprooted
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| v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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132
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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133
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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134
bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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135
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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137
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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138
butting
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| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
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139
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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140
burgeoning
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| adj.迅速成长的，迅速发展的v.发芽，抽枝( burgeon的现在分词 )；迅速发展；发（芽），抽（枝） | |
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141
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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142
quad
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| n.四方院；四胞胎之一；v.在…填补空铅 | |
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143
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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144
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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145
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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146
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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147
giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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148
genuflection
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| n. 曲膝, 屈服 | |
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149
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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150
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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151
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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152
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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153
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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154
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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155
transfusion
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| n.输血，输液 | |
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156
fluster
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| adj.慌乱，狼狈，混乱，激动 | |
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157
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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158
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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159
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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160
repertoire
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| n.(准备好演出的)节目，保留剧目；(计算机的)指令表，指令系统， <美>(某个人的)全部技能；清单，指令表 | |
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161
melodiously
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162
unities
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| n.统一体( unity的名词复数 )；（艺术等） 完整；（文学、戏剧） （情节、时间和地点的）统一性；团结一致 | |
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163
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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164
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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165
jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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166
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
digit
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| n.零到九的阿拉伯数字，手指，脚趾 | |
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168
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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169
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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170
zooming
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| adj.快速上升的v.（飞机、汽车等）急速移动( zoom的过去分词 )；（价格、费用等）急升，猛涨 | |
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171
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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