Magid, Millat and Marcus 1992,1999fundamental/a. & n. 1MB. adj. i Of or pertaining1 to the basis or groundwork; going to the rootof the matter. 2 Serving as the base or foundation; essential or indispensable. Also, primary, original;from which others are derived2. 3 Of or pertaining to the foundations) of a building. 4 Of a stratum3:
lowest, lying at the bottom.
Fundamentalism n. E2,o [f. prec. +ism.] The strict maintenance of traditional orthodox religiousbeliefs or doctrines4; esp. belief in the in errancy of religious texts.
The New Shorter Oxford5 English DictionaryYou must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss,A sigh is just a sigh;The fundamental things apply,As time goes by.
Herman Hupfeld, "As Time Goes By' (1931 song)16 The Return ofMagid Mahfooz Murshed Mubtasim Iqbal"Excuse me, you're not going to smoke that, are you?"Marcus closed his eyes. He hated the construction. He always wanted to reply with equalgrammatical perversity6: Yes, I'm not going to smoke that. No, I am going to smoke that.
"Excuse me, I said you're '
"Yes, I heard you the first time," said Marcus softly, turning to his right to see the speaker withwhom he shared a single armrest, each two chairs being assigned only one between them in thelong line of moulded plastic. "Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"Irritation7 vanished at the sight of his interlocutor: a slim, pretty Asian girl, with an alluring8 gapbetween her front teeth, army trousers and a high ponytail, who was holding in her lap (of allthings!) a copy of his collaborative pop science book of last spring (with the novelist Surrey The.
Banks), Time Bombs and Body Clocks: Adventures in Our Genetic10 Future.
"Yes, there's a reason, arsehok. You can't smoke in Heathrow. Not in this bit of it. And youcertainly can't smoke a fucking pipe. And these chairs are welded to each other and I've got asthma11.
Enough reasons?"Marcus shrugged12 amiably13. "Yes, more than. Good book?"This was a new experience for Marcus. Meeting one of his readers. Meeting one of his readersin the waiting lounge of an airport. He had been a writer of academic texts all his life, texts whoseaudience was tiny and select, whose members he more often than not knew personally. He hadnever sent his work off into the world like a party-popper, unsure where the different strands14 wouldland.
"Pardon?""Don't worry, I won't smoke if you don't want me to. I was just wondering, is it a good book?"The girl screwed up her face, which was not as pretty as Marcus had first thought, the jawline atad too severe. She closed the book (she was halfway16 through) and looked at its cover as if she hadforgotten which book it was.
"Oh, it's all right, I suppose. Bit bloody17 weird18. Bit of a head fuckMarcus frowned. The book had been his agent's idea: a split level high low culture book,whereby Marcus wrote a 'hard science' chapter on one particular development in genetics and thenthe novelist wrote a twin chapter exploring these ideas from a futuristic, fictional,what-if-this-led-to-this point of view, and so on for eight chapters each. Marcus haduniversity-bound sons plus Magid's law schooling19 to think about, and he had agreed to the projectfor pecuniary20 reasons. To that end, the book had not been the hit that was hoped for or required, andMarcus, when he thought of it at all, thought it was a failure. But weird? A head fuck"Umm, in what way weird?"The girl looked suddenly suspicious. "What is this? An interrogation?"Marcus shrank back a little. His Chalfenist confidence was always less evident when he strayedabroad, away from the bosom21 of his family. He was a direct man who saw no point in askinganything other than the direct questions, but in recent years he had become aware that thisdirectness did not always garner22 direct answers from strangers, as it did in his own small circle. Inthe outside world, outside of his college and home, one had to add things to speech. Particularly ifone was somewhat strange-looking, as Marcus gathered he was; if one was a little old, witheccentric curly hair and spectacles missing their lower rims23. You had to add things to your speechto make it more palatable24. Niceties, throwaway phrases, pleases and thank yous.
"No, not an interrogation. I was just thinking of reading itmyself, you see. I heard it was quite good, you know. And I was wondering why you thought itwas weird."The girl, deciding at that moment that Marcus was neither mass murderer nor rapist, let hermuscles relax and slid back in her chair. "Oh, I don't know. Not so much weird, I guess, morescary.""Scary how?""Well, it's scary isn't it, all this genetic engineering.""Is it?""Yeah, you know, messing about with the body. They reckon there's a gene9 for intelligence,sexuality practically everything, you know? Recombinant DNA25 technology," said the girl, using theterm cautiously, as if testing the water to see how much Marcus knew. Seeing no recognition in hisface, she continued with more confidence. "Once you know the restriction26 enzyme27 for a particular,like, bit of DNA, you can switch anything on or off, like a bloody stereo. That's what they're doingto those poor mice. It's pretty fucking scary. Not to mention, like, the pathogenic, i.e."disease-producing, organisms they've got sitting in petri dishes all over the place. I mean, I'm apolitics student, yeah, and I'm like: what are they creating? And who do they want to wipe out?
You've got to be seriously naive28 if you don't think the West intend to use this shit in the East, on theArabs. Quick way to deal with the fundamentalist Muslims no, seriously, man," said the girl inresponse to a raised eyebrow29 from Marcus, 'things are getting scary. I mean, reading this shit youjust realize how close science is to science fiction."As far as Marcus could see, science and science fiction were like ships in the night, passingeach other in the fog. A science fiction robot, for example even his son Oscar's expectation of arobot was a thousand years ahead of anything either robotics or artificial intelligence could yetachieve. While the robots in Oscar's mind were singing, dancing and empathizing with his everyjoy and fear, over at MIT some poor bastard30 was slowlyand painstakingly31 trying to get a machine to re-create the movements of a single human thumb.
On the flip32 side of the coin, the simplest biological facts, the structure of animal cells for instance,were a mystery to all but fourteen-year-old children and scientists like himself; the former spendingtheir time drawing them in class, the latter injecting them with foreign DNA. In between, or so itappeared to Marcus, flowed a great ocean of idiots, conspiracists, religious lunatics, presumptuousnovelists, animal rights activists33, students of politics, and all the other breeds of fundamentalistswho professed34 strange objections to his life's work. In the past few months, since his Future Mousehad gained some public attention, he had been forced to believe in these people, believe theyactually existed en masse, and this was as hard for him as being taken to the bottom of the gardenand told that here lived fairies.
"I mean, they talk about progress," said the girl shrilly35, becoming somewhat excited. "They talkabout leaps and bounds in the field of medicine yada yada yada, but bottom line, if somebodyknows how to eliminate "undesirable36" qualities in people, do you think some government's notgoing to do it? I mean, what's undesirable? There's just something a little fascist37 about the wholedeal... I guess it's a good book, but at points you do think: where are we going here? Millions ofblonds with blue eyes? Mail order babies? I mean, if you're Indian like me you've got something toworry about, yeah? And then they're planting cancers in poor creatures; like, who are you to messwith the make-up of a mouse? Actually creating an animal just so it can die it's like being God! Imean personally I'm a Hindu, yeah? I'm not religious or nothing, but you know, I believe in thesanctity of life, yeah? And these people, like, program the mouse, plot its every move, yeah, whenit's going to have kids, when it's going to die. It's just unnatural38."Marcus nodded and tried to disguise his exhaustion39. It was exhausting just to listen to her.
Nowhere in the book did Marcus16 The Return of Magid Mahfooz Murshed Mubtasim Iqbal -1even touch upon human eugenics it wasn't his field, and he had no particular interest in it. Andyet this girl had managed to read a book almost entirely40 concerned with the more prosaicdevelopments in recombinant DNA gene therapy, proteins to dissolve blood clots41, the cloning ofinsulin and emerge from it full of the usual neo-fascist tabloid42 fantasies mindless human clones,genetic policing of sexual and racial characteristics, mutated diseases, etc. Only the chapter on hismouse could have prompted such an hysterical43 reaction. It was to his mouse that the title of thebook referred (again, the agent's idea), and it was his mouse upon which media attention had landed.
Marcus saw clearly now what he had previously44 only suspected, that if it were not for the mousethere would have been little interest in the book at all. No other work he had been involved withseemed to catch the public imagination like his mice. To determine a mouse's future stirred peopleup. Precisely45 because people saw it that way: it wasn't determining the future of a cancer, or areproductive cycle, or the capacity to age. It was determining the future of the mouse. Peoplefocused on the mouse in a manner that never failed to surprise him. They seemed unable to think ofthe animal as a site, a biological site for experimentation46 into heredity, into disease, into mortality.
The mouse ness of the mouse seemed inescapable. A picture from Marcus's laboratory of one of histrans genic mice, along with an article about the struggle for a patent, had appeared in The Times.
Both he and the paper received a ton of hate-mail from factions47 as disparate as the ConservativeLadies Association, the Anti-Vivisection lobby, the Nation of Islam, the rector of St. Agnes'sChurch, Berkshire, and the editorial board of the far-left Schnews. Neena Begum phoned to informhim that he would be reincarnated48 as a cockroach49. Glenard Oak, always acute to a turning mediatide, retracted50 their invitation for Marcus to come to school during National Science week. His ownson, his Joshua, still refused to speak to him. The insanity51 of all of it genuinely shook him. The fearhehad unwittingly provoked. And all because the public were three |B steps ahead of him likeOscar's robot, they had already played ,^ out their end games already concluded what the result ofhis 12 research would be something he did not presume to imagine! ;lB full of their clones, zombies,designer children, gay genes52. Of *i| course, he understood the work he did involved some elementof moral luck; so it is for all men of science. You work partly in the dark, uncertain of futureramifications, unsure what blackness your name might yet carry, what bodies will be laid at yourdoor. No one working in a new field, doing truly visionary work, can be certain of getting throughhis century or the next without blood on his palms. But stop the work? Gag Einstein? Tie Heisenberg's hands? What can you hope to achieve?
"But surely," Marcus began, more rattled53 than he expected himself to be, 'surely that's rather thepoint. All animals are in a sense programmed to die. It's perfectly54 natural. If it appears random55,that's only because we don't clearly understand it, you see. We don't properly understand why somepeople seem predisposed to cancer. We don't properly understand why some people die of naturalcauses at sixty-three and some at ninety seven. Surely it would be interesting to know a little moreabout these things. Surely the point of something like an oncomouse is that we're given theopportunity to see a life and a death stage by stage under the micro '
"Yeah, well," said the girl, putting the book in her bag. "Whatever. I've got to get to gate 52. Itwas nice talking to you. But yeah, you should definitely give it a read. I'm a big fan of Surrey The .
Banks ... he writes some freaky shit."Marcus watched the girl and her bouncing ponytail progress down the wide walkway until shemerged with other dark-haired girls and was lost. Instantly, he felt relieved and remembered withpleasure his own appointment with gate 32 and Magid Iqbal, who was a different kettle offish, or ablacker kettle, or whatever the phrase was. With fifteen minutes to spare, he abandoned hiscoffee which had gone rapidly from scalding to lukewarm, and began to walk in the direction ofthe lower 505. The phrase 'a meeting of minds' was running through his head. He knew this was anabsurd thing to think of a seventeen-year-old boy, but still he thought it, felt it: a certain elation,maybe equal to the feeling his own mentor56 experienced when the seventeen-year-old MarcusChalfen first walked into his poky college office. A certain satisfaction. Marcus was familiar withthe mutually beneficial smugness that runs from mentor to protege and back again (ah, but you arebrilliant and deign57 to spend your time with me! Ah, but I am brilliant and catch your attentionabove all others!). Still, he indulged himself. And he was glad to be meeting Magid for the firsttime, alone, though he hoped he was not guilty of planning it that way. It was more a series offortunate accidents. The Iqbals' car had broken down, and Marcus's hatchback was not large. Hehad persuaded Samad and Alsana that there would not be enough room for Magid's luggage if theycame with him. Millat was in Chester with KEVIN and had been quoted as saying (in languagereminiscent of his Mafia video days), "I have no brother." Me had an exam in the morning. Joshuarefused to get in any car if Marcus was in it; in fact, he generally eschewed58 cars at present, optingfor the environmentally ethical59 option of two wheels. As far as Josh's decision went, Marcus felt ashe did about all human decisions of this kind. One could neither agree nor disagree with them asideas. There was no rhyme nor reason for so much of what people did. And in his presentestrangement from Joshua he felt more powerless than ever. It hurt him that even his own son wasnot as Chalfenist as he'd hoped. And over the past few months he had built up great expectationsofMagid (and this would explain why his pace quickened, gate 28, gate 29, gate 30); maybe he hadbegun to hope, begun to believe, that Magid would be a beacon60 for right-thinking Chalfenism evenas it died a death here in the wilderness61. They would save each other. This couldn't be faith could it,Marcus? He questioned himselfdirectly on this point as he scurried62 along. For a gate and a half the question unnerved him.
Then it passed and the answer was reassuring63. Not faith, no, Marcus, not the kind with no eyes.
Something stronger, something firmer. Intellectual faith.
So. Gate 32. It would be just the two of them, then, meeting at last, having conquered the gapbetween continents; the teacher, the willing pupil, and then that first, historic handshake. Marcusdid not think for a second it could or would go badly. He was no student of history (and science hadtaught him that the past was where we did things through a glass, darkly, whereas the future wasalways brighter, a place where we did things right or at least righter he had no stories to scare himconcerning a dark man meeting a white man, both with heavy expectations, but only one with thepower. He had brought no piece of white cardboard either, some large banner with a name upon it,like the rest of his fellow waiters, and as he looked around gate 32, that concerned him. How wouldthey know each other? Then he remembered he was meeting a twin, and remembering that madehim laugh out loud. It was incredible and sublime64, even to him, that a boy should walk out of thattunnel with precisely the same genetic code as a boy he already knew, and yet in every conceivableway be different. He would see him and yet not see him. He would recognize him and yet thatrecognition would be false. Before he had a chance to think what this meant, whether it meantanything, they were coming towards him, the passengers of BA flight 261; a talkative but exhaustedbrown mob who rushed towards him like a river, turning off at the last minute as if he were theedge of a waterfall. Nomoskdr .. . saldm a lekum .. . kamon dcho? This is what they said to eachother and their friends on the other side of the barrier; some women in full purdah, some in saris,men in strange mixtures of fabrics65, leather, tweed, wool and nylon, with little boat-hats thatreminded Marcus of Nehru; children in jumpers made by the Taiwanese and rucksacks of brightreds and yellows; pushing through the doors to theconcourse of gate 32; meeting aunts, meeting drivers, meeting children, meeting officials,meeting sun-tanned white-toothed airline representatives .. .
"You are Mr. Chalfen."Meeting minds. Marcus lifted his head to look at the tall young man standing66 in front of him. Itwas Millat's face, certainly, but it was cleaner cut, and somewhat younger in appearance. The eyeswere not so violet, or at least not so violently violet. The hair was floppy67 in the English publicschool style and brushed forward. The form was ever so thickly set and healthy. Marcus was nogood on clothes, but he could say at least that they were entirely white and that the overallimpression was of good materials, well made and soft. And he was handsome, even Marcus couldsee that. What he lacked in the Byronic charisma68 of his brother, he seemed to gain in nobility, witha sturdier chin and a dignified69 jaw15. These were all pins in haystacks, however, these were thedifferences you notice only because the similarity is so striking. They were twins from their brokennoses to their huge, ungainly feet. Marcus was conscious of a very faint feeling of disappointmentthat this was so. But superficial exteriors70 aside, there was no doubting, Marcus thought, who thisboy Magid truly resembled. Hadn't Magid spotted71 Marcus from a crowd of many? Hadn't theyrecognized each other, just now, at a far deeper, fundamental level? Not twinned like cities or thetwo halves of a randomly72 split ovum, but twinned like each side of an equation: logically,essentially, inevitably73. As rationalists are wont74, Marcus abandoned rationalism for a moment in theface of the sheer wonder of the thing. This instinctive75 meeting at gate 32 (Magid had strode acrossthe floor and walked directly to him), finding each other like this in a great swell76 of people, fivehundred at least: what were the chances? It seemed as unlikely as the feat77 of the sperm78 whoconquer the blind passage towards the egg. As magical as that egg splitting in two. Magid andMarcus. Marcus and Magid.
"Yes! Magid! We finally meet! I feel as if I know you already well, I do, but then again I don'tbut, bloody hell, how did you know it was me?"Magid's face grew radiant and revealed a lopsided smile of much angelic charm. "Well, Marcus,my dear man, you are the only white fellow at gate 32."The return of Magid Mahfooz Murshed Mubtasim shook the houses of Iqbal, Jones and Chalfenconsiderably. "I don't recognize him," said Alsana to Clara in confidence, after he had spent a fewdays at home. "There is something peculiar79 about him. When I told him Millat was in Chester, hedid not say a word. Just a stiff-upper lip. He hasn't seen his brother in eight years. But not a littlesqueak, not a whisperoo. Samad says this is some clone, this is not an Iqbal. One hardly likes totouch him. His teeth, he brushes them six times a day. His underwear, he irons them. It is likesitting down to breakfast with David Niven."Joyce and Me viewed the new arrival with equal suspicion. They had loved the one brother sowell and thoroughly80 for so many years, and now suddenly this new, yet familiar face; like switchingon your favourite TV soap only to find a beloved character slyly replaced by another actor with asimilar haircut. For the first few weeks they simply did not know what to make of him. As forSamad, if he had had his way, he would have hidden the boy away for ever, locked him under thestairs or sent him to Greenland. He dreaded81 the inevitable82 visits of all his relatives (the ones he hadboasted to, all the tribes who had worshipped at the altar of the framed photograph) when theycaught an eye-load of this Iqbal the younger, with his bow-ties and his Adam Smith and his E. M.
bloody Forster and his atheism83! The only up-side was the change in Alsana. The A-Z? Yes, SamadMiah, it is in the top right-hand drawer, yes, that's where it is, yes. The first time she did it, healmost jumped out of his skin.
The curse was lifted. No more maybe Samad Miah, no more possibly Samad Miah. Yes, yes,yes. No, no, no. The fundamentals. It was a blessed relief, but it wasn't enough. His sons had failedhim. The pain was excruciating. He shuffled84 through the restaurant with his eyes to the ground. Ifaunts and uncles phoned, he deflected85 questions or simply lied. Millat? He is in Birmingham,working in the mosque86, yes, renewing his faith. Magid? Yes, he is marrying soon, yes, a very goodyoung man, wants a lovely Bengali girl, yes, upholder of traditions, yes.
So. First came the musical-living-arrangements, as everybody shifted one place to the right orleft. Millat returned at the beginning of October. Thinner, fully87 bearded and quietly determined88 notto see his twin on political, religious and personal grounds. "If Magid stays said Millat (De Niro,this time), "I go." And because Millat looked thin and tired and wild-eyed, Samad said Millat couldstay, which left no other option but for Magid to stay with the Chalfens (much to Alsana's chagrin)until the situation could be resolved. Joshua, furious at being displaced in his parents' affections byyet another Iqbal, went to the Joneses', while Me, though ostensibly having returned to her familyhome (on the concession89 of a 'year off'), spent all her time at the Chalfens, organizing Marcus'saffairs so as to earn money for her two bank accounts (Amazon Jungle Summer '93 and Jamaica2000), often working deep into the night and sleeping on the couch.
"The children have left us, they are abroad," said Samad over the phone to Archie, in somelancholy a fashion that Archie suspected he was quoting poetry. "They are strangers in strangelands."They've run to the bloody hills, more like," replied Archie grimly. "I tell you, if I had a pennyfor every time I've seen Me in the past few monthsHe'd have about ten pence. She was never home. Me was stuck between a rock and a hard place,like Ireland, like Israel,like India. A no-win situation. If she stayed home there was Joshua berating90 her about herinvolvement with Marcus's mice. Arguments she had no answer for, nor any stomach: should livingorganisms be patented? Is it right to plant pathogens in animals? Trie didn't know and so, with herfather's instincts, shut her mouth and kept her distance. But if she was at the Chalfens', workingaway at what had become a full-time91 summer job, she had to deal with Magid. Here, the situationwas impossible. Her work for Marcus, which had begun nine months earlier as a little light filing,had increased seven fold; the recent interest in Marcus's work meant she was required to deal withthe calls of the media, sackfuls of post, organize appointments; her pay had likewise increased tothat of a secretary. But that was the problem, she was a secretary, whereas Magid was a confidant,an apprentice92 and disciple93, accompanying Marcus on trips, observing him in the laboratory. Thegolden child. The chosen one. Not only was he brilliant, but he was charming. Not only was hecharming, but he was generous. For Marcus, he was an answer to prayers. Here was a boy whocould weave the most beautiful moral defences with a professionalism that belied94 his years, whohelped Marcus formulate95 arguments he would not have had the patience to do alone. It was Magidwho encouraged him out of the laboratory, taking him by the hand squinting96 into the sunlit worldwhere people were calling for him. People wanted Marcus and his mouse, and Magid knew how togive it to them. If the New Statesman needed two thousand words on the patent debate, Magidwould write while Marcus spoke97, translating his words into elegant English, turning the baldstatements of a scientist disinterested98 in moral debates into the polished arguments of a philosopher.
If Channel 4 News wanted an interview, Magid explained how to sit, how to move one's hands,how to incline one's head. All this from a boy who had spent the greater proportion of his life in theChittagong Hills, without television or newspaper. Marcus even though he had a lifelong hatred99 ofthe word, even though he hadn't used it since his own father clipped his ear for it when he wasthree was tempted100 to call it a miracle. Or, at the very least, extremely fortuitous. The boy waschanging his life and that was extremely fortuitous. For the first time in his life, Marcus wasprepared to concede faults in himselfsmall ones, mind but still.. faults. He had been too insular101, perhaps, perhaps. He had beenaggressive towards public interest in his work, perhaps, perhaps. He saw room for change. And thegenius of it, the master stroke, was that Magid never for a moment let Marcus feel that Chalfenismwas being compromised in any way whatsoever102. He expressed his undying affection and admirationfor it every day. All Magid wanted to do, he explained to Marcus, was bring Chalfenism to thepeople. And you had to give the people what they wanted in a form they could understand. Therewas something so sublime in the way he said it, so soothing103, so true, that Marcus, who would havespat on such an argument six months before, gave in without protest.
"There's room for one more chap this century," Magid told him (this guy was a master inflattery), "Freud, Einstein, Crick and Watson .. . There is an empty seat, Marcus. The bus is notquite full capacity. Ding! Ding! Room for one moreAnd you can't beat that for an offer. You can't fight it. Marcus and Magid. Magid and Marcus.
Nothing else mattered. The two of them were oblivious104 to the upset they caused Me, or to thewidespread displacement105, the strange seismic106 ripples107, that their friendship had set off in everyoneelse. Marcus had pulled out, like Mounthatten from India, or a satiated teenage boy from his latestmate. He abrogated108 responsibility, for everything and everybody- Chalfens, Iqbals and Joneses everything and everyone bar Magid and his mice. All otherswere fanatics109. And Me bit her tongue because Magid was good, and Magid was kind, and Magidwalked through the house in white. But like all manifestations110 of the Second Coming, all saints,saviours and gurus, Magid Iqbal was also, in Neena's eloquent111 words, a first-class, one hundredper cent, bona fide, total and utter pain in the arse. A typical Hconversation: ^"Irie, I am confused." S"Not right now, Magid, I'm on the phone." APl"I don't wish to take from your valuable time, but it is a matter of some urgency. I amconfused.""Magid, could you just '
"You see. Joyce very kindly112 bought me these jeans. They are called Levis.""Look, could I call you back? Right ... OK.. . Bye. What, Magid? That was an important call.
What is it?""So you see I have these beautiful American Levi jeans, white jeans, that Joyce's sister broughtback from a holiday in Chicago, the Windy City they call it, though I don't believe there is anythingparticularly unusual about its climate, considering its proximity113 to Canada. My Chicago jeans. Sucha thoughtful gift! I was overwhelmed to receive them. But then I was confused by this label in theinner lining114 that states that the jeans are apparently115 "shrink-to-fit". I asked myself, what can thismean: "shrink to-fit"?""They shrink until they fit, Magid. That would be my guess.""But Joyce was percipient enough to buy them in precisely the right size, you see? A 32, 34.""All right, Magid, I don't want to see them. I believe you. So don't shrink them."That was my original conclusion, also. But it appears there is no separate procedure forshrinking them. If one washes the jeans, they will simply shrink.""Fascinating.""And you appreciate at some juncture116 the jeans will require washing?""What's your point, Magid.""Well, do they shrink by some pre-calculated amount, and if so, by how much? If the amountwas not correct, they wouldopen themselves up to a great deal of litigation, no? It is no good if they shrink-to-fit, after all,if they do not shrink-to-fit me. There is another possibility, as Jack117 suggested, that they shrink tothe contours of the body. Yet how can such a thing be possible?""Well, why don't you get in the fucking bath with the fucking jeans on and see what happens?"But you couldn't upset Magid with words. He turned the other cheek. Sometimes hundreds oftimes a day, like a lollipop118 lady on ecstasy119. He had this way of smiling at you, neither wounded norangry, and then inclining his head (to the exact same angle his father did when taking an order ofcurried prawns) in a gesture of total forgiveness. He had absolute empathy for everybody, Magid.
And it was an unbelievable pain in the arse.
"Umm, I didn't mean to ... Oh shit. Sorry. Look... I don't know .. . you're just so ... have youheard from Millat?""My brother shuns120 me," said Magid, that same expression of universal calm and forgivenessunchanged. "He marks me like Cain because I am a non-believer. At least not in his god or anyothers with a name. Because of this, he refuses to meet me, even to talk on the telephone.""Oh, you know, he'll probably come round. He always was a stubborn bastard.""Of course, yes, you love him," continued Magid, not giving Irie a chance to protest. "So youknow his habits, his manners. You will understand, then, how fiercely he takes my conversion121. Ihave converted to Life. I see his god in the millionth position of pi, in the arguments of thePhaedrus, in a perfect paradox122. But that is not enough for Millat."Irie looked him square in the face. There was something in there she had been unable to put herfinger on these four months, because it was obscured by his youth, his looks, his clean clothes andhis personal hygiene123. Now she saw it clearly. He was touched by it the same as Mad Mary, theIndian with the white face and the blue lips, and the guy who carried his wig124 around on a pieceof string. The same as those people who walk the Willesden streets with no intention of buyingBlack Label beer, or stealing a stereo, collecting the dole125 or pissing in an alleyway. The ones with awholly different business. Prophecy. And Magid had it in his face. He wanted to tell you and tellyou and tell you.
"Millat demands complete surrender.""Sounds typical.""He wants me to join Keepers of the Eternal and '
"Yeah, KEVIN, I know them. So you have spoken to him.""I don't need to speak to him to know what he thinks. He is my twin. I don't wish to see him. Idon't need to. Do you understand the nature of twins? Do you understand the meaning of the wordcleave! Or rather, the double meaning that'
"Magid. No offence, but I've got work to do."Magid gave a little bow. "Naturally. You will excuse me, I have to go and submit my Chicagojeans to the experiment you proposed."Me gritted127 her teeth, picked up the phone and re dialled the number she had cut off. It was ajournalist (it was always journalists these days), and she had something to read to him. She'd had acrash course in media relations since her exams, and dealing128 with them it had taught her there wasno point in trying to deal with each one separately. To give some unique point of view to the FT andthen to the Mirror and then to the Daily Mail was impossible. It was their job, not yours, to get theangle, to write their separate book of the huge media bible. Each to their own. Reporters werefactional, fanatical, obsessively129 defending their own turf, propounding130 the same thing day after day.
So it had always been. Who would have guessed that Luke and John would take such differentangles on the scoop131 of the century, the death of the Lord? It just went to prove that you couldn'ttrust these guys. Irie's job, then, was to give the information as it stood, every time, verbatim from apiece of paper written by Marcus and Magid, stapled132 to the wall.
"All right," said the jour no "Tape's running."And here Irie stumbled at the first hurdle133 of PR: believing in what you sell. It wasn't that shelacked the moral faith. It was more fundamental than that. She didn't believe in it as a physical fact.
She didn't believe it existed. FutureMouse(c) was now such an enormous, spectacular, cartoon of anidea (in every paper's column, agonized134 over by jour nos Should it get a patent? Eulogized by hacksGreatest achievement of the century?), one expected the damn mouse to stand up and speak byitself. Irie took a deep breath. Though she had repeated the words many times, they still seemedfantastical, absurd fiction on the wings of fantasy with more of a dash of Surrey The. Banks inthem:
PRESS RELEASE: 15 OCTOBER 1992Subject: Launch of FutureMouse(c)Professor Marcus Chalfen, writer, celebrated135 scientist and leading figure of a group of researchgeneticists from St. Jude's College, intends to 'launch' his latest 'design' in a public space; toincrease understanding of transgenics and to raise interest and further investment in his work. Thedesign will demonstrate the sophistication of the work being done on gene manipulation anddemystify this much maligned136 branch of biological research. It will be accompanied by a fullexhibition, a lecture hall, a multimedia137 area and interactive138 games for children. It will be funded inpart by the government's Millennial139 Science Commission, with additional monies from businessand industry.
A two-week-old Future Mouse* is to be put on display at the Perret Institute in London on 31December 1992. There it will remain on public display until 31 December 1999. This mouse isgenetically normal except for a select group of novel genes that are added to the genome.
DNA clone of these genes is' injected into the fertilized140 mouse egg, thus linking them to thechromosomal DNA in the zygote, which is subsequently inherited by cells of the resulting embryo141.
Before injection into the germ line, these genes are custom-designed so they can be 'turned on' andexpressed only in specific mouse tissue and along a predictable timetable. The mouse will be thesite for an experiment into the ageing of cells, the progression of cancer within cells, and a fewother matters that will serve as surprises along the way!
The journalist laughed. "Jesus. What the fuck does that mean?""I dunno," said Me. "Surprises, I guess." She continued:
The mouse will live the seven years it is on display, roughly double the normal life expectancyof a mouse. The mouse development is retarded142, therefore, at a ratio of two years for every one. Atthe end of the first year the SV4O large-T oncogene, which the mouse carries in theinsulin-producing pancreas cells, will express itself in pancreatic carcinomas that will continue todevelop at a retarded pace throughout its life. At the end of the second year the H-ras oncogene inits skin cells will begin to express itself in multiple benign143 papillomas that an observer will be ableto see clearly three months later with the naked eye. Four years into the experiment the mouse willbegin to lose its ability to produce melanin by means of a slow, programmed eradication144 of theenzyme tyrosinase. At this point the mouse will lose all its pigmentation and become albino: awhite mouse. If no external or unexpected interference occurs, the mouse will live until 31December 1999, dying within the month after that date. The Future Mouse6 experiment offers thepublic a unique opportunity to see a life and death in 'close-up'. The opportunity to witness forthemselves a technology that might yet slow the progress of disease, control the process of ageingand eliminate genetic defect. The Future Mouse8 holds out the tantalizing145 promise of a new phasein human history where we are not victims of the random but instead directors and arbitrators ofour own fate.
"Bloody hell," said the jour no "Scary shit"Yeah, I guess," said Me vacantly (she had ten more calls to make this morning). "Do you wantme to post on some of the photographic material?""Yeah, go on. Save me going through the archive. Cheers."Just as Me put down the phone, Joyce flew into the room like a hippy comet, a great stream ofblack fringed velvet146, kaftan and multiple silk scarves.
"Don't use the phone! I've told you before. We've got to keep the phone free. Millat might betrying to ring."Four days earlier Millat had missed a psychiatrist's appointment Joyce had arranged for him. Hehad not been seen since. Everyone knew he was with KEVIN, and everyone knew he had nointention of ringing Joyce. Everyone except Joyce.
"It's simply essential that I talk with him if he rings. We're so close to a breakthrough.
Marjorie's almost certain it's Attention Deficit147 Hyperactivity Disorder148.""And how come you know all this? I thought Marjorie was a doctor. What the fuck happened todoctor-patient privilege?""Oh, Me, don't be silly. She's a friend too. She's just trying to keep me informed.""Middle-class mafia, more like.""Oh really. Don't be so hysterical. You're getting more hysterical by the day. Look, I need you tokeep off the phone.""I know. You said.""Because if Marjorie's right, and it is ADD, he really needs to get to a doctor and somemethylphenidate. It's a very debilitative149 condition.""Joyce, he hasn't got a disorder, he's just a Muslim. There are one billion of them. They can't allhave ADD."Joyce took in a little gasp150 of air. "I think you're being very cruel. That's exactly the kind ofcomment that isn't helpful."She stalked over to the bread board, tearfully cut off a huge lump of cheese and said, "Look.
The most important thing is that I get the two of them to face each other. It's time."Me looked dubious151. "Why is it time?"Joyce popped the lump of cheese into her mouth. "It's time because they need each other"But if they don't want to, they don't want to.""Sometimes people don't know what they want. They don't know what they need. Those boysneed each other like .. ." Joyce thought for a moment. She was bad with metaphor152. In a garden younever planted something where something else was meant to be. "They need each other like Laureland Hardy153, like Crick needed Watson '
"Like East Pakistan needed West Pakistan.""Well, I don't think that's very funny, Me.""I'm not laughing, Joyce."Joyce cut more cheese from the block, tore two hunks of bread from a loaf, and sandwiched thethree together.
"The fact is both these boys have serious emotional problems and it's not helped by Millatrefusing to see Magid. It upsets him so much. They've been split by their religions, by their cultures.
Can you imagine the trauma154?"Me wished at that moment she had allowed Magid to tell her to tell her to tell her. She would atleast have had information. She would have had something to use against Joyce. Because if youlisten to prophets, they give you ammunition155. The nature of twins. The millionth position of pi (doinfinite numbers havebeginnings?). And most of all, the double meaning of the word cleave126. Did he know which wasworse, which more traumatic: pulling together or tearing apart?
"Joyce, why don't you worry about your own family for once? Just for a change. What aboutJosh? When's the last time you saw Josh?"Joyce's upper lip stiffened156. Josh is in Glastonbury." "Right. Glastonbury's been over two months,Joyce." "He's doing a little travelling. He said he might." "And who's he with? You don't knowanything about those people. Why don't you worry about that for a while, and keep the fuck out ofeverybody else's business."Joyce didn't even flinch157 at this. It is hard to explain just how familiar teenage abuse was toJoyce; she got it so regularly these days from her own children and other people's that a swearwordor a cruel comment just couldn't affect her. She simply weeded them out.
"The reason I don't worry about Josh, as you well know," said Joyce, smiling broadly andspeaking in her Chalfenguide-to parenting voice, 'is because he's just trying to get a little bit ofattention. Rather like you are at this moment. It's perfectly natural for well-educated middle-classchildren to act up at his age." (Unlike many others around this time, Joyce felt no shame aboutusing the term 'middle class'. In the Chalfen lexicon158 the middle classes were the inheritors of theenlightenment, the creators of the welfare state, the intellectual elite159 and the source of all culture.
Where they got this idea, it's hard to say.) "But they soon come back into the fold. I'm perfectlyconfident about Joshua. He's just acting160 up against his father and it will pass. But Magid has somereal problems. I've been doing my research, Me. And there are just so many signs. I can read them.""Well, you must be misreading them," Me shot back, because a battle was about to begin, shecould sense it. "Magid's fine. I was just talking to him. He's a Zen master. He's the most fuckingserene individual I ever met in my life. He's working with Marcus, which is what he wants todo, and he's happy. How about we all try a policy of non-involvement for once? A little laissez-faire?
Magid'sjine."The, darling," said Joyce, moving Me along one chair and positioning herself next to the phone.
"What you never understand is that people are extreme. It would be wonderful if everyone was likeyour father, carrying on as normal even if the ceiling's coming down around his ears. But a lot ofpeople can't do that. Magid and Millat display extreme behaviour. It's all very well sayinglaissez-faire and being terribly clever about it, but the bottom line is Millat's going to get himselfinto terrible trouble with these fundamentalist people. Terrible trouble. I hardly sleep for worryingabout him. You read about these groups in the news .. . And it's putting a terrible mental strain onMagid. Now, am I meant to just sit back and watch them tear themselves apart, just because theirparents no, I will say it, because it's true just because their parents don't seem concerned? I've onlyever had those boys' welfare at heart, you of all people should know that. They need help. I justwalked past the bathroom and Magid is sitting in the bath with his jeans on. Yes. All right? Now,"said Joyce, serene161 as a bovine162, "I should think I know a traumatized child when I see one."
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pertaining
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| 与…有关系的，附属…的，为…固有的(to) | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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stratum
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| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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gene
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| n.遗传因子，基因 | |
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genetic
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| adj.遗传的，遗传学的 | |
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asthma
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| n.气喘病，哮喘病 | |
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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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amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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bloody
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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pecuniary
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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garner
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| v.收藏；取得 | |
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rims
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palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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DNA
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| (缩)deoxyribonucleic acid 脱氧核糖核酸 | |
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restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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enzyme
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| n.酵素，酶 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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eyebrow
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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painstakingly
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| adv. 费力地 苦心地 | |
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flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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activists
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| n.（政治活动的）积极分子，活动家( activist的名词复数 ) | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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fascist
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| adj.法西斯主义的；法西斯党的；n.法西斯主义者，法西斯分子 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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clots
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| n.凝块( clot的名词复数 )；血块；蠢人；傻瓜v.凝固( clot的第三人称单数 ) | |
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tabloid
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| adj.轰动性的，庸俗的；n.小报，文摘 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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experimentation
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| n.实验，试验，实验法 | |
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factions
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| 组织中的小派别，派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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reincarnated
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| v.赋予新形体，使转世化身( reincarnate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cockroach
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| n.蟑螂 | |
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retracted
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| v.撤回或撤消( retract的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝执行或遵守；缩回；拉回 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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genes
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| n.基因( gene的名词复数 ) | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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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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mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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eschewed
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| v.（尤指为道德或实际理由而）习惯性避开，回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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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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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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floppy
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| adj.松软的，衰弱的 | |
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charisma
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| n.(大众爱戴的)领袖气质，魅力 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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exteriors
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| n.外面( exterior的名词复数 )；外貌；户外景色图 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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randomly
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| adv.随便地，未加计划地 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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sperm
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| n.精子，精液 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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atheism
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| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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berating
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| v.严厉责备，痛斥( berate的现在分词 ) | |
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91
full-time
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| adj.满工作日的或工作周的，全时间的 | |
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92
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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93
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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94
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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95
formulate
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| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
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96
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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97
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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98
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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99
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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100
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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101
insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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102
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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103
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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104
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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105
displacement
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| n.移置，取代，位移，排水量 | |
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106
seismic
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| a.地震的，地震强度的 | |
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107
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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108
abrogated
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| 废除（法律等）( abrogate的过去式和过去分词 )； 取消； 去掉； 抛开 | |
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109
fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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110
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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111
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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112
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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113
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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114
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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115
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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116
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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117
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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118
lollipop
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| n.棒棒糖 | |
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119
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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120
shuns
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的第三人称单数 ) | |
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121
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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122
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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123
hygiene
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| n.健康法，卫生学 （a.hygienic） | |
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124
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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125
dole
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| n.救济，（失业）救济金；vt.（out）发放，发给 | |
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126
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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127
gritted
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的过去式和过去分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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128
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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129
obsessively
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| ad.着迷般地，过分地 | |
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130
propounding
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的现在分词 ) | |
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131
scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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132
stapled
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| v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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134
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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135
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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136
maligned
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| vt.污蔑，诽谤（malign的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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137
multimedia
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| adj.多种手段的，多媒体的；n.多媒体 | |
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138
interactive
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| adj.相互作用的，互相影响的，（电脑）交互的 | |
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139
millennial
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| 一千年的，千福年的 | |
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140
Fertilized
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| v.施肥( fertilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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142
retarded
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| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
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143
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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144
eradication
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| n.根除 | |
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145
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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146
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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147
deficit
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| n.亏空，亏损；赤字，逆差 | |
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148
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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149
debilitative
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150
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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151
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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152
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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153
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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154
trauma
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| n.外伤，精神创伤 | |
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155
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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156
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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157
flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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158
lexicon
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| n.字典，专门词汇 | |
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159
elite
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| n.精英阶层；实力集团；adj.杰出的，卓越的 | |
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160
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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161
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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162
bovine
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| adj.牛的；n.牛 | |
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