Salman Rushdie Midnight's children Salman Rushdie Midnight's ...

constantly in and out between his papery lips; and he was prepared to pay
cash rent for a top floor apartment overlooking the Arabian Sea. Ahmed Sina
i, in those days, had taken to his bed; the icy cold of the freeze impregna
ted his bedsheets; he downed vast quantities of whisky for medicinal purpos
es, but it failed to warm him up… so it was Amina who agreed to let the upp
er storey of Buckingham Villa to the old snake doctor. At the end of Februa
ry, snake poison entered our lives.
Dr Schaapsteker was a man who engendered wild stories. The more superstiti
ous orderlies at his Institute swore that he had the capacity of dreaming
every night about being bitten by snakes, and thus remained immune to thei
r bites. Others whispered that he was half snake himself, the child of an
unnatural union between a woman and a cobra. His obsession with the venom
of the banded krait bungarus fasciatus was becoming legendary. There is no
known antivenene to the bite of bungarus: but Schaapsteker had devoted hi
s life to finding one. Buying broken down horses from the Catrack stables
(among others) he injected them with small doses of poison; but the horses
, unhelpfully, failed to develop antibodies, frothed at the mouth, died st
anding up and had to be transformed into glue. It was said that Dr Schaaps
teker 'Sharpsticker sahib' had now acquired the power of killing horses si
mply by approaching them with a hypodermic syringe… but Amina paid no atte
ntion to these tall stories. 'He is an old gentleman,' she told Mary Perei
ra; 'What should we care about people who black tongue him? He pays his re
nt, and permits us to live.' Amina was grateful to the European snake doct
or, particularly in those days of the freeze when Ahmed did not seem to ha
ve the nerve to fight.
'My beloved father and mother,' Amina wrote, 'By my eyes and head I swear
I do not know why such things are happening to us… Ahmed is a good man, bu
t this business has hit him hard. If you have advice for your daughter, sh
e is greatly in need of it.' Three days after they received this letter, A
adam Aziz and Reverend Mother arrived at Bombay Central Station by Frontie
r Mail; and Amina, driving them home in our 1946 Rover, looked out of a si
de window and saw the Mahalaxmi Racecourse; and had the first germ of her
reckless idea.
'This modern decoration is all right for you young people, whatsits name,' R
everend Mother said. 'But give me one old fashioned takht to sit on. These c
hairs are so soft, whatsitsname, they make me feel like I'm falling.'
'Is he ill?' Aadam Aziz asked. 'Should I examine him and prescribe medicine
s?'
'This is no time to hide in bed,' Reverend Mother pronounced. 'Now he must
be a man, whatsitsname, and do a man's business.'
'How well you both look, my parents,' Amina cried, thinking that her fathe
r was turning into an old man who seemed to be getting shorter with the pa