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

ssing years; while Reverend Mother had grown so wide that armchairs, thoug
h soft, groaned beneath her weight… and sometimes, through a trick of the
light, Amina thought she saw, in the centre of her father's body, a dark s
hadow like a hole.
'What is left in this India?' Reverend Mother asked, hand slicing air. 'Go, le
ave it all, go to Pakistan. See how well that Zulfikar is doing he will give y
ou a start. Be a man, my son get up and start again!'
'He doesn't want to speak now,' Amina said, 'he must rest.'
'Rest?' Aadam Aziz roared. 'The man is a jelly!'
'Even Alia, whatsitsname,' Reverend Mother said, 'all on her own, gone to Pa
kistan even she is making a decent life, teaching in a fine school. They say
she will be headmistress soon.'
'Shhh, mother, he wants to sleep… let's go next door…'
'There is a time to sleep, whatsitsname, and a time to wake! Listen: Musta
pha is making many hundreds of rupees a month, whatsitsname, in the Civil
Service. What is your husband? Too good to work?'
'Mother, he is upset. His temperature is so low…'
'What food are you giving? From today, whatsitsname, I will run your kitch
en. Young people today like babies, whatsitsname!'
'Just as you like, mother.'
'I tell you whatsitsname, it's those photos in the paper. I wrote didn't I
write? no good would come of that. Photos take away pieces of you. My God,
whatsitsname, when I saw your picture, you had become so transparent I coul
d see the writing from the other side coming right through your face!'
'But that's only…'
'Don't tell me your stories, whatsitsname! I give thanks to God you have re
covered from that photography!'
After that day, Amina was freed from the exigencies of running her home. Re
verend Mother sat at the head of the dining table, doling out food (Amina t
ook plates to Ahmed, who stayed in bed, moaning from time to time, 'Smashed
, wife! Snapped like an icicle!'); while, in the kitchens, Mary Pereira too
k the time to prepare, for the benefit of their visitors, some of the fines
t and most delicate mango pickles, lime chutneys and cucumber kasaundies in
the world. And now, restored to the status of daughter in her own home, Am
ina began to feel the emotions of other people's food seeping into her beca
use Reverend Mother doled out the curries and meatballs of intransigence, d
ishes imbued with the personality of their creator; Amina ate the fish sala
ns of stubbornness and the birianis of determination. And, althiough Mary's
pickles had a partially counteractive effect since she had stirred into th
em the guilt of her heart, and the fear of discovery, so that, good as they
tasted, they had the power of making those who ate them subject to nameles
s uncertainties and dreams of accusing fingers the diet provided by Reveren