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

'Yeah, but you didn't even help…'
'That was my sister, Sonny, so how could I?'
'No, so you have to do your own dirty…'
'Hey, Sonny, man, think. Think only. These girls need careful handling, ma
n. Look how the Monkey flies off the handle! You've got the experience, ya
ar, you've been through it. You'll know how to go gently this time. What d
o I know, man? Maybe she doesn't like me even. You want me to have my clot
hes torn off, too? That would make you feel better?'
And innocent, good natured Sonny, '… Well, no…'
'Okay, then. You go. Sing my praises a little. Say never mind about my nose
. Character is what counts. You can do that?'
'… Weeeelll… I… okay, but you talk to your sis also, yah?'
Til talk, Sonny. What can I promise? You know what she's like. But I'll talk t
o her for sure.'
You can lay your strategies as carefully as you like, but women will undo t
hem at a stroke. For every victorious election campaign, there are twice as
many that fail… from the verandah of Buckingham Villa, through the slats o
f the chick blind, I spied on Sonny Ibrahim as he canvassed my chosen const
ituency… and heard the voice of the electorate, the rising nasality of Evie
Burns, splitting the air with scorn: 'Who? Him? Whynt'cha tell him to jus'
go blow his nose? That sniffer? He can't even ride a bike!'
Which was true.
And there was worse to come; because now (although a chick blind divided the
scene into narrow slits) did I not see the expression on Evie's face begin
to soften and change? did Evie's hand (sliced lengthways by the chick) not r
each out towards my electoral agent? and weren't those Evie's fingers (the n
ails bitten down to the quick) touching Sonny's temple hollows, the fingerti
ps getting covered in dribbled Vaseline? and did Evie say or did she not: 'N
ow you, Pr instance: you're cute'? Let me sadly affirm that I did; it did; t
hey were; she did.
Saleem Sinai loves Evie Burns; Evie loves Sonny Ibrahim; Sonny is potty
about the Brass Monkey; but what does the Monkey say?
'Don't make me sick, Allah,' my sister said when I tried rather nobly, consi
dering how he'd failed me to argue Sonny's case. The voters had given the th
umijs down to us both.
I wasn't giving in just yet. The siren temptations of Evie Burns who never c
ared about me, I'm bound to admit led me inexorably towards my fall. (But I
hold nothing against her; because my fall led to a rise.)
Privately, in my clocktower, I took time off my trans subcontinental ramble
s to consider the wooing of my freckled Eve. 'Forget middlemen,' I advised
myself, 'You'll have to do this personally.' Finally, I formed my scheme: I