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

er's assets, and also the explosion at Walkeshwar Reservoir, which unleased
the great cat invasion. And finally there is the 'mode' of the 'active met
aphorical', which groups together those occasions on which things done by o
r to me were mirrored in the macrocosm of public affairs, and my private ex
istence was shown to be symbolically at one with history. The mutilation of
my middle finger was a case in point, because when I was detached from my
fingertip and blood (neither Alpha nor Omega) rushed out in fountains, a si
milar thing happened to history, and all sorts of everywhichthing began pou
ring out all over us; but because history operates on a grander scale than
any individual, it took a good deal longer to stitch it back together and mop up the me
'Passive metaphorical', 'passive literal', 'active metaphorical': the Midnight
Children's Conference was all three; but it never became what I most wanted i
t to be; we never operated in the first, most significant of the 'modes of con
nection'. The 'active literal' passed us by.
Transformation without end: nine fingered Saleem has been brought to the d
oorway of the Breach Candy Hospital by a squat blonde nurse whose face is
frozen into a smile of terrifying insincerity. He is blinking in the hot g
lare of the outside world, trying to focus on two swimming shadow shapes c
oming towards him out of the sun; 'See?' the nurse coos, 'See who's come t
o get you, then?' And Saleem realizes that something terrible has gone wro
ng with the world, because his mother and father, who should have come to
collect him, have apparently been transformed en route into his ayah Mary
Pereira and his Uncle Hanif.
Hanif Aziz boomed like the horns of ships in the harbour and smelted like
an old tobacco factory. I loved him dearly, for his laughter, his unshaven
chin, his air of having been put together rather loosely, his lack of co
ordination which made his every movement fraught with risk. (When he visit
ed Buckingham Villa my mother hid the cut glass vases.) Adults never trust
ed him to behave with proper decorum ('Watch out for the Communists!' he b
ellowed, and they blushed), which was a bond between himself and all child
ren other people's children, since he and Pia were childless. Uncle Hanif
who would one day, without warning, take a walk off the roof of his home.
… He wallops me in the back, toppling me forwards into Mary's arms. 'Hey, l
ittle wrestler! You look fine!' But Mary, hastily, 'But so thin, Jesus! The
y haven't been feeding you properly? You want cornflour pudding? Banana mas
hed with milk? Did they give you chips?'… while Saleem is looking round at
this new world in which everything seems to be going too fast; his voice, w
hen it comes, sounds high pitched, as though somebody had speeded it up: 'A
mma Abba?' he asks. The Monkey?' And Hanif booms, 'Yes, tickety boo! The bo
y is really ship shape! Come on phaelwan: a ride in my Packard, okay?' And
talking at the same time is Mary Pereira, 'Chocolate cake,' she is promisin