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

fa, his words penetrate my one good ear: 'Give this to your aunty. Secretly
secretly. Can do? And keep mum; or I'll send the police to cut your tongue o
ut.' And now, loud and cheery. 'Good! Glad to see you in such high spirits!'
Homi Catrack is patting me on the head; and moving back to his game.
Threatened by policemen, I have remained silent for two decades; but no lo
nger. Now, everything has to come out.
The card school broke up early: 'The boy has to sleep,' Pia was whispering,
'Tomorrow he goes to school again.' I found no opportunity of being alone
with my aunt; I was tucked up on my sofa with the note still clutched in my
left fist. Mary was asleep on the floor… I decided to feign a nightmare. (
Deviousness did not come unnaturally to me.) Unfortunately, however, I was
so tired that I fell asleep; and, in the event, there was no need to preten
d: because I dreamed the murder of my classmate Jimmy Kapadia.
… We are playing football in the main stairwell at school, on red tiles, slip
ping sliding. A black cross set in the blood red tiles. Mr Crusoe at the head
of the stairs: 'Mustn't slide down the banisters boys that cross is where on
e boy fell.'Jimmy plays football on the cross. 'The cross is lies,' Jimmy say
s, 'They tell you lies to spoil your fun.' His mother calls up on the telepho
ne. 'Don't play Jimmy your bad heart.' The bell. The telephone, replaced, and
now the bell… Ink pellets stain the classroom air. Fat Perce and Glandy Keit
h have fun. Jimmy wants a pencil, prods me in the ribs. 'Hey man, you got a p
encil, give. Two ticks, man.' I give. Zagallo enters. Zagallo's hand is up fo
r silence: look at my hair growing on his palm! Zagallo in pointy tin soldier
hat… I must have my pencil back. Stretching out my finger giving Jimmy a pok
e. 'Sir, please look sir, Jimmy fell!' 'Sir I saw sir Snotnose poked!' 'Snotn
ose shot Kapadia, sir!' 'Don't play Jimmy your bad heart!' 'You be quiet,' Za
gallo cries, 'Jongle feelth, shut up.'
Jimmy in a bundle on the floor. 'Sir sir please sir will they put up a cross
?' He borrowed a pencil, I poked, he fell. His father is a taxi driver. Now
the taxi drives into class; a dhobi bundle is put on the back seat, out goes
Jimmy. Ding, a bell. Jimmy's father puts down the taxi flag. Jimmy's father
looks at me: 'Snotnose, you'll have to pay the fare.' 'But please sir haven
't got the money sir.' Arid Zagallo: 'We'll put it on your bill.' See my hai
r on Zagallo's hand. Flames are pouring from Zagallo's eyes. 'Five hundred m
eelion, what's one death?' Jimmy is dead; five hundred million still alive.
I start counting: one two three. Numbers march over Jimmy's grave. One milli
on two million three million four. Who cares if anyone, anyone dies. One hun
dred million and one two three. Numbers march through the classroom now. Cru
shing pounding two hundred million three four five. Five hundred million sti
ll alive. And only one of me…
… In the dark of the night, I awoke from the dream of Jimmy Kapadia's deat