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

g getting stronger, as she writhes and twists beneath me, and at last in th
e grip of a strength greater than my strength I am bringing down my right h
and, I have forgotten my finger, and when it touches her breast, wound pres
ses against skin…
'Yaaaouuuu!' I scream with the pain; and my aunt, snapping out of the maca
bre spell of those few moments, pushes me off her and delivers a resoundin
g wallop to my face. Fortunately, it is the left cheek; there is no danger
of damage to my remaining good ear. 'Badmaash!' my aunty screams, 'A fami
ly of maniacs and perverts, woeis me, what woman ever suffered so badly?'
There is a cough in the doorway. I am standing up now, shivering with pain. P
ia is standing, too, her hair dripping off her head like tears. Mary Pereira
is in the doorway, coughing, scarlet confusion all over her skin, holding a b
rown paper parcel in her hands.
'See, baba, what I have forgotten,' she finally manages to say, 'You are a bi
g man now: look, your mother has sent you two pairs of nice, white long trous
ers.'
After I got so indiscreetly carried away while trying to cheer up my aunt,
it became difficult foi me to remain in the apartment on Marine Drive. Lo
ng intense telephone calls were made regularly during the next few days; H
anif persuading someone, while Pia gesticulated, that perhaps now, after f
ive weeks… and one evening after I got back from school, my mother picked
me up in our old Rover, and my first exile came to an end.
Neither during our drive home, nor at any other time, was I given any explan
ation for my exile. I decided, therefore, that I would not make it my busine
ss to ask. I was wearing long pants now; I was, therefore, a man, and must b
ear my troubles accordingly. I told my mother: 'The finger is not so bad. Ha
nif mamu has taught me to hold the pen differently, so I can write okay.' Sh
e seemed to be concentrating very hard on the road. 'It was a nice holiday,'
I added, politely. 'Thank you for sending me.'
'O child,' she burst out, 'with your face like the sun coming out, what can I
tell you? Be good with your father; he is not happy these days.' I said I wo
uld try to be good; she seemed to lose control of the wheel and we passed dan
gerously near a bus. 'What a world,' she said after a time, 'Terrible things
happen and you don't know how.'
'I know,' I agreed, 'Ayah has been telling me.' My mother looked at me fear
fully, then glared at Mary in the back seat. 'You black woman,' she cried,
'what have you been saying?' I explained about Mary's stories of miraculous
events, but the dire rumours seemed to calm my mother down. 'What do you k
now,' she sighed, 'You are only a child.'
What do I know, Amma? I know about the Pioneer Cafe! Suddenly, as we drov
e home, I was filled once again with my recent lust for revenge upon my p