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

ought that fried spiders could cure blindness while continuing to fulfil h
is dudes as university physician; when I might have elaborated on the grea
t love that had begun to grow between my grandfather and his second daught
er, Mumtaz, whose dark skin stood between her and the affections of her mo
ther, but whose gifts of gentleness, care and fragility endeared her to he
r father with his inner torments which cried out for her form of unquestio
ning tenderness; why, when I might have chosen to describe the by now cons
tant itch in his nose, do I choose to wallow in excrement? Because this is
where Aadam Aziz was, on the afternoon after his signing of a death certi
ficate, when all of a sudden a voice soft, cowardly, embarrassed, the voic
e of a rhymeless poet spoke to him from the depths of the large old laundr
y chest standing in the corner of the room, giving him a shock so profound
that it proved laxative, and the enema contraption did not have to be unh
ooked from its perch. Rashid the rickshaw boy had let Nadir Khan into the
thunderbox room by way of the sweeper's entrance, and he had taken refuge
in the washing chest. While my grandfather's astonished sphincter relaxed,
his ears heard a request for sanctuary, a request muffled by linen, dirty
underwear, old shirts and the embarrassment of the speaker. And so it was
that Aadam Aziz resolved to hide Nadir Khan.
Now comes the scent of a quarrel, because Reverend Mother Naseem is thinki
ng about her daughters, twenty one year old Alia, black Mumtaz, who is nin
eteen, and pretty, nighty Emerald, who isn't fifteen yet but has a look in
her eyes that's older than anything her sisters possess. In the town, amo
ng spittoon hitters and rickshaw wallahs, among film poster trolley pusher
s and college students alike, the three sisters are known as the Teen Batt
i', the three bright lights…and how can Reverend Mother permit a strange m
an to dwell in the same house as Alia's gravity, Mumtaz's black, luminous
skin and Emerald's eyes?… 'You are out of your mind, husband; that death h
as hurt your brain.' But Aziz, determinedly: 'He is staying.' In the cella
rs… because concealment has always been a crucial architectural considerat
ion in India, so that Aziz's house has extensive underground chambers, whi
ch can be reached only through trap doors in the floors, which are covered
by carpets and mats… Nadir Khan hears the dull rumble of the quarrel and
fears for his fate. My God (I sniff the thoughts of the clammy palmed poet
), the world is gone insane… are we men in this country? Are we beasts? An
d if I must go, when will the knives come for me?… And through his mind pa
ss images of peacock feather fans and the new moon seen through glass and
transformed into a stabbing, red stained blade… Upstairs, Reverend Mother
says, 'The house is full of young unmarried girls, whatsitsname; is this h
ow you show your daughters respect?' And now the aroma of a temper lost; t
he great destroying rage of Aadam Aziz is unleashed, and instead of pointi
ng out that Nadir Khan will be under ground, swept under the carpet where