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By Root 12063 0

seemed to arouse him; whispering the secret of her eccrine-and-apocrine facility, she asked if he’d like her to imitate anyone’s smells, he could describe and she could try, and by trial-and-error they could … and at first he jerked away, No no no, but she coaxed him in her voice like crumpled paper, until because he was alone, out of the world and out of all time, alone with this impossible mythological old harridan, he began to describe odors with all the perspicacity of his miraculous nose, and Tai Bibi began to imitate his descriptions, leaving him aghast as by trial-and-error she succeeded in reproducing the body odors of his mother his aunts, oho you like that do you little sahibzada, go on, stick your nose as close as you like, you’re a funny fellow for sure … until suddenly, by accident, yes, I swear I didn’t make her do it, suddenly during trial-and-error the most unspeakable fragrance on earth wafts out of the cracked wrinkled leather-ancient body, and now he can’t hide what she sees, oho, little sahibzada, what have I hit on now, you don’t have to tell who she is but this one is the one for sure.

And Saleem, “Shut up shut up—” But Tai Bibi with the relentlessness of her cackling antiquity presses on, “Oho yes, certainly, your lady-love, little sahibzada—who? Your cousin, maybe? Your sister …” Saleem’s hand is tightening into a fist; the right hand, despite mutilated finger, contemplates violence … and now Tai Bibi, “My God yes! Your sister! Go on, hit me, you can’t hide what’s sitting there in the middle of your forehead! …” And Saleem gathering up his clothes struggling into trousers Shut up old hag While she Yes go, go, but if you don’t pay me I’ll, I’ll, you see what I don’t do, and now rupees flying across the room floating down around five-hundred-and-twelve-year-old courtesan, Take take only shut your hideous face, while she Careful my princeling you’re not so handsome yourself, dressed now and rushing from the tenement, Lambretta scooter waiting but urchins have urinated on the seat, he is driving away as fast as he can go, but the truth is going with him, and now Tai Bibi leaning out of a window shouts, “Hey, bhaenchud! Hey, little sister-sleeper, where you running? What’s true is true is true …!”

You may legitimately ask: Did it happen in just this … And surely she couldn’t have been five hundred and … but I swore to confess everything, and I insist that I learned the unspeakable secret of my love for Jamila Singer from the mouth and scent-glands of that most exceptional of whores.

“Our Mrs. Braganza is right,” Padma is scolding me, “She says there is nothing but dirt in the heads of the mens.” I ignore her; Mrs. Braganza, and her sister Mrs. Fernandes, will be dealt with in due course; for the moment, the latter must be content with the factory accounts while the former looks after my son. And while I, to recapture the rapt attention of my revolted Padma Bibi, recount a fairy-tale.

Once upon a time, in the far northern princedom of Kif, there lived a prince who had two beautiful daughters, a son of equally remarkable good looks, a brand-new Rolls-Royce motor-car, and excellent political contacts. This prince, or Nawab, believed passionately in progress, which was why he had arranged the engagement of his elder daughter to the son of the prosperous and well-known General Zulfikar; for his younger daughter he had high hopes of a match with the son of the President himself. As for his motor-car, the first ever seen in his mountain-ringed valley, he loved it almost as much as his children; it grieved him that his subjects, who had become used to using the roads of Kif for purposes of social intercourse, quarrels and games of hit-the-spittoon, refused to get out of its way. He issued a proclamation explaining that the car represented the future, and must be allowed to pass; the people ignored the notice, although it was pasted to shop-fronts and walls and even, it is said, to the sides of cows. The second notice was more peremptory, ordering the citizenry to clear the highways when they heard the horn