Midnights Children

bullies became instruments of destiny, and fingers were transmuted into fountains, and Masha Miovic, the legendary breast-stroker, fell into a dead faint … I arrived at the Social with the nurse’s bandage still on my head. I was late, because it hadn’t been easy to persuade my mother to let me come; so by the time I stepped into the Assembly Hall, beneath streamers and balloons and the professionally suspicious gazes of bony female chaperones, all the best girls were already box-stepping and Mexican-Hatting with absurdly smug partners. Naturally, the prefects had the pick of the ladies; I watched them with passionate envy, Guzder and Joshi and Stevenson and Rushdie and Talyarkhan and Tayabali and Jussawalla and Waglé and King; I tried butting in on them during excuse-mes but when they saw my bandage and my cucumber of a nose and the stains on my face they just laughed and turned their backs … hatred burgeoning in my bosom, I ate potato chips and drank Bubble-Up and Vimto and told myself, “Those jerks; if they knew who I was they’d get out of my way pretty damn quick!” But still the fear of revealing my true nature was stronger than my somewhat abstract desire for the whirling European girls.
    “Hey, Saleem, isn’t it? Hey, man, what happened to you?” I was dragged out of my bitter, solitary reverie (even Sonny had someone to dance with; but then, he had his forcep-hollows, and he didn’t wear underpants—there were reasons for his attractiveness) by a voice behind my left shoulder, a low, throaty voice, full of promises—but also of menace. A girl’s voice. I turned with a sort of jump and found myself staring at a vision with golden hair and a prominent and famous chest … my God, she was fourteen years old, why was she talking to me? … “My name is Masha Miovic,” the vision said, “I’ve met your sister.”
    Of course! The Monkey’s heroines, the swimmers from Walsingham School, would certainly know the Schools champion breast-stroker! … “I know …” I stuttered, “I know your name.”
    “And I know yours,” she straightened my tie, “so that’s fair.” Over her shoulder, I saw Glandy Keith and Fat Perce watching us in drooling paroxysms of envy. I straightened my back and pushed out my shoulders. Masha Miovic asked again about my bandage. “It’s nothing,” I said in what I hoped was a deep voice, “A sporting accident.” And then, working feverishly to hold my voice steady, “Would you like to … to dance?”
    “Okay,” said Masha Miovic, “But don’t try any smooching.”
    Saleem takes the floor with Masha Miovic, swearing not to smooch. Saleem and Masha, doing the Mexican Hat; Masha and Saleem, box-stepping with the best of them! I allow my face to adopt a superior expression; you see, you don’t have to be a prefect to get a girl! … The dance ended; and, still on top of my wave of elation, I said, “Would you care for a stroll, you know, in the quad?”
    Masha Miovic smiling privately. “Well, yah, just for a sec; but hands off, okay?”
    Hands off, Saleem swears. Saleem and Masha, taking the air … man, this is fine. This is the life. Goodbye Evie, hello breast-stroke … Glandy Keith Colaco and Fat Perce Fishwala step out of the shadows of the quadrangle. They are giggling: “Hee hee.” Masha Miovic looks puzzled as they block our path. “Hoo hoo,” Fat Perce says, “Masha, hoo hoo. Some date you got there.” And I, “Shut up, you.” Whereupon Glandy Keith, “You wanna know how he got his war-wound, Mashy?” And Fat Perce, “Hee hoo ha.” Masha says, “Don’t be
crude;
he got it in a sporting accident!” Fat Perce and Glandy Keith are almost falling over with mirth; then Fishwala reveals all. “Zagallo pulled his hair out in class!” Hee hoo. And Keith, “Snotnose is a baldie!” And both together, “Sniffer’s got a map-face!” There is puzzlement on Masha Miovic’s face. And something more, some budding spirit of sexual mischief … “Saleem, they’re being so rude about you!”
    “Yes,” I say, “ignore them.” I try to edge her away. But she goes on, “You aren’t going to let them get away with it?” There are beads of excitement on her upper lip; her tongue is in the corner of her mouth; the eyes of Masha Miovic say,
What are you? A man or a mouse?
… and under the spell of the champion breast-stroker, something else floats into my head: the image of two irresistible knees; and now I am rushing at Colaco and