The Moors Last Sigh

interest in this harangue when he switched to a more intimate note. ‘And you, my friend Hammer,’ he said. ‘I have raised you from the dead. You are my zombie now.’
    ‘What do you want from me?’ I asked, but even as I spoke the words I knew not only the question but my answer. Something that had been captive all my life had been released when I k.o.’d Lambajan, something whose captivity had meant that my entire existence up to this point all at once seemed unfulfilled, reactive, characterised by various kinds of drift; and whose release burst upon me like my own freedom. I knew in that instant that I need no longer live a provisional life, a life-in-waiting; I need no longer be what ancestry, breeding and misfortune had decreed, but could enter, at long last, into myself – my true self, whose secret was contained in that deformed limb which I had thrust for too long into the depths of my clothing. No more! Now I would brandish it with pride. Henceforth I would be my fist; would be a Hammer, not a Moor.
    Fielding was talking, the words coming quick and hard. Do you know who your Daddyji is, high in his Siodi Tower? This man who has cast his only male child from his bosom, can you imagine the depth of his evil-doing, the breadth of his heartlessness? How much do you know about the Musulman gang boss who goes under the name of Scar?
    I confessed my ignorance. Mainduck waved a dismissive hand. ‘You will come to know. Drugs, terrorism, Musulmans-Mughals, weapons-systems-delivery computers, scandals of Khazana Bank, nuclear bombs. Hai Ram how you minorities stick together. How you gang together against Hindus, how good-natured we are that we do not see how dangerous is your threat. But now your father has sent you to me and you will know it all. About the robots even I will tell you, the manufacture of high-technology minority-rights cybermen to attack and murder Hindus. And about babies, the march of minority babies who will push our blessed infants from their cots and grab their sacred food. Such are their plans. But they shall not prevail. Hindu-stan : the country of Hindus! We shall defeat the Scar-Zogoiby axis, whatsoever the cost. We shall bow their mighty knees. My zombie, my hammer: are you for us or against us, will you be righteous or will you be lefteous? Say: are you with us or without?’
    Unhesitating, I embraced my fate. Without pausing to ask what connection there might be between Fielding’s anti-Abrahamic tirade and his alleged intimacy with Mrs Zogoiby; without let or hindrance; willingly, even joyfully, I leapt. Where you have sent me, mother – into the darkness, out of your sight – there I elect to go. The names you have given me–outcast, outlaw, untouchable, disgusting, vile – I clasp to my bosom and make my own. The curse you have laid upon me will be my blessing and the hatred you have splashed across my face I will drink down like a potion of love. Disgraced, I will wear my shame and name it pride – will wear it, great Aurora, like a scarlet letter blazoned on my breast. Now I am plunging downwards from your hill, but I’m no angel, me. My tumble is not Lucifer’s but Adam’s. I fall into my manhood. I am happy so to fall .
    ‘Sir righteous skipper sir.’
    Mainduck unleashed a mighty noise of joy and struggled to rise from his chair. Lambajan – Borkar – came forward and assisted. ‘So, so,’ said Fielding. ‘Well, there is much use for that hammer of yours. By the way, any other gifts?’
    ‘Sir cooking sir,’ I said, remembering happy times in the kitchen with Ezekiel and his copybooks. ‘Anglo-Indian mulligatawny, South Indian meat with coconut milk, Mughlai kormas, Kashmiri shirmal, reshmi kababs; Goan fish, Hyderabadi brinjal, dum rice, Bombay club-style, all. Even if it is to your taste then pink, salty numkeen chai.’ Fielding’s delight knew no bounds. It was plain he was a man who liked his food. ‘Then you are a true all-rounder,’ he said, thumping my back. ‘Let’s see if you are Test class, if you can take that all-important number six position and make it your own. R. J. Hadlee, K. D. Walters, Ravi Shastri, Kapil Dev.’ (India’s cricketers were on a tour of Australia and New Zealand at the time.) ‘Always room for a fellow like that on my team.’

    My time in Raman Fielding’s service began with what he called a ‘getting-to-know-you guest spot’ in his domestic kitchen, much to the displeasure of his regular cook, Chhaggan