The Satanic Verses

true.’
    Sisodia became agitated. ‘Damn damn damn.’
    ‘Ladies present,’ Gibreel, still a little drug-woozy, warned; but Sisodia windmilled his arms, indicating that he was trying to force words past his overexcited teeth. Finally: ‘Damage limitation. My intention. Not betrayal, you mumust not thithithink.’
    To hear Sisodia tell it, nobody back in Bombay really wanted tosue Gibreel, to kill in court the goose that laid the golden eggs. All parties recognized that the old projects were no longer capable of being restarted: actors, directors, key crew members, even sound stages were otherwise committed. All parties further recognized that Gibreel’s return from the dead was an item of a commercial value greater than any of the defunct films; the question was how to utilize it best, to the advantage of all concerned. His landing up in London also suggested the possibility of an international connection, maybe overseas funding, use of non-Indian locations, participation of stars ‘from foreign’, etc.: in short, it was time for Gibreel to emerge from retirement and face the cameras again. ‘There is no chochoice,’ Sisodia explained to Gibreel, who sat up in bed trying to clear his head. ‘If you refuse, they will move against you
en bloc
, and not even your four four fortune could suffice. Bankruptcy, jajajail, funtoosh.’
    Sisodia had talked himself into the hot seat: all the principals had agreed to grant him executive powers in the matter, and he had put together quite a package. The British-based entrepreneur Billy Battuta was eager to invest both in sterling and in ‘blocked rupees’, the non-repatriable profits made by various British film distributors in the Indian subcontinent, which Battuta had taken over in return for cash payments in negotiable currencies at a knockdown (37-point discount) rate: All the Indian producers would chip in, and Miss Pimple Billimoria, to guarantee her silence, was to be offered a showcase supporting role featuring at least two dance numbers. Filming would be spread between three continents – Europe, India, the North African coast. Gibreel got above-the-title billing, and three percentage points of producers’ net profits … ‘Ten,’ Gibreel interrupted, ‘against two of the gross.’ His mind was obviously clearing. Sisodia didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Ten against two,’ he agreed. ‘Pre-publicity campaign to be as fofollows …’
    ‘But what’s the project?’ Allie Cone demanded. Mr ‘Whisky’ Sisodia beamed from ear to ear. ‘Dear mamadam,’ he said. ‘He will play the archangel, Gibreel.’

    The proposal was for a series of films, both historical and contemporary, each concentrating on one incident from the angel’s long and illustrious career: a trilogy, at least. ‘Don’t tell me,’ Allie said, mocking the small shining mogul.
‘Gibreel in Jahilia, Gibreel Meets the Imam, Gibreel with the Butterfly Girl
.’ Sisodia wasn’t one bit embarrassed, but nodded proudly. ‘Stostorylines, draft scenarios, cacasting options are already well in haha hand.’ That was too much for Allie. ‘It stinks,’ she raged at him, and he retreated from her, a trembling and placatory knee, while she pursued him, until she was actually chasing him around the apartment, banging into the furniture, slamming doors. ‘It exploits his sickness, has nothing to do with his present needs, and shows an utter contempt for his own wishes. He’s retired; can’t you people respect that? He doesn’t want to be a star. And will you please stand still. I’m not going to eat you.’
    He stopped running, but kept a cautious sofa between them. ‘Please see that this is imp imp imp,’ he cried, his stammer crippling his tongue on account of his anxiety. ‘Can the moomoon retire? Also, excuse, there are his seven sig sig sig.
Signatures
. Committing him absolutely. Unless and until you decide to commit him to a papapa.’ He gave up, sweating freely.
    ‘A what
?’
    ‘Pagal Khana. Asylum. That would be another wwwway.’
    Allie lifted a heavy brass inkwell in the shape of Mount Everest and prepared to hurl it. ‘You really are a skunk,’ she began, but then Gibreel was standing in the doorway, still rather pale, bony and hollow-eyed. ‘Alleluia,’ he said, ‘I am thinking that maybe I want this. Maybe I need to go back to work.’

    ‘Gibreel sahib! I can’t tell you how delighted. A star is reborn.’ Billy Battuta was a surprise: no longer the