a djinn made o smokeless fire. And Yor fool croaks to him if he can just go get his wife’s legs. Just get her legs.
And da man like a djinn looks at him.
Let it go, say da Followers.
As thoh ye can delay what comes by a breath, says Noble Atid.
Why, wots coming?
And next thing Naseeb is at da car pound where sume next man leads him thru da rows of cars.
And da creatur cant stop jabbering. The attendant thinks hes got a mental condition.
—I bin ther, boss. Peple walkin round Kabul with legs missing. Got girls wiv thir hands blown off cant wash thir doodah, scuse my French. I’m gonna take fifteen hundred of thez to Afghanistan.
(And each day I can record one good deed for his intention.)
The attendant opens up da carboot.
—Fifteen hundred of theze? Wha are they?
—Yeh-yeh, display products. Cast offs.
—What, an you just tag them on? Not much of a fit is it?
(He just wants to do good. Why is doing good so difficult?)
—Yeh, naah, but we can take this bad boy, rite, take this to India, an we can design like a Poundshop version.
—I thot its for yore wife.
(Ah, Jeff, you helpful soul—watch him! Tho his book of deeds be ever so black. You can help.)
—Yes-yes. This one is for th wife.
And Noble Atid watches his neck vein pulse. Surely dey see his neck vein pulse!
Naseeb picks up de exquizite heft, the upper leg wiv da stash. Afraid it wud tumble out his Golden Fleece.
—Is that th one then?
Dat screw looks at him:
—Well what about th rest of it?
Yor creatur carrys out seven of da prosthetics.
And despair filled de universe as he waited on da pavement.
I pray You Lord, his heart beats, Save this sad creatur, for I am f____d.
We got yor back, brah, says Alif, Protector of the Rear, who now affects the sober wite abaya of a female Sufi. As tho Yor servants fate cud hasten or delay a hartbeat.
He waited on da pavement for his spar, wiv his limbs around his feet. His spar who’ll drive him to a score.
I pray You Lord, his hart beats.
And Sonya pulled up in her Audi wiv his spar, and sez:
—O my daaays. Wot is that s__t!
And Yor creature cusses under his breth. And her hangdog Zach helps load da boot wid da legs an s__t. (Zach, what you doin to me, spar? I got biznis to do. Cudnt yu get rid of her?)
Say, da way to Willesden Green is hell.
And if you cud see da Caravans of Protectors poized on bonnets n hoods!—
Aw, we are breezin, cry Hamza n Alif, Wet dat motor, girlfrend!
Dat servant Sonia swearing down she cant believe dat Zach wud rope her into this, swearing down hes on one of his deals.
But Yor creatur is startin to jam his hype, Yor creature is feeling it, he’s gonna be all rite.
—Dont say nu’in against da Afghans. We won da war for them goore. *Us Pathans girl. So now were helping ourselves.
Dat servant swears down his unbelevable & Yr creatur starting to jam.
—You shud a met my legal. Yu ever hear of Boxer Revolution? You shud lissen, gel. Chinese Boxers, rite, they had a rebellion coz Britain yeah—dey’re supplying em with opium. Yeah? An when dey rebelled—British, riht, they com and suppress it...
—And dats what got you lockt up?
—Gyaal is so jokes. Where you get her, Zak?
—Sonia! Sonia!
—Eh?
—Say it—just once. Sonee-ya?
—Sonia. All rite?
—Yeah, thats my name!
—Jus’ sayin. Opium wars. Its history ain it? Little guy doz it, they bang em up without probable cauz. Queen Victora—she gets a medal.
(Tha creature Zak tracing tracks in his hair.)
—Hey wha you doin with my cuzin, geez? She use to stick with her own kind. Innit Son-ee-ya?
—Shut up.
—Dont be shy, Son-i-ya—you want me put in a word with uncle?
—Shut. Up.
Somwhere Willesden he sez:
—Wait up here.
And his book doz not delay or hasten.
And what can describe all da grains, all da graines of a dezert suspended in th storm?
And da Chopper bikes strewn outside a Dixy Chicken. And yungers inside wiv gyaldem. And olders pumping da bass in a Merc.
Each compassed by Receivers at th riht and left shoulders, Protectors before n back. We are a Whisper at da believer’s head, a whisper lost in th noize, heard worlds away. How strong our Powers!
Yor slave on his mobile:
—I’m meetin him now innit. This is it. I tole you yu shuda come in with me. Where you? We’re just waiting for him to show.
And Sonya:
—I’m not waiting!
And Hamza: Noble bredders, we gonna be buggin out tonite. All thir Powers shining forth, th serchlite of thir eyes revolving. As if they cud deflect a grain of dust.
Da little hoodrats block th Dixys. And olders pumping up th bass in da Merc.
And Zak is geting looks. Your slave Naseeb nuff hype in da car.
—Is this one of yor deals!
—Chill. He owes me som dollars.
Dey jump when sume mouth rocks up from noware an bangs da bonnet. And for an instant I saw the agate eyes of Hamza under his Raiders hood and bustin trousers low.
—Wha you want blud?
—Nu’in, we jammin, sez Zak.
—You
