Is this how he will remember dying?
Where, then, is Azrael, Archangel of Death? In the towering trunks of kelp stipes, the shadow of a grey whale so enormous it goes unseen.
And we hear the blast of Israfil’s horn smashing through the waters, and we arrow back to the surface.
And at the fiat of the Ruh Jibreel, we gathered in the lowest sphere within the compass of a grain.
And received the Book and the boy.
Henceforth are you confined to the slave, paired to record the Truth, which lies in the other’s hidden region. And created in symmetries, that you may succeed each other in the watches of the day, and the watches of the night. And your zaat as Angel-shaped threads from this world to the world of creatures. And your Lord is Merciful, Kind.
And Mikael of the wind and rain and sea and earth, and his angel hosts, made ready to translate to the realm of creatures. And he stretched thousandfold Wings.
Ten billion Angels feel the fluctuations. And at this instant we become Followers and Scribes for every soul ever born.
And with them the Noble Atid and I made ready to translate to the place of the creature. And the Relieving Angels keep a heartshaped lake till the appointed time.
Khoda hafiz, we say to each other, What you observe, we observe. As you are there, we are there.
An exploding horizon of Wings.
We cascade down shearing radiance, our faces burnt from the limitless sun, to receive a boy of ten in Rambo T-shirt, with the hazel-eyed children outside the white-walled house, and together dance with him, together dance with him to death.
2 | The Account of the Angel of the Right Hand
In which Your creature seeks his misfortune with the help of Angels and men; and is confounded by a drop of Mercy from a woman; and dreams of doing good; and finds his misfortune removed.
§
(Asr: 1605 GMT)
Da man runs out of his flat wiv da left luggige ticket.
An his Protectors front and back. Arownd dere transparence dey assume da semblans of cortiers from Samarkand. And dese have folowed him from da womb.
And I say to them:
Assalaamu alaykum Hamza, assalaamu alaykum Alif, how gos da servant?
Greetings, O Noble Scribes, you tell us, sez Hamza. We just wipe his bum.
Yr servant runs out of da flat wiv da left luggige ticket. Its mundane paper shining wiv baraka, to be exchangd for a black polythen parcel; dats gonna tumble out his Golden Fleece, gilding his face wif bliss, O shining faces of da blessed! I pray You Lord, his hert beats, Save this sad creture, for I am f___d. May I be truly thankful. Amen.
Da creature floors da clapping motor. Da whole way vex by da yowling yute, da yowling babby in th back o da car, and a fear th ticket wud fly out of his pocket.
—Todays da day, bway! Redistrbute som welth. Make em pay! Trust me. Yu gonna ride shotgun for me? You da Man! I need yu.
But da babby is bawling snot in his babychair.
—Hey, Jonah! Lern som history, mistah. You payin attenshion? We won da war for dem goore. *Us Pathans, bwoy. Understand? Hanh. So now we’re helping arselves. Ey, bill up for me, geeza... for fffaaa... Hey, Jonah...!
But da babby is bawling snot.
And under his breth, Shut da fff-flip up, man.
(Careful of his hart, Naseeb. Th child doz not know riht and rong. His Protecting Angels strong.)
—Yu shud a met my Legal. He’da educated ya. Wots one crime when yu got British come n screw evryone over? But you knock over one old boy, an da hole machinery comes down on ya!
But da pickney yowls for his bottel.
I rite his words, I get you da juce, I get you da juce, as one good deed. And my noble Atid will sternly smile an say, Let him turn the car rownd. I’ll giv him a thozand merits.
And da car swerving as da servant gropes for a baby botle.
—Here, cane it. Only Jonah, yu gotta fix up, look da part, get me? I cant do this without yu. Blatant. Yore my sideman. Anyone com near me, yore da mouth.
And da Protectors wrap dere powers around da car to stop it swerving. And perhaps, perhaps dere was an atoms waiht of kindnes for da child. And praps I shud record it as ten good deeds.
Da road to Heethrow is alwayz rosting.
Yor creture floors da clapping motor.
Aw, we are breezin, cry Hamza an Alif, striking fihting pozes on da hood n roof, thoh assuming da semblans of cortiers from Samarkand—thir green tunic and turban tails ripping: Wet dat motor, bossman! And da child’s Protectors cry, Maashallah, and a liht blazed whirling from his weels.
And if you cud see a Caravan of Protectors poized on bonnets an hoods in da jam from Northolt!—thir wite robes or black tunics ripping, or as elastic deformasion, or electrical or magnetic intensity…
And in de airport da cretur clings like begfrend to da child. In his hand da left luggig tiket. Its mundane paper shining wif baraka.
An he mutters to himself not to talk, he mutters himself not to talk. Da luggige atendant finks hes got a mental condicion. Da ticket soked wiv swet.
And despar filld his univers as de atendant disapeared in da back. Da Feds about to absail out da sky and bang him up in a meat wagon.
Da pickney griping.
And do you see da African cleener dragging her polythen bag? Yea, shes bin lost here forever. Dere’s djinn in every airport!
Dat djinn, shes gonna mess wiv his head, sez Alif.
And her litter picker clips da cretures foot till hes vex.
Sorry, my dear, shes mumbling.
An his patting da child bare vexed. An he finks he hears her mumble, Are you all waiting with dis gentleman?
The atendant com back wiv a babby’s green holdall. And Noble Atid waches da slaves neck. Surely dey see his neck vein pulse! And Noble Atid wispers: Dey know, dey know wat yu do. Yore blatant.
But Naseeb lifts the exquizit heft.
And da pickney Jonah griping.
Da Followers throw dere sheeld arond. But dat creaturs lost his hart, his feet cant goo strait. And he sits with Jonah, whoz soaked in s__t. An he cant think straiht. And he feels in da green bag. Feels for a nappy. Feels for a polathene bag packt in Peshawar.
And his Protectors assume da semblans of two airport Feds. To mess wiv his hed. Two airport Feds com from the other side o th concorse. And Yor slave hears handsets jammed wiv noiz, feels them standing dere wif agate eyes.
An his hand grips da polathene in da bag.
And the babby stares at dem. Soaked in s__t.
And Five-O smiling back. Da pickney’s Protectors, immezurably strong, say: Pooh! I think the babys trying to tell you somthing.
An next man Hamza raizes his MP5 and farts: Well put that on th record!
Astaughfirullah, and Noble Atid rasps on dere walkie-talkie: Back to yr stacions, gentelmen.
And dey melt back.
Dat creturs rooted. Till Jonah starts howling. And he legs