And Noble Atid wispering: They know wat you do, they kno wat you do.
Da carpark streches as far as da rack and wind of Mikail spanning horizons with his wings. And still no one stops da slave.
When he reches da car Yor servant triz to clean da scribeless child. Yea, an innocent stepdad wiv his Pampers. But hes shat up to his neck. Screeming Old Bill down. An da servant trying to wipe him wid da babygrow and hose him with a bottle a water.
Jesus, he weeps, Plese, Jesus.
Yea Yor creture stuffs da soiled garms in a carryer bag. And unzips da baby holdall. (Packt in Peshawar two weeks ago. Da Companion of da Left Hand recorded it). Now he tekes out a blak polathene parcel and sticks it in da cronic nappy bag n ties it up.
Da future like a garden o grassy eaze & largess, an companionable houris wif sherbet—he can tuch it!
Da slave drives dazed. Somewere up da motorway he miht crash, an da pickney inherit a kilo of smack.
Da Followers throw dere shield around da car. As if they cud deflect his corse an atom’s bredth.
As if they cud protect him when da car lost power. When da car lost power arond da island he almost passes out.
Da Protectors for da child, immezurably strong, asume da semblans of da Sahaba: O Followers! Man yor frail bark! Catch the dowtful wind and eaze him to his reward.
Da Followers for Naseeb cry battle criez, flash agate eyes, Ya Seen! Haul to, Protectors! Keep this bag o nails straiht, Alif! Ya Seen! Ya Seen!
The Protectors for da scrybeless child, thir wite robes ripping, flash dark: Yallah, habibin, lets speed him to his doom! Allahu Akbar!
Dey chant da battle criz o da Sahaba, Ta Ha! Ta Ha! And thir Powers crackle.
Da pickney Jonah slept.
Dat creatur drove round twice arond da block befor he parks.
And walking up da starewell, babby in one arm, two bags in the other, Yur slave he trembles.
Yea, deres more dred letters on da mat. And Alif shoots out a protectif shield: Long as he doznt open them his safe.
An he checks Alesha’s shift.
Put da pickney in bed.
Put a green bag on da kichen table.
Owner of da World.
(Maghrib: 1759 GMT)
Da slave cuts da smack.
But da Noble Scribe must stay his entry, for dis creatur may yet repent or pray.
Blazing a spliff as he weiys again. Digital scales. Starch. Polathene bags. Razor blade.
And da scribeless babby waching in th doorway, gets pushd away to a video. But da babby wants to wach.
Thru his eyes.
Dat slave hes teazing into score bags.
—End of th day ya cyaant beat da painkillin propertys of ma erb, mon. What you say? Hanh? They make a natural plant ilegal innit... They want ya to buy billions of asprins an s__t. But yu get natural herb yeh—like s__tlodes a medical benefits—
And one of his fones is warbling.
—Jonah, get that for us.
An he chups his teeth an skins up and checks da caller. Coz he never ansers.
And da babby maks a dash for da bags. And Yor creture scolds him in Pashtu:
—*Ey ey ey—not till you do som work arond th house!
And Jonah yowling. Dat slave he hurriz to seal da bags. And hes cooing baby Urdu wif a blade a powder:
—*Nice—tasty tasty... Baby num num. Why dont you eat? Peple died so you coud have a taste.
An da slave makes th call to Ali.
—Nice num num... Ali Baba! Salaamalaykum! Heh heh heh. Good, chacha. Got something for ya... Yeh man, yeh man—Im a big boy now. Ain it... I cant, boss. I cant just yet. Paciense, chacha. So how soon we sort this? Oh, com man—deyr gonna loze this! I need it upfront—dis aint smalltime s__t... *Pacience, chacha, paciense. I’ll let you kno. Yeah, you let me know, I got peple on hold... I gotta sort few ting. Few ting ain it... Heheheh, yeh-man. You an me chacha! I tole you wed make a team!
Truly, blazing his weed not warmer dan this love he feels, of Chacha an him.
Dat creatur clears da kichen.
Doz he not see? Jonah bilding his own works—toy cash register, Play-Doh, packets a Hula Hoops, plastic nife: cutting a pece of playdo an puting it into a packet, shuffling Hula Hoops into another, wayhing it on da scale...
The agate eyes of da Noble Scrybe they see.
Dere was a text in dred capitals:
BAILIFFS due to remove your GOODS. Call NEWKEY on 01604 100341 to stop this. Quote ref 1928150. Do not text.
Just da capitals got his body flooding angwish agen.
But what dett is this? Hes almost pissed enuf to call them.
And he goos in the bedroom to pick out a prosthetic shell. One of his collecsion of prosthetic legs for his plans to help da limmless. To help da limmless in Peshawar n Kabul.
And he packs da score bags in a leg.
Dat creture hears her key—Aleshas key in th door—and jumps to stick a spoon a mush in da child. And her Protector’s Wings dey riffle in da hall. Her Protectors wrap dere wings round Leesha’s bump as she bends down to pick up letters.
And Alif and Hamza shear across her Followers, an put dere faces in Leesha’s bump. And say to da Angel of da Womb, Ya Rabbi, a drop of seed? Ya Rabbi, a clot? Ya Rabbi, a morsel of flesh? And as far as dey look da canopy sways, and protectors twitching in da solid sea. Dat pulses now wif baraka.
And our creture doznt know about her woom.
She smells him pengin up da flat, and throws down unregenerat letters, and looks at da mess.
And Yor creture:
—I tryd to get him to vacuum but he wudnt have it.
—For Godsake, Naseeb. You havnt changd him.
Dat servant drops th demands on th table. (His debt collecsions gather in a shoebox. Dose at da bottom she must never see).
And as she screws, de Followers mimic to de babby: We shud talk, this isnt going anywere, hav yu got a job, blah blah...
Yor creatur teks a zoot from his ear:
—*Eat, eat, boy. Take a long drag. Why dont you eat?
Say, wat does Jonah want in da kichen?
—Thats alriht, Jonah. You’ll haf to make do with me. Uncle Naseeb has got more important things. Never mind yore going to get nappy rash. What do you want, Jonah? You cant have that! Yes yes, Im th horrible one. I keep th flat going. I keep th car on th rode. I arrange the daycare while he flys off somwere. Probbly to visit his child bride.
And as shes screwing at him Yor creature mimics to da babby:
—We shud talk, this isnt going anywhere, have you got a job, blah blah...
And she swept up her child to change him, change him in da bedroom.
—She can com over here if she likes. Do som laundry. Id like a holiday... Wud you lik to stay with him wile I vizit his other wives? You cudnt call him Dad thoh. Coz he doznt relly want to be with us. Some men, they just need a base. Somone stupid they can tap when they like.
—Yes dear. Thats riht.
She kisses her babby fiercly as he whinges.
—Im sorry, Jonah. You dezerve better. An yuve seen too