—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 aint baying?
—No. Were waitin.
—Were not waiting, sez Sonia.
—You aint baying?
—Were just waiting, sez Yor slave.
—Wat you waitin for?
—Were not waiting!
—Edge up, bruv, we aint buying, sez Zak.
—Who you callin Bruv? says da Protecter of the Front, staring dem out under his Raiders hood, den wheels away sucking teef. An hes bowling it across da traffic:
—Well hurry up waitin, ain it! Befor I give you a ticket.
They watch him bowl across da traffic, shoot his fingers in parting—Boom.
And Zak gon red:
—Looka dat chief, finking his all badman an dat. Yeh, go back to yr click.
And she:
—Wat are we waiting for?
—Wait up, sez Your slave.
He goz out an rocks up at th Dixys, staring down da lookouts.
—I’m not waiting!
And Yor slave yanks th door from da hoodrats, da hoodrats blocking th Dixys:
—Scuse me boss.
All th Protecters rush ech other and are at a stand; as a variation of pressure or electrical or magnetic intensity. And da boat oscillates up an down.
As he eyes up the gash. They have no idea. How his vizion will be vindicated. An peple retributed.
Say, he waited in th Dixy for his man.
And his book doz not hasten or delay.
An his man parks up and nudges wiv da Merc crew, nudges wid da crew and dozent hurry; Your slave checks da creturs in the Audi, sees Sonya’s perfect teeth as da radio whacks up:
Jinke sar ho ishq chaaon, Paon ki neeche jannat hogi...
And da Followers for Sonya n Zack join da song: Chale chhaiyya chhaiyya chhaiyya chhaiyya…
Wile a shadow wiv clownlike hair an a lether coat waits in da street.
And all da Followers flex thir shields at a bulletshapt fate, as if it makes a diffrence.
For somtimes it seems we trace words alredy writ. And his actions trace my words.
Read!
Dat creture Izzat is tapping da