by: Salman Rushdie Publisher: New York: Pantheon Press, 1994 , Pages: 214 , Price: $21 Reviewed by: : C.J.S. Wallia, Ph.D. cjwallia@violet.berkeley.edu In Haroun and the Sea of Stories, Salman Rushdie wrote about Khattam-Shud, the cult-master, whose goal was to drain the sea of stories, silencing creative expression. That book was an obvious metaphor for his predicament -- death sentence from Islamic fundamentalists for his novel The Satanic Verses, published six years ago. His latest book, East, West: Stories, proves that Khattam-Shud has failed. In the meantime, Rushdie has gained enormous support from writers from many countries, becoming a living martyr of secular-humanist values. East, West: Stories consists of three parts, three stories set in the East, three in the West, and the final three about expatriates from the East living in the West. The stories are of uneven quality -- the better stories are in the last section. In the 25-page story "Chekov and Zulu," the two principal characters, both Indians, are introduced to the reader only by their code names. Based in London, they are "intrepid diplonauts," operating under the supervision of the Indian Government's intelligence division. Zulu is "a, shy, burly, giant" Sikh; Chekov, in contrast, is "a small, slim, dapper man in grey flannels, stiff-collared shirt and double-breasted navy blue blazer with brass buttons." Chekov's religion is not explicitly stated, but several hints suggest that he is a Muslim. The two have known each other admiringly, affectionately, since school days at the elite Doon school in the Himalayan foothills. The story opens in London on 4 November 1984, a few days after the assassination of Indira Gandhi in New Delhi. Chekov visits Zulu's home to inquire from his wife about him for he has not contacted the intelligence headquarters for two days plus. Zulu's wife has not heard from him either. She resents being called Mrs. Zulu for "it sounds like a blackie." Here, Rushdie is pointing out the distance Indians typically like to put between themselves and Africans. In any case, she corrects Chekov, the proper name from Star Trek is Sulu. Zulu's wife is much distressed by the assassination and by the news on TV showing hundreds of "our decent Sikh people done to death, as if all were guilty for the crimes of one-two badmash guards." Chekov informs her that the intelligence chief, alarmed by Zulu's AWOL, now openly suspects Zulu to have joined the U.K.-based pro-Khalistani militants whom he had been assigned to spy on. Chekov tells her that he is "fighting strenously against the proponents of this view" of Zulu's absence, but also insinuates that "as some would say she must know all too well." The story time then flashes back to August, when Chekov had just arrived in London as acting deputy chief of intelligence. In this segment of the story, Rushdie brings in one of his characteristic political concerns. Although Chekov loves living in London, he is given to frequently comment that the British are "thieves, every last one...their fortunes and cities, built on the loot they took... one forgives, of course; that is our national nature." Zulu disagrees. He asks Chekov whether the poor tramp lying on a bench nearly is also guilty. Chekov retorts, "Never forget that the British working class collaborated for its own gain in the colonial project. Manchester cotton workers, for instance, supported the destruction of our cotton industry." Zulu admonishes Chekov that "the colonial period is a closed book." Says Chekov, "With my natural radicalism, I should not have been a diplomat. I should have been a terrorist." "But then we would have been enemies, on opposite sides," muses Zulu, his eyes shedding genuine tears at the thought. The two friends reminisce about their school-days and pledge to work together as "blood brothers." Rushdie draws both characters consummately and shows great sympathy for Zulu. The story flashes forward and Zulu calls his wife, but it is not clear after how many days' absence. Chekov picks him up at a previously agreed upon spot. Zulu hands over a list to Chekov with "the names, places, dates ... the list was better than anyone had expected ... in certain remote villages and urban back-alleys in Punjab there would be a round-up for some big badmashes..." , "Not long after they came off the motorway, Zulu said, 'By the way, I quit.' "Chekov stops the car. 'What's this? Did those extremists manage to turn your head or what?' " 'Chekov, ji, don't be a fool. Who needs extremists when there are killings in Delhi? Hundreds, maybe thousands, Sikh men scalped and burned alive in front of their families. Boy-children, too.' ... " 'No Congress workers have been indicted,' said Zulu. 'In spite of all the evidence of complicity. Therefore, I resign. You should quit, too.'" 'If you have gone so damn redical,' cried Chekov, why hand over these lists at all? Why go half the bleddy hog?' " 'I am a security wallah,' said Zulu, opening the car door. 'Terrorists of all sorts are my foes. But not apparently in certain circumstances, yours.'" Zulu quits and returns to Bombay where he achieves great prosperity as the owner of a chain of personal security companies. Chekov continues in government service and is killed in May 1991 while accompanying Rajiv Gandhi on the fateful day when the former Prime Minister was blown to bits by a small Tamil woman exploding a powerful, suicidal firebomb. "Chekov and Zulu' is a brilliant story, although occasionally the English spoken by the Indian characters seems to be contrived to please a certain type of non-Indian reader. Doon school graduates don't talk like Kipling's babu characters, Mr. Rushdie. ("Excellent jalebi, Mrs. Z. Thanking you.") "The Courter" appears to be the most autobiographical story in this book. The narrator, a sixteen-year old boy from Bombay studying in England, is trying to find his identity, in "my enforced exile from the beloved country of my birth.'' When his parents come to England for a year-long visit, he is troubled by his conflicts with his father and the frequent quarrels his eleven- year old sister picks with the father: "As I witnessed their wars I felt myself coming unstuck from the idea of family itself ... and I looked at my choleric, face-pulling father and thought about British citizenship... At sixteen, you still think you can escape from your father. You aren't listening to his voice speaking through your mouth, you don't see how your gestures already mirror his; you don't see him in the way you hold your body, in the way you sign your name. You don't hear his whisper in your blood." This story is interlaced with another -- that of the family's sixty-year old Indian housekeeper who is courted by an old East European porter. The two transform their games of chess, modelled on war, to love. But at the same time she feels acutely homesick: "...her heart, roped by two different loves, was being pulled East and West, whinnying and rearing like those movie horses being yanked this way by Clark Gable and that way by Montgomery Clift, and she knew that to live she would have to choose." She goes back to Bombay. The narrator makes the opposite choice and acquires British citizenship. "But I too have ropes around my neck, I have them to this day, pulling me this way and that, East and West, the nooses tightening, commanding, choose, choose. I buck, I snort, I whinny, I rear, I kick. Ropes, I do not choose between you. Lassoes, lariats, I choose neither of you, and both. Do you hear? I refuse to choose." In this story, Rushdie poignantly describes another of his characteristic concerns: the predicament of inbetweenness. "The Harmony of the Spheres" is narrated by a former Indian student at Cambridge who comes under the spell of a paranoid-schizophrenic Welsh writer of a book on the occult arts. At the opening of the story the writer commits suicide; however, his dairies indicate that he had long "lubricious" sessions with the narrator's wife immediately after their honeymoon. The characters in this story are poorly portrayed and the plot contrived to the point of being altogether ineffective. In the East section are three stories written almost as though R. K. Narayan wrote them. "Good Advice Is Rarer Than Rubies" is about a young Muslim woman seeking an immigrant visa to U.K. who deliberately botches up her interview with the consular officer for she prefers to stay home. The story has an O.Henry-ish ending. "The Free Radio" is a story about a young rickshaw driver who undergoes a vasectomy for he mistakenly believes he will be rewarded with a free radio. When he belatedly discovers that the reward scheme had already ended, he pretends he has received a radio. The story is entertainingly written although it suffers from overt authorial intrusion. In the West section, "At the Auction of the Ruby Slippers" is a satirical fantasy that addresses once again Rushdie's predicament. "See: behind bullet- proof glass, the ruby slippers sparkle. We do not know the limits of their powers. We suspect that these may not exist." The ruby slippers are reputed to have magical qualities of crossing space and reversing time. Is it possible that the ruby slippers can return the exile back home? Is there a home left to return to? " 'Home' has become such a scattered, damaged, various concept in our present travails. There is so much to yearn for. There are so few rainbows any more." Brilliant in parts, this story also suffers from Rushdean portentousness. "Chekov and Zulu" and "The Courter" are excellent stories in this nine- story collection of varied quality.
Dr. C.J.S. Wallia teaches in the Writing Program at the University of California, Berkeley. Phone: 510-848-8200 Address: 216 Dwinelle Annex, U. C., Berkeley, CA 94720 |