Grimus - By Salman Rushdie Page 0,33

like concrete.)

The Two Abyssinians were called Khallit and Mallit. They were engaged in an eternal argument without beginning or end, its very lack of purpose or decision undermining Flapping Eagle’s ability to think clearly.

One more thing: Flapping Eagle was tied hand and foot. He lay beside the two Abyssinians as they squatted around a campfire. They seemed oblivious of his presence, and did not answer when he spoke to them.

A very pleasing puzzle indeed.

Between them, Khallit and Mallit placed a gold coin. Every so often one of them would flip it; it was the only way they ever decided on any element of their eternal wrangle.

At the present moment, they seemed indirectly to be discussing Flapping Eagle.

—There are two sides to every question, Mallit, are there not?

—Well … said Mallit doubtfully. He flipped the coin. —Yes, he said.

Khallit breathed a sigh of relief.

—Then if good is on one side of the coin, bad is on the other. If peace is on one side, war is on the other.

—Arguable, said Mallit.

—For the sake of argument, pleaded Khallit.

—For the sake of argument, agreed Mallit, after tossing the coin.

—Then if life is on one side, death must be on the other, said Khallit.

—Only if, said Mallit.

—For the sake of argument, they said in unison, and smiled at each other.

The walls of the canyon moved in a fraction.

—But here’s a paradox, said Khallit. Suppose a man deprived of death. Suppose him wandering through all eternity, a beginning without an end. Does the absence of death in him mean that life is also absent?

—Debatable, said Mallit. He flipped the coin. Yes, he said.

—So he is, in fact, no more than the living dead?

—Or no less.

—Would you agree that the major difference between the living and the dead is the power to act?

—For the sake of argument, said Mallit.

—So that such a man would be impotent. Helpless.

—Impotent. Helpless, echoed Mallit.

—Incapable of influencing his own life.

—Incapable of influencing his own life.

—Flung eternally between his doubts and his fears.

—Flung.

Their voices were melodious. Flapping Eagle found himself listening raptly. He had never realized the beauty of speech, the appeal of simply speaking and arguing for ever and ever … he felt his mind slipping away and tried to force it back. It was unconscionably difficult.

He suddenly realized what was happening to the canyon. Because there was a great deal less room in it than when he had first arrived. He struggled desperately against his ropes. To no avail. He screamed at Khallit and Mallit.

—Can the dead speak? asked Khallit.

—Doubtful, said Mallit and tossed the coin. —No, he said.

—No, echoed Khallit.

Flapping Eagle realized bleakly that there was no way out. He remembered Virgil Jones’ whisper: there is always a way out. He no longer believed it. He would lie here, listening to the eternal indecision of these two extrapolations of himself until the rock claimed them.

Flapping Eagle closed his eyes.

The Gorf was feeling irritated this time. What good was such a simple, beautiful puzzle if the man wouldn’t make any attempt to solve it? Of course there was a way out. Very simple it was, too. All the man had to do was work it out. The Gorf had a suspicion that Flapping Eagle would never be any good at the Game of Order.

And then his irritation vanished, to be replaced by wonderment, as something happened for which he had made no provision.

A whirlwind suddenly appeared at one end of the canyon.

Khallit looked up and became highly agitated.

—Mallit, he said. Mallit, is that a whirlwind?

Mallit spun a coin without looking up. —No, he said. It is not.

—Mallit, cried Khallit, it is. It is a whirlwind.

Mallit looked up. —It can’t be, he said.

—But it is, it is, cried Khallit.

The whirlwind came closer and closer.

—Fascinating paradox, said Mallit.

—Fascinating, said Khallit doubtfully.

Then the whirlwind was upon them. Like the mere notions they were, the less-than-human constructs of an alien imagination, the force of Virgil Jones’ arrival dispersed them. They returned to the shreds of energy they had once been. On the planet of the Spiral Dancers, people would have said: —they danced the Weakdance to the end.

Flapping Eagle had opened his eyes. The whirlwind stood in front of him and slowed down. It began to look like a man.

—The Whirling Demon! cried Flapping Eagle, using the phrase after seven centuries.

—Hullo, said Virgil Jones.

A few questions from Virgil Jones, and Flapping Eagle was talking about Deggle and mentioned the word “Ethiopia”. The instant he said the word, the Gorfs puzzle dissolved. Because that was