Ахмед Рушди - Quichotte - A Novel

And now he, too, had a Beloved to attain.

“MY DEAR SANCHO,” SAID QUICHOTTE at the wheel of the Cruze, “I must warn you as we approach the great city that we will face a series of majboot obstacles there. The great city is an object of great desire. One might say that it is desired by a great many people in the same way that I desire Miss Salma R. Consequently it is defended by mighty guardians just as in days of old, and in many parts of the world to this very day, a woman is guarded against dishonor; just as Miss Salma R is guarded against unwelcome advances, among which I do not, for obvious reasons, number my own.”

“What are those reasons?” Sancho cheekily inquired. “Because no matter how hard I scratch my head, they are not obvious to me.”

“Really, there is only one reason,” replied Quichotte, unperturbed. “It is because in my messages—which are not so frequent as to be irritating—I am wooing her with style—with the right mixture of flamboyance and self-deprecation and with, if I may be so bold as to say so, a certain literary panache. I am approaching her as a woman of that caliber deserves to be approached, and she, as a woman of caliber, will at once have recognized that that is so. I do not come at her head-on, like a brute, like a bull. I am indirect, modest, lyrical, philosophical, tender, patient, and noble. I see that I must make myself worthy of her, and she, seeing that I see that, sees that by virtue of my seeing it, I reveal myself as being, in fact, the worthy suitor I aspire to be. Nobody who did not see the need for worthiness could ever acquire that quality whose importance he had failed to perceive.”

“When you talk that way,” Sancho said, “it makes me sorry I asked.”

Late September now. The evenings drawing in, the nights cooler, leaves flying above them like birds. They were floating up the turnpike as if in a dream. Inexplicably there were no cars to speak of blocking their way, just the long uncoiling snake of the road. “Looks like that old city we’re heading for dropped its defenses,” Sancho said. “It’s just inviting us right in.” Rahway, Linden, Elizabeth, Bayonne. “Here we come,” Sancho punched the air with his fist. “Ready or not.”

Quichotte patted him on the shoulder. “The road is the tongue,” he said, “and the tunnel is the mouth. The city swallows you right up.”

Sancho was not to be denied his joy. “I’m up for that,” he cried. “Eat me, New York. Eat me now.” Harrison, Secaucus. The tunnel was coming. Gulp.

“We need to be fresh and ready for New York,” Quichotte said. “Let’s find a place to get a good rest, freshen up, and put our best face forward in the morning.”

“Agh,” said Sancho. “You let me get all worked up and excited and then you slap me down. That’s no way to treat a growing boy.”

“There are two cities,” Quichotte said. “There’s the one you can see, the broken sidewalks of the old place and the steel skeletons of the new, lights in the sky, garbage in the gutters, the music of the sirens and power drills, an old man tap-dancing for change, whose feet say, I used to be somebody, but his eyes say, no more, buster, no more. The flow of the avenues and the clogged-up streets. A mouse sailing a boat on a pond in the park. A guy with a mohawk haircut screaming at a yellow cab. Made men with napkins tucked in under their chins in a red-sauce joint in Harlem. Wall Street guys in suspenders getting bottle service in nightclubs or doing tequila shots and throwing themselves at women as if they were banknotes. Tall women, short bald guys, strip steaks, strip joints. Empty storefronts, closing sales, everything must go, a smile missing some of its best teeth. Construction everywhere but still the steam pipes burst. Ringletted men with a million bucks in diamonds in the pockets of their long black coats. Ironwork. Brownstones. Music. Food. Drugs. Homeless folks. Twenty years ago they were gone but now they’re back. Snowplows, baseball, police cars promising CPR, courtesy, professionalism, respect, what can I tell you, they have a sense of humor. Every language on earth, Russian, Punjabi, Taishanese, Creole, Yiddish, Kru. Also, let us not forget, the beating heart of the television industry. Colbert at the Ed Sullivan Theater, Noah in Hell’s Kitchen, The View, The Chew, Seth Meyers, Fallon, everybody. Smiling lawyers on cable saying they can make you a fortune if you get hurt. Rock Center, CNN, Fox. The warehouse downtown where they shoot the Salma show. The streets she walks, the car she goes home in, the elevator to her penthouse, the restaurants she orders in from, the places she knows, the places she goes, the people who know her number, the things that please her. The whole ugly-pretty city, beautiful in its ugliness, jolie-laide, that’s French, like the statue in the harbor. All this is there to see.”

“And the other city?” Sancho asked, frowning. “Because that’s a lot right there.”

“The other city is invisible,” Quichotte replied. “This is the guardian city, its high forbidding walls made of wealth and power, and it is where reality lives. Only its few keyholders can enter that sacred space.”

“I’m guessing we aren’t in that group.”

“I have one key,” Quichotte said, “and when the time comes I may have to go to find the lock it opens.”

“That’s very mysterious,” Sancho scolded him. “You kept that a secret. What key? What lock? What’s in there? Come on.”

“But we also have another weapon,” Quichotte said, ignoring Sancho’s plea. “We are about to enter the fourth valley.”

“We already gave up belief, unbelief, reason, and knowledge,” Sancho protested. “There doesn’t seem to be much left.”

“The fourth valley,” Quichotte said, “is the Valley of Detachment, in which we will give up all our desires and attachments to the world.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

“Coffee-flavored chocolate-coated Häagen-Dazs ice cream?”

“And Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. ”

“And sitting near the hot corner at Yankee Stadium at a Red Sox game? Which obviously I’ve never done but I desire it.”

“And Watch What Happens: Live on Bravo.”

“And Candy Crush Saga ?”

“And The Princess Bride. ”

“And steak?”

“And french fries.”

“And Beyoncé and Jay-Z?”

“And the original cast recording of The King and I .”

Sancho, on whose face a look of horror had taken root, paused, having suddenly thought of something unbearable.

“Do we also have to give up our desire for, and attachment to, the woman we love?”

“The Beloved is exempt,” Quichotte explained mildly, “because the Beloved is the goal. These other burdens, however, must be shed.”

“Even an occasional glass of Grey Goose and tonic?”

“Even fava beans and a nice Chianti.”

“We’re going to be like monks.”

“We will become worthy of the Grail.”

“And the Grail is the Beloved?”

“The Grail is the hand of Miss Salma R.”

“The Grail is the hand of Beautiful from Beautiful.”

“Every man has his own Grail.”

“But you said we would find a weapon in the fourth valley. All I see is us having fewer and fewer things. I don’t see any bazookas.”

“When we have attained the surrender of the fourth valley,” Quichotte said, “then what is commonly known as ‘reality,’ and which is really unreality, as we know from TV, will cease to exist. The veils will drop away, the invisible city will become visible, its gates will swing open so that no key is required, and the path to the Beloved will be seen.”