The alchemical theme in Animal’s People

Last night I dreamed of Zafar. He was heading up Paradise Alley into the heart of the Nutcracker. Nearly double he was bent, his long nose pointing sorrowfully at the ground. On his head was his favourite red turban, his beard was untrimmed, on his back he carried a shining world, blue as a flycatcher’s wing, criss-crossed by tiny lines.

The sun’s heat was falling down on him. Heavy must the world have been, Zafar was staggering, his arms reaching up behind his back could hardly hold it, but he was taking one step at a time, like he did everything with careful patience. A small child walked ahead of him, going to school I suppose, he had a slate on which some abc and 123 were written.

Nisha was in the dream too, tagging along behind Zafar, begging him to let her share his heavy burden of the world’s pain, but I don’t think he could hear.

Inside I am momentarily blinded. It’s dark shadow, with light falling in stripes through planks of the farside wall. Elli and the other step through into a courtyard where are small papaya trees loaded with yellow fruit. I’ve stopped, because in the courtyard is a young woman sat on a stool in the sunlight. She has on a deep blue petticoat, but from waist up her body is bare. Her skin’s very dark, black almost, her breasts are round and swollen. With slow fingers, she’s pressing her breasts, sending jets of milk spurting onto the earth.

Elli is standing still like she’s hoodwinked by the light. The mother, not looking up, continues to spill her milk to the dust. At last Elli says softly, ‘Poor thing. How did she lose her child?’

Government-waali doctress does not reply, instead she flashes out at the woman, ‘How many times have I told you not to believe rumours?’

That one says sullenly, ‘My breasts are killing me.’

‘Then it’s your own fault,’ snaps the waali.

The mother shrugs but doesn’t stop what she’s doing, squeezing pale milk from dark nipples. ‘Why bother to come?’ she says. ‘You people never help.’

‘I’m here to help,’ Elli tells her in Hindi. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘I won’t feed my kid poison.’ She’s leant forward to cast the last dribbles of her milk onto the ground.

‘Madam, she is deluded,’ says Government. To the woman she says, ‘I can cure bodies, not fairytales.’
‘Canst cure nothynge,’ says a very old voice. Sitting in the shadows holding a plastic bottle to a baby who’s staring horrified, out of eyes heavily rimmed with kohl.

‘So here after all is your baby,’ says Elli. ‘Why were you talking of poison?’

Says this granny, ‘We have loked upon the milke and it semeth to muche thinne and watry. Plus it enclyneth to reddenesse, which is unnaturall and euill. Likewyse, it tasteth bitter, ye may well perceyue it is unwholesome.’

‘Burns his gut,’ says the mother.

‘The infant yeaxeth incessantly,’ says the granny holding up the baby. ‘Out of measure he yeaxeth.’

‘Yeaxeth? What’s that?’ asks Elli.

The laughter’s dancing about in me so much it makes me want to jig, these village types, their outlandish accents and rustic way of talking.

‘Hic,’ says the kid, answering Elli’s question.

Says the mother to Elli, ‘Our wells are full of poison. It’s in the soil, water, in our blood, it’s in our milk. Everything here is poisoned. If you stay here long enough, you will be too.’

Of an instant, it’s like the ground under my feet has turned to water. The young woman seems to be floating on a glittering ocean, the papaya trees are tall green waterspouts or else tails of monstrous plunging fish. My brain returns from wherever it’s gone missing to discover Government advancing on me with a look of fury on her face. I’ve sharpish scarpered from that place and run to hide in I’m Alive’s shop, it’s the one place that the waali won’t care to follow, not if she knows anything about Nutcracker people.

Turning to Ma he says. ‘Madam, I must be plain with you, whatever could have been done for this boy, the time is long past. He will have to get used to his condition. There is absolutely no hope, this boy will never walk or stand up straight again.’

Ma’s asking something but I’m unable either to hear or reply. In my head a thing flees away shrieking like a bird, eee-chip-chip-chip, the sound of the world dwindles to an eerie hum. I am looking at a shelf in the professor’s room. On it is a jar, a big round glass jar of liquid that flashes like it’s full of sunlight.

‘What did you think, it’s that easy?’ says a gnarly voice in my ear. ‘Quit staring by the way it gives me the creeps.’

Glaring at me from inside the jar is a small crooked man. An ugly little monster, his hands are stretched out, he has a wicked look on his face, as if he’s just picked your pocket and is planning to piss on your shoe. Such an expression, I forget my own troubles and start laughing. There’s something weird about him. Looks like someone’s peering over his shoulder, a second head is growing out the side of his neck.