Sour Grapes by Rhodes Dan;

Author:Rhodes, Dan;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eye Books
Published: 2021-09-22T07:59:28+00:00

After the audience had filed out and dispersed, Salman Rushdie emerged from backstage and walked through the auditorium on his way to the blacked-out Range Rover that was waiting for him outside, its engine running.

The secretary remained in place. ‘Please don’t trip over the gentleman,’ she said, as they approached.

Salman Rushdie looked at the gentleman in question. ‘Selfram,’ he said, recognising the prostrate figure as he stepped over it. ‘What a pleasant surprise. What are you doing on the ground?’

‘One is not on the ground, one is on the floor. Though the structure be impermanent, that does not prevent the hardboard surface beneath one from being categorised as flooring.’

‘As you wish. My chaps didn’t Taser you again, did they?’

‘As has become customary, they laboured under the delusion that one was up to no good.’

‘I’ll have strong words with them when we get back to the Range Rover. It must have been quite the ordeal.’

‘One becomes accustomed.’

Salman Rushdie sighed. ‘Look at you down there. I wish there was something I could do to get you up and about again,’ he said, thoughtfully stroking his beard. ‘I seem to recall a time when I was in a low posture and someone encouraged me to stand up. Now, let me get the details clear in my mind, because the story might just help. Who was it again…? Oh yes, it was that nice lady. Let me try and remember the words she used. Ah, that’s right, she said, Arise Sir Salman. Would you like me to give it a try? We could stage a mock knighting, and pretend that you’re being elevated to a senior position within the British Empire. It might just get you back on those feet of yours.’ He lifted the plastic bag he was holding. ‘They just gave me a bottle. I could use it in place of a sword.’

‘One hardly thinks one could be convincingly knighted with a bottle of Cinzano.’

Salman Rushdie pulled a confused face. ‘Cinzano, Selfram? Oh no. No Cinzano for me.’ He reached into the bag, pulled out a bottle and displayed the label for Wilberforce Selfram to read.

Wilberforce Selfram’s eyes widened, and before he was able to stop himself, he spoke admiringly of what he saw. ‘Rougemont Castle ’83 – universally regarded as the finest wine ever to have existed.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ said Salman Rushdie. ‘Julian Barnes certainly speaks very highly of it. You know, it’s quite remarkable the way doors open when you’ve got a knighthood and a Booker Prize or two under your belt. Just imagine how things will be when the Nobel comes in.’ He gazed at the bottle, and stroked it. ‘I’ll put it in one of my wine cellars. Still, I’m sure you’ll enjoy your Cinzano. One of my wives, I don’t remember which, used to drink it with a splash of Vimto and a cherry on a stick.’

Wilberforce Selfram seethed.

‘So what do you say?’ asked Salman Rushdie. ‘A tap on the shoulder from a bottle of the very finest wine this galaxy has to offer?’

‘Negative.

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