Salman ascended the diving board ladder, lingering at the railing. Absentmindedly, he wondered if everyone could tell he had packed on a few pounds. After all he had been through, continual doubt about his body image seemed almost farcical. “Well,” Salmon rationalized, “once I get in the water, nobody will be able to tell.”
“Cannonball!” shouted the Ayatollah. “We want a cannonball, Rushdie!”
Steeling himself, Salmon softly hissed through gritted teeth, “You’ll get your god damned cannonball.”
One perfect arc and immense splash later, Salmon emerged, dripping and triumphant. The Ayatollah’s eye met Salmon, and they both knew. Fatwā canceled.
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