Knife summary

Following his surgeries, Rushdie awoke in a painkiller-induced haze. Visions of palaces made out of letters floated before him. He marveled at these symbols, this world built from words and stories. Slowly, he began to recognize that he was also surrounded by his loved ones, and reality sunk in. 

Although there were no mirrors for him to look at, his injuries became clear: a slashed neck and cheek, a wounded hand reminiscent of stigmata, and the loss of his right eye. Yet, amidst the pain and disfigurement, there was hope as he learned to communicate and breathe without the aid of the ventilator.

From the trauma center, Rushdie was moved to the Rusk Rehabilitation facility, located in his usual place of residence, New York City. To avoid any unwanted attention, he arrived under the cover of anonymity, placed on a stretcher and covered by a sheet, as if dead.

The physical challenges persisted – he had to relearn how to walk and even how to use the bathroom by himself. Unable to urinate because of a medication he was given, a urinary tract infection compounded the already daunting road to recovery. But his spirits were buoyed by the arrival of his other son, Milan. As Milan marveled at his father surviving 15 stab wounds, Rushdie told him that he could identify with the character of Wolverine and his supernatural healing capabilities.

Rushdie and his wife were able to secure a stay at a friend’s empty apartment, where his rehabilitation could continue in privacy. Leaving the rehab center was a joyous moment. The move took place in the early morning of September 26th, and Rushdie’s heart soared as they drove through the quiet streets of Manhattan. The confinement and constant surveillance of doctors and nurses were now behind him.

Yet, the respite from medical concerns was short-lived. The reality of his condition came sharply into focus with the arrival of the hand therapist, Monica. She cut Rushdie no slack in pushing him through a number of painful exercises in order to get his left hand functioning again.

Throughout Rushdie’s recuperation, there loomed the specter of his attacker, a man he only refers to as “the A.” – as in, the assailant, or would-be assassin.

Through news reports and an interview the assailant gave to the New York Post, he learned that the 24-year-old from New Jersey admired Ayatollah Khomeini, the Iranian government, and Shia Muslim extremists. He also learned that he lived alone with his mother and that she believed he was a nice young man – that is until he visited his father in Lebanon when he was 19 years old.

The author Milan Kundera, in his exploration of the "unbearable lightness of being," concluded that life is a one-time deal, a single shot with no do-overs. But after surviving the attack on August 12, Rushdie wasn’t so sure he agreed. As he recuperated, and finally moved back into his own apartment, and into the warm embrace of his own bed, he realized that he’d been granted a precious second chance at life.

It begged the question: What do you do with a second opportunity? How do you make the most of it?