out of my hair.

After the bath, I waited for a commercial break and ran to the loch to buy twelve dollars' worth of candy. Five Star was the only brand in India, and I craved a Chunky, a Twizzler, some Red Hots. Back in the room, I sank into fluffy pillows in front of the Four-Thirty Movie and spread out the cache of sweets. This must be Wonderland.

Within an hour, the phone rang. A familiar Australian accent came through the line, 'Hi, Cleo. It's Dayid. Everything go propitiously?'

Dayid had once spent time in jail, time he used for self-education. By the end of his incarceration, he'd acquired an impressive vocabulary that matched well the majestic way he carried himself.

'No problem,' I answered.

'Beatific! Tonight we'll convene with Junky Robert and Tish for conviviality. Do you concur?'

'Yes!'

I dressed in my favorite outfit, a see-through crepe in different patterns. At eight, Dayid came.

'How winsome to see you!' he said, kissing both my cheeks. 'You look resplendent!' He wore a purple velvet suit and had his silver streaked hair tied behind his head. I thought he looked delicious.

'How'd you like the trip?' he asked. 'A chef d'oeuvre, hmm?'

'I loved it.'

'Tomorrow you can bring these cases to my hotel and I'll defray you your money. Consider this the exordium of a new career.' He opened a silver bottle in the shape of a swan. With a matching silver spoon he aimed coke at my nose. 'We're to converge soon with Junky Robert and Tish. Let's egress.'

Brrrr, still winter in Canada. I shivered in a flimsy cape. At a nightclub, we were shown to a table near the dance floor, where the other couple sat waiting for us. I'd never met Junky Robert and Tish, though I'd heard their names mentioned. They greeted me warmly, as if I were an old-time Goa Freak. Tish, a Canadian, had brown, curly hair and bright, lively eyes. Robert, from Queens, New York, was lively one moment and fast asleep the next. Twice during dinner, he nodded off, his forkful of Hungarian goulash landing on the carpet.

'Robert, my good fellow,' Dayid commented once when, with eyes closed, Robert and his glass of champagne teetered dangerously to the left, 'the people at the next table are speculating you have Trypanosoma gambiense. Which, by the way, is transmitted by the tsetse fly and is common in tropical Africa. It is a.k.a.—also known as—sleeping sickness.'

Along with the vocabulary, Dayid had cultivated a brainful of trivia during his stay in jail.

'Oh, yeah?' commented Tish.

I liked Tish. She was smart, and with her stash of coke, we made numerous trips to the lathes' room to giggle for long periods of time. At the table, the four of us ordered everything expensive on the menu and laughed at the straight people who had to work in the morning. Now this was the life I was born for. When Dayid and I danced, he kissed my neck.

Next we went to a discotheque where we ran into Esther, one of three Canadian sisters whom everyone knew from Goa, though they hadn't been there that year. While we snorted coke in the ladies' room, Esther told me she could sell hash for me if I ever brought my own into the country.

'Really?' I said my coked-out neurotransmitter's making quick connections. 'You could? How long would it take?'

'How much would you bring?'

'How about eight kilos?'

'A few days. At fifteen hundred dollars a pound.'

'Wow. Maybe do that. I know where to get suitcases trade.'

When the sun rose, I went with Dayid to his hotel room. This time it was slower than the night on the beach, and the mattress was more comfortable than the sand had been—though not as exotic.

'How would you like to peregrinate with me in the Caribbean for a week's vacation?' he asked. 'My business here will be terminated soon.'

I was terribly flattered. But I hesitated to answer. Did I want to involve myself romantically with Dayid? First of all, he was a bit too macho for me. Then there was Ashley. The two of them seemed the classic couple, she playing the ancient female role to his ancient one. In India she'd had servants and seamstresses, and so was not expected to cook and clean, but she nonetheless played the role of the little woman who took care of details while Dayid engaged in commerce or played poker. I didn't want to break them up, but even less did I want to her slot. I didn't want to be Dayid's shadow. I could go out with him as a colleague, but as a girlfriend . . . I didn't think so. And now, perhaps, I had an opportunity to do business for myself with Esther. Rushing back to India in pursuit of enterprise enticed me more than diving in the Caribbean with Dayid. I liked the idea of having money. Flying in planes suited me better than third-class lathes' compartment train riding. The Hilton beat the Rex.

'Well . . . planning to visit my mother in New York,' I told Dayid. 'Why don't you call me there before you go?'

'Do you know,' he said, 'there actually were people called the Caribs who inhabited the southwest Indies and the northern coast of South America?'

'Oh yeah?'

I left him in bed and went to the Hilton to change. In the Lobby I bought a new set of luggage and repacked my clothes. I took the hash filled cases to Dayid, collected my eight thousand dollars, and kissed him goodbye. Mission complete.

I called Momsy.

'Baby! Where are you?'

'In Canada. I'm coming to visit.'

'I'm so glad to hear from you. You didn't answer my last two letters.'

'I didn't get them. I left Goa a while ago. I tell you about it when I get there.'

Of course I didn't tell her ALL about it—such as how I'd gotten the money to come back to America. But she didn't ask anyway. Momsy wasn't interested in my tales of the East, and whenever possible, she steered the conversation away from things Indian and into her closet.

'How do you like my new filch coat?' she asked, parading in her ankle-length fur. 'Don't look at the collar; the furrier is fixing it this week.'

'We have buffaloes in our paddy fields,' I said, stroking her sleeve as she passed. 'Really skinny. Bones poke through their hides.'

'Tell me honestly. Do there pelts match?'

I shrugged. 'As far as I can tell. Momsy, you should see the sunset on Anjuna Beach.'

'But this collar isn't nice, is it?'

It was nice to spend a few days in Momsy's Fifth Avenue apartment—sleeping on the floor of the library— but by the weekend, I couldn't wait to return to Goa and my friends and to make more money. Dayid called.

No, I told him. I would not be meeting him in St. Thomas. I already had a ticket for the flight to Bombay. Knowing I'd made the right decision, I nevertheless hung up the phone with regret.

Landing in Bombay, I felt like a victor back from battle. I felt bigger and stronger and awfully courageous. I was also a lot richer. I went to meet Kadir at Dipti's, a fruit juice place across the street from the Rex Hotel. Dipti's offered ice cream and the luscious fruits of the season and was the nerve centre of the Bombay Freak world. Everyone reported there on arrival. If you wanted to know who was in town and what was going down, you could find out from Bila, the Indian manager.

'Hi, Bila,' I said, climbing the step into the shop, feeling like an insider. I slid into a booth opposite Kadir and handed him the six bottles of vitamins he'd asked me to buy for him in Canada. India didn't sell them. Vitamin E was especially important for coke sniffers. The healing oil applied to the inner nostril assured a perpetually useful nose.

'How'd it go, man?' he asked.

'Great. Oh, Kadir, this is so much fun. I love this life. But, listen, I want to do my own trip. Will you help me?' I knew Kadir wouldn't mind losing me as an employee. I was now one of the Goa kindred, and India abounded in impoverished travellers awaiting financial inspiration.

'Of course, man. You already know where the shop is.'

'I don't know where to get the hash, though. Or how much to pay . . . '