for stairs, and this two-story house fulfilled one of my prima' fantasies. Since most of it was yet to be built, I could design it the way I wanted. I toll Lino to construct the second floor only in the back half of the house, leaving the front rooms with a high ceiling.

Feeling like I'd sprouted a root, I flew to Bombay to meet Aunt Sathe. I registered her at the Oberoi- Sheraton, the city's second best hotel (after the Taj Mahal).

'Oy,  tatala, why is that woman lying on the dirty sidewalk with her baby?' asked Aunt Sathe, looking out the window. 'Haven't they heard of bacteria here? What kind of meshugge mother is that?'

'Aunt Sathe, those are beggars. They five on the sidewalk.'

'Oyvey!'

'Sometimes they even mutilate their children so they come beg for more money. See the boy with the limp . . .'

'Enough already. Don't tell me anymore!'

That afternoon, I went to collect the suitcases where Max had toll me I'd find them—in storage at the Astoria Hotel. Soon, Aunt Sathe and I were in flight to Sydney, Australia.

'How do you feel?' I asked her on the plane. 'Scared?'

She made a reassuring face, but I could tell she was nervous. 'If only I could have a snooze, tatala, I'd be much better. I have a secret cigarette with me, but I don't think they'd let me smoke it here.'

Oh, SHIT!

We were carrying eight kilos of hash each, and Aunt Sathe had a joint on her! Just what I needed—to get busted for my aunt's marijuana. 'AUNT SATHE!' I wailed.

So, I'm sorry. I won't go anywhere without a supply. I need it for when I get a migraine. It relaxes me and Jets me sleep.'

'But Aunt Sathe, we have SIXTEEN kilos of hash for you to smoke.'

'Now don't be a nutpick I couldn't smoke hash. It's made by Arabs.'

'What, so it's not kosher?'

'Well . . . I would feel better not smoking it.'

'Aunt Sathe,' I explained, 'this hash comes from Afghanistan, and while the people who make it ARE Muslim, they're definitely NOT Arabs.'

'Same thing.'

I looked out of the window a second before asking, 'Is your stash well hidden, at least?'

'Stop worrying already, you  nudnik you. It's in my makeup case under my eyelashes. They'll never find it.'

Shit. It they were to search us, that's the first place they'd look.

When the flight attendant handed her the dinner menu, Aunt Sathe ordered the kosher plate.

Arriving in Sydney, everybody had to go through Customs. Aunt Sathe—as she always did when nervous— began to chatter. I thought I'd the as she proceeded to direct her verbal anxiety at our Customs inspector.

'So, tell me, boychik, are there nightclubs in town? How about a discotheque for my groovy mace? How's the weather? Oy, is that a paper cut you've got there? I have some antibiotic cream here.'

He, apparently, was enchanted.

I wondered if the pounding in my chest was the beginning of a heart attack.

'. . . and isn't that interesting,' I heard Aunt Sathe say with a preposterous amount of excitement. 'We speak the same language yet five an opposite sides of the globe. What a shame though.'

Exiting Customs at last, it was me who was the wreck. My dumb beige dress stuck to me with sweat as I steered my aunt toward our connecting Melbourne flight.

'What's the matter,  tatala? Why the long puss? I thought that went well.'

Barbara joined us a few hours after we checked into a hotel—the Hilton, of course. Aunt Sathe would have been depressed had we stayed anywhere else. Aunt Sathe adored Barbara—especially after she managed to pry her nice Jewish last name out of her. I was horrified. Last names were something Goa Freaks never discussed. They were too connected to the straight world we'd rejected.

'Where's Max?' I asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from Barbara's family tree.

'He stayed in Bali with the Baby. Because of his long hair we decided it would be best if I came alone.'

That night a guy Barbara knew from a previous visit took Barbara and me to a local club. Like Melbourne in general, it was ultraconservative, but we had a Brand time scoffing at the natives.

'Look at those white socks over there. What IS that dance step the man is doing?' We laughed. 'I think he's trying to imitate an ostrich.' We stared openly at his feet. 'A pregnant ostrich.'

'I don't think ostriches get pregnant.' We laughed louder and continued to stare.

'That's it exactly, then. A surprised, pregnant ostrich!' We pointed, laughed some more, and attempted to imitate the step. We were Goa Freaks, elite beings, and no one else mattered.

A bouncer approached, asking Barbara's friend to remove his hat. 'Men don't wear hats indoors in Melbourne,' the bouncer told him. When the friend refused to comply with the archaic request, the three of us were politely asked to leave.

The next day, white Aunt Sathe was at the beauty parlour, Barbara told me about the trouble she'd had later that night after they dropped me off. 'I was followed by the police,' she said. 'I'm living in a quiet, residential neighbourhood. Maybe they didn't like my freaky clothes.'

'Maybe they were just making sure you got home safely,' I suggested. 'When will you take the cases?'

'I was supposed to meet the connection tonight to weigh the dope, but now I don't know. What if the police are watching me?'

'Barbara, I can't wait here forever. This hotel and my aunt are costing me a fortune.'

'But I'm scared.'

'Okay, if you don't want to go, I will. Give me the name and address, and I'll do it myself.' Feeling confident and fearless, I was sure I could handle it. 'Of course expect more money,' I added.

In the end, Barbara decided to go that night herself, and she had no problem. A few days later, she gave me forty thousand Australian dollars, and we kissed goodbye, planning to meet in Goa. I gave Aunt Sathe half, twenty thousand dollars.

It was still too early to go back to India. The house wouldn't be ready yet. Aunt Sathe and I decided to stay in Australia and have a vacation. We flew to Sydney and checked into another Hilton.

'So,  tatala, how do I  find my rich next husband. Nil? Any suggestions?'

'Find a man you like and stare at him. You'll see. It works.'

'Oy! I couldn't!'

She could. And she was great at it. Elegant and beautiful, she didn't have to work hard to collect admirers. As we explored the city, we never went far before Aunt Sathe found us a personal guide. We'd visit the opera house, the koala bears at the zoo, and other assorted tourist sights, and, not long after we arrived back at the hotel, one of our guides would be calling her or sending flowers.

'Why don't you answer the phone, already?' shouted Aunt Sathe from the bathroom, removing rollers from her hair.

'I don't want to miss this TV program. It'll be for you, anyway. Who is it this time? The lawyer?'

'I hope it's the  mensch from the opera. Remember? With the moustache?'

We intended to stay in town a while, so we moved to an apartment, and I made plans to model—just for fun; I didn't need the money. One of Aunt Sathe's boyfriends sent her an opal necklace.

One night he heard a knock on the door. Aunt Sathe and I looked at each other.

'Who is it?' we asked.

'POLICE. OPEN THE DOOR.'

'Oh, shit.'

No choice but to open the door. Three of them entered, two men and one woman. 'We have reason to believe there's heroin or methadone in this apartment,' the woman said.

Aunt Sathe had no idea I'd been doing smack. The amount I'd brought to Australia with me had recently run