This morning we followed a similar pattern to yesterday, with a slow + relaxed breakfast, followed by sunbathing up on the roof: something about the place seems to encourage that sort of laziness. I spent the time writing as much as possible, but I do find it difficult to concentrate when there is company about. There were also the salesmen, ready at the faintest flicker of interest to come aboard + display their wares, whether they be papier-mache, cashmere blankets, woven shawls, wood carving, whatever. Yesterday there was a man with a couple of blankets full of papier mache boxes, bangles, etc, + today it was shawls. Sultan + his family certainly don’t discourage such visitors, for they receive a hefty commission on every sale. Despite our financial circumstances, we are interested in buying one of the local woollen overgarments, part overcoat, part cape, a bit like something out of a Victorian England print. I expressed a desire for one first, while Val was doubtful, but after trying one on, she was keen for one for herself. And since I thought it looked better on her, she would be more likely to wear it regularly, + I had no intention of getting one to match, I was happy enough to let her have it. Sultan is something of an entrepreneur, + we arranged for him to get the thing made for us, hopefully by the time we return from Ladakh.
As far as activity went, Val went for a paddle in the shikara for an hr or so, + later on I went for a walk. Val paddled me across, + then I ambled along the front, buying a couple of bananas + some chocolate. I was, however, going deliberately slowly, for my real motive in going out was in the hope of being able to buy some BH, +, of course, I would have to create the circumstances in which I could be approached. I was not to be disappointed, tho’ it was left a bit late. I was on my way back when a seedy-looking man in his late 30s sidled up to me, repeating the usual litany – “Opium, brown sugar, hash, afghani…” How much? I asked, for hash. “20 rupees,” he replied. OK, I said, + obeyed his request to follow him back to his house, “just 3 minutes.” It wasn’t, of course, it was nearer 15, but that was to be expected. I can’t say I was very keen on the area, seedy + run-down like the man himself, but that was to be expected too. He tried to engage me in conversation as we walked along, but I wasn’t interested, was already half-regretting letting myself in for the whole thing.
Got to his house by clambering over a rickety, knocked-together bridge over a ditch, + into the house, not much more than a shack on stilts. We went into one of the rooms, furnished simply with a couple of pillows. There we were joined by another man, the first one’s brother, I was told – I might have known – + we all sat down together. Not exactly buddy-buddy – to my mind at least this was strictly business – but no animosity. We followed the usual practice – the brother rolled a joint, + then we smoked it together. The original guy stayed clear, but then he was smoking a big hubble-bubble, + I realised that he was already pretty stoned. I don’t know why I hadn’t been aware of the fact before. I was anxious not to become too wasted myself, as the business had not yet been conducted, but tho’ I restricted myself, it was obviously strong stuff. And had a built-in time delay too, for even tho’ I’d stopped smoking, the effect continued to grow. I wasn’t happy. I don’t like being insecure when I’m stoned. And then the monkey-business began.
“There is some bad dope around,” the man said. “There is also some very good. This is very good.” (I could only agree, but inwardly.) “We call it…” + he told me the name. Something suitably exotic, but I can’t remember it now. “Some people,” he went on ,”sell this for 120, 150 rupees a tola.” (For the uninitiated, which includes me until recently, a tola is 10 grams.) We sell it for 80. I became angry at this point, + let them know so too. No, I wasn’t going to pay 80, I’d been told 20. And if 20 was the price for the second-rate stuff, then that was what you should have given me to smoke. They in their turn became upset when they discovered I only wanted one tola, but I remained stolidly unimpressed by their argument that some people bought 30 tola, 40, 50. I’d used similar arguments myself when I’d been a telephone salesman, only with rather more finesse.
It soon became obvious that everyone’s time was being wasted, so I announced I was going + got up to do so. I would have gone, too, if I hadn’t, in my drugged state, mistaken my way, + turned towards the back door + not the front. I really couldn’t remember which direction I’d come from, which was disturbing, + in the circumstances it wasn’t difficult for the Man to come out into the passage, + persuade me to come back in, sit down, + discuss the matter. Would I pay Rs 30? No, I would not. 20, + 20 only. And eventually, after some black looks + much muttering between the 2 of them, they agreed, only making it clear that this was to be a sample price, + that should I want any more, I could not expect the same. I signalled my agreement. He then asked for money in advance. No, I responded, I want to see what I’m getting first. Just 10 rupees, he pleaded. No, I returned, once more becoming heated. You bring me the stuff, I pay you the money. Just 5, he whined, almost begging now. You think I am the sort of man who would run off with 5 rupees? I didn’t know, or care, what sort of man he was, I wasn’t giving him anything, + I told him so. Why do you need the money first? I demanded. Because I need to go fetch, the boy needs money, he replied. Inconsistently, but then he was stoned too. I’d had enough of the messing about, + would have gone again, but he leapt to his feet. You wait, I’ll bring. 2 minutes, he said, + he went. But obviously he had little faith in my fidelity, for I heard quite distinctly, + with a sickening fall in my stomach, the sound of the bolt being slid to on the other side of the door.
I was not in a very happy situation. The sun had gone down, + already it was beginning to get dark, I was locked in a room in a beaten-up shack in a potentially hostile neighbourhood, + I was stoned. The brother was still there with me, but that hardly improved the situation. He did try some idle chat, but I made it quite clear that this was neither the time nor the place. I got up + paced about the room, even looking out thro’ the open windows with an eye to making my escape that way, but it was quite a drop, + I had the sense to realise that breaking my leg, or even twisting my ankle, in the circumstances would not be a very bright move. And meanwhile the minutes were passing. It must have been ten, more, since the Man had left – I could hardly sit around waiting forever.
I’d sat down again, + tried to clear my head, but decided that action was the thing. I scrambled up to my feet once again, went to the door + gave it a cursory shake, for I knew it was still bolted, + turned back to the brother. Get it open, I growled, or so help me God I’ll kick it down. Yes, I know, the purest melodrama, but it wasn’t entirely an empty threat, for the wood was pretty thin, + in any case it did the trick. The brother got to his feet, + called something thro’ the door. Back slid the bolt, + out I went, out of the room, out of the house, past the old lady who’d opened the door, + this time in the right direction.
I wasn’t at all sure I could find my way, but felt greatly relieved to come to, + cross, the rickety bridge, + after that I forced myself to think clearly, relied a good bit on my instincts, + soon enough found myself back in familiar territory. It was quite a spacey walk back. My head was still spinning, I was still in a state of shock over my escape – things like that didn’t happen to me – + I was light-headed, I suppose. I know that everything seemed very funny. A western girl smiled at me + I grinned back (or could it have been the other way round?); a guy asked me if I had any German marks to sell; + when I asked a small shikara rower if he would take me to England, he told me to give him 6000 rupees + he would take me by air.
Sultan’s son, Mukbu, came across to fetch me, + climbing onto the shikara was quite a frightening experience. It was a funny evening all round. I wanted to tell of my experience, but had to wait until Mukbu disappeared, + even then I was diffident, not knowing Paul well enough. I told it in the end, + was quite amazed that no-one had already guessed that I was ripped. My story rec’d the right amount of amusement, however.
Really quite the adventure, though very largely of my own making. And all’s well… as they say.
