Cleo Odzer - Goa Freaks - My Hippie Years in India

"Hoo, boy—look at Mental snort that line."

"Where is Mental, anyway?" I asked, noticing his absence for the first time.

"Last time I saw him he was hiding under the bed."

"Under the bed? Uh-oh." I remembered his tendency to create havoc. "I'd better go check on him."

I entered the bedroom to see a huge lump in the centre of the room. In Coke Amuck paranoia Mental had crawled under the bed—but not just under the mattress; he'd burrowed under the carpet too. What terror had made him slink underground, turning tables upside down? The mountain, trailing pink and purple satin sheets, trembled. On the summit, velvet cushions wavered.

"Mental? Mental, is that you? What are you doing?"

I could barely hear the muffled voice under sheets, pillows, mattress, and carpet. "I'm alright. Tee hee, don't worry about me. Tee hee, tee hee."

Remembering what happened the last time he freaked out at house, I didn't trust him. I petitioned Alehandro for help.

"Ola, Mental. Que pasa?"

We strained to interpret the answer: "mmfdm nmmd, tee hee . . . mmdt tee hee, tee hee . . . dmsmsm alright."

Alehandro planted himself in a rocking chair and told me not to worry, he'd watch Mental and make sure he didn't destroy anything. I shrugged my shoulders and returned to the party, leaving the rocking Spaniard with the lump.

When everyone left, I surveyed the mess the maid would have to face. The refreshments had come from her family's chai shop and would be added to my bill. Would they let me wait till next season to pay it? I wouldn't ask, though, until alter she had cleaned up.

"Where is my brass tobacco holder?" I asked Jacques. "The one with the skulls. It was right here. Do you see it somewhere?"

"That's where Eve and Neal were sitting," answered Jacques. "SHIT! Eve stole my bowl. I loved that bowl. Petra gave it to me."

By February the last of my cash had dwindled to nothing. I bought dope only when absolutely necessary, usually managing to scrounge from friends. As I apportioned the scrounging, I spent less time with Jacques. I didn't want him thinking I liked him only for his drugs, and socializing for a tum-on elsewhere took time.

Neal, usually my best source, was in worse shape than I. Nothing had worked for him, and he survived on the return of favours. By now, though, most debts had been repaid, and some people were even dodging him. Having a keep to at his side did not help his waning popularity. Pretty soon his landlord wanted to get rid of them, saying he had relatives who needed the room.

"Keo! Keo!" Neal's baby shouted in delight as I entered their home. The baby loved me. I didn't know why—I certainly wasn't a baby person. My appearance brought shouts of glee and a chorus of Keo! Keo! When I left, the baby cried.

"Hello, Ha," I said, patting her on the head.

"Yes, Keo's here," whispered Eve, none too happily.

When Neal told me of his housing plight, I invited him to stay with me. "I'll sleep on the waterbed in the front room and let you have the upstairs," I offered.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I know you don't like people around all the time."

What could I do? Neal was my closest friend. I also felt guilty about a package I'd sent for him. He'd asked me to mail an envelope with dope to the States. I took it to the Panjim post office (again stopping to say hello to Inspector Navelcar). Not till my taxi was halfway back to Mapusa did I realize I'd forgotten to ask for a receipt. When they didn't have to give a receipt, Indian postal workers pocketed postage and threw away packages. I remembered this fact of Indian life but felt too lazy to go back and hassle with them. Maybe they'd send it anyway.

They didn't. The package never reached its destination. I hadn't told Neal about forgetting the receipt. After the reports about my ripping off Mental and Giuliano, I feared Neal would think I had never sent the envelope and had kept the dope for myself. By inviting Neal and his crew to five in my home, I hoped to make up for ruining his scam. Besides, I couldn't leave a friend in distress to battle the elements on his own. I wasn't looking forward to having Eve underfoot, though. There went my belongings. Even less appealing was the thought of a baby in the house. Ugh! I hated kids.

I divided the house in two, giving Neal, Eve, and Ha the second floor, which could be entered from outside. Ideally, with the door shut at the top of the stairs, it would make two separate apartments.

Not to be. The connecting doors remained opened, and first thing every morning, the baby woke up and descended the stairs with the sole purpose of irritating me. The bracelet of bells Ha wore on one ankle aggravated the situation. In the midst of a peaceful sleep I'd hear TLING! step TLING! step TLING! step as the horrid creature came down the stairs. Half asleep and fuming, I'd think, "Don't come in here, you. Don't you dare bother me." But the little beast considered me her Aunt Keo and thought I was just wonderful.

TLING! step TLING! step. The sound would grow louder, and I could tell when Ha was in the living room. TLING! step. Oh, Fuck! Don't come near me. A pause. I'd hold myself still so she wouldn't hear a rustle and remember me. Maybe she'd go away. TLING! step. Oh, no. I'd hold my breath as she peeped in the doorway near where I had been sleeping. My eyes would he shut tight. A pause. And then, "KEO!" would be shouted deafeningly in my ear, followed by annoying, childish laughter.

I really hated kids.

Fortunately Neal had a jar of liquid Opium that almost made their presence worthwhile. The amount I consumed daily shocked him.

"What happened to this jar!" he said once. "It's half empty. You're not eating that much Opium by yourself, are you? It's not possible for one person to consume that much. You do more than both Eve and I together. I'm quitting soon. Maybe next month."

I was changing physically. I perceived a shift in my energy level. I wanted only to sit around. I didn't want to sunbathe on the beach. I didn't want to tour the flea market. I didn't want to chat with the crowd at Joe Banana's. I didn't want to answer the door and receive visitors. I didn't want to do much of anything. I wanted to stay in one place with a good book. True, I could no longer afford the stimulation of coke, but I didn't think that lack of coke was the only reason for my sluggishness. Maybe the smack caused it? My low energy level seemed characteristic of many Anjuna Beach residents.

Fewer and fewer Anjuna people made appearances at beach parties. Or they came and left fast, preferring the private parties where one's stash didn't have to be shared with so many others.

"Where is everybody?" I asked Sasha one night on the beach as I climbed on stage and found a bunch of strangers.

"Well, there's the usual crowd smoking bhongs at Alehandro's," he answered. "The Italians are smoking bhongs at Gigi and Marco's, and the French at Bernard and Sima's. Who are you looking for?"

"I don't know. Anybody. Familiar faces." I watched the gyrations of the unknown horde. "Who are these people, anyway?"

"Newcomers living on other beaches. I don't know them either," said Sasha. "I guess I haven't been out much lately."

I looked at the people clustered around candles and said, "I remember when I knew everyone here." A spinning stranger brushed my forehead with fringes. I could no longer dance for hours the way I used to. Neither could Norwegian Monica, I noticed. In the past Monica had been a conspicuous figure, dancing wildly till dawn at every party.