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always get that."
    "Me, too," Freddy said.
    "You'll like the Circe Salad. Daddy gets mad, but he always gets over it. I think we could go back now, and he wouldn't say a word. But we've done so well down here, we're going to stay a long time. We're saving our money, and when we've got enough saved Marty wants to go back to Okeechobee and get us a Burger King franchise. He'll be the day manager, and I'll manage nights. We'll build a house on the lake, get us a speedboat, and everything."
    "Marty has it all figured out."
    Susan nodded. "That's why I'm going to Miami-Dade. When I finish English and social science, I'm going to take business and management courses."
    "What about your mother? What does she think about you two leaving?"
    "I don't know where she is, and neither does daddy. She was working the counter at the truck stop, and then one night, when I was only five, she ran off with a truck driver. Daddy traced her as far as New Orleans, paying a private detective, and then the trail got cold.
    "But Marty and me are doing real good here. He's got a job collecting money for the Hare Krishnas, and he gives at least a hundred dollars of it every day to me to put in the bank. It's a hard life for Marty, compared to mine, because he's restricted to the camp at night, and he has to get up at four A.M. every morning to pray. But he doesn't mind working seven days a week at the airport, not when he makes a hundred dollars a day for us to save."
    "I think I saw one out at the airport today. I don't understand this Hare Krishna business. What are they, anyway? It doesn't sound American."
    "They are now. It's some kind of religious cult from India, a professional beggars' group, and now they're all over the United States. They must be in California, too."
    "Maybe so. I never heard of them before, that's all."
    "Well, Marty saw the advantages right away, because it's a way to beg legally."
    Susan leaned forward and lowered her voice.
    "What he does, you see, is put a dollar in one pocket for the Krishnas, and a dollar in another pocket for us. The Knshnas, being a religious organization, can beg at the airport, whereas if you were to go out there and beg, they'd put you in jail."
    "In other words, your brother's stealing the Krishnas blind."
    "I guess you can put it that way. He said they'd kick him out if they ever found out. But they aren't going to catch on. I meet Marty every night by the mailbox outside the Airport Hotel, which is right inside the airport. While I pretend to mail a letter, he slips the money into my purse. He's got a partner who's supposed to be watching him, but Marty can always get away for a minute to go to the men's room. What I can't understand is why those passengers out there hand him fives and tens, and sometimes a twenty, just because he asks for it. He says they're afraid not to, that they're all guilty about something they've done bad. But he sure collects a lot of money on a twelve-hour shift out there."
    The waitress brought their Circe Salads: large chunks of romaine lettuce, orange slices, bean and wheat sprouts, shredded coconut, a blob of vanilla yogurt, and a topping of grated sugar-cane sawdust soaked in ginseng. The salad was served in a porcelain bowl in the shape of a giant clam shell.
    "I've never eaten in a health food restaurant before."
    "Me neither, till I came to Miami. You don't have to eat it if you don't like it."
    "I don't like the ginseng root. Do they put it in everything here?"
    "Just about. It's supposed to make you feel sexy, so they use ginseng because they don't serve meat here. That's the reason, I think."
    "I'd rather have meat. This would be all right without the ginseng taste. How'd you do this afternoon?"
    "Fifty dollars. One Colombian, and an old man from Dayton, Ohio. Counting all those clothes you gave me, it was a good day for me. Besides, I got to meet you. You're the nicest man I've ever met."
    "I think you're nice, too."
    "Your hands are just beautiful."
    "Nobody