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There he gives himself a mighty shake, to free his striped fur of the salt water, and then he shambles off into the forest, grumbling to himself, it seems to me.
Serves the bugger right,
I say to myself, shivering in spite of the warmness of the water. There have been many in my life who have chased me for various reasons, but this is one of the few times my pursuer actually wanted to
eat
me. 'Course there were those sharks in the Atlantic when the
Bloodhound
was going down ... and that pack of gators on Key West, but still ... The idea of parts of my dear body being ripped from my frame and chewed and swallowed by some ravenous beast is not a thought that sits easy on my mind. No, it is not.
    "Ravi," I say, panting, my mind still in tatters. "Get up on my back and we shall wade up the shore till we are far away from here." He does it, and keeping out to my neck level makes it easy for me to bear his light weight as we slog our way north.
    "Must be old tiger, Memsahib," says Ravi from his perch. "Else we now be with Brahma, enjoying eternal bliss."
    I just grunt and slog on.
Eternal bliss, indeed ... I'd settle for some temporary bliss.
     
    We emerge from the water still some distance from the village. It has been agreed that Ravi will venture into the town to find out what he can about the local lingo, the lay of the land, just exactly where we are, and our prospects, if any, for making some money. Meanwhile, I will hang back and hide, for I fear my appearance would seem rather bizarre to the local populace—blond hair, half-bald, with braided pigtail, to say nothing of my light skin.
    As his white-clad bottom is scurrying off in the direction of the village, I climb a large, smooth-skinned tree, seat myself in a comfortable crotch, and settle back against the trunk to watch what is happening in the town.
    Ravi has told me that he can speak Urdu and Hindi as well as English—sort of—having been taught my mother tongue by his late mother's employer, an Englishman known to Ravi simply as Sahib Elphy. The once wealthy man had a large household of Indian servants in Bombay, but when he had fallen on hard times, Ravi was kicked out into the mean streets. I certainly can relate to that, having been booted out into the equally tough streets of London as a young child, after the deaths of my mother, father, and younger sister. It still hurts me to think back on That Dark Day, and I am sure Ravi has similar feelings about his own loss.
Ah, well...
    The fishing boats that we had spotted pulled up on this shore earlier are now all gone. I guess the fishermen are out on the briney to cast their nets and tend their lines and earn their daily bread, as it were.
    I settle in, feeling lazy in the sun, and snooze a bit, not having had much rest last night due to the presence of various striped beasts. I drift in and out ... as I dream...
    ...and I dream that I am back in London and there I am at Saint Paul's. And once again I am small and dressed in rags and there is a great sounding of bells and trumpets, and white doves fly about as a grand wedding procession comes pouring out of the great cathedral. And there's Jaimy—oh Jaimy, yes!—at the head of it. And there's flowers all around and on his arm is his new bride and she is blond and I see her face and it glows with happiness ... But ... but she is not me ... It is Clementine Jukes's face that I see, and I start to cry and tears run down my face and Rooster Charlie is suddenly at my side. He puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Let him go, Mary, you've got to let him go ... because you know you are dead now ... to him you are dead and gone. Me and you now, Mary, just me and you here in the shadow land, me and you..." Then Clementine's face turns toward me and she smiles as she says, "I've got my darlin boy now just like God sent him to me, and you cain't take him back, Jacky, no you cain't." And then her face turns away and when she looks at me again, her face is now that of