In which Conningsfield discovers that "Honorable Exile" can be a reality.

On the 11th of April, 196-, at about eleven o’clock of a dark, clouded evening, Conningsfield left the capital of the little Kingdom of G-- (a small country in northern Europe), the scene of so many of his adventures, of so many heroic deeds, so much happiness and so much disaster. Never did he imagine it would take so long a time to see it again.

With him he had two big suitcases filled with clothes, official dress, plastic flowers (white), also more sporty clothes (which in his case was not so sporty), ten butterfly ties, several white gloves which proved to have the intended effect on the natives in the poor, underdeveloped countries he was going to visit (and plunder, though he called it "contribution to the benefit of the country"). Besides this he had only 85 dollars and 62 pounds with him, and a ticket to Ankara. Not much, but he had also some contraband: three cameras and coloured films bought on installment basis (he had paid only the first installment so was sure to get profit), also a tape recorder. A bag and the inevitable umbrella, later to be supplemented. by a field-marshal's baton, completed the expeditionary equipment. Added to this was a good amount of courage and optimism.

"Ca ira," he said to himself. "Nothing to lose, everything to gain." Fate pointed onwards. Unfortunately our hero, our Phineas Fogg, could not have his usual travel library of 250 books with him. He had only thirty. And not to forget in his jacket pocket his gold pocket watch with the long gold chain which always had a magical effect on naive peoples, they being quite hypnotized by following its movements swinging in the wind.

A brief description (physical) of our hero. He is thirty-three years old, of medium height and less than medium weight, wears a small, carefully-trimmed chin beard (very few hairs on the cheeks, but he is quite normal and not lacking in hormones). His head hair is often rather long, for it grows quickly in hot climates, yet is always within the allowable limit for someone who must have to do with official functions, particularly funerals, and, parfois, illegal activities of a relatively (as yet) inconsequential nature. There is nothing, aside from his correct and rather military bearing, to distinguish him from any other man (except that his legs are slightly bowed, only this cannot be seen when he is dressed). He can rather be said to have an appearance of his own than a handsome one, though he is not ugly.

"Dr. Conningsfield," said the other American lady (very squint-eyed), crossing her heavy legs and taking her filthy bare foot in her hands, "I've been meaning to ask you something." She grinned at my face.

"Yes?"

"I've forgotten what it was. Huh, huh." She laughed slowly, scratching the bloody mosquito bites on her leg.

The reason of course is necessity. Only persons of great wealth and no responsibilities can live anywhere. Conningsfield, who possesses exactly 386 rupees, "owes" nearly half of that for the ten days he has lived in the guesthouse. For these ten days he will give them a postdated cheque which proves at least his desire to pay, and who can tell, perhaps when the cheque comes due there will actually be funds in the bank. All this taken into consideration, he might as well stay on a little longer.

This guesthouse is one of several formerly private homes which the ashram has bought for its visitors. In winter come many. Aside from Deborah, Tom, myself and the two American ladies (each of us occupying double rooms), an Indian couple is staying for one month. They are serious people, saying little and eating rice and curry at the far end of the dining table. A Swiss couple arrived yesterday to sit at the table with us like two stones. I am not at all believing in makeup, but I think the wife's very tan-brown and disapproving face would be brightened by some red on her lips.

But she is disapproving of what? To know this you must watch Deborah and Tom.

Word came just before supper that the Mother is ill and has cancelled all visits indefinitely. Deborah has been waiting already one week to see her, now does not know whether she ought to stay longer or go. Also complicating her decision is the arrival tomorrow of other guests. She will once again have to give up her room.

"You can have mine," said Tom. "I'll sleep on the roof. You've got to stay and meet Mother."

"You can't sleep up there. The mosquitoes will eat you alive."

"Let me worry about that."

"What if it rains?"

"I'll borrow Flaminio's umbrella. Besides, Christmas is coming. You can't spend Christmas all by yourself."

But Deborah had only planned on staying in Villefranche for five days, now already has been here a week.

"Nothing happens by chance, Chickie," Tom tells her. "Mother's power works in strange ways."

Then Deborah, looking very disappointed not to see the Mother, told us she had already organized some flowers.

We went to his room. Tom's is the only room with windows, the others having only Texas saloon swinging doors to let in light and oxygen. His room is a separate house in the back garden, formerly used for keeping boxes. Two months ago, coming to the guesthouse, Tom saw the room and at his own expense had it restored to living purposes.

"Don't look at the cigarette ashes. I'll have the place swept out tomorrow morning."

Deborah made a wicked face. "You know what will happen if I move in here."

"I know what's not going to happen," said Tom very sternly. "Look, Chickie, the I Ching warned me about you. It told me someone was coming who would try and blow my yoga."

"You'd rather be eaten alive by mosquitoes?"

"If I must make a choice. Remember, this is an ashram guesthouse personally blessed by Mother."

"If she's as enlightened as you say, she'd bless us too."

"She probably would," agreed Tom. "Only my yoga comes first. Ask me again in twenty years."

I myself could offer her little or no relief. Only twice in my life have I had what could be called "complete sexual fulfillment," and that was with Erde. Erde has since married some ignorant bank clerk and ruined her chances of ever becoming the wife of a Soldier of the Fortune, more is the pity for her.

There is no liquor prohibition in Villefranche and so Tom gave us some Indian whisky. He lit a cigarette and dropped the match on the floor. "I'll have it swept up tomorrow before you move in. And I move out."

"I think I'll leave Villefranche tomorrow," said Deborah. She was drinking her whisky and looking at him with desire. "After all, I'm not worse for your yoga than smoking and drinking."

Tom brought a small photograph of the Mother in a silver frame from his bedside and put it in the window, facing Deborah. "This'll exorcise you, witch."

This sort of conversation has been going on for days already, often in the presence of the ubiquitous Conningsfield. Thus far a complete stalemate between them. The Mother has much power over Tom, but he is very lonely for the company of an American girl.

Then Deborah must absolutely know if she is repulsive to him.

"Christ no!"

"Then what the heck's the matter?"

"What the heck's the matter?" He jumped down on his knees. "What the heck's the matter?" He seized her head in both hands and was kissing her face all over. "Nothing's the matter, except you're barking up the wrong tree."