by Cleo Odzer
"What happened?" he asked anxiously.
"I fell off."
"No." Almost laughed. "How did you do that?"
"I don't know. I woke up on the floor."
"Why are you tilting your head?"
"It hurts and makes me dizzy if I hold it straight."
His concern grew when he saw my chin. "You should go to the hospital and let a doctor look at you."
"I don't want to go to the hospital."
The pair increased as I tried to sit up. Serge's face filled with worry. "I think you should go."
"I’M NOT GOING."
"Yes, you are, Miss Cleo. I'm leaving right now to find a taxi."
"NO!"
But he rushed out and sped away on his motorbike.
"I'm not going anywhere," I told Neal.
Half an hour later Serge returned. "I brought you a taxi. The road's washed out, so it's on the other side of the paddy field. Let's go. I'll take you across on my bike."
"Absolutely not."
"You're going whether you like it or not."
"I'm not getting on that bike."
He kneeled in front of me. "Look at you with your cockeyed head. You may have really hurt yourself." He kissed my hair. "I'm worried about you. I'd never forgive myself if you were seriously hurt. Please."
"No."
He smiled at me. "Well, if you won't go on your own I'll have to carry you." Amid my screams, he picked me up.
"LET ME DOWN. I DON’T WANT STITCHES!"
He carried me out of the house yelling at the top of my voice. It was pouring outside. The Goans across the way came to their window to investigate. Nothing the crazy foreigners did surprised them anymore, but we were good entertainment. Hanging over Serge's back, I pounded him with my fists.
"LET ME GO. LET ME GO."
He carried me across the paddy field and dumped me in the back seat of the taxi. Neal climbed in too, and we were off to Mapusa and the Catholic hospital.
Barefoot, hair in a rat's nest, and wearing a sopping pink-and-bite checked skirt pulled over my chest, I was placed, still kicking, on the emergency table. I barely let the doctors touch my chin and told them I didn't want stitches. They didn't argue about that, but seeing my emaciated form, they suggested I be admitted. They weighed me.
I weighed seventy-eight pounds—thirty pounds less than when I modelled.
Neal wasn't much heavier, and he was given the bed next to mine in the double room. Nurses immediately hooked us up to a glucose I.V.
Serge slept in my bed. That first night we were visited by every nurse in the hospital. We were a great attraction.
"Welcome," Neal would declare in the tone of a gracious host as yet another nurse popped her head in the doorway. "Do come in and sit down."
None of them accepted his often [?]
Neal had his smack stash with him, but the coke remained at the house. Serge was to bring it the next day.
We waited impatiently for his return and pounced on him as he entered the room.
"It's about time!"
"Where've you been? It took you long enough. Did you bring the coke?"
"Of course. But I only brought one gram. I'm going to ration you."
"One gram! For both of us! What?"
"You can't do that! That's sick!"
"Look how skinny you both are. You have to eat to regain your strength." Neal and I protested vehemently. "It's only until you leave here," Serge insisted. "Then you can do as much as you want. You must eat."
One gram a day between the two of us didn't last long at all.
"Oo, oo!" I exclaimed, struck with an idea. "Do you think we could put coke in the I.V. bottle? Then it would go directly into my bloodstream." The notion intrigued them.
We waited until the bottle was almost empty. Then I stopped the flow in the tube while Serge turned the bottle upside down and Neal mixed some in with the glucose. When I started the flow again, there was an air bubble in the tube.
"Oh, no. A bubble! Will this kill me if it goes in my vein?"
"Don't worry. It's too small."
The coke affected me immediately. A golden rush.
"Feel anything?"
"Oh, wow!"
We had to call the nurse when the bottle was finished.
"How did these air bubbles get in here?" she asked as she changed bottles.
We shrugged our shoulders innocently.
They continued to give Neal and me glucose for three days and tried to persuade us to eat as much as possible. The doctors prescribed vitamin injections: one day calcium, one day vitamin B complex.
In the morning, Serge would drive away to fetch our daily gram. W'd be anxious to get him going so he could hurry back with the goodies. The hours circled on forever as we waited restless and grumpy for his return. We then sniffed up the one gram fast. By evening it would be gone.
But we did have great afternoons and even enjoyed the group of Goans who came to pray, standing at the foot of our beds and aiming their song in our direction. They ignored our laughter, our rolling eyes, our hand signals, and the way I buried my head in the covers when my giggles grew out of control.
After discharge from the hospital, we returned to the house in Anjuna Beach and resumed our old routine, with one difference—daily vitamin injection 3, one day calcium, one day vitamin B complex. Serge played doctor. We'd bought intramuscular needles in Mapusa, and he provided Neal and me with our cushy shots. If Serge was out when I remembered the injection, Neal gave me mine and I gave him his. It was fun.
Then Serge ran out of coke. He'd sold us most of what he had and was now left with none.
"Neal, could you sell me back half an ounce?" he asked.
"Remember my promise?" said Neal. "You told me not to let you do anymore coke once you ran out. You made me promise."
One time, months before, Serge had made me promise not to allow him do more than three fixes of coke. I'd agreed, and alter his third shot I took away his syringe and hid it. What a drama! For two hours he did not stop begging, whining, grovelling, and pleading for me to return his works so he could do another hit. He drove me out of my mind, following me around with clasped hands, "One more, please, one more." Good grief, what a nuisance! After that I refused to be responsible for his drug dosages. Now it was Neal's turn.
"Please. Sell me back a quarter ounce?" Serge said to Neal. "No."
"Okay, then one gram. One gram!"
"No."
"I'm out. You can't leave me like this."
"No."
"Pleeeeease. Then just let me have a few hits. I'll go out later and buy my own from somewhere."
"No."
It went on and on. Neal would say no and move away. Serge would follow begging, and whining.
"One hit, just one. You can let me do one hit. Please?"
He looked so sad. He seemed on the verge of tears.
"No."
I couldn't bear to see him suffer, so I made a secret sign for him to meet me in the bathroom. I went first, and he joined me a second later. He looked despondent.
"I have a bit left," I told him. "You can have some of my coke. Take your works upstairs. I meet you there in a few minutes."
Neal's calling broke up our meeting, and we returned to the living room.
"What were you two planning in there?" Neal asked.
Serge collected his gear and climbed the stairs. Neal would ask such a question. What was he—the Gestapo? As he was sprawled across cushions, looking up at me through sheep-dog bangs, I blatantly followed Serge.
"Hey, where's everyone going?" Neal asked. "Can I come?"
Furiously I dashed up the last step and tried to slam shut the double doors. The carpenter had done a miserable job on those doors, though, and they didn't fit together properly. They wouldn't close. I kicked at them. Twice they bounced back at me, but finally the edges connected and I quickly fastened the metal bolt.
I joined Serge in the bedroom. He'd brought up one of the lamps, and it caused grotesque shadows to
wave across the saris hanging from the ceiling. The room was bare except for the mattress in the middle of the floor. I sat next to him and took out my stash.
He'd just found his vein with the needle when the explosion came. Terrified, we looked at one another.
"What was that?" he mumbled through the tie in his mouth.
I felt pricks on my body and looked down to see spots of blood on my arms and legs. Serge hurried to disgorge the contents of the syringe. Then I noticed the glass stream over the mattress. At the next explosion, we saw the rock. Serge saw it fly past my head.
"Neal's throwing rocks through the window!"
As I turned to see the broken holes, I shivered with fear. Serge and I scrambled against the wall, frozen in uncertainty.
"He's lost his mind!"
"My windows! Eve got to stop him."
"Should we go down?"
As another rock sailed in, Neal's voice shouted up to us, "Hey, what are you guys doing up there?"
That, at least, made him seem approachable, and I dared to yell down, "Are you insane? You're destroying my house. Stop."
"Then come down."
Concern for the house overcame my fear of the lunatic outside. I went downstairs and sat in the living room. Serge followed.
"You broke my windows!"
"Well, I felt lonely down here by myself."
"How will I fix them? What am I going to tell Lino?"
"What were you two doing up there?"
"Nothing."
"Why couldn't I come?"
Serge took no part in the discussion and shortly fell asleep. That's what always happened when he took a break from fixing coke—he fell right to sleep, anywhere, anytime.
"You should have let me come with you," Neal continued. I glanced over at Serge's sleeping form. How could he desert me at a time like this? "Or even if you locked the door, I wouldn't have come up if you didn't want me to."
"Oh, sure." I answered sarcastically. My heart still pounded from the sound of it and I didn't seem able to slow it down.
The argument went on and on. Apolon's roosters began their morning ka-rock-a-doo, and Neal carried on still, and I still hadn't been able to calm down. Neal sat too dose to me. He leaned even closer and questioned me. I was furious at Serge. Look at him sleeping so peacefully.
"Stop already. Enough," I said, moving to the other side of the room. Neal followed. "Leave me alone. I'm tired. I want to sleep." I lay down and closed my eyes. Neal sat beside me. "Shhhhh. I'm sleeping."
He giggled. "You're not asleep yet. I keep you company till you fall out. We didn't finish our talk."
"This talk is going nowhere." Again I moved, this time to a spot under the platform. In a minute Neal was at my side with the glass block. SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK.
"Want a toot?" SQUEAK, SCRAPE, SCRAPE.
"No. I want to sleep." But of course I took the line.
I lay back down. Neal's voice went on and on, and I gave up trying to sleep. "I CAN’T STAND THIS ANYMORE! I WANT TO BE ALONE!"
I grabbed my family-sized aspirin bottle, which had been full of coke but was now almost empty, and went flying up the stairs. As I turned to slam shut the doors, I saw that Neal wasn't following me, but my apprehension didn't lessen. Frantically, I tried to connect the mismatched doors. They slammed against each other and swung open to crash against the wall. Neal giggled hollow. I kicked again, and again they bounced back and slammed against the wall. The crashing sound increased my panic. I threw my whole body against the doors. Finally they connected. I shook so much it was difficult to slide the bolt over. I ran to the bedroom to check the outside door. Like the windows that faced the sea, it was boarded up against the monsoon. A quilt of palm fronds was wired against the outside frame. If I pushed the door real hard, I could see a silver of lightening morning sky. I sat on the glass-covered mattress and snorted some of my stash. Sleep—that's what I needed. If only I could sleep. I lay on the bare mattress and tried to ignore the glass fragments biting my skin. It was hot up there. I couldn't sleep. I snorted more coke and prowled around. There was nothing up there. Nothing. I was bored. I CAN'T STAND IT! My head raced uncontrollably. When would Serge waltz up and rescue me? Too much energy. There's too much energy in my hock. My body won't he still. Pin so bored. GET ME OUT OF HERE. I want to sleep. If only I could find a few Mandrax stashed under the mattress. The only thing under the mattress was an empty Valium pack and a piece of hash. I turned the mattress upside down to see if anything was hid me beneath the carpet. An old fetter. I'm going crazy up here. I can't stay Acre. And I can go down—he's there. I've got to get out. I looked again at the weather-sealed door. Impossible to get out that way. I lay down and closed my eyes. I paced. Frantic, I slammed at the boarded door. The bottom I couldn’t budge, but the top pushed out two meters. I had to get out. I had to. I pulled over the carved statue I'd brought from Bali. Balancing on two toes, I tried to squeeze my head through the opening at the top of the door. Panic gave me strength. I stepped on the brass Krishna door handle and wiggled my upper body through the palm-frond protection. My head was out! Clutching my precious coke bottle, I managed to squeeze the rest of my bones out and climb on the roof. Wow, daylight! I wasn't accustomed to such brightness. It had stopped raining for the moment, but the clouds seemed only inches above. No time. I had to get away. I had to flee. I crawled over the roof and vaulted across to Apolon's roof. I hoped his family wouldn't investigate the noise I made. I hoped Neal couldn't hear it. The tiles slipped beneath my knees. I jumped down and ran. The wet sand sprung from my fleeting steps. Unfamiliar morning flitted past me, thick and soggy. I ran. Past the field. Past the buffalo. Past deserted porches. No one was behind me, so I stopped! The dark-green plains waved against the dark-blue sky. How beautiful. I gripped my treasure bottle dose and noticed my arm grimy grey streaks against the dirty dress. Oh, my. So filthy! Look at the stains on this dress! I ran. Past the Monkey chai shop. Past Saddhu George's. Up the steps.
BAM, BAM. I pounded on the door. BAM, BAM, BAM. "Sasha! Sasha! Let me in!" BAM, BAM, BAM. "SASHA!" I hoped my friend was still there. Weeks before. Serge had mentioned that Sasha was still in Goa, trying to leave the monsoon. "SASHA!" BAM, BAM, BAM.
"Who is it?" a sleepy voice with an Austrian accent said at last.
"Sasha? Help, Let me in."
When he opened the door, I fell past him into the unilluminated room and groped to hide somewhere. My hand took hold of a piece of material, and I pulled whatever-it-was over my head. "Oh, thank you. Quick, lock the door! I'm flipping out here."
"I can see that."
He closet' the door and swung open the wooden shutters to let in the morning light. "What time is it?"
"Early. I'm sorry I woke you. It was an emergency."
The thing thrown over my head turned out to be a shirt, and I moved aside a hanging sleeve to peer out cautiously. Keeping one eye hidden, I held the sleeve under my chin. Sasha made no comment about my camouflage—he'd probably done the same thing in his own bouts of Coke at neck. He sat beside me on the mattress and turned to his smoking paraphernalia, which lay near the bed. I waited patiently until he had had a few bhongs. A person had to get his morning dope before he could think of anything else.
"Want a bhong?" he asked eventually, placing the bamboo pipe in front of me. As he held the match to the white powder, I closed my eyes and let the soothing drug fill my lungs.
Social amenities over, I explained, "You’re saving my life. I was flipping out."
"Feel better? Here, have another bhong."
"Thanks." I did feel a mite better—safe enough to remove the shirt from my head. "I need sleep. I’d be fine if I could just sleep a little. Do you have any mandies? I have coke. I trade you some of this bottle for a few mandies."
Sasha's eyes popped when he saw the bottle. Everybody had smack Coke was a luxury. Especially this time of the year, when most of last season's money had long since been spent. He jumped up.
"I should have a f
ew somewhere." He tore through piles of junk Oil the window ledge. Papers flew to the floor. A basket of jewellery overturned. "Here's a couple of Valium and one manthe. Wait, I'll find more." He searched under the woven palm mat but found nothing. "Well, start with these at least," said Sasha "Maybe something else will turn up."
After he handed me the four pills and a glass of yesterday's coconut juice, he pounced on my bottle. He could barely restrain himself and toll me, "It's been weeks since I've had a decent hit of coke."
The few downs I swallowed were not going to do much, but at least it was a start I felt better just being away from the house. Then I remembered. "My shot! My shot! I must have my shot!" Sasha was absorbed in plunging coke through his syringe and barely heard me. "I must have my vitamins. Let me think What did I have yesterday? Was it the calcium? I can't remember. Sasha, I need my shot."
"What?"
"I have a calcium deficiency from the coke. I have to take calcium and vitamin B shots. What am I going to do? They're back at the house."
"Mmminmmmmm."
"Sasha, do you have calcium or vitamin B by any chance? I guess even calcium pills would be better than nothing. Sasha?"
"Uh, yeah. I have vitamin B3 ampoules somewhere. I'll have to look."
"Really? Great. Will you give me the shot? I must have one every day."
I waited for him to clean the syringe, and then he went searching once more through the clutter.
"Here it is," he declared, handing me an ampoule. "I don't have another needle, though. You’ll have to use this one."
"Oh, but that's an intravenous needle. That won't work in the ass, will it?"
"No. It's not long enough. I take it in the arm. It's not bad. Gives you a neat rush. Sometimes I use the vitamin B instead of water."
"Are you sure you can take it that way?"
"I do it all the time. It even says so on the label."
I checked. He was right. It said good for intravenous or intramuscular.
Still, I was uncertain. Though I'd watched people stick needles in their arms, I'd never had one in mine. But I needed the shot. Oh, well. I guess I didn't have a choice.
"Okay. Will you do it for me?"
"Sure."
He broke the neck of the ampoule with a can opener and drew the vitamin B3 into the syringe. I wrapped his tie around my arm and pumped my hand. Watching others, I knew the vein had to be fat and ready. It was actually exciting.
