Why, for example, had she told them she needed money for an adventure into the world of commerce, something new, something they had never before heard from her either in person or in her infrequent letters, and then idly reported that she’d read Lord of the Rings and was reading Siddhartha, before continuing with the details of how they could get the money to her? Why, all of a sudden, was she so intent on paying for her own “school, housing, etc.”? And could she be trusted with “$450 to $500” ostensibly needed to purchase the merchandise and then to come home? Or would she use that money (as she had used the money she’d received for the Venice — New York ticket) for travel further into the unknown? Would her next letter come from Outer Mongolia? Siberia? The moon?
They had no way of knowing that Lissie had been stoned out of her mind on the day she wrote her letter from Calangute.
It’s like Woodstock all over again, Lissie thought. No, it’s better than Woodstock. Woodstock was vague at first, indecisive, kids not realizing there’d be no busts, sneaking their joints, cupping their hands around roaches, eyes cocked for troopers. No troopers here. Everything cool here. Even opium is legal here. It’s Woodstock in Europe, Portuguese influence, churches, Catholics, it’s Europe in Asia, Woodstock in Europe. What were their names? she wondered. The twins who took us to Elysium, Robby’s friends, the Dutch girls, come on, what were their names? Elisabeth and Ida, yes, Verschoor, yes, Robby’s friends, where was Robby now, and whatever has happened to Barbara Duggan, so long ago my goodness.
Voices drifted everywhere around her, shards of sunlight splintered on the water, naked bodies, laughter, she drifted, she splintered like sunlight, she giggled and heard her own giggle. Woodstock playing in Amsterdam. Ida said it, yes, the prettier of the two girls, Ida, but Woodstock my ass some Woodstock, what a place that was, girl sitting in her own shit, some Woodstock all right, Jesus! Never in my life poke a needle in my body, never, voices drifting someone splashing out of the water cock dangling swaying cute like a pendulum running up the beach to where the palm trees fringed Paul lying beside her. Woodstock playing in Asia, more like the tropics though, islands Mom and Dad used to take me to when I was small, silver sunshine hot summer sun whitewashed buildings, ocean sparkling hot summer sun higher than a fucking kite listen to Paul listen to the dope, she giggled.
“... split for Katmandu the minute I get the money,” always talking about what he was going to do when the bread got here, Daddy’s hard-earned loot. Daddy, you are on the wrong train, she thought, here is where you should be, Daddy, taking pictures of marvelous hippie bodies naked unashamed in the sun Portuguese Catholics frowning under parasols trouble in Paradise too much skin for the locals brown like the natives brown all over tiny tits all brown Paul’s cock brown everything brown in the sun like the good brown hash we smoke smoke smoke, she giggled again.
“... then bring the hash back over the border, shouldn’t be any trouble doing that, do you think?” talking to a boy with a heavy black beard and a minuscule cock. She checked out the cock, heard more laughter up the beach, glanced away into the splintering silvery sun, girl with melon breasts approaching, Lissie shaded her eyes, suck his sweet cock here on the beach, raise some Portuguese eyebrows, always makes me horny this fucking hash too fucking good this fucking hash makes me want to do things suck his crazy tiny cock the stranger’s black beard, “and then to Turkey for the hard shit.”
The hard shit Paul was talking about had to be heroin or opium or morphine or something you shot in your arm, never poke a needle in my body, she thought. The hard shit had to be something Paul was going to buy in Turkey when he came back from Nepal with the hash he would sell, “profit on the hash has got to be something like five, six hundred bucks, don’t you think?” he was saying, his voice drifting like the clouds overhead blue-bellied the sun blinking out for a moment. “Take that plus the original five to Turkey and spend it on the hard shit. I can get it raw for twenty-five a kee, that means I can buy me forty kees. Then all I’ll need is a connection to get the shit to Marseilles,” talk talk talk, shit shit shit, the cloud drifted like the talk, the sun blinked on again, pop! She giggled. She was so happy she was so high she was so fucking loose and free and high and happy she would never go home. All she wanted was the five hundred from Daddy, all she wanted to do was spend the rest of her life here on the profit Paul would make on the hash he bought in Katmandu — but he’d just said, hadn’t he just said he wanted to go to Turkey for the hard shit tough shit it’s my money, she thought, it’s my daddy’s money he’s sending here to his darling little girl so high so happy so fuck you.
