‘What’s she meant to be studying?’
‘French and Spanish at Bristol.’
‘How’s she going to do that when she can’t even speak?’
‘It’ll take a while, but she’ll be fine. When you’ve been living with lepers, this kind of thing seems like nothing. I mean, you’ve got to put things in a proper perspective.
She’s still got more than any Indian could possibly wish for.’
‘That’s rubbish.’
‘You haven’t seen the underbelly. You don’t understand what a huge privilege it is just to be Western. Financially, I mean. Spiritually, of course, we’re utterly impoverished. That’s why we’re prone to this kind of breakdown.’
‘But… she’s… how long has she been like this?’
‘Oh, a few weeks.’
‘And all because Liz shagged Ping.’
‘That was just the final straw, but basically, yes.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I mean it’s stupid really, because Ping slept with everybody.’
‘What?’
‘It was part of the tuition, I suppose. If he thought you were getting somewhere, he’d help you go Tantric’
‘What – even you?’
‘No – I deliberately didn’t let him find my centre, because I wanted Caz to have a chance to get there first. She’d had her thing for so long that I kind of hoped if I acted coldly towards Ping, he’d get the message and concentrate on Caz.’
‘And did he?’
‘No. That’s the tragedy. He concentrated on Liz. By the looks of things he found her centre quicker than he found Caz’s knee.’
‘Centre? Is that – like – your…?’
‘No. Don’t be disgusting. Don’t you know what Intimate Yoga is?’
‘Of course I don’t.’
‘It’s a way of finding the central point of the bodies’ energies through the laying on of hands of a qualified Intimate Yogi.’
‘Laying on of hands?’
‘Exactly. He teaches the whole group the basic position, then, while you’re meditating, he comes up to you one by one and manipulates you into position. When you’ve found a perfect balance and are at peace, he lays his hands on, and together you locate your centre.’
‘Where was yours?’
‘I never found it exactly, but it was somewhere here.’
She crossed her legs and sat bolt upright, then placed the fingers of her right hand a fraction above where the pubes would have started.
‘Wow! Is that where everyone’s centre is?’
‘It depends. It’s different for each person.’
‘Don’t tell me. Fat old people have it on their shoulder, and young nubile women tend to have it bang on their clit.’
‘You are such a cynic. I don’t know how you can live with yourself.’
‘This guy’s a genius. Where was Caz’s centre?’
‘You can’t ask that. It’s a very personal question. If you know where someone’s centre is, you know an awful lot about them.’
‘Go on. I won’t tell anyone. Where was it?’
‘Look – she never found it exactly.’
‘Roughly. Where was he looking?’
‘Well – she only vaguely located it, but they did manage to pin it down to somewhere here, in the crook of the elbow.’
‘See?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Nothing. Just that he didn’t fancy her. Let’s face it – who wants to get in bed with a skeleton.’
‘She’s not deaf, you know. You’re being very hurtful.’
‘This Intimate Yoga guy is a genius. It’s like – people pay him, and all he has to do is grope them, and they go away happy.’
‘He a genius, as it happens, and he wouldn’t even understand the concept of groping. His mind is on higher things.’
‘Yeah, sure. I’m going to have to learn how to do this.’
‘He’s a highly qualified man. You have to study at the International Headquarters of Intimate Yoga for at least five years before you get a teacher’s certificate.’
‘International Headquarters?’
‘In San Francisco.’
‘This isn’t just one guy groping women in a shed in the arse-end of India?’
‘It’s an international movement.’
‘That’s incredible! So all over the world, at this precise moment, there are hundreds of women being Intimately Yogaed.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘What an amazing thought.’
Ranj then reappeared, and pulled me aside to tell me that he’d just met the East Sweden Women’s Handball Team, who were taking a break from their tour of South Asia, and that he’d arranged to meet up with them on the beach for a midnight Punjabi lesson.
‘How many people are there in a handball team?’ I said.
‘I dunno, but there’s seven of them. That might include reserves.’
‘You’re incredible. Fee – do you want to meet up later for a midnight Punjabi lesson? This is my friend Ranj. He’s the tutor.’
Fee’s face brightened up at the sight of an Indian. She gave me an impressed smile for managing to befriend a local.
‘So… you’re… David’s… friend?’ enunciated Fee, in the style of a 1950s presenter.
‘Fuck, yeah. He’s a stormin’ geezer,’ said Ranj.
‘Oh, right,’ said Fee, blushing.
The weird thing about our midnight Punjabi party was that I ignored the how-to-identify-different-parts-of-Swedish-anatomy session, which took place amid much squealing, and ended up spending the entire time talking to Fee.
Now I know I hated her guts from the first instant I laid eyes on her, and I know she’s a fake and a snob and a basket-case, but I have to admit that in the circumstances, I started finding her attractive. I think it might have had something to do with Caz’s breakdown. Fee’s over-the-top public-schooliness now had the edge taken off it, and she had picked up a sad, slightly subdued quality that was quite a turn-on. There’s something about unhappy women that always gives me the horn.
Fee seemed to have given up on most of the spiritual crap, and the two of us could just sit and chat about everyday things, only mildly put off by Caz’s presence. She said that she was only wearing the sari because the ashram had made her give away all her old clothes, and she hadn’t got around to buying any new ones yet.
After we’d been talking for an hour or so, while we heard Ranj linger over an utterly implausible number of Punjabi words for ‘nipple’, a flirty edge started entering our conversation. The sound of the lapping ocean, the moon shadows from leaning palm trees, the distant music drifting down the beach and the nipple-talk all combined to produce an atmosphere heavy with the urgent need for copulation.
‘How long were you and Liz going out together?’ asked Fee, slightly coyly.
‘A while.’
‘Was it… good?’
‘What – sexually?’ I said, with a slight pout.
She shrugged.
I did a few instant calculations, deciding that a ‘no’ might make me sound like a bad lover, but a ‘yes’ would sound like a brush-off. The truth would give me away as the world’s most spectacular loser.
‘It was OK, but I’ve had better,’ I said, impressed with my powers of diplomacy.
‘What was… wrong with it?’
‘Oh, you know Liz. She’s very pushy. Not…’ I put my hand on Fee’s leg ‘… exactly what you’d call a sensitive person. And that came out in her love-making.’
‘I hate her,’ said Fee. ‘I hate her more than anyone else in the world.’
‘I’m not too keen on her myself.’
‘I wish I could… could…’
‘Duff her up?’
‘Yes. Duff her up.’ This sounded stupid in Fee’s accent, and made us both smile.
‘You know what would really piss her off ?’ I said.