Baby You're a Rich Man

Twelve

            George really needed to stop listening to Pattie’s ideas. He had to admit, the lake looked inviting, especially on such a hot day, but it would be a hassle to bring everyone to the lakeside, considering the egos and pickiness of the people involved.

            “I sense that a cleansing bath in the holy waters of Bairaj Lake will free our inner selves,” George said, after having gathered everybody outside of the hotel. “But if your positive energy feels it will find its way somewhere else, I encourage you to wander around the city, letting you soul guide you.”

            Ringo didn’t much like swimming. Neither did John. But what made them hastily and wholeheartedly agree was the heat, which seemed nonexistent when compared with the sweltering furnace that was the bus, but as they had gotten used to the temperature they had gotten to sweating again.

            After George’s announcement, one person called out anxiously: “But I don’t have a swimming suit!”

            George smiled indulgently, still getting used to the whims of the rich and famous.

            “Do not fear. There is a market where you may buy a swimsuit,” George said. He turned and everyone followed him, and soon George found himself herding forty-odd people across the streets of Rishikesh.

*   *   *

            “How about this one?”

            “Erm, it’s lovely Mo, but isn’t it a bit, well, colorful?” Ringo asked, eyeing the swim trunks she was showing him with an air of deep fear and disgust.

            “The flowers would look lovely on you,” Mo gushed.

            “They’re a bit…yellow. And the background is a tad too blue,” Ringo said. “I’d look something like the bus.”

            Mo giggled and Ringo took this moment of distraction as a chance to point out another pair of trunks, this time a darker blue with slight red stripes.

            Paul had already chosen out a pair of plain pale blue trunks and was waiting for the others, leaning against a sun-bleached wall. He lit a cigarette and brought it to his lips, his eyes squinting in the sun, and his brushed-down hair slightly ruffled.

            John had gotten something too, he hadn’t really looked, a swimsuit was purely functional for him, and every second the others dawdled (red stripes or blue stripes?) was a moment stolen from him cooling off in the lake.

            He walked over to where Paul was, trying to press himself further against the wall to have the small band of shade cover him more. John took his steps languorously, trying to kill time and make the moment when they could finally leave this overcrowded market.

            John stopped when he had reached Paul, and leaned against the wall, imitating him. He took out a smoke, and Paul wordlessly offered him a light. John found that he was slightly disappointed when the lighter switched hands without any physical contact between them.

            John busied himself with his lighter, embarrassed at his thoughts, and stuck the ciggie between his lips. George trailed past them, hunched over and obviously also annoyed. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it and walked past them.

            Soon Ringo joined them, carrying in a small paper bag his newest acquisition, a Mo-approved bathing suit. Soon he had also taken out a pack of his favored brand of smokes, and was adding to the haze of nicotine that was forming above their heads, tainting the sweet-smelling summer air.