255.

one-sided it couldn't work. Chandra rendered his body but the chemistry was a dud. Krishna put 'alcohol,' as he called the Chinese cologne, on his hair and combed it down flat, I told him I didn't like it that way so he shook his head and the hair became loose.

Theater of the Meaningless might well be called Distant Lightning. Distant lightning would be seen and perceived as the ferryboat pulled away—a portent, somehow, unforcedly, for the murder of Ben Mason at the hands (literally) of Evtikio. 'We never have a summer storm, only distant lightning.' The motifs of the entire book are rather unstormy, though portending storms throughout.

It's a misty morning. The candle I lit when Krishna came in my room (6:15) is still burning as I write and wait for griddle cakes. He gave me a bit of a massage then I had him sit on the bed and fondled him a bit and he got a hard on before leaving for the kitchen. 'Big,' I said, in admiration—but I didn't try to open the Levi's. He has other longings which only I can fulfill ... no less exaltedly than wastefully engaged in the common fact of endurance.

Pasang transmitted to me that Krishna is unable to control Govinda, who waits for his orders from me. All the more reason to let him go. I look at him without tenderness, even though he is a handsome boy. Every time I play with him he asks for something. Yesterday it was for an automatic-wind watch. Illimitless naivete! I did have it between his legs but withdrew quickly because I was about to come and didn't want to.

One's 'partner' should know what one is all about as a creative person. But no one could make that assertive warning with regard to Krishna,

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256.

it would seem irrelevant. The only one I'm kind to ... he's just come into the room and placed a garland of flowers over my head and it's hanging around my neck—he has a small garland around his own neck, purchased in the holy precincts of Lord Pashupatinak's temple. He's making a ritual of a 3-day departure. ...

They're off! Govinda didn't get all he wanted (he'll never work for me again) but after he put a tika on my forehead and a flower in my hair I emptied my pocket of a shower of change into his cupped hands. They both took empty bottles for home presents. Krishna's ambition now is to build for his family a larger house than the one they have in their hill village. I reminded him to bring his 13-year-old brother back—'Just look?' he asked and I said Yes, not knowing if he meant that I'd get a look or the brother would look around. Anyway the meaning got through . . . not for working, just a visit. I might not like him at all.

The two boys departing together (for different destinations) made it less poignant for Govinda who was begging yesterday for me to keep him on as scrub boy—he held up the hot water kettle and made scrubbing motions.

And the sun is shining this winter day of 1974. For how many winters more?

Krishna spells out his name in pumpkin seeds. I'm sure he would prefer sharing my life at this point instead—if he had the choice—of settling in his barren 'village.' Next time, he said, he'll take me home with him. My first ambition, forsaking all others, should be to keep him with me. Katherine Mansfield tells me, 'Risk! Risk anything!' and she's talking about Krishna. ...I longed to live by my eyes ... and I'm doing it.