"I promise you, Lettie. It really is a great surprise."

"Oh, it's a friggin' surprise all right," she shouted. "And not half as big as the surprise you're gonna get, when we get down from here, Vikram bloody Patel!"

"Hi, Lettie!" I called to her. "Great view, eh? Oh, sorry. Forgot about the blindfold. Well, it _will be a great view, when you can see it."

"This is fuckin' madness, Lin!" she shouted at me. "Tell these bastards to let go of me!"

"That wouldn't be wise, Lettie," Vikram answered. "They're hanging on to you so you don't fall, yaar, or stand up, and snag yourself on an overhead wire, or something. It's really only another half a minute, I promise you, and then you'll understand what all is happening."

"I understand, don't you worry. I understand that you're a dead man, Vikram, when I get down from here. You might as well throw me off the bloody roof now, I'm tellin' ya! If you think I-"

Vikram untied the blindfold, and watched her as she looked around, taking in the perspective from the roof of the fast moving train. Her mouth fell open, and her face slowly swelled into a wide smile.

"Wow! It's... Wow! It really is a great view!"

"Look!" Vikram commanded, turning to point along the roofs of the train carriages. There was something stretched across the tracks, much higher than the roofline of the train. It was strung between the pylon supports for the overhead electric wires. It was a huge banner, puffed like the sail of a ship in the steady breeze.

There were words painted on it. As we neared the banner, the writing became clear enough to read. The words were painted in letters as tall as a man. They filled the whole width of the billowing sheet:

LETITIA I LOVE YOU

"I was afraid you would stand up and hurt yourself," Vikram said.

"That's why those fellows were holding on to your arms."

Suddenly, the musicians struck up the chiming, thudding strains of a popular love song. Their voices soared over the blood stirring thump of the tablas and the wail of the flutes. Vikram and Lettie stared at one another, their eyes holding as the train pulled into a station, stopped, and pulled out again. Half way to the next station, we approached another banner. Vikram wrenched his eyes from hers, and looked ahead. She followed his gaze. More words were written across the taut white cloth:

We passed beneath the pennant and out into the soft afternoon light. Lettie was crying. They were both crying. Vikram threw himself forward and wrapped her in his arms. They kissed. I watched them for moment and then I turned away to face the musicians. They grinned at me, wagging their heads and laughing as they sang. I did a little victory dance for them as the train rocked and rumbled through the suburbs.

Millions of dreams were born there, around us, every day.

Millions of dreams died there, and were born again. The humid air was thick with dreams, everywhere, in my Mumbai. My city was a steaming, sweltering hothouse garden of dreaming. And there, on that red-brown rusting metal roof, a new dream of love was born.

And I thought of my family as we rushed through the humid dreaming air. And I thought about Karla. And I danced on that steel serpent as it slithered sinuous beside the scroll and swell of the endless, imperishable sea.

And although Vikram and Lettie disappeared for a week, after she accepted his proposal, a lightness and optimism that was like happiness circulated in the Leopold's crowd. When he finally did return, that positive feeling greeted Vikram with real affection.

Abdullah and I had just finished our training and we teased him, mercilessly, for his delirious, exhausted joy. Then, while Vikram blubbered about love, we ate in hungry, purposeful silence.

Didier was jubilant, crowing over the triumph of his romantic scheme, and demanding modest tributes, in the form of stiff drinks, from everyone we knew.

I looked up from my plate of food to see a man, one of the street boys who scrounged for the black marketeers, gesturing to me in some anxiety. I left the table, and walked to the footpath to speak with him.

"Lin! Big trouble for you," he said quickly, looking left and right nervously. "Three men. Africans. Big men. Very strong. They look for you. They want to kill you." "Kill me?"

"Yes. Sure. Better you go. Go fast from Bombay for a while!"

He ran off, and I lost sight of him in the crowd. Puzzled, but not worried, I returned to the table. I'd only eaten two mouthfuls when another man called me out to the street. It was Gemini George.

"I think you're in a spot of bother, old chum," he said. His tone was cheery, but his face was tense and afraid.

"U-huh."

"Seems there's three bull-necked African geezers-Nigerians, I think-and they mean to do you a bit of grievous bodily harm, if you know what I mean."

"Where are they?"

"I dunno, mate. I seen them talkin' with some of the street boys, but then they got in a taxi and took off. They're fuckin' big lads, I tell ya. They filled that taxi, with a bit of flesh to spare. Fairly bulgin' out the windows they were, know what I mean?"

"What's it about?"

"No idea, mate. They didn't say nothin' what they're on about, Lin. They're just lookin' for you, and they got trouble in mind.

I'd watch my back, and I'd watch my step, sunshine."

I reached into my pocket, but he put a hand on my wrist.

"No, mate. On the house. I mean, it's not right, whatever their game is."

He sauntered off in pursuit of a passing trio of German tourists, and I walked back into the restaurant. With Gemini George's warning to support the first, I was worried. It took me longer than usual to finish my meal. Soon after, there was a third visitor. It was Prabaker.

"Lin!" he said, his expression frenzied. "There is a bad news!"

"I know, Prabu."

"Three men, African, they are wanting to beat and kill and beat you! They are asking questions everywhere. Such big fellows they are! Like buffalos! You must make a lucky escapes!"

It took me five minutes to calm him down, and even then I had to invent a mission for him-checking for the Africans at the hotels he knew well-in order to prise him from my side. Alone again with Didier, Vikram, and Abdullah, we considered my options, in a lengthening silence. Vikram was the first to speak. "Okay, so we find the fuckers, and break their heads, yaar," he suggested, looking from face to face for support.

"After we kill them," Abdullah added.

Vikram wagged his head from side to side in agreement.

"Two things are sure," Didier said slowly. "One, you must not be alone, Lin, at any time, until this is resolved."

Vikram and Abdullah nodded.

"I will call Salman and Sanjay," Abdullah decided. "You will not be alone, Lin brother."

"And two," Didier continued, "the others, whoever they are, whatever their reasons, must not remain in Bombay. They must go- one way, or the other way."

We got up to pay the bill and leave. Didier stopped me when the others walked to the cashier's desk. He pulled me down into a chair beside him. Sliding a napkin from the table, he fumbled under the table's edge for a moment and then slid a bundle across to me. It was a pistol, wrapped in the napkin. No-one knew that Didier carried a gun. I was sure that I was the first to see and handle the weapon. Grasping it tightly in the napkin wrapping, I stood and joined the others as they left the restaurant. I looked back over my shoulder to see him nodding gravely, the curly black hair trembling about his face.

We found them, but it took us all the day and most of the night.