Page 135 - Exile-ebook

134 AN EXILE OF THE MIND MAGGIE, THE FLOWER CHILD 135

Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park by Diego Rivera. They teetered dangerously when the small Greek island hidden deep in
door opened and let in a draught. the Cyclades and as yet undiscovered
car to a destination without them After the U.S. immigration officers He would lie awake at night hoping by tourists. Russell and I mailed
in it. It was a cheap way to travel had done their duty, I turned around no one would enter the room on a parcels of books and set off across
the length of the continent with no and walked back over the border to windy night. Europe to romantic cities and
money exchanged. rejoin my worried companions and I also caught up with the Right languages misunderstood, using
Once again I heard the familiar to find more reliable transportation . Hon and his titled sister. Her car our usual mode of travel.
clank of a cell door closing behind After calling at the Del Prado Hotel was stopped by the large hand of a Hitch-hiking proved difficult
me. Arrested when about to head in Mexico City to see Rivera’s famous policeman for some minor offense. in France thanks to De Gaulle not
south from the U.S. border in a Ca- mural, we explored this intriguing He sprang back in apology after a happy with thumb travellers bum-
dillac convertible with Shirley and country before returning to Canada peek at her license. Shrieks of exple- ming rides on his turf. And he told
John waiting patiently at the border. where Shirley finished her studies tives assaulted his ears as we drove everyone about it on television. We
After my mugshot and fingerprints and I boarded a ship to England. off with a screech of tyres. In the lived on wine, Bock beer, cheese and
were taken I was frogmarched be- I found my friend Russell in a backseat I cringed below window sardines under the cover of a tent
tween grim-faced officials over the one-room squat in London amidst level with her mortified brother. pitched against the cold mists in the
border bridge back into Canada. My walls of books ceiling high on A friend aboard the ship I sailed low lands of green valleys.
crime: ‘working’ without a permit! shelves of planks and stolen bricks. on had suggested a visit to Paros. A De Gaulle’s gripe hadn’t been