ISLANDS 51 



three summers, leading by the hem of an ample 

 black skirt an old blind woman. After several 

 halting steps they would hesitate and the gaunt 

 hand would be thrust through the bars begging 

 for market refuse. Once the gods were kind 

 tad a bit of melon and a spotted mango were 

 given, but more often alms was asked of an 

 empty stall, or within sight only of a tethered 

 duck or chicken. Some of the gifts were no 

 better than the garbage over which the pair 

 stepped. 



We sat in chairs in a tiny pharmacist shop 

 the artist and I and were at once the center 

 of a chattering, staring throng, a kaleidoscope 

 of shifting colors. We shoved and dismissed to 

 no avail, then the owner of the shop with a 

 gentle " permitte-moi " threw a pailful of " not- 

 too-clean " water over the crowd, including the 

 artist and myself. The mob scattered shriek- 

 ing and for a short time the surrounding space 

 was open. Soon a larger crowd gathered, with 

 the still dripping units of the first assemblage 

 smiling expectantly in the offing, hovering at a 

 safe distance. The second dispersal had a legal 

 origin; the market policeman stole quietly along 

 the wall of the shop and hurled himself like a 



