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things, like some kind of fossils - but the mirror, which completely distorted ordinary objects, now, you see, got real food, that is, when you placed one of these incomprehensible, monstrous objects so that it was reflected in the incomprehensible, monstrous mirror, a marvellous thing happened; minus by minus equalled plus, everything was restarted, everything was fine, and the shapeless speckledness became in the mirror a wonderful, sensible image. flowers, a ship, a person, a landscape. You could have your own portrait custom made, that is, you received some nightmarish jumble and this thing was you, only the key to you was held by the mirror." p 115 Invi to a Beh. Nabokov

March 29. 70

From small notebook - priest observation

Kedar Ghat Sunday night 8:00 pm

Darkness hovers low, close, the stone warm, radiating spent sun. One light on a tall pole catches five electrical wires in its circle. Bugs create whirling line against the dark air, thin paths fixed by the light. Light streams from the temple door encompassing a shrouded bent white figure, before catching the steep limestone steps with ever fainter illuminations. On one of the raised stone piers

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the boatmen are smoking Ganja. Bright flame of the twisted coconut husk ignited - the wavering pulse like flashes from the chalis - in quick tempo til the last long held intake of smoke [MARGIN: the surge into the lungs spread through the body like it was transparent] when the chalis glows with the fierce brief finality. Dark forms move in darker space - boats pass in almost opaque black. A burning ghat not far away blazes in a concentrated pyre of flame. The huddled relatives and friends squatting on the slope in presence (witness). A few late night bathers, their nakedness blending. One doing dunda, pushups in a fast swooping movement against a massive stone bunker. Men come from the shadows, from shitting on the dirt bank - going the water to wash themselves holding their lungis up around their hips with care. The clap of sandals on stone. Vast curve of starpoint light in the distance doubled by the river - Benares spread in a luxuriating crescent on the Ganges, the water alive with a loud sobering sound. the tank at the bottom of the ghat almost empty of water but crawling with hundreds of young toads - lying still in the stagnant liquid, occasionally quivering a leg, sending small ripples across the slime not making a sound. Two priests, hands