a guest at an important supper tomorrow night, but after that, I'm free for two weeks."
Mikhail appeared to hesitate.
"It's up to you. You've got the map, the name of the village, and it shouldn't be hard to find the house where she's staying. I'm sure the Favor Bank can help get you as far as Almaty, but I doubt it will get you much farther than that, because the rules of the steppes are different. Besides, I reckon I've made a few deposits in your account at the Favor Bank too. It's time to reclaim them. I miss my mother."
He was right.
"We've got to start work," said Alma's husband.
"Why do you want to go with me, Mikhail? Is it really just because you miss your mother?"
He didn't reply. The man started playing the drum and Alma was clanging the cymbal, while the others begged for money from passersby. Why did he want to go with me? And how would I be able to draw on the Favor Bank in the steppes, if I knew absolutely no one? I could get a visa from the Kazakhstan embassy, hire a car and a guide from the French consulate in Almaty - what else did I need?
I stood there observing the group, not knowing quite what to do. It wasn't the right moment to discuss the trip, and I had work to do and a girlfriend waiting for me at home. Why didn't I just leave now?
I didn't leave because I was feeling free, doing things I hadn't done for years, opening up a space in my soul for new experiences, driving the acomodador out of my life, experiencing things that might not interest me very much, but which were at least different.
The vodka ran out and was replaced by rum. I hate rum, but since that was all there was, it was best to adapt to the circumstances. The two musicians continued to play and whenever anyone was brave enough to come near, one of the girls would hold out her hand and ask if they had any spare change. The person approached would normally quicken their pace, but would always receive a "Thanks, have a nice evening." One person, seeing that he had been offered thanks rather than abuse, turned back and gave us some money.
After watching this scene for more than ten minutes, without anyone in the group addressing a single word to me, I went into a bar, bought two bottles of vodka, came back, and poured the rum into the gutter. Anastasia seemed pleased by my gesture and so I tried to start a conversation.
"Can you explain why you all use body piercing?"
"Why do other people wear jewels or high heels or low-cut dresses even in winter?"
"That's not an answer."
"We use body piercing because we're the new barbarians sacking Rome. We don't wear uniforms and so we need something to identify us as one of the invading tribes."
She made it sound as if they were part of a important historical movement, but for the people going home, they were just a group of unemployed young people with nowhere to sleep, cluttering up the streets of Paris, bothering the tourists who were so good for the local economy, and driving to despair the mothers and fathers who had brought them into the world and now had no control over them.
I had been like that once, when the hippie movement was at its height - the huge rock concerts, the big hair, the garish clothes, the Viking symbol, the peace sign. As Mikhail said, the whole hippie thing had turned into just another consumer product and had vanished, destroying its icons.
A man came down the street. The boy in leather and safety pins went over to him with his hand outstretched. He asked for money. However, instead of hurrying on or muttering something like "I haven't any change," the man stopped and looked at us and said very loudly:
"I wake up every morning with a debt of approximately 100,000 euros, because of my house, because of the economic situation in Europe, because of my wife's expensive tastes. In other words, I'm worse off than you are and with far more on my mind! How about you giving me a bit of change to help me decrease my debt just a little?"
Lucrecia - whom Mikhail claimed was his girlfriend - produced a fifty-euro note and gave it to the man.
"Buy yourself some caviar. You need a bit of joy in your