Whores, pimps, madams converged on him gesticulating lewdly, trying to pull him into their web, enticing him with samplings of their wares, but he shook his head and swatted them off, muttering in a deep drawl that the only thing he’s out here shopping for in this decrepit mall of India is a nice Jewish girl, did they happen to have one by any chance? He would settle for nothing less, he was not in the market for anything else. Nobody could understand what he was after. The workers who had picked up some functional English to service the foreign tourists couldn’t figure out what he was babbling about, no one had ever heard this word Jewish, this was the first time in their memory that any prospective client had requested such an item, it was obviously an extremely rarefied fetish or perversion, probably the latest new invention from America, blank looks came over their faces like window shades drawn down with a snap, and they shook their heads yes in the Indian way, which meant no.

He did his best to convey a sense of what is generally meant by Jewish using a kind of sign language. He rotated thumbs against forefingers to indicate avarice, rubbed his hands together and leered to signal lasciviousness, folded downward the tip of his nose, which in its normal state was splendidly snubbed. It was turning into a game, charades, a mockery in such a setting, yet they all participated eagerly, it was a welcome diversion, they threw out their guesses enthusiastically, but to everything they produced Buki just shook his head, deflated. He was considering showing them his member of which he was justifiably proud, circumcised in its maturity in Postville, Iowa, by a slaughterer who doubled as a mohel, but restrained himself when he realized they would only conclude he was a Muslim and lead him to a whore naked under her burqa. He angled his two hands together in front of his face like an open book, and began swaying as if in prayer, but they only shrugged. Their excitement was waning, they were losing interest, a few were already turning to go. Whatever it was he wanted, it no longer was worth their time, it was obviously a very particular commodity not in general demand and therefore not worth stocking. In desperation, to keep them tuned in just a little longer, he leapt into the air and began to dance ecstatically, whirling with arms uplifted, a Hasid transported to divine heights.

Devadasi! a voice from heaven cried out.

Buki stalled, then nodded his head heartily—Yes ma’am, that’s it, a doxy, thank God!

He had come here searching for a nice Jewish girl; he had never expected to find an Orthodox one. That was a huge bonus. It was his lucky day. Rebbie-ji would be very impressed when he came home with a doxy. It was a tremendous relief all around. They had solved the puzzle, customer satisfaction—a temple dancing girl, that was his thing. Every man had his thing, you just had to probe patiently to figure out what it was. They knew now exactly where to deposit him.