It was dark when Ad Magic came to. The boxer dog was standing over him, sniffing his face. Ad Magic rolled over and abruptly jerked himself upright. A number of oily torches had been lit, and there were fires in metal barrels as well as driftwood fires burning all up and down the shore, which was now teeming with activity. There were hundreds of people roaming the beach, and a brisk breeze blowing off the water offered a variety of smells: the smell of sewage was replaced by the pleasant aroma of gardenia, followed by the odor of bitter orange, of vanilla, of cooked curry, of charcoal, of diesel, and then again of sewage or saltwater, or of the ancient leather seats of the Mercedes. The boxer, openmouthed, panted in Ad Magic’s face, and from her mouth there was no odor at all.

Ad Magic pulled himself out of the car and took in the scene. The sights and smells and noises were uncommonly rich. There were roving bands of musicians, dancers, acrobats, food vendors, boys selling hashish. There were holy people, fakirs, snake charmers, more boys with trained monkeys. Ad Magic’s own monkey boy watched him leaning against the Mercedes, his eyes roving back and forth between the Rolex and the doctor.

“I can’t believe how wonderful I feel,” Ad Magic said. “What was that pill you gave me?”

“Just a little something,” the doctor said, crouching in the sand as he looked through his black doctor’s bag. Lined up by the horse’s feet there were a dozen empty glucose bottles and an enormous black tooth—a molar—in addition to several lesser teeth, long yellow ones.

“Abscess tooth. Very bad,” the doctor said. “Pus all over everything when I pull it. Horse falling down, goes into shock. I’m having to give him epinephrine. All better now. Then sand in the sores. Clean them all over twice times.”

“Is the horse going to be okay?”

“He is looking much better, don’t you think? Almost frisky, don’t you think?”

“Yes, much better. Much, much better.”

“Maybe he will live. It’s touch and go.”