Gehna felt a bit better after that.

Her phone rang. It was the Yam.

‘Happy bitch-day to you, happy bi-atch day to you,’ she yowled as soon as Gehna answered. ‘Happy barfday, dear slutbag, happy fuckfest to you! What up, G-dawg!’

Gehna was so pleased to hear the filth pouring from her friend’s mouth that she promptly burst into tears.

‘Oh my god,’ said the Yam. ‘I leave you alone for a few weeks and you turn into a flower. Whatsa matter? You didn’t like my birthday song? I made it up just specially for you.’

‘No,’ Gehna said, sniffling. ‘I liked the song. I just, I dunno, I guess I’m just having a crappy day. Crappy life, actually.’

‘Tell me about it. So many cute white boys here and I’m too busy looking for typos in six-hundred page docs to lay a finger on any of ’em. It sucks.’ Gehna could hear traffic in the background. A loud click, followed by a sharp inhalation.

‘Are you smoking now?’ Gehna asked.

‘Cigarettes,’ said the Yam, puffing out, ‘are punctuation in the never-ending sentence that is my day. I’m serious, bro. Tell your Auntie Yam everything.’

Gehna did. She told Auntie Yam how frustrating it was that her mom, the doctors and even Druhi kept ordering her about at home, as if the only reason Gehna mattered was because she was a vessel for the baby. She told her about being arrested, the unparalleled meanness of boys, and how she had almost been eaten by a duck. She told her how, most days, she felt lesser than she did before—less pretty, less strong, less smart, less loved.

‘But mostly,’ she finished, ‘I feel so alone. It’s like you picture your whole life before you and it’s this enormous pit full of things that are cloaked in shadow right up until the moment they jump out and kill you dead. Or make you incredibly happy. But either way you have to deal with it yourself, Yam, and I don’t know if I can.’

Her friend was silent for a while. Then she said, ‘Cloaked in shadow? Damn, girl. You like that Shakespeare dude, but with boobs.’

Gehna surprised herself by laughing out loud. Five minutes ago she had believed that she would never laugh again. It felt good, but she also resented the Yam a bit for making her. The trouble with laughter was that it convinced other people you were fine even when you weren’t really.

14

The Delta Queen was, by the dinky standards of riverboats, an impressive vessel. Twenty-five thousand square feet spread over four decks, eighty-five metres long from tail to snout, with a bottom deck that curled upwards at the lip, lending it the predatory appearance of a largemouth bass.

Eram was in no kind of mood to admire Goa’s finest offshore casino as the ferry approached it. If it hadn’t been Day 1 of The Big Drop, he might have preferred to loll about in bed or sulk by the hotel pool. Instead, here he was, packed on to a ferry with about a hundred other people, mostly men, about to play the most important game of his life.