8.1

Still in the room, shortly after midnight, Max  decided he had to respond –

“Rita… I don’t care about your money. Frankly, I’m not into money at the moment – in fact… on the contrary.”

“It’s not just money – it’s fun.”

“I’m not into that kind of fun right now.”

“Why not?” she asked forcefully.

“Listen – I’ve got an idea I’m… mucking around with. There are these people here called sadhus. You can only find them in India. They are amazing – they renounce the world – can you believe that!”

Rita’s eyes widened – she thinks you are a lunatic.

“It’s interesting don’t you think?” he asked hopefully.

“No – not at all – I think it’s….”

“Wouldn’t you like to know if they’ve got a point at least?”

“Max… don’t tell me… you’re not actually thinking of doing it yourself are you?”

“Not necessarily.”

“You are!” she said, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“No – I’d just like to understand it, that’s all. But I suppose… if that means having to do it myself… well… I might at least…”

“You can’t be serious!”

Max smiled – he was serious but not too serious.

“Max – why would you do such a stupid thing?”

“For the experience.”

“But why?”

“For the novel.”

“What novel?”

“The one I’m going to write.”

“You’re mad!”

Max’s smiled widened – it was the first time he’d ever been called mad and he quite liked it –

“All artists are mad,” he said.

“But… you’re not an artist! You’re a footballer!”

“I’m an artist now.”

“Max, believe me – you’re not an artist.”

Mate… this is a waste of time.

Soon you’ll be an artist alright – an escape artist!

“But – surely an artist is anybody who wants to be an artist.”