Chapter 6 — Pimp
And thus begins Chapter Six.
Now, children.
There we were.
Walking.
Hat beside me.
No Hat beside Hat.
And me
leading.
The council pauses.
Do you know where you’re going?
No.
Excellent.
Children.
This is an important distinction.
Hat was following me with the calm confidence of a woman who believed she had successfully located a competent member of the native population.
Nuo, meanwhile,
was walking with absolutely no idea where parasailing might exist.
The council checks qualifications.
Local?
Yes.
Knowledgeable?
No.
Confident looking?
Apparently enough.
Dangerous combination.
Behind or beside us,
No Hat remained in her natural state.
Joy.
Pure,
uncomplicated,
Golden Retriever joy.
Walking somewhere?
Excellent.
New objective?
Excellent.
Friends currently exist?
Excellent.
Children.
No Hat did not appear burdened by the need to understand the plan.
A trait I respect deeply.
Because there was no plan.
I simply thought:
Ask someone.
Easy.
Then
problem.
If I openly walked up to a local and asked:
“Hey, where’s parasailing?”
Hat would immediately discover that her tour guide knew absolutely nothing.
The council looks at Nuo.
Would that matter?
Probably not.
But children
reputation had formed.
One successful beach direction.
One competent historical memory.
And suddenly I had standards to maintain.
I needed information
without exposing the fraudulent nature of my employment.
Then
it hit me.
The trump card.
The council leans forward.
What card?
Children.
Kerala.
Silence.
I am a Kerala man.
Hat and No Hat?
Not Kerala women.
Therefore
Malayalam.
The council understands.
Incognito Mode.
Exactly.
Children.
Language is a beautiful thing.
It carries culture.
Memory.
Identity.
Poetry.
And sometimes
it allows you to ask for directions without the foreigners behind you realizing you have no fucking clue where you’re going.
The council applauds the application.
Stealth activated.
I approached someone.
Malayalam.
Essentially:
Where be the parasailing?
The answer?
Unavailable.
Monsoon.
The council nods.
Expected.
Next person.
Same.
Another.
Same.
Children.
Apparently the sea had collectively agreed:
No flying tourists today.
Parasailing was not operating during monsoon season.
Mission complete.
Right?
We tried.
Received consistent answer.
Return to beach.
Pet dogs.
Maybe eat something.
Children.
That would be the normal conclusion.
But something unfortunate happens to Nuo once a Wandering begins.
The council opens source code.
if obstacle == true:
give_up = false
Exactly.
In ordinary life?
Children.
I give up constantly.
Laundry slightly difficult?
Tomorrow.
Website bug annoying?
Later.
Phone call required?
Perhaps never.
But Wandering Nuo?
Different operating system.
A road says no
and suddenly I develop principles.
The council sighs.
So I kept asking.
“Anywhere else?”
“No.”
“Some other beach?”
“No.”
“Maybe someone unofficial?”
Children.
Not because unofficial automatically meant wise.
It absolutely did not.
I simply wanted to know whether any possibility existed.
Question.
Answer.
No.
Another.
No.
The consensus was becoming irritatingly strong.
Monsoon.
No parasailing.
Hat and No Hat continued following.
Hat perhaps unaware that I was conducting a covert information campaign in Malayalam.
No Hat perhaps simply enjoying the fact that humans were talking.
The council smiles.
Then
a man approached.
I looked at him.
Face.
Familiar.
Children.
Not emotionally familiar.
Commercially familiar.
The council opens the earlier file.
Pimp Number One.
Yes.
The first man who had approached me earlier with:
“We have good pretty girls.”
Ah.
That entrepreneur.
Exactly.
He returned.
I saw him coming
and internally loaded the response.
No thank you.
No bonk required.
Have a good day.
Then before I could say anything
“Parasailing?”
Pause.
Children.
What?
The council looks at him.
He continued.
“I have a boat.
Fifteen hundred.”
Silence.
The council stares.
The pimp has a boat?
Apparently.
The range.
Children.
Minutes earlier,
this man had been running sales for the Kovalam Bonk Department.
Now?
Water sports.
Multi industry entrepreneur.
The council reviews his resume.
PIMP.
BOAT OWNER.
POSSIBLE PARASAILING FACILITATOR.
Diversified portfolio.
Exactly.
I stared at him.
Because nothing about this development felt adequately foreshadowed.
He had not said:
By the way, if you’re not interested in women, perhaps adventure tourism?
No.
He simply re entered the narrative with an entirely different service category.
Children.
Respect the hustle, perhaps.
Question the certification.
Definitely.
Now
price.
₹1500.
Was that good?
Bad?
Normal?
Suspiciously cheap?
Exorbitant?
Children.
No idea.
I had never researched Kovalam parasailing prices.
Remember.
I was unemployed fifteen minutes ago.
This tour guide position had no onboarding.
The council checks database.
Unavailable.
Correct.
And the man sold the pitch with exactly the same enthusiasm he had previously used to sell me women.
Children.
Same salesman.
Different product.
“Pretty girls!”
No.
“Parasailing!”
Hmm.
The council laughs.
I turned toward Hat.
Now,
important.
This was the point where the illusion of Nuo Competence required modification.
Because I was not about to pretend:
Yes, this is definitely safe.
Absolutely certified.
Trust me.
No.
Children.
I may be reckless.
I try not to outsource that recklessness dishonestly.
So I gave her the facts
as I understood them.
This man?
Approached me earlier offering women.
Now says he has boat.
Claims parasailing possible.
Price fifteen hundred.
Safety?
Unknown.
Legitimacy?
Unknown.
Probability of successful parasailing?
Unknown.
Probability of death?
Also
not zero.
The council looks at Nuo.
Very reassuring tour guide.
Children.
Transparency.
Hat looked at him.
Perhaps at me.
Perhaps toward the sea.
Assessed.
The council waits.
And
nod.
Yes.
Pause.
No Hat?
Enthusiastic.
Of course.
Children.
Golden Retriever had apparently heard:
boat,
parasailing,
possible adventure
and selected:
YES.
No extended risk committee.
No:
Could we see licenses?
No:
Can you show us reviews?
No:
Perhaps let’s wait until monsoon ends.
The council studies the party.
Nuo survival instinct:
questionable.
Hat survival instinct:
questionable.
No Hat survival instinct:
Golden Retriever.
Perhaps this was not a coincidence.
Maybe recklessness had become the true compatibility metric.
The council sighs.
Foreigners, apparently, can also possess defective caution systems.
Good to know.
I looked back at the man.
Children.
Decision made.
“Take us to the boat.”
Or equivalent.
The council opens a new quest.
OBJECTIVE:
Parasailing.
OFFICIAL AVAILABILITY:
No.
UNOFFICIAL POSSIBILITY:
Apparently.
GUIDE:
Former Pimp Number One.
BOAT:
Claimed.
PRICE:
₹1500.
SAFETY CONFIDENCE:
Low.
PARTY ENTHUSIASM:
Disturbingly high.
Excellent.
The man’s face
lit up.
Children.
Beamed.
Like he had not actually expected us to say yes.
The council freezes.
That is not comforting.
No.
No it is not.
There is a particular facial expression a salesperson makes when a difficult sale closes.
Happiness.
Relief.
Victory.
This man had it.
And something inside me briefly thought:
Why are you surprised?
You offered the service.
The council nods.
Valid concern.
But
too late.
Quest accepted.
Hat nodded.
No Hat radiated adventure.
Nuo had already spoken.
And the man
newly promoted from Pimp Number One
to Pimp Boat Man
turned to lead us.
Children.
I had come to Kovalam because I was bored.
That was all.
No itinerary.
No adventure objective.
No plan.
Within a short stretch of afternoon,
I had:
declined three sex work offers,
met two foreigners,
become accidental swim guide,
discussed memento mori,
mocked a Golden Retriever about a lighthouse,
sat between two dogs,
been promoted to tour guide,
activated Malayalam Incognito Mode,
failed repeatedly to locate legal parasailing
and then hired the first pimp again
because he apparently owned a boat.
The council looks at the day’s trajectory.
Boredom solved?
Completely.
Yes.
Children.
That much was no longer in question.
And perhaps this is what conscious wandering means at its most dangerous.
You leave home saying:
Let’s see what happens.
Then something happens.
Then something else.
And eventually,
you have to accept responsibility for the fact that you kept saying:
Sure.
The council nods.
Present Nuo understands.
Story Nuo yesterday?
Boat.
Exactly.
Hat beside me.
No Hat beside her.
Pimp Boat Man ahead.
And somewhere beyond the path
apparently
a boat.
Perhaps parasailing.
Perhaps terrible decision making.
Possibly both.
Children.
The man’s face was still glowing with the joy of unexpected business.
And I
still technically employed as tour guide
followed him.
Because one successful beach direction
had somehow escalated into this.
Thus concludes Chapter Six.
The Totally Unqualified Tour Guide.
The Confident Hat.
The Joy Emitting Golden Retriever.
The Problem Of Asking For Directions Without Revealing Incompetence.
The Trump Card.
Malayalam.
Incognito Mode.
The Repeated Monsoon Rejection.
The Refusal Of Wandering Nuo To Accept Mission Failure.
The Return Of Pimp Number One.
The Sudden Career Expansion.
“I Have A Boat.”
Fifteen Hundred Rupees.
The Entrepreneurial Range.
The Honest Safety Disclaimer.
The Hat Assessment.
The No Hat Enthusiasm.
The Shared Lack Of Survival Instinct.
The Decision:
“Take Us To The Boat.”
And
The Pimp’s Unexpectedly Delighted Face.
Children.
I had spent the last several minutes asking everyone in Kovalam whether parasailing existed.
Everyone said no.
Then the man who had earlier tried to sell me women appeared and said:
I have a boat.
A sensible person might have treated this as further evidence that parasailing was unavailable.
Hat looked at me.
No Hat looked excited.
I looked at the man.
And said:
Take us to the boat.
The council closes its eyes.
Tour Guide Nuo was doing exceptionally.
