The Backpacker Read Online Free PDF Page A

reading her guidebook, surrounded by packed bags.
    â€˜Thought you weren’t coming back,’ she said, looking up as I entered. ‘I’ve packed all your stuff. I didn’t touch your surfboard.’
    â€˜You’re coming then?’ I panted.
    She looked back at her guidebook, expressionless. ‘Doesn’t look too bad according to these pictures.’
    I walked over to the bed and glanced quickly at the open page. ‘Did you put my jeans in this bag?’ I said, unzipping my holdall.
    She nodded without looking up. ‘Some of the hotels down in Kovalom look pretty good,’ she said, showing me another picture while I rubbed a hand across my face. I hadn’t shaved since arriving in India and my stubble was quite long now. I had toyed with the idea of not shaving for the whole holiday, it would be neat to go home and shock everyone with my dirty appearance, but that was until the herd of goats playing chess had changed my mind earlier. Pushing myself up from the bed, I stretched and then tried to touch my toes.
    I continued into the bathroom and studied my reflection in the plastic wall-cabinet mirror. My face was already burnt from the day’s harsh sunshine, and the stubble on my face looked the same colour as my skin. I squinted, trying to imagine my face with a goatee beard, and wondered if I would look as cool as the four guys in the street had. Maybe a goatee would help me integrate into the traveller scene and be accepted more quickly. During my brief encounter with the tie-dye traveller at the station the previous morning, a distinct feeling of Us and Them had come over me.
    Feeling like an Us , I called out to Sanita, ‘Did you pack my razor?’
    â€˜I thought you weren’t going to shave,’ she shouted back.
    â€˜Yeah. Did you pack it?’ I heard the zip on my bag go and a few seconds later a soft hand was placed on my shoulder, holding the cheap razor. Sanita looked at my reflection briefly, unsmiling, then kissed my shoulder and walked out
    After five minutes, my cheeks, jaw, neck and upper lip were perfectly smooth, almost shiny. Closing my eyes and running my wet hand across and then down my cheeks to the top of my lip, and then letting it pass my mouth onto the sudden bushy mound of my chin, I was reminded of a woman’s body. ‘Cool,’ I mumbled, opening my eyes. ‘Extremely cool.’
    Sanita looked up from her book as I went back into the room, said, ‘You’ve missed a bit,’ and went back to reading.
    â€˜Yeah, I meant to. It’s a beard.’ I cupped my chin in one hand and massaged it with thumb and forefinger. ‘What do you think?’
    She shrugged. ‘It’s all right I suppose. Not much of it though. Shouldn’t you have left the moustache or something? It looks like you’ve dribbled and the dirt has stuck to it.’
    I grinned weakly and stepped forward, throwing the razor into my bag. It was then that I noticed her clothes lying on the floor. ‘You haven’t packed!’
    She closed the guidebook, sighing, and placed it gently in my bag. Flicking a clump of hair from her face she said simply, ‘That’s because I’m not going.’
    I gagged. ‘What?’
    â€˜You can go alone. I’ve had enough of this country, I’m going home.’
    I hurriedly slapped my pockets and pulled out the tickets. ‘But I’ve bought train tickets, San! I–’
    â€˜I’ll give you the money if you want, but don’t ask me to go on a two-day train trip to some other shithole. When you were out this morning I went into town and changed my plane ticket. It leaves tomorrow morning.’ She looked up. ‘Coming?’
    I looked down at the train tickets and held them out, pleading. ‘But... ’
    â€˜Thought not.’ She stood up and walked over to the window. ‘You like it too much. You and all the other stupid foreigners pretending