There are some things that ought to be kept private, secret, even, and that nobody really needs

to see. Bailas are among those things. Anyone outside of Goa; and since Baila seems to refer to dance in Spanish and Portuguese, anyone not Spanish or Portuguese; requiring an explanation, should understand that bailas are a peculiar kind of music, accompanied by several particularly surreal lyrics; probably composed by someone on the outside of a magnum-sized Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster; and a kind of group dance that places a lot of emphasis on elbows and general milling around in a way that suggests the grinding of grain into flour by the feet. Bailas usually make their appearance by the end of any Goan party, and I have survived to this advanced age only by the blessed intervention of music player and headphones. Anyway, now that I have justified the forthcoming events by explaining the torture from which said forthcoming events represented an escape devoutly to be wished, we will get on with life in general. The beach I was sitting on was the venue for some kind of New Year party, of which the general sordidness, by three in the morning, ought to have convinced anyone that the revelers had enjoyed themselves thoroughly. There was garbage everywhere, and someone had thrown up on a deckchair. The family was playing in a desultory way with a box of sparklers it had found somewhere, and it was too dark to read the book with which I had thought to fortify myself beforehand. And the rest of the assembled company was dancing Bailas. The live band was punishing their instruments, and my sense of pitch, when I was tossed up unceremoniously from my rug and hurled willy-nilly into the dance. I felt diseased, whirling in a lost way, like a wet sheet of newsprint, through the mash of dancers, most of whom were grinning in a way suggestive of an advanced state of demonic possession, and then a set of solid green pectorals loomed up and I smashed into them, hurting my nose badly. The Scourge of the Seven Seas wrenched my hands away from my sides and danced manically, dragging me along like so much seaweed in his erratic wake. When it was over I felt the strong desire to take a bath in scalding water and a lot of disinfectant. Well, now wasnt that fun? Manannan grinned happily, out of breath. I gagged, and looked up balefully. Fun? Well, Im sure I dont begrudge you fun, but why did you have to make me join it? I like dancing with you. And I thought maybe nobody asked you, so I did. I was outraged. Yes, people did ask me to dance, how dare you, and I never dance Bailas! Youre awful! Since its the New Year, couldnt you be nicer to me? And here I thought you might like to come with me on a little trip. Where? I said, all agog, for which I hated myself. Id begun to like going on jaunts through time and waters of various degrees of cleanliness some time ago, but the betrayal of even the slightest bit of enthusiasm on my part usually keyed Manannan up to fever pitch and we tended to get lost. X Island. Im going to sabotage a couple of sealers. Ive sabotaged a couple of sealers. About two hundred years ago. I think. Come watch them sink?

Sure thing. The family was still playing with sparklers as I wrapped myself in my shawl and splashed into the sea.