Free Wordscapist: The Myth (The Way of the Word Book 1) by Arpan Panicker

sweating so hard I was afraid I would keel over from dehydration. We passed shack after shack, all of them looking the same, with easy-chairs laid out, covered with beach towels and sunbathing tourists. Menus were listed on boards, promising fresh lobster and calamari that had just been brought in from the sea. Lots of waiters ran around, passing around beer and food. There was a lot of noise as families and noisy gangs of teenagers played around in the water, splashing and screaming. It was a surreal world, and after a point, it all blended together into a tourist collage. By now, Antony’s words had faded into a kind of a lulling drone. Thankfully, I spotted a board in the distance announcing the world that the Gypsy Shack was nigh!
         A minute later, we were there. I grabbed Antony before he could walk past the shack and pointed to him that we had reached the destination. He took a few seconds to inspect the board, and then announced to me that we had reached the shack. Conversation with this fellow was getting slightly tiresome. “Antony, thank you so much for bringing me here! Give me your number and I will call you the moment I need your help again.”
         Antony smiled broadly, “Antony brings you to Gypsy Shack,” he announced proudly, though belatedly. He leaned over and whispered hoarsely in my ear, “Antony helps you. Now you help Antony. A little something. You help Antony. Ok?” I sighed. In Goa, nothing was for free. I pulled out a 50-rupee note and slipped it to Antony. “Thanks brother,” I said, patting his back.
         He looked at the note incredulously. “You give me fifty? Antony helps you like brother and you give him fifty? One hundred at least. Come on brother!”
         I looked at him, half-bemused. “Antony, you have to be kidding! You want hundred bucks for walking me to the biggest shack on Baga?! If I knew this place was so big, I would have asked you to stay put and found the place myself. Get going now ‘brother’. I need to find Aktomentes Loon.”
         Antony gave me an injured look, and then philosophically accepted the bargain. “Ok. Antony wish you luck. You meet Akto, but be careful, ok? Gypsy people slightly mental. You never know when they…” he made a little swishing sound accompanied by a stabbing gesture with his hand. I sighed again. That fit right in with the rest of my crazy life.
         “Thanks Antony. You get going now before Akto…” I made the same swishing sound along with the little gesture, “… you.” Antony stared at me with his eyes wide open. Then, with a fearful glance thrown at the Gypsy Shack, he hurried off without even a final goodbye. I had seriously scared the poor pothead. I looked up at the board again. I whispered to myself, ‘I am here. Where are you, Aktomentes Loon?”
         “You want beer?” a voice came from below. I looked down to see a little guy, a little over four feet in height, dressed in the floral shirt and black pants that seemed to be the uniform for the waiters in the bar next to the Gypsy Shack.
         Before I could refuse, a voice came right from inside the Gypsy Shack, “Leave my customers alone! Go away, before I set Papa Loon on you!” Papa Loon! How many Loons could be there in Goa! I turned to face the owner of this voice.
         The first thing I noticed was her eyes; those beautiful eyes that looked right into my soul. They were framed in a frown directed at the object of her ire, but that could not quite cover the laughter that was so much a part of her. The eyes had a pert little pixie nose below them and pouting lips that apparently didn’t approve of whatever she saw in front of her. She was young, definitely a couple of years younger than me; petite with a heart-shaped face framed by long dark hair. Strands of her hair moved in the breeze and the warm Goa sun lit her up like some kind of an angel. You get the picture - I was smitten.
        Her frown dissipated as