The Swami recovered himself first. He put the tips of his long fingers together in the shape of a sway-backed steeple, and rolled his eyes upward.
"I am an instrument of infinite wisdom," he intoned. "Not a parlor magician."
"You mean that with all your infinite wisdom you can't do it," I accused flatly.
"The vibrations are not favorable—" he rolled the words sonorously.
"All right," I agreed. "We'll go somewhere else, where they're better!"
"The vibrations throughout all this crass, materialistic Western world—" he intoned.
"All right," I interrupted, "we'll go to India, then. Sara, call up and book tickets to Calcutta on the first possible plane!" Sara's mouth had been gradually closing, but it unhinged again.
"Perhaps not even India," the Swami murmured, hastily. "Perhaps Tibet."
"Now you know we can't get admission into Tibet while the Communists control it," I argued seriously. "But how about Nepal? That's a fair compromise. The Maharajadhiraja's friendly now. I'll settle for Nepal."
The Swami couldn't keep the triumphant glitter out of his eyes. The sudden worry that I really would take him to India to see if he could TK an ash tray subsided. He had me.