Raga Six (A Doctor Orient Occult Novel) Read Online Free Page A

grinning broadly at something his companion, a pretty blond girl, was saying.  
    When he saw Orient, the only change in his expression was a slight narrowing of his clear blue eyes. A moment later, however, he leaned over and whispered something to the girl and they both got up from the table. As they passed him, the cowboy glanced at Orient while continuing his conversation with the girl.  
    Orient calmly ate his salad. Potentials usually experienced an unexplained sense of agitation or anxiety in his presence. During his experiments he had discovered that this was due to an increase in the amount of electromagnetic energy produced by the brain, disturbing the field. Like static on a radio or the extreme fluctuations produced when charging a dormant battery.  
    He speculated again on the possibility of contacting the cowboy, then shrugged off the thought. He had to do something positive about his own battery before he could develop someone else.  
    When he was finished, he sat watching the crowd, regarding it with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. The profusion of balloons -and colors complemented the vitality that emanated from the people strolling through the area. It occurred to him that all of them appeared to be holding a definite claim on their life, and that they fully intended to keep possession. He wondered where it was they found their title.  
    He picked up his bag and moved off the terrace toward the interior of the park, deliberately avoiding the cages.  
    He wandered for a time, trying to free his mind of all thought, allowing his instincts to guide his direction. When he got to Central Park West, he veered downtown, continuing on to Columbus Circle. He saw a subway entrance, went down the steps, bought a token, and took the first train that came, still letting fate call the turns.  
    The subway was crowded and Orient, unused to the ground rules of public transportation, was pushed aside and stifled in the jam before he decided to get some fresh air a few stops later.  
    He looked around. He was at the Fourth Street Station at Washington Square. Interesting. He had always had an affinity for Greenwich Village but his visits there had been limited to brief excursions with friends.  
    He walked up the stairs to Sixth Avenue, he ambled slowly to Eight Street and turned east. The street ended at the entrance to a small, barren-looking park, and a sign informed him that he was in Tompkin’s Square. He crossed the street and entered the park.  
    A large group of old people lined the benches at the entrance. As Orient passed, he noticed they had strong-boned Slavic faces; his ears could pick out here and there a few words of Ukrainian.  
    A short distance ahead he saw the fenced recreation areas teeming with Puerto Rican and Negro youths doing gymnastics on high bars, playing softball and handball, or just standing in groups of four or five, smoking and talking.  
    Across from the playground a fantastic swarm of young people were sitting on the grass talking, sleeping, eating, playing musical instruments, or watching passersby. They all had the same ragged élan Orient had noticed in the neighborhood of the zoo. Both boys and girls were dressed in exotic mirrored vests, velvet tunics, chain belts, Arab robes, renaissance gowns, fringed buckskin jackets, swirl-dyed sweatshirts, Indian headbands, flag-striped shirts, Foreign Legion uniforms, and embroidered musketeer capes. For a moment Orient was reminded of the marketplaces of the Middle East and India. The whole scene had a wild tribal quality.  
    Orient sat down at the edge of the grass.  
    As he leaned back and relaxed, a small group of bearded young men dressed identically in flowing oriental shirts and blue jeans arranged themselves nearby. They were carrying guitars and crude drums made by stretching goatskin over large cans. They settled into a circle on the grass and began to play; first softly, then gathering increasing intensity.  
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