The Five Fakirs of Faizabad Read Online Free Page B

lucky,” said Philippa.
    “Wasn’t it?” Silvio grinned. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m really a very lucky fellow. You want another example? The Japanese television producer who accidentally drove off a cliff with me in the car? The car burst into flames before it hit the ground but, fortunately for me, I had already jumped out. I missed some power lines on the way down. That was lucky, too. Then I hit some trees. Luckily for me, the man who was supposed to have pruned the trees that day was late; otherwise there would have been no branches to help break my fall. It’s true, I broke a lot of bones that day. But I count myself lucky. Very lucky. You can’t argue with that.”
    Philippa smiled. “I’m not even going to try,” she said. “You know what? It’s a real pleasure to meet someone who’s not greedy for wealth or power or whatever. You’ve taught me something really important here: Not everyone wants something. Some people are just really happy the way they are.”

CHAPTER 4

BUMBY’S JINX
    J ohn and Mr. Groanin went to Bumby Town Hall to see if they could make an appointment with someone important on the local town council.
    In the entrance hall was a directory board that listed all the names of the people who worked for the town council. Through an open door was a room with uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs where several Bumby residents were awaiting their appointments. They looked like a typical cross section of the town’s diverse population: There was a short, fat woman with a shopping bag and bad eczema; there was a tall, fat woman with a shopping bag and bad eczema and a small boy with eczema who was noisier than a campsite; there were two tall, handsome-looking men with very long beards and even longer hair; and a suspicious-looking character with red hair, narrow eyes, buckteeth, and — most suspicious of all to Groanin — a bow tie with polka dots.
    Seeing him, Groanin nudged John and then nodded at the man in the bow tie. “Never ever trust a man that wears abow tie in the daytime,” he whispered. “Especially one with polka dots. Unless he’s a clown in a circus. And even then you’d be wise to be on your guard.”
    “Winston Churchill wore a bow tie,” said John. “What about him?”
    “True, lad, but so did Karl Marx. And Sigmund Freud. And Frank Sinatra. You can bet that character is up to no good. You mark my words.”
    Groanin read out a few of the names of the people on the council from the directory board as he tried to decide whom they should see.
    “Right then,” he said. “There’s Mr. Higginbottom, who’s the mayor. There’s Sheryl Shoebottom, the mayor’s secretary; Henry Sidebottom, the town clerk; Arthur Shipperbottom, the press officer; and Colin Shufflebottom, the chief financial officer.”
    John sniggered. “Is everyone in this town called something-bottom?”
    “It’s not that kind of bottom, you daft little toe rag,” said Groanin. “I say, it’s not that kind of bottom. Trouble with you Yanks is that you think everything means what it says, when in fact it usually means something totally different. That’s what comes of pinching our language — the
English
language — instead of inventing your own one. The word
bottom
was originally spelled ‘botham,’ and is an old English word meaning ‘the broad bottom of a valley.’ There’s a lot of valleys in this part of the world. Hence the large number of ‘bottoms’ who live in them.”
    John sniggered again. “I can’t help it,” he insisted. “Itjust seems kind of weird to have so many bottoms in one place.”
    “And this from a boy who lives in a state with towns called Cat Elbow Corner and Hicksville and Yaphank and Yonkers.”
    “There’s a town called Cat Elbow Corner in New York State?” John sounded surprised.
    “Seneca County,” said Groanin. “It’s near Glenora, if that helps.”
    “Nope,” admitted John.
    After thinking about it for a minute or two more, Groanin