Chapter 1

Not such a joy as a bit over four years ago when I started putting my friend's first book here:

A Nameless Street

That took place in Bolivia in the late '90s during Banzer's last government. The second book is now finally finished, here:

Going, Goni, Gone

It took place at the end of Goni's second (and last) government.

He died last year and this is his third book. It is set somewhere in the reign of the present president, Evo. Without further ado.

I was accompanying the nervous sentinels guarding the portage route whilst I admired the sight of the Steppes in flood. The captives are hauling the boat (galley) over sodden pathways. Jacob and Izzie, their guards, are not brutal but edgy. As they recount their fears, I realize that their era is reaching its end. How do they know? Signs and portents, lunar eclipse and repeated grain harvest failures. Jim tells risqué joke about barley (sowing her oats). What language are they all using in these Khazari days? But Jim is astonished at the ease of communication. He has fitted in telepathically since emerging in this circuit. Too convenient, doesn’t feel right. Locates his hands as Don Juan suggested to check on the reality of dreams. Stubs his toe against a protruding rock and it hurts. Damn, what is this - a fantasy, reverie or flight of fancy? I have always been here, can’t recall my moment of arrival – just as a boy growing up in a family takes his existence for granted. Yet I’m acutely aware that I don’t know anyone in this society – have nowhere to turn to – could be a case of sudden total amnesia except for the flow of historical knowledge unfolding in a part of my mind. I know where I am, in the Jewish kingdom of Khazaria as it fast approaches its conclusion.

Jacob whirls round and stares into my eyes as if divining my bemusement. “OK, Jake, don’t worry. (if I am obliged to play a part, I will naturally do so, no questions being asked, for the moment). Look at the setting sun which has just shown itself through a break in the cloud cover. Watch this!” and I treat him and Izzie to a shadow show with my clenched fist projecting a medley of shapes onto the bow of a galley conveniently illuminated by the brief burst of evening sunlight. Goblins, an old gnome, even an eagle swooping down to whisk them away. I have always been good at this party trick, remembering it instinctively from other days. And Jacob and Israel are indeed captivated, to the extent of forgetting to berate their slaves who likewise mesmerised by the spectacle of the dancing forms being played out on the wooden bulwark have allowed the heavy vessel they were hauling to come to halt. “Oops, sorry Izzie and Jake. Back to the lashes you were administering so efficiently.”