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I lit two more incense sticks and put on Paul Weller’s ‘Stanley Road‘, Number 570, very loud. Then, in the lull following a stomach-numbing pang of anger and regret, I ran to the kitchen bin and retrieved the crumpled mass of paper that the Nano Doll had spewed up. In my haste to recover it, I inadvertently tore it to shreds. Piecing the fragments back together, I could still make out between the creases: “ai yam teh loakum yeloe roas.” Back in the living room, I inhaled deeply the first bloom of incense, before attempting to read aloud the words. In order to pronounce them I was forced to correct them and thus came close to understanding: “I am the loakum yellow rose.” Fumbling about on the bookshelf, I located my battered copy of the Concise Oxford Dictionary. There was no entry for ‘loakum’; the closest to it was: loc´um ten´êns (-z; also colloq. loc´um), n. Deputy acting esp. for clergymen or doctor. Hence loc´um ten´ency n. [med. L, (one) holding place tenant, (foll.)] That definition didn’t seem to help me. My eyes rose to the Buddha, who was drowsing amid the thick, cloying mists of incense. The fragrance was sweet, reminding me of fresh flowers... The incense! On the bottom shelf was the cardboard carton containing the incense sticks. I picked it up and read the label: Himalaya incense. 20 incense sticks. Rose Jaune. Rosa Amarillo. Rosa. Yellow Rose. And the Buddha sat on the shelf with eyes closed, chest supporting his chins, wearing a self-satisfied grin. *
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