Transvestia

mind, the sun went elsewhere.

And so on

•

The High Lama of the Lo Mantang monastery was seated in his study, contemplating the lacquering of his nails when a respectful underling brought news of a marvelous sight. "Serenity--there is a man."

"Indeed." replied the Serene One. "That is

not surprising news to this one's ears.

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"This one is from the West, O Sublimity.

He

has come on foot, through the mountains, suffering terribly."

"All men suffer."

replied the Sublime One.

"This man is dying, O Delicacy,"

"In ninety-nine years, all cratures now alive shall be dead." intoned the Delicate One.

Yet,

a strange thing was observed that morning for the High Lama only stayed for three lacquerings of his nails, rather than the customary seven.

His hunger past all hungering, his thirst re- signed now to a dull raging in the tattered hulk that was his body, Turner topped the last rise and stared through a red haze at the distant buildings. Forbidding, desolate, drab-looking, the monastery looked no different from the others Turner had seen back in the happier times when he could stand erect and walk about like a tourist, A strange thought took him: he must get to the distant place and find a mailbox--of all things, to send a postcard to his friend, telling him that this too was another lie in the fabric of existence,

Thus, when the High Lama, delicately holding the folds of his gown in one hand, approached Turner

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