On Saturday morning Leila and I had arranged to go with Obed and Wallett to watch the fire-walking for the Kavadi festival at the Second River Temple in Bellair Road. After only a couple of hours' sleep, I was still tired, but I wrote a short note to Sister le Feuvre, expressing my sympathy for her loss and explaining, in unclassified terms, my connection, such as it was, with her father.We took the Pulsar despite its having proved so recalcitrant, and to offset the mistrust in not taking Leila's Rover, and drove down to Albert Street to fetch Obed. He was dressed exactly as he would be if he were catching the bus to the Institute on a workaday morning, and he seemed keen to talk about the progress of the tests, but I asked him to save it all for Monday and we turned along the Esplanade to the art deco block where Wallett had an apartment. I had not seen Wallett for a while. He had been badly shaken up by his uncle's death, and Leila had invited him out to help him deal with his grief and rage. Waiting for us on the pavement, he looked characteristically Bohemian and colonial, wearing a safari suit and a peaked cap decorated with a badge showing Barbarella riding a red dragon, and an extensive sun-flap hung protectively around his neck and ears. He carried an elaborate and ruthless-looking camera. We set out down the South Coast Freeway before turning west along Edwin Swales V.C. Drive and then on to Bellair Road.The new teaching hospital towers over the whole area now, but the temple has undergone enough history, so much large-scale and small-scale violence, all the bleak landscaping and social engineering of group areas, freeways, overways, underways, canals, bridges, electricity pylons and sub-stations, in its short century of life. The pantheon of Hindu deities has survived at a price: here at the southern end of Cato Manor, it is hard to recall the hectares of tin shacks that once covered the whole valley, the hundreds of thousands of families moved north and south, the violent riots and their equally violent suppression. After decades of flowing like a wide green river from north to south just west of the city, the valley has filled up again with shacks from the north. Cato Manor Road divides the informal settlements of the valley from the rate-paying suburbs on the east. There are rumours of war-lords and rack-rentiers.None of this is visible as we walk from Bellair Road on to the dirt track that leads into the temple complex. Two fire-walking pits have been dug at the base of the hill