As your ship, the S.S. Coronado, is pressed gently against the wharf dock by two dilapidated tugboats a pleasant scent of curried rice rises from the caƒé below. "Ah, Calcutta the city of palaces," Salah says, lost in a flood of memories, "here you can study the finest in medicine and law while being broiling and basted."
It is rather hot and overcast, it seems twice as humid as London. "Will we see Professor Jones soon?" you anticipate.
"There he is now!" Salah points astern to the activities on the dock below.
Directing many Bengali's in their native tongue to load several crates aboard another ship Indiana Jones is quite handsome. Tall, with several days stubble on his muscular jaw in the dim sunlight beneath steely precise eyes shaded by the brim of his well aged brown fedora he stands with authority in his open neck khaki shirt stained with sweat from his broad chest. His empty holster is snapped closed over a long coiled black bullwhip with a handle wrapped in crimson cord. His hands now resting akimbo at his tight hips waiting for his orders to be carried out.
"I should introduce you, would you like that?" Salah bows and gestures to the gangplank being lowered. His fez tassel dangling through your hair as you pass.
Marion, now waiting on the port to disembark with her jewelry case, is unaware of the two criminals observing her from the deck above. "We will be much safer now." she speaks as you and Salah approach. She grins and vigorously waves to Indy.
Turn the page.