Becket not only traveled light, he lived light. In the entire world he owned just the clothes he stood up in, a full suitcase and a bank account. Arriving anywhere with these possessions, he might just as easily put up for a month or a year as for a single night. For long stays, not less than a month, he might take a furnished flat, sometimes even a house. But whatever the length, he rarely needed anything he did not have with him. He was, he liked to think, a self-contained person.
Becket had one occasional anxiety: the suspicion that he owned more than would fit comfortably into the case. The feeling, when it comes, was the signal for him to throw something away or just leave it lying about. This was automatic fate of his worn-out clothes, for example. Having no use for choice or variety, he kept just a raincoat, a suit, a pair of shoes and a few shirts, socks and so on; no more in the clothing line. He bought and read many books and left them where he happened to be sitting when he finished them. They quickly found new owners.
Becket was a professional traveler, interested and interesting. He was not one to do a country in a week or a city in three days. He liked to get a feel of a place by living in it, reading its newspapers, watching its TV, discussing its affairs. He always tried to make a few friends—if necessary even by stopping a suitable-looking person in the street and talking to him. It worked well almost in nine cases out often. Though Becket’s health gave him no cause for alarm, he made a point of seeing a doctor as soon as he arrived anywhere. "A doctor knows a place and its people better than anyone," he used to say. He never went to see a doctor; he always sent for one; that, he found, was the quickest way to confidences, which came out freely as soon as he mentioned that he was a writer.
Becket was an artist as well. He painted pictures of his places and, when he had gathered enough information, he wrote about them. He sold his work, through an agent, to newspapers and magazines. It was an agreeable sort of life for a good social mixer, and as Becket never stayed anywhere for long, he enjoyed the satisfying advantages of paying little in taxes. If anything worried Becket, it was