Some of these stories first appeared in Archipelago and The PaumanokReview. Cover drawing: "Shan" by Finn. 

for w. Cat

Michelangelo's Shoulder

It dawned hot in Georgia. Don rubbed his head and blinked. He got outof bed and paused before a makeshift easel where a drawing, taped to aboard, showed a woman sitting on a park bench. She was large, dressedin layers of multi-colored cotton. She reminded him of the Renoir womanin her plush living room, the dog sprawled at her feet, but she wassmarter. The line across her eyebrows and tapering along her jaw wasright. He'd left out a lot, but that didn't matter. If what was therewas true enough, you knew the rest--like a Michelangelo shoulderemerging from stone. 

He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. 

After coffee and a piece of toast, he rolled the drawing and took it tothe park where the woman fed pigeons every day. She wasn't there. Shewasn't there the next day, either. The following day Don brought a loafof bread, sat on her bench, and tossed white pellets into the air. Birds fought for each piece. He prepared the remaining bread andscattered it in one throw. "There you go--something for everybody. She'll be back soon. "

A week later, she showed up. Don moved aside and asked, "Where youbeen?"

"Took sick. "

"I've been feeding the pigeons. "

"I was worrying. Thank you. "

"I did a drawing of you. I wanted to name it, but--I didn't know yourname. "

"Ruby. "

"Ruby, ah. I'm Don. You want to see it? I'll bring it tomorrow. "

"Sure. "

"O. K. How you feeling?"

"Better, now. "

"Good. " He walked to his usual bench and sat down. The sun beat on thelive oak trees and sage-green strings of Spanish moss while the birdsmade happy sounds in front of Ruby. She had lost weight, he thought, but it was hard to tell, the way she dressed. She was a beauty once. Heremembered his bloodshot eyes in the bathroom mirror. None of usgetting any younger. He would give her the drawing in the morning andtake off. It was time to leave Savannah, past time. Head for Portlandagain. Look up Lorna. 

Lorna. The Art Students League. It seemed like last week that she waslooking carefully into his eyes and shaking his hand, curious andunafraid, different from him in many ways, but similar in that. Painter's eyes, he thought, clear and unblinking. Couldn't tell howgood she was, though--eyes are one thing; talent is another. And hardwork is another. 

She lived in a studio behind her parents' house on a mountainroad--what was it called?--the Glasco Turnpike. Her father, LadCharles, was a painter, a friendly guy who wore bow ties and was wellliked in town. Lorna was protected, highly educated, out of reach forDon Delahanty. 

He was blocky. She was slim. His neck was thick and turned with hisbody; her neck was graceful and turned by itself. His eyes were aslatey blue--the color of the sea on a cloudy day. Hers were almondwith flecks of green. He was fair skinned. Lorna was tanned. His hairwas sand colored, prematurely grizzled. Hers was light brown, sunstreaked, thick, and cut short--perfect for small gold earrings. Shebrought with her the smell of spring. He smelled like upstate NewYork--dirt, dairy farms, and industrial towns. She was kind. They bothwere, although he had a bitter streak that dragged at him. 

The pigeons took off in a sudden rush, flapping and swerving around thetrees. Don stood and walked slowly across the square. "So long, Ruby. "

"Be good, now, " she said. 

You can survive unloved, but you can't make it without lovingsomebody--or something. Ruby loved her birds. And who knows who else?He loved Lorna. Lorna loved Pike, or used to, and Molly, theirdaughter. Molly herself would be falling in love any time now, if sheweren't already. Round and round we go, getting the job done. Except hehadn't gotten the job done, not unless you counted the paintings askids. Not a happy train of thought. Piss on it, he'd have a waffle atCleary's. Tide him over until the big feed. 

On Thursdays they had the big feed, he and Riles and Kai. Thursdays, because weekends were unpredictable. He walked the six blocks toCleary's, just around the corner from the house--Riles's house, Kai'shouse--he couldn't call it home exactly, although he'd spent morewinters than he cared to remember in the basement studio reserved forcaretakers or indigent relatives. He was a little of each--an oldfriend of Riles and useful around the place, watching the galleryseveral times a week and doing the framing jobs that came along. 

The Cleary's waitresses were wearing _Midnight in the Garden of Goodand Evil_ T-shirts. Not a bad image, from the cover of the best seller, but it annoyed him to see his friends wearing advertisements. 

"Pecan waffle, Don?"

"Yes, Ma'm--for my strength. It's that time again. I'm going north. "

"Take me with you. "

"Can't afford you. "

"Next year, " she suggested. 

"Do my best, " Don said. "Something to live for. There's not much upthere, Jilly, just Yankees, shivering and eating beans. "

"I could stand the shivering. Want some grits?"

"Read my mind, " Don said. 

He ate slowly, drank an extra cup of coffee, left a big tip, and got onwith packing. By cocktail hour he had cleaned his room and stashed hisbelongings in a footlocker and a duffel bag. The easel and the paintinggear stayed, part of the decor. He packed his best brushes, hiswatercolors, and a block of good paper. There was no limit to thenumber of lighthouse and/or lobster boat paintings he could sell, ifthey were cheap enough. The portraits and the figures were different. Drawn or done fully in oils, they were given away, or nearly. It washard to put a price on them. 

"How well you look, Don, " Kai said. 

"Thank you. I'm having my annual burst of optimism. Did Riles tell youthat I'm off to Maine tomorrow?"

"Riles never tells me anything. "

"Mother, really!" Riles appeared and put an arm around her shoulders. They were handsome together, short and dark with identical flashingsmiles. Riles's hairline had receded considerably, and Kai's hair hadlong ago turned a tarnished silver, but they both were slim and uprightand moved with a lack of effort that made Don feel as though he weredragging a wagon behind him. "I only just found out. Don is secretive, you know. "

"Don is not good at planning, " Don said. 

"We must count on the turning of the seasons, Mother, the greatmigrations, to bring him back to Sherman's Retreat. "

"He is not a goose, Dear. " She turned to Don. "The sooner you comeback, the better. "

"Honk, " Don said, embarrassed, and added, "if you love Jesus. "

"I think this calls for a Riles Blaster. Don? Mother?"

Riles Blasters were made from light rum, Grand Marnier, lime juice, andother secret ingredients combined with ice and served, after greatroaring from the blender, in sweating silver tumblers. Riles claimedthat they prolonged life by rendering stress inoperable and irrelevant. A Riles Blaster, he pronounced, allowed one to focus on what mattered. "What mattered" was left undefined, allowing to each a certainlatitude. They toasted what mattered and then "Absent loved ones. "

Blasters were reliable--one brought a sigh; two put a helpless smile onyour face. It was best to switch to wine at that point. Another virtue:"A modest red becomes--acceptable. " Riles pronounced each syllable of"acceptable" so lightly and with such pleasure that you had to agree. The dark side of Riles was private. Don understood and left it alone. 

"Will you be seeing that attractive friend of yours?" Kai made herinnocent face. 

"I usually do--at least once. I'll try. "

"I love that oil of her as a young woman. Would you part with it? Wethink it belongs in the permanent collection. "

Riles raised his eyebrows, indicating that "we" meant "she. "

"You may have it, of course. "

"We can't afford what it's worth. "

"You don't have to buy it. I'll give it to you. It's yours. "

"Don, you must take something at least--for the materials. " She wentinto the living room and returned with a check which she handed to him. "I have wanted that painting for so long, " she said, breaking a silence. 

"That's a hell of a lot of materials. "

"Good. More paintings! It's worth ten times that. "

"Quite so, " Riles said. 

"Well. " Don raised his glass. "Thanks. "

"Bon voyage. " They clinked glasses and that was that. Riles and Kaiwere skilled at such things; they had a knack for moving on. It was apart of their youthfulness. Good genes helped, too, Don thought. Not tomention the financial wisdom of dear departed Redmond. 

An hour later Don said goodnight. Feeling almost a member of thefamily, he went downstairs and fell asleep on the bed in the basement. 

The next day he made his way to the park. "Mornin', Ruby. "

"Morning to you. You late today. "

"Going to be a long day. I'm taking the train north. "

"Oh, my. "

Don pulled the drawing from the cardboard tube and unrolled it, holdingit up for her to see. 

"Wooo, " she said, "I used to be better lookin'. "

"You still good looking. "

"I like it. "

"I signed it here. " He pointed. 

"Don Dela--hanty, " she read. 

"An original Delehanty. You hang on to it, maybe it will be worthsomething, someday. "

"What you mean?"

He rolled the drawing and put it back in the tube. "It's for you; it'sa present. " He held it out. Ruby hesitated and then took it. 

"Been a while since I had a present. "

"So, " Don said, "take care. See you when I get back. "

"Lord willing. Thank you. Thank you for the present. " The walls camedown and she smiled like a girl. 

"My pleasure. " He bowed and walked toward the river. The Silver Meteorwas due at 5:50. 

Don got to bed with Lorna that summer. She wasn't quite it, though heloved her and would never tell her that. He did a portrait of her, hisbest yet, and gave it to Molly knowing that Lorna wouldn't accept it orwould feel guilty for not paying if she did. The days were long andintense, but the summer was gone in a flash. 

Strangely, he was offered a show in New York--his other long timedream--by a gallery owner who was after Lorna. He did not want to beinvolved in their relationship. He turned the show down, pretendingthat the requirements were too much trouble. It probably wouldn't haveworked out, anyway, he thought. Some people have a knack for danglingwhat you want in front of you; when you reach for it, it disappears. 

Late in October he went over to Lorna's and said goodbye. She seemedsad and a bit relieved. Molly had tears in her eyes and hugged himwholeheartedly. 

The next morning a cold rain was bringing down the leaves as Doncarried his bag to the bus station. The shoulders of his tan raincoatwere wet through when he boarded the Greyhound for Boston. Three rowsback, he found an empty seat by a window and looked out at theglistening street. He saw a painting, full of light. 

Waiting for Happiness

Spring comes late in Maine. Snow changes to rain; branch tips redden;you can see your breath. Not a whole lot different than winter untilthe daffodils, crab apples, and forsythia bloom. The sun skips off thewater, impossibly bright, impossibly blue. You can almost almost hearthe cracking of seeds, buried and forgotten. 

Charlie Garrett was as hardnosed as most. He kept going, did what hehad to. "Ninety percent of success is showing up, " Woody Allen said. Charlie repeated that in dire times--before medical checkups or visitsto his brother, Orson. 

Orson knew a lot about success and never hesitated to pass it on. "Whatyou need, Charlie, is a Cessna. You aren't supposed to spin them, butyou can. That'll clear your head, Charlie, straight down, counting as abarn comes around--one time, two times, three times--correct and pullout nice and easy. " Orson dipped his knees, lowering his flattenedpalm. Or a catboat: "A solid little Marshall, Charlie. Putter around, take some cutie coasting. You're in sailor heaven, man, all thoseislands. "

"I know some cuties, " Miranda had said. 

"Last cutie took my silver garlic press. Well, she didn't take it; sheborrowed it and never returned it. "

"Call her up and get it back, " Orson said. 

"That's what she wants you to do. " Miranda was the best thing aboutOrson. 

"I got another one. "

"Where the hell did you find a silver garlic press?" Orson wasimpressed. 

"It's aluminum, I think, or a composite material. "

"Oh. "

It was always like that; motion was Orson's answer to everything. Charlie stretched and checked his watch. The ten o'clock ferry fromPeaks Island was edging to the dock. Soon a few dozen passengers wouldwalk off the ramp, carrying shopping bags, slipping day packs over oneor both shoulders, holding dogs on leashes. Margery, short and polite, would be toward the end of the line, one hand on the railing, blinkingas she looked up at the city buildings and around for him. 

They were similar physically and recognized each other as related, notlovers, not brother and sister, but distant cousins perhaps or membersof a tribe--the patient, the witness bearers. "There you are, " shesaid. Charlie stood and they patted one another's shoulders. 

"You look very well, not a day over forty, " Charlie said, standingback. "Here, let me take that. " She handed him a stout canvas bag. "Jesus! What's in here?"

"Rocks and books. You're looking pleased with life. How's the world ofarchitecture?"

"All right. Still looking for the perfect client. " He rubbed hisstomach with his free hand and pointed across the street to StandardBaking Company. "Croissants, " he said. "A croissant a day keeps thedoctor away. Are you hungry?"

"No. Let's get on with it. "

Charlie led the way to his car, an elderly red Volvo. "Rocinante, "Margery remembered. 

"As good as ever. " Charlie lowered the bag into the back seat. 

"Could we swing by the library? I need to return these books. "

"Sure. What have you been reading?"

"Tolstoy. The Russians. Dostoyevsky, Chekhov. "

"That'll get you through a long night. "

"There's no one like Tolstoy, " Margery said. "So serene. Cosmic anddown to earth at the same time. "

"I wrote a novel once, " Charlie said. 

"What happened?"

"It wasn't very good. " Charlie stopped by the library book drop. 

"At least you finished. "

He watched her slide three souls and twenty years work through thebrass slot. "There's a story I love about Chekhov, " she said, gettingback into the car. "He paid a visit to Tolstoy. Late in the evening, onhis way home after a certain amount of wine, he cried out to his horseand to the heavens: 'He says I'm worse than Shakespeare. Worse thanShakespeare!'"

"Wonderful, " Charlie said. "Chekhov--didn't he die after a last swallowof champagne?"

"It was sad, " Margery said. She turned and stared out the side window. 

They drove out of town in silence. The cemetery where Margery's fatherand son were buried was an hour and a half up the coast and midway downa long peninsula. The drive had become an annual event. Margery had nocar. Charlie drove her one year and then had just continued. This was, what, the fourth or fifth trip? He couldn't remember. 

"Margery, did you see that picture of President Bush on the carrierdeck, wearing the pilot get up?"

"I did. "

"Wasn't that ridiculous? The little son of a bitch went AWOL when hewas in the National Guard. I read that it delayed the troops theirhomecoming by a day and cost a million dollars. "

"Light comedy, " Margery said. "The Emperor Commodus fancied himself agladiator. Romans had to watch him fight in the colosseum many times. He never lost. His opponents were issued lead swords. "

"Nothing's changed, " Charlie said. "Commodus?"

"Second century, A. D. We're not a police state, yet. Things get reallycrazy under one man rule. Have you not read Gibbon?"

"The Decline and Fall--never got around to it. "

"Good for perspective, " Margery said. 

"That green!" Charlie waved at the trees along I-95. "We only get itfor a week when the leaves are coming out. "

"Yes. " Margery settled into her seat. Perspective was a good thing, Charlie thought. Even keel and all that. But there was something to besaid for losing it. If he could have his choice of cuties, he'd just assoon have one of those dark eyed Mediterranean fireballs--breasts, slashing smile--someone who spoke with her whole body. 

They arrived at the cemetery in good time. Margery declined his offerto carry the special rocks, wanting to bring them herself. They wereintended to protect the base of a rugosa she'd planted the previousyear. As usual, Charlie accompanied her and then returned to the car. She would take as long as she needed to arrange the rocks and to sayor hear or feel whatever she could. 

Charlie had no children; it was hard to imagine what she felt. Her sonhad skidded on a slick road and been wiped out by a logging truck, astupid accident, pure bad luck. Her father had died later the sameyear. Margery had been on hold since, he supposed, although he hadn'tknown her when she was younger. The lines in her face seemed to havebeen set early. We were all full of hope once, he thought. 

 He leaned against the car and watched a man approach. The man wascarrying a shovel. He had a white handlebar moustache and a vaguelyconfederate look. "Hey, " Charlie said. 

"Yup, " the man said. He stopped and leaned on his shovel. 

"Nice day, " Charlie said, after a moment. 

"Yessir. Black flies ain't woke up yet. "

"Don't disturb them. "

"No. Jesus, no. I guess we got a couple of days yet. " He tested theground with the shovel and looked into the cemetery. "Margery Sewell, "he said. 

"You know Margery?"

"Since she was about so high. " He gestured toward his knees. "Used togo smelting with her father, Jack. "

"I'm Charlie, friend of Margery's. "

"Tucker, " the man said. "Tucker Smollett. "

"That's an old name. "

"Smolletts go way back around here. Smolletts and Sewells, both. " Theystared into the graveyard. "You from around here, then?" He knew thatCharlie was from away; he was being polite. 

"Live in Portland, born in New York. Family came over in the famine. "

"Well, then. " The world divides into people who have been hungry andthose who haven't. Charlie felt himself grandfathered into the rightcamp. It was strange how some people you got along with and some youdidn't. "I'll tell you one thing, " Tucker said, "there weren't nobodysmarter than Margery Sewell ever come out of here. She got prizes, awards--some kind of thing from the governor, even. Whoever he was. Can't recall. "

Charlie nodded. "She's a professor--classics--Latin and Greek. "

"It don't surprise me, " Tucker said. 

They talked, from time to time glancing into the graveyard. Tucker waswaiting for Margery, Charlie realized. When she appeared, she waswalking slowly. Her head was up but her attention was dragging, asthough she were pulling part of herself left behind. She was nearly tothem before she focused. "Hello, Tucker. "

"Hello, Margery. "

"Good to see you, " she said. "It's been a while. "

"Yep. Since the service, I guess. " Tucker straightened. He seemedyounger. 

"Tucker lived up the road from us, " she said to Charlie. "He made methe most marvelous rocking horse. I think that was the nicest present Iever got. When William--" She swallowed. "When--I'm sorry. " She turnedaway. "William loved it too, " she said in a low voice. 

There wasn't anything to say. Margery gathered herself and turned backto them. 

Tucker cleared his throat. "I was--thinking you might come over for abite to eat, for old times sake. " Charlie expected Margery to decline, but something in the old man's tone had caught her attention. 

"Well, that's nice of you. You have time, don't you, Charlie?"

"Plenty of time. " A few years earlier, she had shown him where shelived, not far from the cemetery. "Ride or walk?"

"Ride, " Tucker said. "I'll just put this shovel in the shed. "

Tucker's house was a weathered collection of gray boxes that weresettling away from each other. A reddish dog got down from a couch onthe porch and came to meet them. There was white around her muzzle. "Company, Sally. Margery Sewall and her friend, Charlie. " The dogreceived Tucker's hand on her head and greeted them, sniffing each inturn. "Sally don't see as well as she used to--do you girl?" Her tailwagged and she led them to the house. 

"You've got bees. " Charlie pointed at four hives that stood on 2x4's atthe end of a narrow garden. 

"Yep. Good year, last year. "

"The lilacs are even bigger than I remember, " Margery said. 

"They keep right on going. " Tucker took them through the house andkitchen to a screened back porch. Charlie and Margery sat at a largetable while he brought bread, cheese, pickles, salami, mayonnaise, mustard, a bowl of lettuce, and a smaller bowl of radishes. He setplates and three glasses. "I've got beer, water, and--a little milk. "

"Beer, " Charlie said. 

"Margery?"

"Beer. "

"Three sodas coming up, " Tucker said. 

He and Margery reminisced. "Jack had a taste for the good stuff, "Tucker said. "Five o'clock, regular. Never minded sharing, did Jack. "Charlie ate steadily and accepted another can of beer. 

"Not bad, Tucker, " he said. He had noticed a small wooden horse on ashelf when he first entered the porch. During lunch, as Tucker andMargery talked, his eyes kept returning to it. He got up and walkedover to the shelf. "What's this?"

"Something I made. "

"Do you mind if I look at it?"

"Nope. "

Charlie carried the horse back to the table. It was carved from wood, light colored, about five inches high, galloping across a base ofwooden grasses and flowers. There was an air of health about it. Itseemed to belong where it was. "Nice, " he said. "What kind of finish isthat on there?"

"Nothing much. Linseed oil, thinned some. "

"Mighty nice. "

"It's beautiful, Tucker. "

"I made it for your mother. " It was a statement of fact, but it carriedsomething extra, like the horse. "You probably don't remember Mesquite, Margery. "

"Mesquite--" Her face began to open. 

"Must have died when you were about four or five. "

"I'm remembering, now. "

"Mr. Randolph brought him back for your mom--Helen, " he said. "Got himat a show down south somewhere. He was a quarter horse, Mesquite. FromOklahoma originally, if I remember right. Damn fine horse. " Tuckertilted his glass for two swallows. "I used to take care of him once ina while--when the family was away, you know. Well, one day Helen wasout riding and I was walking along. It was in June. The flowers was allout. Mesquite got to cantering and I run along to keep up. Never forgetit. The flowers all different, blurring together and flowing along likeI was running through a river all different colors. And Helen sittingup tall--she had hair just like yours, Margery, short and thick, strawcolored, went with her blue eyes. " Tucker slowed down. "Well, I had todo something. I made the horse. "

"Mesquite. "

"Yep. "

"Why didn't you give it to her?"

"It's a long story, I guess. Took me a while to make it. Your mom tooka fancy to Jack. What with one thing and another, I went in the Navy. When I got out, I guess you was three years old already. "

"Oh, Tucker. "

"How's she doing? She still in Florida where they went?"

"St. Augustine. She's down to one lung. She lives in one ofthose--assisted living places, they call them. She has her own space, but there's help if need be. She gets around on a walker. " Margerypaused. 

"Tucker, why do we cling so to life?"

"Guess we ain't done yet. "

Margery looked at him for a long moment, and they exchanged what couldbe exchanged in small smiles. Tucker went inside the house and returnedwith a heavy cardboard box. "While I'm at it, " he said and began takingout carvings and putting them on the table--more horses, deer, squirrels, birds of all kinds, a woodchuck. Charlie held up a fox andlooked at it from different angles. Its tail was full, straight outbehind him, level with his back. His ears were sharply pointed, hishead tilted slightly, all senses alert. Charlie was sure it was a he;the fox was elegant and challenging, superior. 

"Damn near alive, " Charlie said. "You could make money with these. "

Tucker shook his head negatively. "Only do one a year. In the winter, not much going on. " He looked into the back yard. "Try to get it doneon February 15th. "

"Mother's birthday. "

"We used to talk about them a lot--animals and birds. Walk in thewoods, talk. "

"Tucker, does she know about these?"

"Nope. "

"But she should see them!"

"She'd like them, you think?"

"Of course she would. They're beautiful. "

"I'm not much for writing, "

"I could mail them to her if you'd like. " He looked at the carvings, rubbed his chin, and inclined his head. A _why not_ expression crossedhis face. He pulled a twenty dollar bill from a scarred black wallet. "Tucker, for heavens sake!" He insisted that she take it. 

"Ask her, if she don't mind--I might take a ride down, say hello. Probably get a train down there. " He looked at Charlie. 

"Amtrak, " Charlie said. "Or you could fly. "

"I like trains. "

They finished lunch and put the box of carvings on the back seat ofthe car. "I'll wrap tissue paper around them so they don't get bangedup. I'll mail them tomorrow, " Margery said. "Tucker, thank you so muchfor lunch. It was so good to see you. "

"I thought I'd be seeing you again one of these days, " Tucker said. 

"We'll keep in touch, " Margery said. 

"Take care of yourself, " Charlie said. "You want a ride back?"

"I'll walk. "

They drove away slowly as Tucker and Sally watched. Tucker lifted onehand in farewell. 

"You just never know, do you?" Charlie said. 

"Tucker Smollett, " Margery said. "Good old Tucker. "

Halfway back to Portland, Charlie looked over at Margery and askedabout her husband. "He cared for me, " she said. "He just cared more forsomeone else. "

"Damn shame, " Charlie said. Margery brushed the fingers of one handthrough the back of her hair. Charlie thought she was going to saymore, but she didn't. At the ferry, he helped her with the box and saidgoodbye. 

The next morning was again bright and sunny. Charlie returned to thebench near the ferry and sat, savoring his coffee, croissant, and thesalty air. His brother Orson came to mind. Orson was a pain in the ass, but he had a point--sometimes you have to make a move. 

Two men wearing similar clothes--pressed jeans, T-shirts, white runningshoes, and sunglasses--walked up and took benches closer to the water. One was older, softer, beginning to put on weight. He sat with hiselbows on his knees, looking across the harbor. The other, fitter one, stretched full length on his bench, arms out flat behind his head, andstared into the sky. Neither looked happy. They remained unmoving, asthough they were waiting for a delivery. 

That is not the way, Charlie thought. He stood, dropped the empty bagand cup into a trash can, and walked in the direction of the unknownfurled inside him. 

Coming To

"I made a box. It was about so big. " The speaker spread his hands onthe counter. "By about so wide. " He indicated the other dimension, onepalm by his stomach, the other out by a napkin holder. 

The outer hand rose over a plate of eggs. "About so high. "

A smaller man at the next stool nodded, lifting his coffee mug. "Aboutso high. "

About so high, Will repeated to himself. 

"Made it for my daughter. "

"For your daughter. "

Made it for his daughter. Will joined the chorus. He couldn't see thebox, but he could hear it. 

"Took me some shiplap--nice and dry. Made her tight. No cracks. "

"No sir. "

No way. 

It was four o'clock in the morning. Fluorescent lights cast a bluishglow over wooden booths, plastic covered stools, the grill, and adouble doored refrigerator. A waitress leaned against the wall by akitchen door and lit a cigarette. 

The man's voice rose and fell. There was a question of hinging. Tohinge or not. Maybe a plain top with a handle? A hinge, but--you didn'twant the top just flopping around. "I got me some light brass chain, put about fifteen inches on each side, inside, running to the undersideof the top. Little screw in each end. Not going to pull out _those_hinges. "

The other man shook his head. 

"I sanded her up good--you know--finished it nice. "

The waitress bent forward and tapped her cigarette on an ashtray hiddenbehind the counter. "You want more coffee, Herbert?"

"Don't believe I will. " Herbert turned to his friend. "What do you say?"

"Don't get paid for sitting. "

They left and the waitress cleared their places, sweeping a tip intoher pocket. She turned toward Will. "More coffee?"

He pushed his mug forward. "Thanks. " He could see the box now. It wassolid. It had a quiet glow. 

"Long night?"

"Yes. " It hurt to think about it. He was still disoriented. The dinerhad appeared in the night like a miracle. "We all got troubles, Iguess, " he said to break the silence. 

"What's her name?"

"Heidi, " he said, surprised. The name tore through him. 

"Heidi, huh. " The waitress took a drag from her cigarette. "You're agood looking guy. She good looking?"

He could have said, not like you, but he didn't have it in him. Henodded. 

"It's hard sometimes, " she said. "I don't mean to be telling you whatto do, but you might feel better if you cleaned up a little, got thosepieces of leaf or whatever out of your hair. " Will reached up and feltthe back of his head. 

"I slept in the woods a couple of hours. "

"You look it. Your mother'd give you hell. "

"Don't have a mother. "

"Oh. I _am_ a nosy bitch. "

"You're not a bitch, " Will said. It was important to get somethingright. "You're not a bitch. I was at a concert. We were. "

"You and Heidi. "

"And a bunch of her friends. It was at Cornell. String quartet. I hadto wear a tie. "

"Guess you got rid of the tie. "

"It's in the car--with the rest of the uniform. I'm in the service, theAir Force. Only dress up clothes I had. "

"My brother was in the Navy twenty years. Gets a check now, everymonth. "

"I won't make twenty. "

"I've never been to a quartet, " she said. "Cornell is big bucks. "

"The music was great. Haydn. But her friends were laughing at me. What's Heidi doing with an airman? They don't see too many airmen atCornell. We've been together since we were fifteen--high school. "

"Oh, Jesus, " the waitress said, "first time's the worst. "

"She didn't say anything, but I saw it in her eyes--just like I saw shewas going to be mine when I asked her in the hallway to go rollerskating. " Will shook his head. "I didn't even know _how_ to rollerskate. She looked down and then she looked up and her eyes said yes andthen she said, yes. And that was that. Five years ago. "

The waitress took a last drag and stubbed out her cigarette. "You wantsomething to eat?"

"I don't think so. "

"You sure? Piece of toast?"

"Well--toast, maybe. " Heidi's friends surrounded him. Their faces weresoft and excited, sure of themselves. They wore expensive sweaters andsports jackets. They seemed to belong to a club where everything wastaken care of. 

The waitress set a plate of toast in front of him. He took one bite andthen another. "Tastes good. "

"You gotta eat, " she said. 

"I drank a lot of beer, after. Heidi had to go back to her dorm. I wason this path near where the car was parked, and I just lay down in thepath. When I woke up, there was a roaring and a weird light in thetrees. It was a power plant or something that fired up in the middle ofthe night. I couldn't sleep, so I found the car. I just wanted to getout of there. "

"Get moving, " she said. "I know it's easy to say--but it might be it'sfor the best. People do go in different directions. "

"Maybe, " Will said. "Maybe she'll marry one of those rich guys and livehappily ever after. "

The sky outside the window had turned from black to light gray. "Getting light. " He left a ten dollar bill on the counter. "Thanks forthe company. "

"You stop in next time by, you hear?"

"O. K. What's your name?"

"Lee. "

"O. K. , Lee. I'll do that. I'm Will. Take it easy. "

The car started right up, that was one good thing. He drove off, adjusting the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of the diner beforehe went around a curve. He and Heidi had made a whole, and now she wasgone. He drove, and, as the daylight grew stronger, he thought aboutthe diner--that little room of light in the dark, Lee, and the mantalking about his box. That was something you could hang on to. 

Guayaquil

At the sound of wooden blocks struck together, Arthur adjusted hissitting position and emptied his mind. The echo diminished to a memoryand changed to a tree. A palm tree. Not this again. An expanse of emptybeach curved to a familiar headland. Sometimes his grandmother wouldappear, coming toward him on her fitness walk, legs moving quickly, scarcely bending at the knees, like the birds that chased and retreatedat the water's edge. She never noticed him. 

This morning Penn stepped from the water and approached, his long thinbody tanned ivory brown, his eyes blue-green, clear as a cat's. Thingscame easy to Penn. Arthur exhaled the past and inhaled it again. Notthat way, he told himself. No struggle. Let it float away. Hestraightened and followed his breathing. Penn disappeared as casuallyas he had twenty years ago. 

Arthur put his cheek against the palm tree. The bark was like cloth, raspy and flexible, wrapped around and around the heart of the tree. Someday, years of balmy weather would be violently interrupted. Thistree, which grew in sand, would have to bend horizontal or be uprooted. 

Arthur exhaled the satisfaction that attended this insight. Noattachment. 

When the blocks sounded again, he stood and walked with the othersaround the zendo, careful not to look at Martin for approval. He wasn'tsure why Martin was hard on him. Martin was enlightened, but wisdomhadn't erased narrow lines in his face, resentful lines. Arthur wasrespected in the scientific community, well paid. Martin had been aninsurance adjuster or something before he found his vocation. He hadshaved his head, but the cheap haircut remained. 

The blocks signalled and sitting resumed, the group settling into ashared breathing. A quiet euphoria rose and faded, replaced by an edgypre-verbal clarity. Kwok! Over. Arthur rejoined the world of choice anddemand. He felt that he was making progress. 

"Excuse me. " The elderly woman who had been directly in front of him asthey walked around the room was blocking his way. "Are you ArthurWells? Dr. Arthur Wells?"

"Why, yes. " He raised his eyebrows modestly. 

"Forgive me for intruding, " she said. "My niece insisted that I ask. She saw you last week when she picked me up. She thinks she had aseminar with you once. "

"Oh dear. I hope I wasn't difficult. What is your niece's name?"

"Pookie. "

Arthur's mouth filled with the taste of anchovies. 

"Pookie, " he said. "Really? Your niece. Some time ago, I think. " Thewoman waited. "Pookie, umm--her last name?"

"Willet, now. It _was_ Kennecutt. "

"Yes, of course! I remember now, " Arthur said, falsely triumphant. "Ithought she had great promise. " He tossed his hands. "But--life--whoknows?" He smiled acceptance. 

"She married an idiot. "

"Ah, " Arthur said. She hadn't married Penn, at any rate. 

"On the positive side, they have two wonderful children. "

Only children don't get to be uncles. "Lucky Auntie, " Arthur said. "Dogive her my best. There's biology and then there's _biology_. "

"Yes, " she said. "Well, I must be going. " Arthur watched her leave, wishing for a drink of water. He was fifteen years older than Penn, andPenn was a lot older than Pookie; it was absurd to be jealous. They didmake a handsome couple. At least they had the one time they'd driven byin an old Porsche with the top down--Penn talking, his head turned toPookie. He was still youthful. If anyone could manage a relationshipwith a big age difference it would be Penn. No doubt he worked in ahospital or a clinic surrounded by women. I forgive myself for givingher a B, Arthur thought. It should have been a C, but he had beenunnecessarily cold with her in class. Let it go. 

He emerged from his thoughts too late. "Chop wood, carry water, " Martinsaid and launched into an explanation of the latest fund drive. 

"Of course, " Arthur said. "After the I. R. S. , my gambling debts, theSierra Club, and Psi Upsilon, you shall have everything. "

"Thank you, Arthur. We know we can count on you. You have been a greathelp to the zendo. "

"Chop wood, carry water, " Arthur said, trying to remember where he'dparked the Land Rover. He walked away trustingly and turned at thecorner. There it was, by the bodega near the end of the block. Helowered the car windows and sat listening to mariachi music pouringfrom the store. 

 The beat was attractive, maddening. It made him want to be a part ofthings, to dance in the town square. He worked hard. But. He never hadany--fun. The word caught in his throat, emerged, and hung before himlike the coast of Antarctica. He gripped the steering wheel. Mother hadbeen on him about that earlier. _You ought to go out and have a goodtime, Arthur. Never mind those science trips. _ Mother specialized ingood times. Her round of social events would drive him crazy. He wascontent to see her alone at their weekly breakfast. Quite content. Infact, meditation was helpful after breakfast with Mother. He rememberedto exhale, and he loosened his grip on the wheel. 

Trumpets blared above guitars. It was a sunny day, a good day to beoutside. He started the car and drove away. When he reached theintersection where he normally turned toward home, he steered right andthen impulsively left, veering back into the traffic going straightahead. Someone leaned on his horn and passed him, too close. The driverturned his head. Arthur could see his mouth moving but couldn't hearthe words. Fucking something something something. It hadn't been thatdangerous. Amazing how people need to get angry, be righteous. 

"Get a life, " Arthur said. The man cut in front of him. A bumpersticker declared: "My Kid Beat Up Your Honor Student. " I could knockhim right off the road, Arthur thought. His mood brightened, and hefloored the gas pedal. "Don't mess with honor students, " he said, roaring past. He reached for the radio and found a Spanish musicstation. 

Gambling debts--what a laugh. He had been to two conventions in Vegasand never gambled once. Give your money to a casino? Stupid. The flowof traffic carried him to the edge of the city. He kept going and thenturned toward the mountains. The higher he drove, the better he felt. He had lived entirely in California except for business trips andvisits to his father in Hawaii. His life spread out behind him, belowhim, as he climbed toward Nevada. He stopped for gas, looked at thestands of Douglas fir, and decided to spend the night in Tahoe. 

He was pleased when he coasted into town. The lake was clear blue. Thestreets were impersonal and commercial; he had credit cards; he knewthe rules. He signed for a room and strolled down the main street, hissmall notebook and pen secure in his jacket pocket. The air wassharper. Winter was coming, very different up here. He looked aroundfor a place to eat. 

"Got any spare change?" The meaning of the words and the sound of thevoice were like light blows to opposite sides of his head. He turned, disoriented. "Hey, Art, " Penn said. 

"Is that you, Penn?" Arthur struggled to reconcile the young man in hismind with the man in front of him. Penn's hair was thinning. He neededa shave. 

"Indeed so. You are looking a bit crazed, Arthur. You need a drink toacclimatize. "

"I just got here. " Penn seemed to know that. "I--maybe you're right. Will you join me?"

"I could force down a single-malt. "

"Lead the way. It's good to see you, Penn. " They sat at the end of apolished bar in one of the smaller casinos. 

"Feels strange to sit on a bar stool, " Arthur said. 

"You get used to it. As an ex-doc, let me toast your health. "

"Thank you. And yours. " There was a moment of silence--appreciation forthe Glenlivet and a chance to think back. 

"I've seen notice of you in the papers now and then, " Penn said. "Distinguished career and all that. "

"Same old stuff. I untangled a couple of mysteries about smells andflavors. "

"Chip off the old block. Your father was a biologist. "

"Still is, " Arthur said. "Marine. He got fish; I got plants. "

"Could make for conversation at a seafood place, " Penn said. 

"If we ate out. If we talked. "

"I remember that trip we took to Hawaii. He didn't say much. Nice guy, though, over on the windward side in--what was the name?"

"Lanikai. "

"Right, Lanikai. "

"So, what about you? I guess you gave up medicine. "

"Yeah. It was a cruise, learning, but when I got to doing it--I don'tknow--all that misery. I ducked into management. That was worse. Boring. I chucked it for the business game, the market. " He paused. "You know how they used to say: sometimes you get the bear; sometimesthe bear gets you. " He flashed the old Penn smile. 

"Where are you living these days?"

"One of my buddies has a boat on the lake. He's not using it right now. "

"Getting cool, isn't it?"

"Just right, " Penn said, "for another couple of months. " Arthur didn'twant to ask: then what?"

"Then what?" Penn said. He finished his drink. "It's O. K. To ask. Idon't know. " He leaned toward Arthur. "Do me a favor, Arthur--trysaying, out loud: I don't know. " Arthur hesitated. "Come on now. "

"I don't know, " Arthur said and found himself smiling. 

"You see, " Penn said. "It's not a bad state. " They had another round. 

"I saw you once--driving by with one of my students. "

"Pookie, " Penn said. "I should have gotten in touch, but I thoughtyou'd disapprove. "

"She wasn't the brightest, " Arthur said. "Attractive, though. "

"Pookie could drink! Loved to swim, good dancer. How's _your_ lovelife? Any little Arthurs around?"

"No. "

"Me neither. I did have some step-kids for a while. " Penn's expressionlifted. "That was a good thing. "

"When was that?"

"Let's see--about four years ago, now. "

"Where are they?"

"Oakland. Sergio, Consuela, and Esperanza. What a crew. "

"And their mother?"

"Gorgeous. Constanza. I met her on a bus in Guayaquil. "

"Guayaquil?"

"I was just back from the Galapagos. Remember, we talked about goingthere sometime. "

"Blue-footed boobys, " Arthur said. 

"Exactly, " Penn said. "And the tortoises. Amazing! I was in the money. I took a couple of months to go down and check out some of the placeswe lived when I was a kid. My Spanish came back. Had a good time. Anyway, I was on a city bus when Constanza got on with the kids. Thebus was full, so I gave her my seat. The kids were crawling all overher. She had that long black hair, you know, red cheeks, bright eyes, one of those solid bodies for the ages--we started joking around, madea date to meet at a park the next day. Have you been there?"

"Never have. "

"You can imagine--hot, steamy, crowded, flowers everywhere. We had fun, the five of us. She turned out to be smart, full of life. She'd justcome from Quito and was trying to find work and a place to live. Shewas staying with a cousin and running out of money. "

"The father was in Quito?"

"Yes. A hell of a thing. He was from a family that had been there forcenturies. I guess he and Constanza got into it when they were veryyoung. The family allowed her to stay on one of their properties, paidall the bills. She kept having babies. The situation changed, and shewas let go. I don't know whether the guy was tired of her or whether hemarried or took a position in the family empire that wouldn't allow thearrangement or what. "

"Terrible, " Arthur said. 

"Constanza was sad, but she wasn't bitter. She loved him. She was froma poor family, and she had a good life for a while--that's how shelooked at it. When she told me the story I thought, for once in yourlife, be useful. I married her. In a couple of months we were all setup in California, kids in school learning English, the whole trip. "

"Incredible, " Arthur said. 

"It was fine for a few years. Then I got restless. The kids kept usgoing, but the relationship was out of gas. I didn't know what to do. Ihad cash flow problems. But I got lucky and made a good call in themarket. I figured I'd better change things while I could, so I toldConstanza that we were going to take a vacation in Quito. Took her andthe kids, and, as soon as we got there, I explained that I had to leavethe marriage. I gave her all the money I had, enough to buy her a houseand get her started. You know what she said? 'No way! We're going backto California. ' She took the money, and two weeks later she and thekids were back in the city. She rented a place in Oakland. Still there, I'm pretty sure. "

"Are you in touch?"

"Not really. She's got a new life. It would confuse the kids. I worryabout them sometimes. Not Constanza, she's strong, good looking--she'lldo fine. But the kids--I used to take Esperanza to school on a bike, pulled her behind me on a little cart. " He looked at Arthur and shookhis head. "Maybe later on, when I get ahead a little bit. "

"They're better off for what you did. "

"I hope so. I guess so. " He held up his glass. "Another?"

"Let's get something to eat, " Arthur said. Penn pulled out his wallet. "On me, " Arthur said. 

"Good man. You got something to write on?" He took a worn business cardfrom his wallet and copied into Arthur's notebook an address written onthe back of the card. And the names: Constanza, Sergio, Consuela, andEsperanza. "It's a hell of a favor to ask, " he said, but could youcheck up on them sometime, for me. " His voice dropped. "See if theyneed anything?" He looked up helplessly. 

"I will. "

It was as close as they had come to acknowledging the bond betweenthem. Arthur took a deep breath. "How will I reach you?"

"I'll look you up at the university--you'll be there, adding to thebody of scientific knowledge. "

"I suppose so, " Arthur said. "Trying anyway. "

"Good old Art, slow and steady wins the race. "

They had a couple of steaks, split a Caesar salad, and drank wine whilethey talked about old times and the state of the world. Penn explainedcraps and convinced Arthur to try his luck. People who play with me getthe rolls, he told Arthur. They bought two hundred dollars worth ofchips. Penn insisted that Arthur place the bet, but they waited untilthe dice were passed to a middle-aged blonde. "She's lucky, " Penn said. 

The dice skittered and rolled to a seven. Loud cheers. Arthur was fortydollars richer. They played for nearly an hour. Arthur was instructedto bet lightly unless Lucky was throwing. He was six hundred dollarsahead when the food and drink and the long day began to get to him. "Time to turn in, " he told Penn. 

"Where you staying?"

"Harrah's. "

"How about coffee in the morning?" They arranged to meet in the café atten. 

"Here, " Arthur handed Penn his chips. "A stake. "

"Right on. What do you say, Lucky, want to look around a little?" Luckyshrugged agreeably and Penn put his arm around her shoulders. "You gethalf the winnings in the morning, " he said to Arthur. 

"No need, " Arthur said. "It's on the house. "

"No, no. See you at ten. " He and Lucky walked away. Penn looked backonce and smiled. Same old Penn. 

The night air was clear and crisp. People on the sidewalks seemed to beenjoying themselves. Arthur went to his room and fell asleepimmediately, but he did not sleep well. He kept waking and seeingPenn's smile--amused, helpless, oddly gallant. He had a premonitionthat he might not see him again. 

In the morning, Arthur waited an hour, but Penn didn't show up. Hewalked back to Harrah's and checked out. The desk clerk gave him fivecasino silver dollars--"Our way of saying thank you, Sir. "

Arthur stopped at a slot machine near the exit and dropped the dollarsin, pulling the long handle and waiting after each one. He looked downthe rows of machines at other gamblers with their arms in the sameposition. Sometimes you win; mostly you lose. In the end you lose. That's what Penn got from the place--that truth, underscored. 

Sure, you can quit when you're ahead. But then you're out of the game;you're not playing. That's what I've done with my life, he thought. Buthe would lose too, in the end. Maybe the best strategy was to passalong the winnings, if you had any, the way he had last night. Penn haddone that in Guayaquil--a good thing, as he'd put it--although hehadn't finished the job. Probably wouldn't, either, the way his lifewas going. Arthur felt for his notebook and Constanza's address. Thatwas at least something he could do, for himself and for Penn--he couldhelp those kids. That was something, anyway. 

Bells and sirens exploded in the next aisle. Jackpot. An elderly womanstared at flashing lights, bemused, a bit bewildered. Arthur realizedthat tears were running down his face, that he was both sad andgrateful, and that it was time to leave. 

Four Pictures and a Flower Thief

I have these pictures--two in fog, two in sun. Fog: a man in a deckchair is playing a trumpet, his feet on the stern railing of a ferry. Fog: a telephone pole seen through a windshield. Sun: a young woman ona bicycle is climbing a cobblestoned street, blonde hair bouncing, white blouse, solid breasts. Sun: a snake falling back to the bank of astream, a dragonfly in its mouth, dazzling, iridescent. 

Put in a certain order, riffled through, they make a silentmovie--until sounds grow more insistent. A Jeep honks twice, accelerating past the biker, driver and passenger turning to look. Sheignores them. She doesn't notice me watching from a doorway. I supposemy heart leaping toward her made no sound. She was locked into my bloodand bone before I knew any words for her, her name even. The shock ofrecognition left me wide-eyed and strangely blind. Nothing would beseen for itself, only in terms of her--whether she was there or not, how likely it was that she might appear, how _not her_ everything else. 

Nantucket is ten miles long with one central town. I worked in arestaurant on the main street. The following day I saw her stop at abakery/cafe which became my hangout. When she came in again, my throatwent dry and my knees shook. I don't remember what I first said to her, but she responded to some sort of signal. She was willing for me to paymore attention. We began to meet in the cafe. 

It is hard not to put what I know now into what I knew then. Ipresented what plumage I had--no money, but a small currency ofintegrity. I had survived childhood by learning to please. Eventually, I could no longer do that and I started over, was reborn at nineteen. While I was only five, by that count, when Jamie (her name) pedaled upthe main street of Nantucket, I was uncompromised; I offered myself forwhatever waited inside that white blouse. 

One wet morning, she agreed to a picnic on my next day off. I stood inthe bakery entrance and listened to water running from the roofs anddownspouts, down the sidewalk and street. It didn't matter that I wouldbe soaked by the time I got to my room. Nothing mattered except that wehad a date. Because we had a date--were together already, really--theuniverse made sense. The rain fell equally on us all, rich kids withJeeps, waitresses, cooks, masons and roofers, the young and the old. It's raining, I said to myself. The words meant more than they didbefore. It's raining, I said again. All over the town. 

Harry, the chef, made a mixture of spices for me. He handed me aplastic bag and told me to shake a swordfish steak in the bag and notto broil the fish too long. She'll never forget you, he said withoutsmiling. Harry cooked breakfast at the Gray Gull and lunch and dinnerat The Upper Deck, a sixteen hour day. Our relationship was respectful. Eight hours a day was enough for me, but while I was working I did mybest. When Harry, under stress, snapped at me, I learned to hear himsay, "Take another shrimp, Joe. " Cocktail shrimp, waiting in thecooler, out of sight from the grill. I acquired a reputation for goodhumor. 

I borrowed my buddy Morgan's truck on a clear evening in late July andpicked up Jamie. Madaket was her favorite beach, less known, wilder. Wedrove out and made a driftwood fire, opened a bottle of wine, andtalked as the sun went down and the moon rose. We were easy with eachother by then, although we had never touched, let alone hugged orkissed. The swordfish was a success. The moon sent its ivory path overthe wave tops, inviting and promising. Jamie told me how she liked toswim that path and how, several times, she nearly hadn't made it back. We were young. 

I was giddy with accomplishment as we finished a second bottle of wine. She was wearing a tight T-shirt and shorts, apparently unaware of theeffect her body had on me as she told me about her parents and herfriends on the island. She had summered on Nantucket for years. She wasin a suspended state--too heavy for ballet, too young for graduateschool. She did not want to marry an engineer and live in a suburb ofPhiladelphia. She was clear about that. I offered a possiblealternative: an honest life built one stone at a time. 

We put out the fire and walked along the beach. Fog blew in, softeningthe lines of the horizon and dune, thickening as we reached the truck. We drove back happily involved with each other, unconcerned withanything else. A telephone pole appeared directly in front of me. Iwhipped the steering wheel to the left and almost missed the pole. Theright headlight smashed and I was thrown against the wheel, striking itwith my shoulder and bending it nearly double. Jamie went through thewindshield. After the crash, there were only hot sounds of metaluncrinkling and moans from Jamie. Don't let me die, she was saying overand over. 

I pulled her back on to the seat and reassured her. Her hair was bloodyand glinted with broken glass. She was half-conscious. I took her in myarms and walked away from the wreck. We were at a tiny unmarked trafficcircle with a house nearby. Lights were on in the house. I carriedJamie to the front door which was opened by a woman who had heard thecrash. I waited while she spread newspapers on the floor, and then Ibrought Jamie inside. An ambulance came within a few minutes and tookher to the hospital. I was taken to the police station to answerquestions. 

She was all right, thank God, after a few days in the hospital. Somedental work, a small scar. I had bruises. We got off easy. Morgan'struck was totaled. The cop was tired and made a typo on the accidentform. I paid a fine and didn't even get a mark on my out of statelicense. The little traffic circle was notorious, I learned. I wentback and nailed reflectors all over the place. 

Every afternoon I visited Jamie in the hospital, and we became close. Two days after she was released and life was getting back to normal, Itook a walk during the break between lunch and dinner. Things had beenhappening fast; I needed to slow down. I followed a stream through amarshy area to a dry bank shaded by a tree where I stretched out andlistened to the sounds of birds and insects. It was hot and the soundsbegan to still. A dragonfly darted back and forth above the stream. Movement caught my eye. A snake, three feet long, was winding along theopposite bank, unhurried, almost casual. A dark snake, unremarkable. Itstruck, too fast to see. It was falling back to the ground before Icould focus, the dragonfly in its mouth. The snake caught the dragonflyin midair without coiling. Impossible. The most athletic move I've everseen. It was as though the universe had stopped, allowed the snake tostrike, and then started again for everyone else. 

We made plans, Jamie and I, to be together in the fall in themountains. I turned down a flattering offer to follow Harry to ahunting lodge in New Hampshire and from there to Florida for the winterseason. I had a different future. Jamie was coming. 

I caught the ferry to Woods Hole on a foggy morning. It was chilly; thepassengers stayed inside. I went out on deck and heard jazz coming fromthe stern. A man with his feet up on a chair was playing a trumpetpointed toward the ocean and an American flag fluttering in the fog. Heplayed freely, a concert for the two of us, a farewell to the islandand summer. 

Jamie arrived for a day several weeks later. When I put her on the busto Philadelphia to go home for her stuff, life was bright. I met herbus that weekend, but she wasn't on it. A terrible emptiness spreadthrough me. 

We wrote to each other for a year. She did, eventually, step down fromthat bus. Two weeks later I put her back on. It had all been a kind ofsexual mirage, a passion that had nothing to do with who she was. Watchout when your throat goes dry and you begin to shake!

We each have a type--someone visually our lost other self, male orfemale. I've seen a few since, always blonde, earthy and radiant at thesame time, a particular combination. But they don't affect me the sameway. I shake my head and say, there's another one. 

"What happened to Jamie?" W. Cat and I were sitting on a bench thatlooked out toward the White Mountains. 

"She married into a wealthy Boston family. She escaped Philadelphia. Thirty-five years ago. What did we know?"

"Not much, " W. Cat said. "Shall we go?"

As we were walking through the West End, she pointed to a poppy thathad fallen over on the grass at the edge of a flower bed. We crossedthe lawn, and she held up the blossom while I looked around forgardeners and German shepherds; W. Cat is sometimes unable to resistflowers. The poppy had four unusually large petals, deep lavender, eachbearing a dark, nearly black, irregular circle. It might have been ahall of flags or a gallery of abstract sunsets, regal and empty, waiting for its visitors. I suppose it is the fleetingness of life thatmakes us story tellers and flower thieves.