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What? She stammers a half-reply, not being clear. Her companion has picked up on the tenor of the query and shakes his head. Man, you can't even… he begins. She cuts him off: Let's get some sleep. Should we take turns standing guard? In case … You can stay up if you want. She is disappointed in him, and yet a reasonable voice in the back of her mind is chastising her: How can you trust this man? It makes no rational sense. Clearing out their own sandy patches on the shore, they curl up in their blankets, their wool hats pulled down over their ears, both of them facing the stranger, who remains by the fire,  |
rubbing his hands. He is speaking again, more to himself, or perhaps he is addressing someone that neither of them can see. You hear that? her companion says. Of course I hear it. He's probably been alone out here. She does not understand a word of what he says, particularly at their distance, but when she closes her eyes and wavers between conscious- ness and sleep she imagines fireworks raining over this lake as an autumn festival is celebrated. She can taste the small cakes composed of sweet beans and egg flour, pressed into medallion shapes. Out on the lake, a single wide-bottomed boat is anchored in the exact center, and a quartet of musicians strum their stringed  |
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