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Your knees are going up and down, yes, said Kate.

I feel jumpy, like I could jump right out of my skin.

Maybe there’s a smoker’s anonymous you could join?

No, he said, I want to do it a different way.

One night when Kate walked outside to see the new moon, she surprised Yolo, standing beside the hedge smoking a cigarette. When she came closer, she saw he was weeping.

I feel like such a failure, he said to Kate, not to mention a slave, as he bent to press the cigarette against a stone.

Kate stopped his hand. Then reached up and gently wiped his eyes.

Smoke it, she said, lifting his elbow so that the cigarette was near his mouth. Smoke it and enjoy every puff.

Taking his hand she led him toward a bench in the yard. As they sat, she said: I’ve always loved what Oscar Wilde said about temptation. That the only way to deal with temptation is to yield to it.

Yolo sighed.

What is it that you’re smoking? she asked.

It’s called American Spirit, he said. It’s supposed to be natural tobacco, without toxic chemicals.

It smells okay, she said. I even like it. She breathed in some of the smoke. My grandfather smoked a pipe, she said; I liked to watch the white puffs come out of the pipe, mingle with the air, and disappear. When Indians smoked the peace pipe they didn’t inhale. They pulled in the air, puffed out the smoke; air and smoke mingled, and this symbolized oneness. Being of one mind. That is peace. The material and the spiritual come together in smoke, and the connection becomes invisible again almost immediately. Peace is as fragile as that.

You don’t have to aim your mouth at the heavens, she said. And you don’t have to hide outside to smoke, either. I think we should make a place for you to smoke beside the fireplace; that way, most of the smoke will go up the chimney.

I still intend to stop, said Yolo.

Yes, well, until you do, said Kate, and reached for his hand.

They sat in silence, gazing at the moon and the slow arrival of pale, barely perceptible stars.

After a while Yolo said: I feel safe with you.

And I with you, said Kate.

There was more silence.

I thought it was over between us, said Yolo. When you left, I thought it was over. I was sad, but it felt final.

I thought the same, said Kate. I felt we were on different journeys and that mine was so different from yours you’d never understand it.

As soon as you left, I began to dream, said Yolo. I think I started because as soon as you left I really missed you. The whole other side of life had vanished, he said.

Yolo, said Kate, do you think we should continue journeying together for a while longer?

Yes, he said promptly, squeezing her hand.

In the old days, Kate said to Yolo next morning, kissing his eyes before they got out of bed, at this point in the story there’d have to be a wedding.

Well, said Yolo, we can have one.

But what would it look like? asked Kate.

There was silence. Every wedding image that came to mind seemed absurd. All those long gowns you couldn’t run in and the veil that was a reminder of woman’s captivity; still used in places in the world where the veil was made of fabric too dense to see through.

I’m never going to dress peculiarly to marry anyone ever again, offered Kate.

Oh, said Yolo, we’ve outgrown actual marriage. When I think of a wedding I think mostly of the feast.

The feast! said Kate, excited. Yes. And the circle, and the stories and the dance. And the three bears who are always invited in the end!

Yolo began to laugh. He was thinking of Aunty Alma, Aunty Pearlua, and Alma junior.

Kate was thinking of Lalika, Hugh, Missy, and Rick.

Rick said right away that he couldn’t come, but Hugh, Lalika, and Missy said they would.

It’s going to last three days, said Kate, over the phone. It will be near a river—we’re trying to find one now. We will do ceremony and paint our faces with yagé and each of you must bring a story as your gift.

Can it be a real one? asked Lalika.

That’s the only kind allowed, said Kate.

I’ve got a boyfriend, said Missy. I’d kinda