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By Root 327 0

Sometimes it is wide and expansive, its center bulging with Monsieur, Madame, and their entire brood of filles and fils. Family pets, the Baskets and Pépés of the world, are often found sleeping inside. On occasion there is even a nanny. I have also seen garreted spaces that have room only enough for one. The Old Man's house comes to mind, and, I am afraid, there are others. I want to cry, to shed tears and preserve this moment inside their orb, but my conscience has other plans. In the face of such unexpected kindness, such undeserved clemency, guilt makes a surprise appearance, forcing open my mouth and declaring to my Mesdames that "I am the cad," even though I was unsure what a "cad" would be. "He did not do anything," I lie. "I bought the rum," I lie again.

"You are truly feeble-minded!" the Old Man is screaming in my ears. "The first fools in this city to show any faith in you, and you throw it back at them. Those hags will never trust you again. A lie to save yourself is one thing. A lie to save another is pathetic."

Shut up, Old Man! This has nothing to do with you. My Mesdames have nothing to do with you. You are not allowed here!

I am trying to protect the only territory I have. The battle, though, is being lost on both fronts. The sight of warmth fading from Miss Toklas's eyes is a glimpse of my own death. Suddenly, I am no longer there.

"Bin, never lie to us. GertrudeStein and I will not have such behavior in our home," Miss Toklas warns. My Madame's anger registers on her lips, a controlled tremble, which lets me know that, while I have been permitted to stay within the doors of 27 rue de Fleurus, I have been excommunicated yet again from that perfect circle that is at the center of every home.

I have no hope, so all I have are suspicions. A pocketful of money and an empty bed mean the same things everywhere. You are dismissed. Your services here are done. I cannot bear to touch my coat, even though the weather is biting and cold with a bone-aching damp that makes me wonder why humans live near water. I barely make it back to the rue de Fleurus from the butcher. Two glasses of cognac—thankfully, Miss Toklas insists on cooking with only the best—cannot take away the chill. Sleet is now streaking and smearing the city's already sullen face. I take one look outside the kitchen window, and I give in. I go to my room and take my coat off of its hanger. Warmth never ceases to tempt me. Immediately I feel the money. Rolled into a neat coil, not stacked, doubled-over, or stuffed into a rumpled glomming mass. No matter, the effect is still the same. Unsolicited, unwanted and, worse, it is ruining the otherwise clean lines of my coat. I keep it on anyway and prepare to fight off the chill. Vanity, though, always compels me to do things I would rather not. I may be a fool, I think, but there is no need for me to look like one as well. I come to my decision after repeated attempts to press down and to smooth over the awkward lump growing from the left side of my chest. A fool with an enlarged, persistent heart, I reach in and take it out, spiraled and holding its shape with the help of a short length of string. Red, an unexpected attention to detail, I think. I slip the string off and watch the money uncurl in my hand. A small piece of paper shows itself and floats to the floor. I am horrified. A receipt, a protest, a threat, a complaint, what blundering thing did I do to deserve this? I bend down, and I feel my knees popping in protest. I pick up the piece of paper, and the French is so simply written, so carefully chosen, that even I can understand it on the first read: "For next Sunday's dinner. You and I are the only guests."

I look up, instinctually, as if someone has called out my name.

I am at sea again. I am at sea again. Not the choppy, churning body that bashes open a ship's hull like a newborn's soft skull. Yes, a sapphire that a ship's bow skims and grooves. A calming blue expanse between now and Sunday.

***

Bão told me on two separate occasions—one was during our first night at sea and the second