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“Okay,” I demanded of both of them, “what’s up?”

Alphus gestured that they were going to a restaurant.

“Really?” I did not take them seriously. I was confident no restaurant would serve them. “Sure, gentlemen. And I have a window seat on the next shuttle to the space station.”

Alphus shook his head and repeated more emphatically what he had said before.

“And how do you plan to arrange that?”

Ridley signed in his slow, southern way, “Alphus is my Seeing Eye assistant.” He took out what looked like a baton and telescoped it into the kind of white cane used by the blind.

It began to dawn on me that they might be serious, that they might try to carry it off. “Where do you plan to go?” I asked.

“The Edge,” Alphus said, a note of defiance in his movements.

I shook my head. “I can’t allow it.”

“You can’t stop us.” Alphus managed to make his signing seem like a growl.

“I can call the police.”

They both looked at me as though they had caught me cheating at some elaborate game we played. More to the point, I was helpless. Call the police? And tell them what? That I am responsible in a semi-legal way for a chimpanzee who is pretending to be a Seeing Eye ape in service to someone who is not blind, both of whom are heading for an upscale restaurant on the Seaboard waterfront?

“All right. But how are you going to get there?”

Ridley took out his raspberry or whatever those things are called. “Text,” he signaled. “Taxi.”

I tried to divert them. I told them we could order in anything they wanted. I told them we could cook up a feast together. Invite people over. Have it catered so that it would be like a restaurant. But to no avail. They not only insisted on doing it, but pleaded for me to accompany them. I refused, of course. I told them I would not be party to such a farce. I told them it wouldn’t work. I told them they might be breaking the law. Besides, they forgot that I was out on bail as an accessory to murder. Any trouble with the police, and I could end up in jail.

Alphus signed, “All they can do is not let us in.”

“We need you,” said Ridley and smiled. “We want your company.” He had his berry in hand and was tapping something into it.

I remonstrated with them, repeating myself. It was no use. I could tell from the way Alphus buckled on a collar and leash and led Ridley tap-tapping after him that they had been practicing, the villainous pair!

Not long after that a taxi pulled up and sounded its horn. It was one, apparently, that they had used before, judging from the way the cabbie greeted Ridley and nodded to Alphus. I stood on the sidewalk, drink still in hand, still entreating them.

“Come on,” they signed. “What have you got to lose?”

What indeed? Out of concern for their welfare, out of weakness, I capitulated. I went inside, put on a jacket, and squeezed in next to them in the back of the cab.

It being a Wednesday and relatively early, I assumed there wouldn’t be many people at The Edge. It is an upscale faux casual sort of place owned and run by Simon and David, two gay men of a certain age. It’s right on the harbor. In fact, it’s the same building where the Green Sherpa used to be. It’s been changed radically, with a dark, atmospheric bar where the gift shop had been. In summer the dining area extends to a large deck built on piers over the water.

My heart went out to the official greeter, whose face froze in a pained smile as we came through the door, a leashed Alphus leading a tapping Ridley, with me in a cringe bringing up the rear.

“Can I help you?” said the unfortunate man from behind the reception desk. He might have been either David or Simon, judging from his aspect. He clearly struggled with his up-to-date conscience. How far does the desirability of diversity go? And if Seeing Eye dogs, why not Seeing Eye apes? But what about the other customers?

“Yes,” I said. “We called. A table for three. The name’s Ridley.”

“Of course,” said Simon David, recovering some of his aplomb.