Shibumi

the sun, his beret tugged low over his sunglasses, his rust-and-steel beard covering a silk cravat, the battered old makila under his arm as he held his penis in one hand and sprayed urine back and forth like a schoolboy—this man was laying claim to being subtle and inconspicuous.

'No, I don't want you to come with me, Benat. You can help most by making the arrangements I asked for.'

'And after that? What do I do while you are off amusing yourself? Pray and twiddle my thumbs?'

'I'll tell you what. While I'm gone, you can press on with preparations for the exploration of your cave. Get the rest of the gear we need down into the hole. Wet suits. Air tanks. When I get back, we'll take a shot at exploring it from light to light. How's that?'

'It's better than nothing. But not much.'

A serving girl came from the house to tell Hel that he was wanted in the chateau.

He found Hana standing with the telephone in the butler's pantry, blocking the mouthpiece with her palm. 'It is Mr. Diamond returning your call to the United States.'

Hel looked at the phone, then glanced down to the floor. 'Tell him I'll get back to him soon.'

* * *

They had finished supper in the tatami'd room, and now they were watching the evening permutations of shifting shadow through the garden. He had told her that he would be away for about a week.

'Does this have to do with Hannah?'

'Yes.' He saw no reason to tell her the girl was dead.

After a silence, she said, 'When you get back, it will be close to the end of my stay with you.'

'I know. By then you'll have to decide if you're interested in continuing our life together.'

'I know.' She lowered her eyes and, for the first time he could remember, her cheeks colored with the hint of a blush. 'Nikko? Would it be too silly for us to consider becoming married?'

'Married?'

'Never mind. Just a silly thought that wandered through my mind. I don't believe I would want it anyway.' She had touched on the idea gingerly and had fled instantly from his first reaction.

For several minutes, he was deep in thought. 'No, it's not all that silly. If you decide to give me years of your life, then of course we should do something to assure your economic future. Let's talk about it when I return.'

'I could never mention it again.'

'I realize that, Hana. But I could.'

PART FOUR

Uttegae

St. Jean de Luz/Biarritz

The open fishing boat plowed the ripple path of the setting moon, quicksilver on the sea, like an effect from the brush of a kitsch watercolorist. The diesel motor chugged bronchially and gasped as it was turned off. The bow skewed when the boat crunched up on the pebble beach. Hel slipped over the side and stood kneedeep in the surging tide, his duffel bag on his shoulder. A wave of his hand was answered by a blurred motion from the boat, and he waded toward the deserted shore, his canvas pants heavy with water, his rope-soled espadrilles digging into the sand. The motor coughed and began its rhythmic thunking, as the boat made its way out to sea, along the matte-black shore toward Spain.

From the brow of a dune, he could see the lights of cafes and bars around the small harbor of St. Jean de Luz, where fishing boats heaved sleepily on the oily water of the docking slips. He shifted the weight of the duffel and made for the Cafe of the Whale, to confirm a telegraph order he had made for dinner. The owner of the cafe had been a master chef in Paris, before retiring back to his home village. He enjoyed displaying his prowess occasionally, particularly when M. Hel granted him carte blanche as regards menu and expense. The dinner was to be prepared and served in the home of Monsieur de Lhandes, the 'fine little gentleman' who lived in an old mansion down the shore, and who was never to be seen in the streets of St. Jean de Luz because his physiognomy would cause comment, and perhaps ridicule, from ill-brought-up children. M. de Lhandes was a midget, little more than a meter tall, though he was over sixty years old.

* * *

Hel's tap at the back door brought Mademoiselle Pinard to peer cautiously through the curtain, then a broad smile cracked her face, and she opened the door wide. 'Ah, Monsieur Hel! Welcome. It has been too long since last we saw you! Come in, come in! Ah, you are wet! Monsieur de Lhandes is so looking forward to your dinner.'

'I don't want to drip on your floor, Mademoiselle Pinard. May I take off my pants?'

Mademoiselle Pinard blushed and slapped at his shoulder with delight. 'Oh, Monsieur Hel! Is this any way to speak? Oh, men!' In obedience to their established routine of chaste flirtation, she was both flustered and delighted. Mademoiselle Pinard was somewhat older than fifty—she had always been somewhat older than fifty. Tall and sere, with dry nervous hands and an unlubricated walk, she had a face too long for her tiny eyes and thin mouth, so rather a lot of it was devoted to forehead and chin. If there had been more character in her face, she would have been ugly; as it was, she was only plain. Mademoiselle Pinard was the mold from which virgins are made, and her redoubtable virtue was in no way lessened by the fact that she had been Bernard de Lhandes's companion, nurse, and mistress for thirty years. She was the kind of woman who said 'Zut!' or 'Ma foi!' when exasperated beyond the control of good taste.

As she showed him to the room that was always his when he visited, she said in a low voice, 'Monsieur de Lhandes is not well, you know. I am delighted that he will have your company this evening, but you must be very careful. He is close to God. Weeks, months only, the doctor tells me.'

'I'll be careful, darling. Here we are. Do you want to come in while I change my clothes?'

'Oh, Monsieur!'

Hel shrugged. 'Ah well. But one day, your barriers will fall, Mademoiselle Pinard. And then... Ah, then...'

'Monster! And Monsieur de Lhandes your good friend! Men!'

'We are victims of our appetites, Mademoiselle. Helpless victims. Tell me, is dinner ready?'

'The chef and his assistants have been cluttering up the kitchen all day. Everything is in readiness.'

'Then I'll see you at dinner, and we'll satisfy our appetites together.'

'Oh, Monsieur!'

* * *

They took dinner in the largest room of the house, one lined with shelves on which books were stacked and piled in a disarray that was evidence of de Lhandes's passion for learning. Since he considered it outrageous to read and eat at the same time—diluting one of his passions with the other—de Lhandes had struck on the idea of combining library and dining room, the long refectory table serving both functions. They sat at one end of this table, Bernard de Lhandes at the head, Hel to his right. Mademoiselle Pinard to his left. Like most of the furniture, the table and chairs had been cut down and were somewhat too big for de Lhandes and somewhat too small for his rare guests. Such, de Lhandes had once told Hel, was the nature of compromise: a condition that satisfied no one, but left each with the comforting feeling that others had been done in too.

Dinner was nearly over, and they were resting and chatting between courses. There had been Neva caviar with blinis, still hot on their napkins, St. Germain Royal (de Lhandes found a hint too much mint), supreme de sole au Chateau Yquem, quail under the ashes (de Lhandes mentioned that walnut would have been a better wood for the log fire, but he could accept the flavor imparted by oak cinders), rack of baby lamb Edward VII (de Lhandes regretted that it was not cold enough, but he realized that Hel's arrangements were spur of the moment), riz a la grecque (the bit too much red pepper de Lhandes attributed to the chef's place of birth), morels (the bit too little lemon juice de Lhandes attributed to the chef's personality), Florentine artichoke bottoms (the gross unbalance between gruyere and parmesan in the mornay sauce de Lhandes attributed to the chef's perversity, for the error had been mentioned before), and Danicheff salad (which de Lhandes found perfect, to his slight annoyance).

From each of these dishes, de Lhandes took the smallest morsel that would still allow him to have all the flavors in his mouth at once. His heart, liver, and digestive system were such a ruin that his doctor restricted him to the blandest of foods. Hel, from dietary habit, ate very little. Mademoiselle Pinard's appetite was good, though her