On the far side of Brighthope Canyon there’s an odd-shaped but generally Olympic-size swimming pool. Erculi Longo kept it clean and an underground engine warmed the water to just about seventy-two degrees.

Orchestra Solomon, wearing a yellow dress under a pearl-gray wrap, watched the grotto-like pool as my daughter swam back and forth with intention and steady speed. My sixty-something landlady smiled down on the amphibious child, pleased as many older women are at the unconscious strength of youthful femininity.

I sidled up next to one of the wealthiest women in California and said, “She could be the best in the world if she applied herself.”

Without turning toward me Sadie replied, “A long time ago my mother told me that the best is never the best.”

“That’s a truth,” I said, and a kind of melancholy settled on me. “I met Joe Louis in Vegas once. They called him the best and he paid for it in more ways than a poor black man could imagine.”

“You’re a good father, Ezekiel. That’s better than being a good man. But you’re a good man too.”

“I just keep the flies off.”

“She comes straight out of your heart.”

“Daddy!” Feather called. She swam for the closest edge to me and Orchestra, emerging from the water in a fluid motion like a seal or an otter.

“Hey, baby,” I said, hugging her wet body and bathing suit.

“Hi, Miss Sadie,” she said to our landlady, shivering just a bit.

I pulled a towel from a cherrywood dowel installed on the side of a cedar tree. When I tried to drape the cloth around her shoulders she pushed it off.

“You’re cold,” I complained.

“I like to feel cold after a swim,” she said, looking off into the distance.

“You want to come inside?” I suggested. “I could warm up some gumbo.”

“Let’s sit out here for a while.”

We sat on a bench of stacked gray slate stone.

I turned to invite Orchestra to join us, but she was already walking back toward her home.

“What you do today, Daddy?”

“I went out and picked some oranges for Erculi.” I sat as close as I could to the swimmer, hoping to impart some of my warmth.

“You see anybody?”

“Christmas Black.”

“How was Easter Dawn?” Even though Christmas’s daughter was much younger, Feather liked the little girl’s company because of her ability to pay attention.

“She wasn’t there,” I said. “I saw him at work. I saw Raymond too, along the way.”

The hint of a shadow crossed my daughter’s brow. Not a darkness so much as an undigested memory.