"To me, it is the world of history which appears mad, treacherous and full of contradictions," said Djuna.

"In Guatemala," said Rango, with an ironic twist of his lips which Djuna disliked, "they placed madmen by the side of the river, and that cured them. If your madmen don't get cured, we'll make a hole in the floor and sink them."

"I may sink with them, you know."

Walking along the quay, they saw a hobo sitting under a tree, a hobo with a Scotch cap, a plaid, and a crooked pipe.

Rango adopted his best imitation of a Scotch accent and said: "Weel, and where d'ya come from, ma good friend?"

But the hobo looked up bewildered and said in pure Montmartre French: "Mon Dieu, I'm no foreigner, sir. What makes you think I am?"

"The cap and the blanket," said Rango.

"Oh, that, sir, it's just that I'm always digging in the garbage can of the Opéra Comique, and I found this rig. It was the only one I could wear, you understand, the others were a little too fancy, and most of them pretty indecent, I must say."

Then he took a faded gray sporran out of his pocket: "Could you tell me what this is for?"

Rango laughed: "That's a wig. The use of the skirt has caused premature baldness of an unusual kind in Scotland. Hold on to it, it might come useful one day..."

Sabina walked with her feet flat on the ground, which gave to her heavy body the poise of Biblical water carriers.

Djuna saw her and Rango as composed of the same elements, and felt that perhaps they would love each other. She imagined a parting scene with Rango, surrendering his black hair to hers heavy and straight, his burnt-sienne skin to her incandescent gold one, his rough dry hands to her strong peasant ones, his laughter to hers, his Indian slyness to her Semitic labyrinthian mind. They will recognize each other's climate of fever and chaos, and embrace each other.

Djuna was amazed to see her predictions unfulfilled. Rango fled from Sabina's intensity and violence. They met like two armed warriors, and the part of Rango which longed to be yielded to, who longed for warmth, found in Sabina an unyielding armor. She yielded only at the last moment, merely to achieve a sensual embrace, and immediately after was poised for battle again. No aperture for tenderness to lodge itself, for his secret timidity to flow into, as it flew into Djuna's breast. Not a woman one could nestle into.

They sought grounds for a duel. Rango hated her presence about Djuna, and would have liked to drive her away from the barge.

Once sitting in a restaurant together, with Djuna and two other friends, they decided to see which one could eat the most red chilies.

They ate the red chilies with ostentatious insolence, watching each other. At first mixed with rice and vegetables, then with the salad, and finally by themselves.