I braked hard but still managed to kiss the pole with the front of the car.

Mrs. Peterman and I got out to look at the damage, a small dent and a long crack. She was irritated. “I suppose you’re going to tell me now that you’re not buying the car.”

“Will that affect the way the car works?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Then why wouldn’t I buy it? Odds are better than good that I’m going to run into any number of things in the near and not so near future and perhaps at a greater velocity. The fact is, I need a car.”

“What is your first name, Professor Kitu?”

I was impressed that she had remembered my last name. “Wala.”

“Interesting. I like you, Wala. I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you. You’re direct and honest, almost pathologically so. I’m Priscilla.”

“Priscilla,” I repeated her name.

She softened her tone and asked if I wanted to try again. And so we did.

She taught me to turn left and right, to back up, how to park, and, most importantly, how to stop the vehicle without slamming my forehead and hers into the steering wheel and dash. She drove us back to her house where she signed over the title and gave me an unexpected, though easily explained, kiss on the mouth. Mr. Peterman watched us from a bay window, his hands appearing to rip the hair from his temples.

As I drove home, I found myself at a stoplight beside a Providence police car. The two officers in it nodded without smiling and peeled away haughtily when the signal turned green. It was then I realized that I didn’t need a driver’s license. I was loaded with money because of John Sill and I was certain that any fine I might incur would be far less valuable than the time it would take me to go to the DMV, a place that I had only heard endless complaints about, and where I would certainly pass the written portion of the exam and with equal certainty fail the driving portion. I recalled Mrs. Peterman’s kiss. It was not at all I had on those few occasions imagined a woman’s kiss to feel. She was rather like kissing a colander, I thought.

3

Infinity means nothing to me. How could it? Nothing is neither finite nor infinite. Nothing is neither a null set nor a member of that set that contains all things that are not something. Things are matter, some things matter, nothing is never matter, nothing matters. Nothing walked into a tavern. What did the barkeep say? Nothing. Why would he? Nothing walked in. Trigo told me that one.

Having parked my new vehicle in the driveway, I went inside and sat in my kitchen, Trigo on the table. “It’s almost noon, Trig,” I said. “We’ve nearly run out of morning. A sad thought, morning being my favorite part of the day. My least favorite part of the day is from 2:34 to 4:56 in the afternoon.” I drank tea. Trigo chewed on what was called a pig’s ear, called that because it was in fact a pig’s ear. Pigs are apparently useful. Trigo asked me just who was this John Sill.