“Why was it there?” I asked.

“The Russians stole it from the Germans at the end of the war and, like most things, forgot where it was, what it was, or that they even had it.”

“Why do you love it if you can’t read it?”

“I love it because I can’t read it. It could say anything.”

“But it doesn’t,” I said. “The title means small art. May I see it?”

Sill opened a drawer under the Gutenberg Bible and lifted a small book with great care. “Here it is.” He handed it to me. “It’s a little fragile.”

“I should think so.” I took it from him, opened it, turned a couple of pages. “This is a textbook, a grammar book.”

“Oh.” Sill sounded disappointed. “You’ve ruined it for me.”

“Sorry, but isn’t it better to know?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.” He looked out the big window at the bay. “You should probably see to your dog.”

I went back to my room to check on Trigo but opened the door to find Eigen lying on my bed, her face mere inches from the dog’s face. “Fat face,” she said. She was still dressed as if playing tennis.

“How are you?” I asked.

“He pooped,” she said.

“That’s good. How was your lesson?”

“To tell the truth I don’t really remember the lesson.”

“Do you have a headache?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact.” She still lay on her side, her eyes on Trigo.

“Try rubbing your temples with your fingertips.” I showed her what I meant. “It helps when I have a headache.”

“Do you believe that animals can talk?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Has Trigo ever talked?”

“Let me get you some water,” I said. “That sometimes helps, too.” Before I could move toward the bathroom there was a knock. I opened the door to find DeMarcus with a tray on which sat a pitcher of water, two glasses, and several choices of pain medication. I took the tray from him and put it down. I poured a glass.

Eigen sat up and took the glass with both hands, looked at the surface of the water. “I feel like the molecules on the surface of this liquid,” she said. She touched the water with the tip of her finger. “Underneath, the molecules can spread out equally in all directions, but on top, the molecules have to pull inward into the water, unable to press upward into the world. That’s how I feel, like I’m contracting to a minimum surface area.”

I nodded. “Do you remember anything? Did anyone hurt you?”

“Why would you ask that?”

I paused. “Because of what you just said about surface tension.”

“Oh.” She dipped her tongue into the water, paused, and then drank all of it. “I’m supposed to teach tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if that’s going to happen. But maybe Sill will fly you home in the morning, if you ask. What happened to wanting to be bad?”