A long pause now in which nothing happens but the continuous rippling motion of the inky water so that they both have the sensation they’re sitting on the bow of a giant ship getting nowhere. The loon just drifts out there in the middle, looking like a wooden decoy, then suddenly dives for fish, leaving shimmering silver rings expanding across the dark water. They both keep their eyes on these rings, waiting for the loon to reemerge; counting the seconds in silence; “one thousand one; one thousand two; one thousand three . . .” They’ve done this many times before over the years and neither of them can remember how the ritual first got started.

Shall I tell you a story?

Sure, why not. What kind of story is it going to be?

The story of how I first came by this derisive attitude toward the French.

Oh boy.

(The loon pops up but they’ve both lost track of the seconds.)

I was in Paris. This was years ago, in the sixties, wandering around with some girl.

What girl was this now?

It doesn’t matter.

Was this the girl you’d met on crystal methedrene in a teepee in Woodstock?

No. It was just some girl I’d run into. I can’t remember.

You remember. You remember all your girls.

Can I just tell you this?

Sure. I’m all ears.

I’d gone out late one night for a walk.

Without the girl?

That’s right. She stayed. She wanted to read or something.

Proust, I’ll bet.

What?

Remembrance of Things Past?

Oh, never mind. I thought you might like to hear this.

I do want to hear this. I’m just trying to fill in the picture. You went out walking the streets of Paris in the middle of the night and left your girl behind reading Proust. Then what?

All right. Now, this was back in the days when I was still drinking. And I was just wandering around the streets. I did a lot of wandering in those days.

What were you looking for?

Nothing. I’d just wander. I liked to wander.

You were looking for women.

I had a woman.

You were looking for more women. You weren’t satisfied with just one. You wanted more.

Could I just go on with this please and not get sidetracked by every little—

Sure. Go on with it. I’m just trying to keep tabs.

(Another pause while they watch a painted turtle stick its neck up through the lily pads and blow water out its slitted nostrils.)