Below us, someone smacked flies against a window and the woman opposite-but-one weaved her way up her yard with a long drink to where a deck chair sat cowering under a tree.

“Poor Henry,” I said. “He’s so lonely without her.”

“Do you think it speeds up?” he said. “Getting old? Like, the longer you live, the smaller a part of your life a year is? Does time just get quicker and quicker and then stop when you stop or whatever?”

“Maybe,” I said. “I guess we’ll find out in the end.”

“Maybe not.”

I said, “How old is Henry, do you think?”

Novo didn’t answer me.

The old gardeners were doing something with a climbing rose, shout-whispering at each other, bicker-bicker, like irritated snakes. Together we watched them. “Were those two in love once, do you think? Are they still?” he asked.

“I have no idea, Novo. So far, they just seem to fight a lot. I’m not sure they even like each other.”

The look on his face was something sweet and tinged with envy, and he said, “Their garden is beautiful though, isn’t it? I wonder if a whole life together feels as good as that.”

I smiled at him.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing. I don’t know. I’m just . . . People usually just talk about smaller things than that.”

“Than what?”

“Than that.”

“Oh. You want to talk about smaller things?”

“No. I didn’t say that. I just said that people usually do. People talk about politics and football and what they did over the weekend.”

He laughed. “Oh yeah? What else do people do?”

“We drink coffee and catch trains and clean mud off our shoes and reheat takeout. We watch television and take selfies and go on vacation and try to recycle.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said. “That’s not all that people do. That’s bullshit.”

“How do you know?” I said. “You’re not people.”

“No,” he said. “You’re right. I’m not people at all. But I want to be for a little while. Come and sit with me. Let’s just sit here like people and talk small.”