The server comes by, and I decide that I’m hungry after all and won’t wait for Mimi. I order the ham dish. So does Oz.

“You saw the refugees?”

“Yes,” I say. “It was sad.”

“To see them is sad,” says Oz. “To be one is . . . bouleversant, but this is not strong enough.”

“Shattering?”

“Yes,” says Oz. “Shattering. Moria. Zaatari. Calais. Mae La. Dadaab. To be a refugee is to be shattered.”

I follow Oz to the buffet. There is a good selection of fruit today and some small pastries with raisins.

“So, what will you do today?”

“I don’t know. You have any suggestions?”

Oz takes two of the pastries. “You have seen the clock?”

“We’ve seen the clock and the Kafka courtyard and the castle and the statue of the boy and we’ve been to Golden Lane.”

“And, of course, the bridge.”

“We walked through the old Jewish quarter and saw the cemetery, but we didn’t go in.”

Oz stops in front of the yogurt. “Have you been to the KGB Museum?”

I’m tempted to tell Oz about the medicine bundle and Uncle Leroy.

“When you were in Budapest, did you go to the castle?” Oz waves a serving spoon in my face. “There is a museum. In the basement of the castle. The Hospital in the Rock. Filled with wax figures. My favourite is a German officer sitting on a toilet with his pants around his ankles.”

“Wax Nazis?”

“Doctors, nurses, patients, soldiers,” says Oz. “A history lesson in wax.”

We finish with the buffet and go back to our table. It’s only eight thirty. I don’t expect to see Mimi for another hour. Now that I have food in front of me, I’m no longer hungry. What I really want to do is go back to the room, crawl into bed, and stay there for the rest of the day.

Instead, I sip my coffee and wait for Oz to finish his meal. Through the window, I can see the sun in full throat, and I can hear the sounds of motor scooters as they zip up and down the narrow streets.

“Tell me,” I ask him as he eats the last of his pastry, “what do you know about Wild West shows?”

THE SECOND DAY I was at the Littlechild camp, park rangers, with their official voices at the ready, showed up and told the people that they would have to leave or face a fine and jail time. Littlechild was friendly but firm. This was Indian land, she told the park people. They weren’t bothering anyone. And they weren’t going to move.

Oh, and would the rangers like to join the camp for lunch?