I gazed into my warm glass of flat beer. My gut understood it, my brain did not. “Why do they call you For God’s Sake?”

“That’s what they called me at the mission. Why? The answer is easy. For God’s Sake, they said, why do you have to talk so much? Please, be quiet. For God’s Sake, we are trying to work here, or go to sleep maybe, or get mission writing done, you know, so, For God’s Sake, shut up, will you? So since then I am For God’s Sake. I don’t mind. But tell me, you know, about your ca’ah, over.”

He looked at me with such respect and interest, as if my answer would be worth listening to, if he was only patient enough to wait for it. I reddened. The reasons for what I do—how could I know that? I seemed not to act, but only react to events, to lunge toward decisions—people, places, things—pulled or pushed by reasons I was barely conscious or in control of.

“I don’t know. I just survive, I guess.”

For God’s Sake waved my silly answer away. “There has to be some ca’ah in you. Mostly I am confused by white man’s ca’ah. Sometimes they are so nice they give you food, behave with fairness, speak nicely, and use respect. Sometimes—” Here he puffed out his cheeks, made a bang-bang motion with his hands, like guns going off, shaking his head. “It’s like that. Mean and sad and killing. Like devils. First one thing, then the other thing, back and forth, back and forth. I don’t understand civilizado ca’ah. What is their big purpose, their big idea? Where does their spirit live? So I keep asking everyone I meet, until I know. What do they want, can you tell me? What do you want, Lily, over?”

“Guess I’m still not sure.” Those days, I’d lose myself in lofty yet vague fantasies of saving elephants and rhinos from poachers in Africa, chimps from extinction, whales from tangled fishing ropes. Was this what he meant by ca’ah? “I love animals, and I like to sew.”

“Ah, sewing! You can make clothes, any kind of clothes, over?”

“Any kind of clothes. I can sew linings, I can make my own patterns. I can just look at you and know what size you are.”

“So someday you will make me a fine suit, a beautiful suit, that I will wear proudly to my daughter’s wedding, when she has grown and found a good man, over?” For God’s Sake combed his mustache with one finger thoughtfully as he spoke.

I laughed. “Of course.”

Now, up close, I could put him in his midthirties, but a hard-won midthirties, leathery and sad around the eyes, even through his continual smile.

Omar pushed himself to his feet, glancing around at the men sleeping in hammocks or huddled in groups nursing the last of the beer. “The beer party’s over. We need to get these men in the boat.”