I took Shaygha’s hand and untwined it from where it had burrowed under my arm. I guided her around the table and sat her down opposite me, whispering, “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” She was trembling again, from the shock of seeing such things for the first time. These things went beyond all expectations, and she was probably afraid I couldn’t pay the bill in such a place. To tell the truth, I was focused not so much upon her as upon myself in that moment, when I was returning to my natural surroundings, my native element, and sitting at my usual table in my usual restaurant, served by my personal waiter. And beside me, my woman.

I suddenly sensed that the months of wandering and roaming had exhausted me, and that I wanted the quiet stability of home. Yes, I had climbed mountains and descended into valleys; I had dwelt in caves and encountered beasts. I had fought and lost. Now I wanted to return to my home and my woman to tell the tale, sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the fire as a log crackles upon the hearth. I don’t know where that feeling came from. Great travelers circle the globe to explore and discover, and then a moment comes when they lay down their nomadic burden and abandon their peregrinations. Sitting there across from Shaygha, savoring the calm and looking at everything around me, I felt I had reached precisely such a point.

The restaurant was uncommonly empty, apart from a few guests who had finished dinner and were talking quietly together over a digestif or a cup of coffee. Some others were sitting at the bar and having a drink as they waited for someone. The manager of the Albergo Hotel greeted me from across the room. He was sitting with what looked like a group of work colleagues. Maître d’ Saleem soon brought my glass of Chivas Regal on the rocks, and I ran through my order: antipasti, first course, main course, and dessert. I sank back in the chair, feeling I had just sketched the borders of my empire, by land and by sea, with my Nepalese serving girl sitting at my feet to fan me with feathers and listen for any murmur I might make.

After finishing our first glass, my features began to relax. A look was stealing into Shaygha’s eyes, that of a slave toward her master. She contracted and shrank, sitting on the edge of her seat and eating confusedly as she realized how out of place she was, and that she didn’t belong with me. I ordered us each a second glass. I reached out my arm, took her hand, and kissed her palm as a way of saying no to all those thoughts. I’m still me, with my vagrant heart and soul. She’s still her, the good little witch who raised me from the mire.