Last of all there were the goodbyes (numberless, they seemed, though that couldn’t be right). Goodbyes to the living and goodbyes to the dead – for the dead would go too, those she had been sheltering in her head, in memories. What made it so trying was not knowing how she would be from one day to the next, not being able to rely on herself, this slender stricken thing between the sheets, this body that Samuel Pinedo had once thought so lovely. Yet somehow she must do it, and as she slid back towards sleep she envisaged all those last thoughts and last acts like a line of delicate sun machines, those glass bulbs like the one Alec had had as a child with sails of light-sensitive paper on a pin which whirled beneath the glass when the sun shone on them.

‘Je te sauverai,’ they said. ‘Je te sauverai, maman.’ And she let herself be comforted.

9

Alec dimmed the light of the lantern, then went inside to call America. The telephone in the kitchen was the farthest from Alice’s room – the least likely to disturb her – and the ten-digit number he needed was written on the cracked paint of the wall beside the telephone. His own number was just below it, and at the top of the list were the hospital number and Una’s home number. For a few seconds the receiver hissed like a conch shell, then began to ring. He counted fifteen rings and was about to hang up when he heard Kirsty’s breathless ‘Hello?’

‘Hi,’ said Alec.

‘Larry?’

‘Alec.’

‘Alec! Is everything OK?’

‘Fine.’

‘I was in the shower,’ she said. ‘I just got back from the centre. Wow, what a day!’

‘Zen?’ asked Alec.

‘Yeah. We’ve got this roshi over from Kyoto. Mr Endo.’ She laughed. ‘I think I’m in love.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Alec, laughing too, though quietly. He imagined her, with her wet hair pushed behind her ears, the colour of it darkened a little by the water.

‘He gave us our koans,’ she said.

‘Koans?’

‘The riddles.’

‘Ah,’ said Alec. ‘The sound of one hand clapping.’

‘That kind of thing.’

‘What’s yours?’

‘Gosh,’ she said, ‘I don’t think we’re supposed to tell.’

‘What happens when you find the answer?’

‘Well, you get a Buddhist name, and it’s like the first stage.’

‘Enlightenment by instalments.’

‘Don’t be such a Brit, Alec. I know you think it’s the Moonies.’

‘No I don’t,’ he said. ‘I envy you.’

‘How’s Alice?’

‘She has to rest a lot.’

‘Is Brando still coming?’

‘He’ll be here tomorrow,’ said Alec. He didn’t share the general enthusiasm for Brando. All that charm and authority. He suspected Brando did not approve of him either. The translator. The ineffectual son.

‘Larry’s just sick with worry,’ said Kirsty. ‘And it’s not as if he has much to take his mind off it.’

‘He’s not working?’