Then the day comes when Lin must leave. Ruth stands beside the door of the rented car. “Come back.”

“I will.” Thomas comes walking. Lin sees the village behind him as if in a photograph. She will remember. She gets out to meet her father.

The next week Thomas is gone. Ruth looks around his place and notices his clothing missing. The fish is there alone and unfed. Damn it! Ruth thinks. She takes it to the small lake at the edge of the forest to turn it loose. It is not a long drive. And she marvels that after the drought the plants have returned and some are blooming. The sweet smell finds its way to her. The water has other fish in it, even other goldfish and koi, as if they had gone under the mud and waited the return of water. The grasses are there, the marshy beauty where birds nest.

She carries the fishbowl in her hands, walking carefully and talking to this fish Lin sang over. “You will grow and become large. You should see the others in the lake. There are many.” The lake, really a large pond, is calm and surrounded by large trees. Green plants at the bottom. Ruth empties the bowl, knowing she will see the fish some days coming, red, to the surface. Ruth says, “Look, you are so beautiful.”

From behind her a man’s voice says, “Do you always talk to fish?”

She stands up quickly, embarrassed. Dick Russell is smiling at her.

“Yes, always. It’s how I catch them on the boat.”

“I figured that.” He smiles at her.

“Did you catch the fire-starters?”

“It turned out to be easy. One was burned and hospitalized up in Layton. His friend complained about his ruined jacket. Say, do you eat?”

She thinks he means she’s lost weight. Then says, “I think I’ve fallen for that one before. Yes.” She laughs, suddenly shy. “I eat a lot.”

“Good, then let’s go get some dinner.”

HOME

When Lin returns home, her husband greets her. She holds him and won’t let go of his thin shoulders, feeling with her hands the rib cage in the back. It’s night and he takes her home from the airport.

When they reach home she leans into him. A light rain begins. “It’s too soon to tell. But I think he’s coming here.” Inside, she opens her suitcase. “Here, a present for you.” It is a mask carved of wood with raffia hair, a perfect face, painted with color. “It was made by my grandfather.”

She also has a carved wolf, yellow cedar. It is becoming the moon and the moon is becoming a whale. He studies the wolf, not the mask. “Transformation,” he says. “That is your father.”

He pulls her to the bed. “You must be tired. I won’t bother you tonight.” He kisses her stomach. “But watch out!”

That night she doesn’t keep a light on. She has new ghosts, but they are far away.