"I don't think much of your one," said Den. "She's too tall." Den was pleased by his wit and his glasses shone.

"Shhh," said Kev, "I want to hear what it drinks. Malibu and orange? Bristol Cream?"

The outcast spoke softly to the barman.

"What did he say?"

"Beer, he drinks beer."

"Nah, he's going to wash his hair in it."

They waited, as the white-haired man waited. His back was turned to them, which intuitively they took for a sign of weakness.

"I wonder where he gets it styled," said Ray.

"He don't style it, just puts fertilizer on it, make it grow."

They laughed, and the white-haired man turned. He faced them, smiling. He had the beer now, which he raised.

"Proost."

"Oh, he ain't English."

"He don't know what we've been saying."

"Here, matey, where you from?"

"Bloody German."

"Nah, they look like pigs, Den."

"Yes, he looks more like a rat."

The slow riverine eyes went over them. The smile did not lessen.

Malach dipped one finger in his beer. They watched, fascinated.

Malach drew a circle around the rim of his glass. A faint silver note came from it, irritating to the ear as tinnitus.

"Do you think it's some sexual gesture?" Kev asked Ray.

"Maybe he fancies Den."

"Take off your glasses, Den, and give him a kish."

The note on the beer glass became suddenly shrill and unbearable. Across the bar a few heads turned.

Malach removed his finger from the glass. It went on singing. He lifted the beer to his lips.

And Kev's gin tumbler broke into fragments, showering on the floor. The gin and tonic splashed across his pink shirt. Kev yelled. He had gone white. Blood dripped on his diver's watch, which he had not noticed yet had stopped.

"Christ," said Den. "Oh Christ, my glasses—" He pulled them off and one of the lenses cracked in half and fell out onto the ground. He went down on his hands and knees on the lary carpet, stupidly trying to find the two bits.

Ray backed off. He put his drink on the table. "All right, mate," he called out at Malach. Then he turned and walked quickly into the street.

Malach shrugged.

The glass had stopped singing and he drained it.

A few people watched curiously, not understanding what had happened.

Kev said, "Very clever, smart-arse."

Malach leaned forward. He caught Kev's face in his long hand with the tarnished rings. Kev's whiteness went to green.

"Tot ziens," Malach said, and Kev wet himself.

Outside on the pavement Ray was not in sight. An old woman came past, stepping carefully over Malach's shadow.

The sun was a methyl orange star in the western sector of the sky. The storm had not broken.

CHAPTER 17

GRADUALLY THE TERRACE WAS LOSING the sun. A cool breeze riffled through the garden trees, and Lou and Tray had goldenly sat up. Althene, beneath her sunshade, continued with her book.