Juana greets Cate the way she always does, with a violent embrace, which is a little awkward because Cate is seated, so the gesture winds up being a hug of both Cate and the chair. Juana then takes Cate’s bad hand and kneads it then rubs the bumps, which are what remains of her lost fingers. All the while of this, she murmurs something that’s not Spanish but rather some indigenous language. The first time this happened, Cate thought she was being prayed for to some specialty saint. But when she asked about this, Seneca set her straight. “Oh no!” Then laughed in a spilling way. “It’s for good luck. To rub any deformity—a hump on the back, the stump of what was once a leg—is supposed to bring good fortune. You get a lottery ticket on a day this happens. I’m sorry to tell you this. How can it not be offensive? But she is from an older world than ours, one filled with magic.”

What Juana serves tonight is chiles rellenos and bread in the form of soft, slightly sweet pads and a butter mixed with honey—all delicious.

Of course Seneca wants to talk about the political upheaval in the U.S. And of course Cate dreads this. It’s one thing to go over (endlessly) with other Americans the huge wrong thing that has happened, but totally embarrassing to discuss with anyone in another country, particularly a country the new president wants to wall off to keep out mythical, rampaging rapists.

Cate gathers up all her resources.

“Apparently there was mischief from Russia. They picked the candidate they knew would be a useful fool. So he was their guy and they went to work for him with their massive hacking savvy. Lies and propaganda messages whirled out by the zillions by—”

“Bots,” Seneca says. Cate didn’t expect her to be so well-informed on this, but of course she is. And clearly seeing how uncomfortable all of this is for Cate, she pulls the rug out from under the subject and asks about the new play. But this is almost as difficult a subject. Cate doesn’t feel up to explaining Vita and her crazy life. If Vita were a little more famous than a Bloomsbury footnote (by way of being Woolf’s lover), Cate wouldn’t have to keep relating her story to anyone who asks about the play. But that doesn’t happen now. Seneca has, of course, done her homework.

“I have been reading up on your Sackville-West. A very good biography. Also a diary of a time early in her marriage. Dramas in hotels and Parisian dance halls for her, but her husband minded and the children barely knew her.”

“Wow. I’m so impressed you did all this research.”

“It wasn’t a hardship. It’s always amusing to read about the terrible things people did when they were young and run by their passions.”