“You were in the Army at the beginning of the war,” Anna said. “You must have enlisted.”

“See how smart she is,” Sophie said.

“Not exactly enlisted.”

“Then you must have been in trouble,” Anna said.

“See?” Sophie said.

“Okay. I was with some friends in New York. We decided to give a free concert to soldiers in New Jersey—at Fort Dix—which was for Negro soldiers. We thought we’d give them some jazz, maybe a parade.”

“This was arranged with the officers, Joe?”

“No. Our arrival was not expected.”

“What time of day was this, Joe?”

“About three in the morning. About this time. A lot of dumb things are done at this hour.”

“You mean you were drunk, Joe.”

“See?” Sophie said.

“There was some damage, Joe?”

“Some of the musical instruments got pretty banged up when we hit the main gate. I vaguely remember a scuffle on the way to the parade ground, and a holding action around the bandstand. Then I mostly recall seventy or eighty MPs sitting on me. Anyway, the Army was after men. They offered us a choice: jail or enlistment. We all chose enlistment. I was the only one who passed the physical.”

“That is a crazy way to enlist in the Army.”

“Enlisting sober in broad daylight is crazier.”

“Men are so dumb,” Sophie told Anna. “My husband should be here where there are things for him to do, but he wants to go hide in the canyons, he wants to be a hero. Men don’t talk to women, you know. They have too much dignity for us. Sometimes I think they go through life just working on a good death. One way or another, they kill themselves. Ben’s old, this could be his last chance. And I’m the one who has to walk all day and take him food and cigarettes.”

“He’s with Roberto?” Joe asked.

“Where else would he be?”

So that was why Sophie was firing pots at night. Things finally made sense if you just waited long enough.

“The Indian Service has riders from here to Utah looking for Roberto, and you toddle by with his bacon and eggs?”

“You walk by them?” Anna asked.

“Yes. They don’t pay attention to an old woman getting clay. They’re looking for Joe.”

“I’m not involved with Roberto.”

“That’s not what Roberto says,” Sophie told Anna. “He talks about Joe all the time.”

“You miss your husband,” Anna said.

“Yes. Tonight the devil went by my window. He had yellow skin, silver horns and a rifle.”

Joe said, “Sophie, do me a favor. Next time you see Roberto, tell him I’m not involved. He wants to play cowboys and Indians. I don’t. It has nothing to do with me.”

In his house, Joe lit a kerosene lamp and poured two glasses of scotch while she looked at the photographs on the wall.

“No pictures of you.”