“When I was directing, the first few times I did it, I was narrating it for myself. I was saying, ‘Here I am, directing Mabel Normand, and now I’m telling her to use her eyes to show us the burglar is hiding in the cupboard.’ And when I was walking to work, or having dinner with the crew, I used to say, ‘Here I am, feeling wonderful,’ or ‘Now I’m frightened.’ I did that for you, because I thought that perhaps you could hear me. Was that pathetic? Or is it pathetic now that I don’t do that?”

She did not answer. Instead, she raised her glasses up. Her eyes, surveying his face, reminded him of a place he had read about in books. A foreign jungle village ringed by a high wall that would not give up secrets because it did not speak the same language as anyone else.

“Are you feeling sad?” she asked.

“No.”

“Come here and give the old crone a hug, then.”

On the bench, under the swaying pepper tree, Chaplin hugged his mother. She stiffened. He let her go.

“It’s okay if you don’t love your mother,” she said.

“Of course I—”

“No, don’t say it. You don’t mean it, Charlie. That’s all by the wayside now.”

“But I do.” He could see, a block away, a red car from the Long Beach Line. It was seven minutes past twelve. The car was taking on passengers. Others were stepping off, even though it was an express and they were technically between stations. It always worked like that: the train conductors were so friendly and understanding, and it was always their neighbors they were helping, or so Chaplin remembered from his few trips. He had eaten his ice-cream cone, and it was gone. The trolley launched forward, down the tracks.

“Mum,” he whispered.

“Charlie.” She, too, had finished her cone. Her head tilted back as she yawned. She looked as if she might be sleepy behind her glasses.

“If you were to travel, how would you go?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were taking a trip, would you go by airplane?”

“Oh, no, not that way.”

“Take off your glasses, Mum. There you go. Now, close your eyes. Are they good and closed?” he asked. She was smiling; she liked the game. “Would you travel by boat?”

She shook her head, eyes closed tightly.

“By motorbus?”