The gentle autumn breeze carried greetings from an unknown world, a world not inhabited by just one mind, a world whose four corners lay behind the darkness of the cypress trees.

“I’m in a mood where anything could happen.”

“But don’t drink more than one glass!”

“The first thing is to invite her to the table.”

Mustapha went to look for the waiter. The fragrance of lilies spread in the air, and in the intervals of silence, the whispering of the branches was audible. He was eager to enter his life of fantasy. Strange shapes of human beings passed before his eyes and he said to himself in apology that all this was the effect of illness.

Margaret approached the table, swaying in her dark evening gown, and greeted them with a smile which displayed her perfect set of teeth. The waiter, her shadow, stood a few feet away.

“Champagne,” Omar ordered.

You first drank it on your wedding night. It was a cheap brand, a joint present from Mustapha and Othman. What would the prisoners do if struck with an epidemic of your strange disease?

Mustapha’s greeting indicated that he had known the woman previously. “Margaret,” he said, “we both admired your voice, and my friend is quite taken with you. It seems that every time you meet…” He winked, laughing. “He’s a prominent lawyer, but I hope you won’t need him in any professional capacity.”

Her mouth spread in a soundless laugh, and she said, “I always need someone to defend me. Isn’t that the case with women in general?”

Omar summoned forth a gift for flattery which had lain dormant for many years. “Except for those with your beauty and voice.”

Mustapha said, with a cunning blink of his filmy eyes, “He started out as a poet, you know, but he hasn’t yet reached the standard of ‘I can’t help wanting you more.’ ”

Inspecting Omar, Margaret said cautiously, “A poet…but he looks so sedate!”

Omar responded, “That’s why I gave it up so quickly.”

“So now he regards beauty as a treatment which will cure him of the strange illness he’s been suffering from recently.”

The champagne bottle popped open and the bubbles raced into their glasses.

“That means I’m some sort of medicine?”

Mustapha followed quickly with a smile. “Yes, why not, of the sort that one takes before sleep.”

“Don’t rush things. The cure doesn’t come as easily as you think.”

Omar asked her to dance. Out on the floor, with his arm around her waist and the fragrance of her perfume quickening his senses, he savored the night. The humidity had relented, and the trees, alight with red and white lamps, seemed to have bloomed.

“May it be a happy acquaintance.”

“You’re as charming as you are tall.”

“You’re not short yourself.”

“But your sharp eyes frighten me.”