“Did the bus come off as badly as him?” she asked.

“She says she’s noticed you around,” I translated for Ukabane.

“She has a very unpleasant face,” said Ukabane, who was also cursed with the affliction of honesty.

“Warrant Officer Ukabane says you remind him of a famous actress who is very popular in Japan,” I told her. “He thinks you have a very nice smile.”

Her cheeks became rosy.

“He must be blind as well as ugly,” she said.

“She says you look very muscular,” I translated. “The type of man who would protect his woman.”

Ukabane pulled in his stomach and looked away. I assumed this gesture was to afford the woman a view of his good side although neither profile would win a prize.

“She’s in bad shape,” he said. “Obviously never done any physical labor in her life.”

“Ukabane says your figure would inflame the desire in any red-blooded man,” I told her. “He can’t keep his eyes off your divine bosom.”

“You tell him to take his beady eyes off my chest right this minute,” she said. But her expression was more of flattery than offense.

“She says she loves listening to your voice,” I lied. “So masculine and forceful. She could listen to you speak all night.”

“All that in such a short sentence?” asked Ukabane.

“Lao is a very economical language,” I said.

“What are you two talking about?” asked Moot.

“He . . . No, never mind.”

“Tell me.”

“No,” I said. “It’s out of the question.”

She glared at me.

“All right,” I said. “He was asking what chance there might be of you accompanying him to a coffee shop one morning. Perhaps somewhere with a view of the river?”

“All that in one short sentence?”

“Japanese is an economical language,” I said.

“Tell him I’d sooner get rabies and be burned alive,” she said. But she said it with a smile and an eyelash flutter. I turned to Ukabane.

“What’s she saying?” he asked.

“No. It’s impossible.”

“What?”

“She said she’d like to get to know you better.”

“She didn’t.”

“If you say so.”

“Did she?”

“She was wondering whether you might care to join her in a coffee shop one morning.”

“I don’t know,” he said, a glimmer of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Really? I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell her no.”

“Wait, I . . . you know? I do feel a little bit sorry for her, looking the way she does. Perhaps one small coffee wouldn’t do much harm.”

“He’s so excited at the prospect,” I told Moot. “It seems he’s really fond of you. He said it’s a dream come true.”

“Or, in my case, a nightmare,” she said. “What time?”