As she mixes paints he talks about his friends. Here’s Tashi writing tales of his surfing with a clarity and vividness that put Jim’s work to shame. “Because he isn’t trying for art,” Hana says, and smiles at a bowl. “It’s a valuable state of mind.”

Jim nods. And he goes on to talk about Tashi’s great refusal, his secret generosity; about Sandy’s galvanic, enormous energy, his complex dealing exploits, his legendary lateness. And about Abe. Jim describes Abe’s haggard face as he comes into the party after a night’s work, transformed by an act of will into the funtime mask, full of harsh laughter. And the way he holds himself at a distance from Jim now, mocking Jim’s lack of any useful skills, teaming with Tash or Sandy in a sort of exclusion of Jim; this combined with flashes of the old sympathy and closeness that existed between them. “Sometimes I’ll be talking and Abe will give me a look like an arrow and throw back his head and laugh, and all of a sudden I realize how little any of us know what our friends are, what they’re thinking of us.”

Hana nods, looking straight at him for once. She smiles. “You love your friends.”

“Yeah? Well, sure.” Jim laughs.

“Here, I’m ready to work. Get out of that light, okay? Sit down, or feel free to track or whatever.”

“I’ll look at the other ones here.” He studies painting after painting, watching her as well. She has the canvas flat on a low table, and is seated next to it, bent over and dabbing at it with a tiny brush. Face lost in black hair. Still bulky body, hand moving deftly, tiny motions … it must take her hours to do one painting, and here there are, what, sixty of them? “Whoah.”

After a while he just sits by one stack and watches her. She doesn’t notice. Every once in a while she heaves a big breath, like a sigh. Then she’s almost holding it. Cheynes-Stokes breathing, Jim thinks. She’s at altitude. Once he comes to and realizes he’s been watching her still form without thought, for—he doesn’t know how long. Like the meditation he can never do! Except he’s about to fall asleep. “Hey, I’m going to track.” “All right. See you later?” “You bet.”