When he was finished, we sat for a time, not wanting to talk much about Viridian. I said it was pretty here, and Oscar agreed, in an absent way. I said I should probably be getting back.

“Can I ask you something? Do I seem old to you?”

“What?”

“Simple question. Do you think of me as an old man?”

Maybe it was my encounter with Ken Spinner that gave Oscar’s question that alarming echo of sleaze. But then, Ken wouldn’t ever ask such a thing. And anyway, it was only Oscar, and he seemed more melancholy than anything else. I said, “You’re older than me. But most of the time you act about fourteen.”

“Really?” This seemed to cheer him up. “What about my hair, do you think I should I cut it?”

“What’s got into you?”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes, cut it. But don’t do it yourself, find a decent stylist.”

“Yeah, good idea.” He was silent again.

“Why are you asking? What’s the deal?”

“Ars longa, vita brevis. You know what that means?”

“‘Art is long, life is short.’ Yes, you told me. More than once. Why?”

“It doesn’t cheer me up the way it used to. You know, how your art will survive you and transcend your wretched, paltry existence, I mean, who cares? Who wants to be famous after they’re dead? What good does that do you?”

I thought he must be depressed about Viridian. I was, too, although it didn’t lead me to thoughts of cutting my hair. “Come on,” I said, getting up. “Let’s see if the others are here.”

They had just pulled up when we got back to the lodge. Anders got out first, followed by Sacha. Viridian was in the back seat. She took her time getting out, but I couldn’t see anything tired or strained about her. “Did you know,” Sacha said, looking around her, “they used to pan for gold on this river. A few of them got rich but most of the prospectors gave up and died broke. Isn’t that a perfect parable for writing?”

Viridian said she was glad to see me, and she hoped I wasn’t working too hard. Not at all, I said. But I scarcely knew what to say to her, after all the talking we’d done about her. I felt guilty, almost disloyal, even though everything we’d said had been on her behalf and, one hoped, for her benefit. She was dressed in jeans and a black shirt, her hair tied back with a bandana. Standing next to her, I was aware once more that she was in fact a small person; it was only her presence that was large.

“Thank you for getting me the job,” I said. “It’s a real opportunity.”

“Oh, it’s a zoo and you’re the zookeeper,” she said cheerfully. “Who is it that’s supposed to be here anyway?”