“This is the information you need,” said the guest lecturer, interrupting my thoughts. She produced a folded piece of notepaper, which she held out for me to take. This particular size and shape of notepaper were at this point very familiar to me.

The questions I had—how did she come by that scar? what was her interest in my investigation?—began to tumble into one another; I had so many that in the end they seemed to cancel each other out. I noticed that sitting on the bench on the other side of the guest lecturer was a handbag made of the same straw-like material as her shoes.

I looked down at the folded piece of paper in my hand.

“Will I see you again?” I said, and then I thought, Well, that strikes the wrong tone, how needlessly romantic and strained.

The guest lecturer thought a moment, her head cocked to one side. She gave me a long, appraising look that seemed to end in disappointment.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I expect you will.”

I did my best to look pleased.

“It’s possible,” she went on, “that you might be able to accomplish everything on your own, but…” She shrugged slowly. “My guess is that yes, we will meet again.”

I nodded. I had, of course, not the faintest idea what she was talking about.

With that the guest lecturer brushed off the legs of her pants, picked up her straw handbag, and stood up from the bench, steadying her hat with one hand as she rose. The sharp vertical creases that had been ironed into each of her pant legs fell into place, like the prows of two identical ships.

“Wait,” I said, with a sudden flash of inspiration. “Do you know who MC is? MC, Saturday, ten a.m.?”

The guest lecturer looked down at me, a stern expression on her face.

“It’s not a person,” she said. “It’s a place.”

She seemed to be on the verge of leaving.

“Wait,” I said again. “Can you tell me anything else?”

“No,” she said. “I can’t.”

I nodded dumbly.

“Well,” she said. “It’s been a pleasure.” Her tone suggested that the opposite was true. “Now you’ll have to excuse me.”

I would have liked to turn and watch her go—how had she arrived? was one question I had. On foot? By car? But to do so seemed somehow unbecoming, so instead I kept my eyes trained on the shallow pond in front of me, and I listened for the brisk crunch of each footstep on the path until I heard them no more. Cautiously, I turned my head. She was gone.

14