Sam smiled and urged them on. “It’s true. I’d like to go around picking fruit sometime. I met some migrant workers in town one day. One was an old man with white stubble all over his face. He looked frosted. He was telling me that all he does now is take care of kids. Everybody leaves their kids with him while they go out into the fields. He tells them stories and hands out cookies and apples or whatever. He was a wise old man. I sure would like to hear his stories. They were all fine people. Very full of life and their eyes very nice.”

Lichtenstein lifted his head, agreeing with Sam. He stirred the rice bowl and tweezed out a piece of meat. “People who work with their hands and bodies are genuinely happier. What they do shows. Every move they make has an observable consequence that can be appreciated immediately.”

“But you have to believe in what you’re doing,” Sam said.

“Yes. And be aware and in tune with the nature and rhythm of the work. That’s where meditation comes in. The Native Americans had a custom when a boy came of age. First, he had to run twenty miles through the desert with his mouth full of water and spit it out at the end. Then he went alone into the wilderness and fasted until he had a vision. The vision became his totem and he took his name from it.”

“That’s something!” Sam cried. “That really is! But, you know, just doing something long enough and hard enough becomes unconscious meditation. That’s the best kind.”

Someone had shut the windows of the house. The bugs were coming in to the light. The music was softer. I had brought the liver special for Carlotta. She sat against the wall, took up pieces and chewed them from her fingers. The oil stove beside her sputtered and rumbled. Candles in bottles threw yellow light over us all. Angelina came in and slunk behind the stove, lay down and put her long black head in Carlotta’s lap. Carlotta slipped a piece of liver between the dog’s teeth. The throat convulsed as she swallowed.

“Angelina is a virgin.”

Her voice was sleepy. Aimed at nobody. Her head was rested against the wall and her eyelids drooped.

Sam smiled. She smiled back. I didn’t want that starting up again, so I asked, “Are you still working?”