“We should have stopped at the library,” she said.

She was right: perhaps Théo belonged to the library. They retraced their steps and pushed the door of the brick building.

The librarian was a tall thin girl with long black hair. She bore a strange resemblance to La Grande Sauterelle, except that her features were half-Chinese and half-Mexican; because of her dual parentage, her face was gentle, somewhat strange and very moving.

Théo’s name did not appear on the list of members. La Grande Sauterelle asked the girl if she could look at the lists for previous years, too. The girl shook her head: the old records were in the central library in the Civic Center, on Van Ness Street. She looked at them with great patience and a warm smile. Jack told her briefly about his brother, and she gestured that she understood. She said that if Théo had stayed in North Beach, one man who could give them information about him was the owner of the Café Trieste. She wrote down the address on a piece of paper. It wasn’t far. They could walk.

“Thank you very much!” said Jack, shaking her hand. “That’s very kind!”

“You’re very welcome!” she said, and her slanted eyes twinkled.

La Grande Sauterelle leaned across the counter, put her long thin arms around the girl’s neck and kissed her on both cheeks.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to do,” said the man once they were outside, “but I never dare to because it embarrasses me and I’m afraid people will think I’m a dirty old man.”

Outside, the fog had lifted. It was eleven o’clock in the morning. The sun was magnificent and the street was flooded with light. This time as they passed Washington Square, where ghosts of the past lingered, they noticed the enormous phallus of the Coit Tower, which stood at the peak of Telegraph Hill.

They were walking along Columbus, looking all around them. They encountered all sorts of people — Chinese, Italian, French, German — and the air was filled with the aromas of coffee, pizza and pastries. A hill rose on their right and another on their left, and both were covered with blue, pink, white or yellow houses with projecting windows; they found themselves in a sort of little valley.

At the corner of Columbus and Vallejo, the girl stopped, blocking traffic; passersby were obliged to walk around them.

“What is it?” asked Jack.

“Nothing special,” she said, “just that I feel good. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so good.”

The cat climbed up on her shoulder. She took him in her arms and tried out a dance step on the sidewalk. All at once she stood still.

“Look!”

She was pointing to a sign on Vallejo Street, on their left: the Café Trieste.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”