“These are from the ice-cream parlor. We have four medium Secret Loves, one Hot Desire, and one Flaming Temptation,” he announced as he lifted the respective sundaes from the tray and placed them on the table. “And here we have a special treat: Alberto’s latest creation, Astrid’s Tropical Cup. She’ll be here in a moment.”

“Delicious,” Selma said.

She pulled out the table. We squeezed together around it. On the far end sat Palm, who still hadn’t said a word, like a shy ten-year-old. A strand of hair stood straight up on his head. For reasons of space, the optician extended his arm on the back of the kitchen bench behind Palm, careful not to touch him.

“This is Mr. Werner Palm,” Selma said, and Frederik extended his hand across the table.

“Pleased to meet you.”

Palm, still silent, smiled and nodded.

“So, tell us,” Elsbeth said, “what’s it like living in a monastery?”

“Why did you choose to become a Buddhist?” the shopkeeper asked. “Did you never consider an occupation that requires training?”

“Is there a Buddhist woman in your life?” Elsbeth asked.

“Personally, I’d like to know how flaming temptation and hot desire can be reconciled with imperturbable equanimity,” the shopkeeper said. “Are you celibate?”

“Our optician told us that sometimes, during meditation, a monk is beaten by other monks,” Elsbeth said. “Is that really true?”

“Can you say something in Japanese?” the shopkeeper asked.

“Could you please all be quiet?” I shouted, and everyone looked at me as if I’d made an extremely inappropriate remark it was best to ignore, then they all turned back to Frederik. He set his spoon down next to his Hot Desire and said that for the most part it was very quiet in the monastery and that Buddhism actually does require training. And no, he added, there was no Buddhist woman in his life, at least none that would get in the way of celibacy, and, in fact, one was sometimes struck with a stick while meditating, but with a very well-placed blow that relaxed the muscles on the back of the neck. Then he said, “Umi ni sennen, yama ni sennen.”

“What does that mean?” Elsbeth asked.

“One thousand years at sea, one thousand years in the mountains,” Frederik translated.

“Oh, how nice,” Elsbeth said, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “That sounds like your father.”

They all smiled at Frederik as if he were a prizewinning documentary. Frederik gave them an embarrassed grin.

“You’re all very kind,” he said.

“That’s true, isn’t it?” Elsbeth said, sitting up straight.

Frederik stood up.

“I’m just going to put my robe back on,” and we nodded, astonished. We’d all thought it was a cowl.

As soon as Frederik stepped out of the room, they all turned toward me.

“He’s a good man,” the shopkeeper said.