I leaned on the wall next to the slightly open window. “Marlies,” I said through the gap, “I’ve got a visitor from Japan coming soon.”

“I couldn’t care less,” Marlies said.

“I know,” I said. “I just wanted to ask: In case you happen to meet my visitor, could you … could you be a bit more approachable? A little nicer? Just briefly. I’d really appreciate it.”

I heard Marlies light a Peer 100, and soon after a puff of smoke blew toward me out the window.

“I’m not friendly, deal with it,” she said.

I sighed. “Okay, Marlies. Otherwise are things all right with you?”

“Never better,” Marlies replied. “And now, goodbye.”

“So long,” I said, then pushed off the wall and went to see Elsbeth, who was standing in her garden looking at an ivy-covered apple tree, her arms crossed below her enormous breasts.

It was the same tree she had tried to blow the leaves off of after Martin’s death. When they fell on their own that autumn, Elsbeth had kicked the trunk and, tears flowing, had said that it was too late now, they could just as well have stayed on the branches.

Elsbeth pointed at the ivy. “I really want to get rid of the stuff, but I also really don’t,” she murmured. The pruning shears were propped up against the trunk of the tree.

“Why wouldn’t you?” I asked.

“Sometimes ivy is an enchanted person, and when he reaches the top of the tree, he is freed from the spell,” Elsbeth explained.

“Speaking of superstition . . .” I began.

“The question is, do I release the person or the tree?”

The ivy was already entwined around the top part of the trunk.

“I’d choose the tree,” I said. “If it’s a person, then he’s already half free. That’s more than can be said for the rest of us.”

Elsbeth patted my cheek with her pudgy hand. “You sound more and more like Selma,” she said, and picked up the pruning shears.

“Elsbeth,” I said, “I’ve got a visitor from Japan coming soon and I wanted to ask you if you could talk about superstition as little as possible.”

“But why?” Elsbeth asked, and reluctantly started to clear the ivy. With each snip, she apologized to the person who the ivy might actually be.

“Because it’s odd,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” Elsbeth said. “But wouldn’t it be much odder if I didn’t say anything about superstitions?” As she snipped, she said, “I’m sorry, dear possible person.”

“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “You can talk about other things.”

“About what?”

“About the turbulent preparations for the Christmas party in the community center,” I suggested, “about the debate over holding it in the afternoon or the evening.”