KIPWALKSOUTofthefieldwherehehasbeendigging,hislefthandraisedinfrontofhimasifhehassprai.

    HepassesthescarecrowforHana’sgarden,thecrucifixwithitshangingsardines,andmovesuphilltowardsthevilla.Hecupsthehandheldinfrontofhimwiththeotherasifprotegtheflameofadle.Hashimoerradhetakesherhandandholdsitagainsthis.Theladybirdcirgthenailonhissmallfingerquicklycrossesoverontoherwrist.

    Sheturnsbatothehouse.Nowherhandisheldoutinfrontofher.Shewalksthroughthekitandupthestairs.

    Thepatientturnstofaceherassheesioucheshisfootwiththehandthatholdstheladybird.Itleavesher,movingontothedarkskin.Avoidingtheseaofwhitesheet,itbeginstomaketheloowardsthedistaherestofhisbody,abrightrednessagainstwhatseemslikevolicflesh.

    Inthelibrarythefuzeboxisinmidair,nudgedofftheterbyCaravaggiowheuroHana’sgleefulyellinthehall.BeforeitreachesthefloorKip’sbodyslidesunderhit,achesitinhishand.

    Caravaggioglancesdowheyoungman’sfaceblowingoutalltheairquicklythroughhischeeks.

    Hethinkssuddenlyheoweshimalife.

    Kipbeginstolaugh,losinghisshynessinfrontoftheolderman,holdinguptheboxofwires.

    Caravaggiowillremembertheslide.Hecouldwalkaway,neverseehimagain,andhewouldneverfethim.YearsfromnowonaTorontostreetCaravaggiowillgetoutofataxiandholdthedooropenforaIndianwhoisabouttogetintoit,andhewillthinkofKipthen.

    NowthesapperjustlaughsuptowardsCaravaggio’sfaduppastthattowardstheceiling.

    “Iknowallaboutsarongs.”CaravaggiowavedhishandtowardsKipandHanaashespoke.“IendofTorontoImetthe