n she married a guy named Paul Peroni from New
Haven, a good guy, a marble worker." Oliver paused. "Ken told me that
you live in Japan."

"Near Kamakura. We have a son and a daughter, grown up, not quite your
age. You are--35."

"Yes," Oliver said.

"You married?"

"I was. For four years."

"You have children?"

"No."

"Mmmm . . ."

"Large waves come without warning," Oliver said, looking out at the
gray ocean.

"Beautiful here," his father said. Oliver nodded. For the first time, a
suggestion of a smile crossed his father's face as he waved at the wild
shore guarded by The Devil's Churn. "Most don't get this far. What kind
of work you do?"

"I program computers. Used to teach math. I like to make things out of
wood sometimes." That seemed to sum it up. Not a very big sum, Oliver
thought.

"You know George Nakashima? Made furniture?"

"No."

"Mmmm . . . He lived in Pennsylvania, died two, three years ago." His
father reached inside his jacket and handed Oliver an envelope. "This
yours," he said.

"What is it?"

"Small present. Maybe it help."

Oliver folded the envelope and put it in a safe pocket. "Thank you," he
said. "But, you don't need to give me anything."

"You only as rich as what you give away."

They stood, not minding the rain. "What are you doing in the States?"
Oliver asked.

"Teaching one seminar at the University of California, Berkeley. I go
back, now." He turned toward the path.

"Teach?"

"Architecture. Japanese kind." His father climbed up onto the path and
walked along the edge, not hurrying, not hesitating. Oliver went to his
hands and knees again. The express exploded past, but he forced himself
to look straight ahead. He was limp when he reached the wooden steps.
At the top, his father was waiting as if nothing had happened.

Oliver exhaled and took a deep breath. "Well . . ." He didn't know
what to say. His father's eyes were sparkling.

"Maybe you come see us in Kamakura. I will be back there in one month."

Oliver nodded in the Japanese way. His father bowed and walked back to
his car. Oliver watched. He waved as his father drove toward the road.
His father waved back. Oliver thought he saw a smile, and then his
father was gone.

He was getting wet, he realized. He stopped in Florence for a cup of
coffee. There was no sign of his father. He drove back to Eugene and
took a long hot shower. The envelope lay unopened on top of the table
by the TV.

Olive