t to someone.

Who? A wave of longing swept over him. Who would care? He had an
impulse to put his head down on his arms and give up.

"There are no cowards on this ship!" God, he hadn't thought of that for
years. His high school English teacher had said it, loudly. It was the
punch line of a war story. The teacher had accompanied a couple of his
Navy buddies to the bow of their ship; one of them was bragging that he
would dive. The captain had come up behind them, asked what they were
doing, and then ordered them _all_ to dive. Apparently, it had been a
high point of sorts in his teacher's life.

"No cowards on this ship, Verdi," Oliver said, standing. Toast. Tea.
When Oliver was upset, he turned to food. He had a high metabolism and
ate what he wanted. His body looked chubby on its short square frame,
but there was more muscle than fat under his skin; he could move
quickly when he wished. He had a wide serious mouth with strong teeth.
His eyebrows and hair were black. His eyes were large and dark brown
with lids that slanted slightly across the corners. Women looked at him
and were puzzled by something that was different. He almost never got
into it.

"Oliver Muni Prescott," he had told a few. "Owl Prescott was my
stepfather. My father is Japanese--Muni, his name is--I never met him."
The toast popped up. Oliver buttered it and laid on marmalade. He put
the toast and tea on a tray and carried it upstairs. His mattress was
on the floor next to a window set low in the wall, under the eaves. He
lay down, munched toast, and watched the snow falling and blowing. When
he turned his head, the window was like a skylight. Mother is coming,
he remembered. The image of his mother with her flamboyant blonde hair
was replaced immediately by that of Francesca--quiet, natural, and no
less forceful.

He finished the toast and held the mug of tea on his chest with both
hands. He could see Francesca's eyes in front of him. They were asking
something, and he was answering. Her question was more complicated than
he had thought at Becky's Diner. Were they the same? Was she beautiful?
Was he for real? He relaxed and aligned in her direction. The answer
was reassuring. "Yes," he said. He lifted his head and sipped tea.
"O.K.," he said.

2.

The sky was bright blue, the wind gusty out of the northwest. Oliver
squinted at the fresh snowbanks on his way to Becky's.
Sunglasses--should have worn sunglasses. He had oatmeal and a