shed to a memory
and changed to a tree. A palm tree. Not this again. An expanse of empty
beach curved to a familiar headland. Sometimes his grandmother would
appear, coming toward him on her fitness walk, legs moving quickly,
scarcely bending at the knees, like the birds that chased and retreated
at the water's edge. She never noticed him.

This morning Penn stepped from the water and approached, his long thin
body tanned ivory brown, his eyes blue-green, clear as a cat's. Things
came easy to Penn. Arthur exhaled the past and inhaled it again. Not
that way, he told himself. No struggle. Let it float away. He
straightened and followed his breathing. Penn disappeared as casually
as he had twenty years ago.

Arthur put his cheek against the palm tree. The bark was like cloth,
raspy and flexible, wrapped around and around the heart of the tree.
Someday, years of balmy weather would be violently interrupted. This
tree, which grew in sand, would have to bend horizontal or be uprooted.

Arthur exhaled the satisfaction that attended this insight. No
attachment.

When the blocks sounded again, he stood and walked with the others
around the zendo, careful not to look at Martin for approval. He wasn't
sure why Martin was hard on him. Martin was enlightened, but wisdom
hadn't erased narrow lines in his face, resentful lines. Arthur was
respected in the scientific community, well paid. Martin had been an
insurance adjuster or something before he found his vocation. He had
shaved his head, but the cheap haircut remained.

The blocks signalled and sitting resumed, the group settling into a
shared breathing. A quiet euphoria rose and faded, replaced by an edgy
pre-verbal clarity. Kwok! Over. Arthur rejoined the world of choice and
demand. He felt that he was making progress.

"Excuse me." The elderly woman who had been directly in front of him as
they walked around the room was blocking his way. "Are you Arthur
Wells? Dr. Arthur Wells?"

"Why, yes." He raised his eyebrows modestly.

"Forgive me for intruding," she said. "My niece insisted that I ask.
She saw you last week when she picked me up. She thinks she had a
seminar with you once."

"Oh dear. I hope I wasn't difficult. What is your niece's name?"

"Pookie."

Arthur's mouth filled with the taste of anchovies.

"Pookie," he said. "Really? Your niece. Some time ago, I think." The
woman waited. "Pookie, umm--her last name?"

"Willet, now. It _was_ Kennecutt."

"Ye