t understand. He spoke slowly. The words
formed themselves. "For the time being," he said. "This damn story I'm
writing isn't any good."

"You mustn't give up." She looked at him seriously, a hint of tear in
each eye.

"I can't," he said. "I think it's who I am." He meant: I'm not going to
come with you and be your man.

"Oh, Joe." Her tears came and she put her arms around him. They held
each other as the bamboo played. "Won't you be lonely?"

"Yes." He squeezed her. "I'll miss you."

On Wednesday, a version of _Aloha Oe_ poured down from invisible
airport speakers. Joe placed a pikake and ginger lei around Alison's
neck. "I love that song," he said, pulling away. "Even Muzak can't ruin
it. Did you know it was written by Queen Liliuokalani? Can you imagine
any of our politicians leaving anything as good?"

"Joe, will you come see me in Wisconsin? You'd like it. Madison is very
cultural." Alison was going to try until the end.

He hesitated.

She bit her lower lip. "Don't say no, Joe. Just don't say no."

He hung his head. "Take care, Alison." It had been a good time. Sex had
continued between them as straightforward and trusting as the rest of
their relationship. But Alison needed to be in Wisconsin taking care of
her mother, and she needed a husband, not his part time attention. "You
aren't sorry, are you?" he asked.

"Oh, no. You are my lover man. And . . . " She smiled because it was a
joke between them, "In the light of eternity, what difference does it
make?" She threw her arms around him, then turned quickly and left for
her departure gate. He went directly to the Moana.

"I need a drink, Gilbert."

"You in the right place."

For the first time since he'd landed in Hawaii, Joe was lonely. Alison
had given him something, and he missed it already. What was it? Her
directness. It was how to be, a gift. He watched the young and the not
so young prowl along the beach, bodies glistening with tanning oil.
None were for him. Morgan was coming through for a night, he
remembered. And Mo was due back soon. He could talk to them, anyway. He
trudged home anesthetized, wished Batman a good sleep, and lowered
himself onto his mattress.

The next day his poem was returned in the mail, rejected without
comment. The day after that, he reached Mo on the phone.

"Hi, there."

"Oh. Hello, Joe."

"Welcome back. How was your trip?"

"Exhausting. Got some good shots of the boundary waters area, though.
And my pa