friends. Joe stuck to his practice of writing all morning in
coffee shops and then walking home and entering the words into his
computer. By mid-afternoon he had a clean printout ready for the next
day. He exercised and spent quiet evenings reading, watching the news,
and thinking about the next day's work. He stopped going to the cafe
where he had met Rhiannon.

A month went by, and he made progress. He was feeling good when he
happened to meet Mo one day at the shopping center. He asked if she
wanted to have lunch. She consulted her little red book and turned over
a page. "A week from Friday?"

"Too long. I can't live without you. How about a drink--under the
boardwalk?" he said, bursting into song. "Under the banyan tree?"

She sighed and gave in. "Tomorrow?" she offered. "Five o'clock? A
little after?"

"Good deal."

Joe arrived early and had a congenial visit with Gilbert. It was
September and the beach was uncrowded. Joe felt, as much as a haole
can, that it was his island, that he had a right to be there.

Mo showed up and ordered a Lillet on the rocks, happy to have closed
shop for the day. "Slow, but promising," she said of her business. He
complimented her on the Jade Willow Lady picture. "I was lucky," she
said. "It took some darkroom work to get it right, but I was lucky with
the shot. I only took four; I was so afraid of disturbing her. I gave
her a print. She was surprised, pleased, I think."

"I'd love to have one. I'd put it up in my apartment and be reminded to
eat out once in awhile."

"Of course," Mo said. "You named her. Do you need reminding to eat
out?"

"Homey Joe," he said. "I'm working my ass off."

"I loved your story, by the way," she said. "I could see that balding
bus boy carefully loading his cart. But I wanted more."

"Yeah," Joe said. "I can't tell you how many times I've thought of that
guy. Did I tell you that I started a novel?"

"No," Mo said.

"You're right about the stories. They aren't enough. It's a new
experience for me--a novel. It's taking everything I've got."

Mo nodded and clapped slowly. "Juggling," she said.

"Huh?"

"I was remembering a story Jung told about a juggler who was feeling
bad because he had nothing to offer the Virgin Mary at a festival. He
asked the village priest what to do. The priest told him that he must
juggle for the Blessed Virgin. So he did and was filled with grace."

It was Joe's turn to clap.

"My nephew actually does juggle