And I stare into her eyes, directly. She stares back and her voice lifts as she lifts a strand of hair that has fallen over her forehead onto her cheek. Her fingers move, she moves the tray and cups into a precise pattern, tucks her hands into her kimono and rises. She nods her head almost imperceptibly and then turns away, precisely at a thirty degree angle. Walks 14 steps to the hallway door and then disappears beyond it into the remainder of the house.
Outside leaves fall in the wind and it begins to rain.
I lay on my tatamee mat and dream bamboo dreams. The trees and the owl that comes to sit on the branch outside the window of the kitchen where the house is still warm and where coals still burn down slowly and there is a dull red glow about the room and every once in awhile the sound of a popping coal against the side of the metal stove. She lies close to me, next to me and her eyes are closed. I wish this was real. And she looked at me with a sad sad face, as if I had not discovered the secret of life yet.