“It was a man.” Michael explained about Mr. Cassandra and his visits to the creek to refresh himself in the water and breathe the country air. The sight of him in his white robe at the height of a santa ana would be enough to frighten even a normal person.

“I’m glad to hear she wasn’t just imagining the whole thing,” Ms. Leigh said. “Maybe she’s not as kooky as I thought.”

“Maybe not.”

“I’m afraid all this isn’t being much help to you. Shall I go on anyway?”

“Please do.”

Ms. Leigh had reached the last page of the typescript. She glanced over it, frowning. “The wind was the main theme. She talked of banshee noises, leaves rustling like hellfire, bullets striking her head, children screaming, children blowing out of trees, floating through the air like kites. Children play a big role in all her nightmares so I more or less discounted that part. As for the kite, she may actually have seen one but it’s most unlikely in a wind like that. Later, when I was transcribing, I asked her about it. She denied mentioning kites or children or hellfire or banshee noises or any of the rest of it. She claimed the voice on the tape was that of an impersonator. And she called me, among other things, a cheat, a liar, a flat-chested chink, a spy for the IRS and a lousy typist… Ah well, nobody’s perfect.”

Ms. Leigh put the papers back in the leather folder.

“So there you have it. Not much, but the best I could do.”

“You were promised a fee for your services.”

“Forget it. The whole thing’s been a lesson to me and I’m always willing to pay for lessons.”

“What did you learn?”

“As I told you the day we met, I planned on writing a book about her writing a book. Now I realize, after going through all this crap, that I simply don’t have the perseverance or patience. I’d end up in a rubber room accusing myself of being an imposter.”

“I’m glad you’ve been spared that fate.”

“So am I. In fact, I’m quitting the job. Larry and I are moving to L.A. to be closer to the action. I think Larry has a great future in television commercials.”

“Good luck to both of you.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

“I don’t see much future for myself in television commercials,” Michael said. “But I expect to survive.”

They shook hands and Ms. Leigh stepped briskly out into the morning sun. The wind didn’t bend a line of her geometric hairdo. It reflected the sun’s rays like black glass.

Michael watched as she backed into her miniature car, folded her long legs under the steering wheel, slammed the door shut and sped away from the curb as if she were determined to stay ahead of whatever was behind her. He wished he could go with her.

The old man sat in the redwood chair beside the koi pond, his face almost hidden by a battered straw hat. It was his favorite hat. He’d found it in the avocado grove where it had been dropped by one of the Mexican pickers, and it was so big it bent the tops of his ears over. But it had convenient holes in the crown which allowed air to circulate. And he had not, in spite of Chizzy’s repeated warnings, contracted any scalp disorders from it, head lice or scabies or mites.

Under its wide brim he alternately dozed, listened to the gentle waterfall, watched the brilliant koi moving back and forth and round and round like a painting in progress.

Only the giant black magoi was not part of this moving picture. He lay motionless at the bottom of the pond. The gold piece on his forehead seemed to have tarnished and his diamond scales looked dusty. When the other fish came to the surface to feed on the pellets Mr. Hyatt threw in for them the magoi didn’t stir.

He may be sick, the old man thought. Perhaps we should call the Japanese man who doctors koi, gives them antibiotics, even operates after slowing their metabolism with sedatives.

He knew the magoi couldn’t hear him from way down at the bottom of the pond, and certainly was too stupid to understand him, but he couldn’t stop himself from talking to him, calling him by name.

“Are you sick, Hikari? Do you want me to call the fish doctor? Or do you want to be left alone like me? I have only a few years left but you have possibly a hundred. Does that prospect depress you?”

He watched for signs the magoi had heard him. There were none. Fish remembered no past, anticipated no future. Yet in his native habitat the magoi struggled with great courage to survive, fighting his way up rivers and over waterfalls like a salmon. Here, in this quiet pond, there was nothing to fight, no rivers with rushing currents, no waterfalls except the small man-made one with nothing at the top but clumps of ferns hiding an electric pump. And even if he were taken to a stream and given his freedom he wouldn’t know what to do with it. He would swim round and round as if he were still in the pond, and wait for someone to throw him pellets of food.

Like me, the old man thought. My boundaries are more extensive but they are just as inflexible as the concrete and tile ones of the pond. And I wait for Chizzy to throw me pellets of food and for Howard to tell me what to do, and for Kay to look after me when I’m sick. Kay is my fish doctor.

His shoulders and belly began to shake with silent laughter as he pictured the look on Kay’s face if he told her she was his fish doctor. She would probably call Howard and Chizzy, perhaps Michael too, and the four of them would decide that he had finally gone over the hill.

He laughed until the tears came to his eyes, blurring his vision so he didn’t see Michael approaching from the other side of the pond.

“Mr. Hyatt, may I bother you for a minute?”

“Why Michael, I was just… just sort of thinking of you.”

“Have you seen Dru?”

“No. I wasn’t expecting her. She doesn’t come to visit me anymore. We had what you might call a misunderstanding.”

“I went to her house to ask her some questions,” Michael said. “She wasn’t there. She didn’t come home from school.”

“It’s still fairly early in the day.” He took out his pocket watch. “Oh dear, it’s not, is it? Now and then I lose track of time.”

“She always takes the same bus home. She was on it when it left the school but she didn’t get off. Or if she did, she vanished right afterward.”

“Vanished, that’s an ugly word. You mustn’t use that word, Michael.”

“I have to. Her parents are searching the neighborhood around her house, and Howard and Kay have gone to question the driver of the school bus and the children who were on it.”

“Have they called the police?”

“They’re waiting for some scrap of information. She’s an independent child who often goes off on her own. I thought she might have come here and we’d find her in the palace.”

Mr. Hyatt shook his head. “No. She doesn’t come here anymore. We had words.”

“What about?”

“I said something cruel to her, not meaning to be cruel, only to help her. She kept talking about Annamay not really being dead, how she had gotten up and walked away and the bones that were buried were animal bones. She was so convincing and I wanted so terribly to believe it that I became angry. I was too harsh with her. I called her a deluded little girl. And she… she called me a crazy old man. Tell me truthfully, Michael. Do you think I’m a crazy old man?”

“No.”

“I’m forgetful. That worries me. Is it possible that I did something shameful and then completely forgot about it? Do you consider that possible?”