They laugh and talk all night in the walled garden behind Leah’s apartment. They are all new friends, ex-pats. Their stories are fresh and alarming.
Matt has poured a bottle of cerveza into an earthenware plate to quiet the toad in the corner. He’s training for a marathon and has eschewed both alcohol and caffeine. He’s too thin for his height. Leah wants to touch the long, sharp bones of Matt’s shins. He left his fiancée in Cleveland. He is not looking for another lover.
The sky brightens and they hear the mourning dove. Matt falls asleep sprawled in his chair. Leah fetches the serape she bought at the market and unfurls it over him. It is as if bright birds are taking flight from her arms. Robert and Gail begin to yawn.
Leah says, “Do not leave! I’ve got fresh eggs. And peppers.”
An old woman comes out on her balcony and scolds them in Spanish. Robert stands and sings to her. Something from an opera that is beautiful and haunting. The old woman starts to cry. She disappears and comes back with a clutch of daisies. She throws them and they drop all around Robert onto the pavers. The flowers look blue in the half-light. Robert blows kisses to the woman. Gail tugs on his sleeve. “Sit, Placido,” she laughs. “Sit down.”
Matt rubs his eyes. Leah bends to his ear. “Stay,” she whispers. They are a suitable enough family.