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“You wanna cup’a java?” he asked. Sponer’s father had been a captain in an infantry regiment. In his flat it might not have been so stuffy, nor had it smelt of food as strongly, except perhaps of fish on Fridays, but Sponer no longer recollected any of it. His mother had died long ago, and he himself was only just over eight when his father died, too. All he knew was how strange it had felt when the captain had been laid out between six candles, in uniform with the neat rows of shining buttons, the draped flag and his folded hands in the white suede gloves. A lot of people had been coming and going — medals, uniforms, shakos, and at the internment it had started to rain. But after the thin blue smoke of the abrupt salvo discharged over the grave had wafted away, everything else wafted away too, once and for all, and the succession of flats in which the child then lived stank of food and the air was stuffy. True, as an officer’s son in 1917 he was accepted into a cadet school — there the air was, of course, good and the food, bad; but a year later he was back in the flats where the air was stuffy and it stank of food, and that’s how it remained. That’s what life was like. That’s what his life was like, but now that it was coming to an end, it was nevertheless mighty difficult to bid farewell to it. “Linda’s gonna be mad,” Lana said again, “real mad.” It was very hard. I went to the passenger’s seat and popped the trunk again. I went to my big blue bag and pulled out my wallet. I could see Tai in the rearview mirror. The fear in her face was apparent even from that distance. Yes, but if no one in the country knows this but me and you and Ing?lfur? Duncan slept lightly that night, then not long past midnight he rose and squatted by a platform where he could watch Jaho’s blanket tent, where the old man was bent over his smoldering pot. It was nearly an hour before the Susquehannock crawled into the tent. Duncan waited a few minutes then crept to the tent, apologized to the spirits, and ventured inside. For an extended portion of my confinement— and each portion was an extended one, and each one was confined — I grew convinced that Deauville was in that cell with me, as indeed he possibly was. When I moved, he moved fluidly around me to ensure we never collided. Sometimes I swiped the air to catch him out, but there is no catching the Devil out. And for one dire passage of time, one truly diabolical interlude, I became convinced that I was not under the castle hiding from Deauville, but already in Hell, and that this was it for eternity. Imagine. A stone cell too dark to see in, too small to stand in, too cold to sleep in, and not another soul to speak to ever again. The fear almost paralysed me. The recollection of it still does.Doom, doom. Hell. “Of course!” the man shouted. “The whole cape’s dirty!” “Why?” * * * “You look good, Jude.” She smiled at him and shook his hand. “Policeman,” Perry said correcting the term. “Lieutenant Mendelson. Do you recognize this woman?” You must have been feverish. Mom puffs, and the cigarette smoke swirls into rings. When I was a kid, I requested that Mama blow smoke rings. Those rings are one of the first things that I remember, how they vanished and were replaced by new ones. But somehow I managed to get the wrong idea in my head that smoke rings were called YEAR RINGS..

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