Seen in a ruined town: a pair of red plastic children’s handcuffs at the base of a tree.

My brother likes reading books about famous failures. They reassure him that no matter how dull his life is, at least he’s safe and sound. He’s in no danger of the kind of self-made catastrophes that destroyed the likes of Fitzgerald or even Elvis Presley. My brother is dull and unmemorable but he’s safe, which is more than can be said for those other dead legends, fireworks and all.

Then this quote from Diane Ackerman’s A Natural History of the Senses:

A breath is cooked air; we live in a constant simmering. There is a furnace in our cells, and when we breathe we pass the world through our bodies, brew it lightly, and turn it loose again, gently altered for having known us.

Cooked air? Photos that showed me parts of myself I was never aware of, letters I carried around and reread constantly… Who was this guy? I tried hard to reconstruct what he looked like, but all I ever came up with was a nice face, glasses, tall. So when he called again, the first thing I asked him was to tell me what he looked like. He said enjoyment, spontaneity, and affection. I went, Excuse me? And he said, You asked me to describe myself. I said, Yeah, physically. Know what he said?

“I knew what you meant. Next question.”

I took a deep breath and said, “Will we ever see each other again?”

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

I said, “Don’t be coy.”

“Oh, I’m not being coy. If we were to meet and it was a disaster, what then?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be, because we’ve already had our disaster; the day we met I thought you were a camera creep.” He said, “I am. I’m a professional camera creep. I don’t know, Arlen. I love writing those cards to you; they’re my oasis down here, but getting together… ahh, that’s something else.”

“Why?”

“Because we both have expectations. We each know how we want the other to be. But hopes don’t usually work out in real life. As long as I can talk to you in postcards or over the phone, then you’re the Arlen I love from the movies—Lady Cool, pretty… And face it: you were put off by my photos, but I was the one who saw you that way. Why would you want to meet the guy who insulted you?”

I screamed at him that I wasn’t insulted. I loved most of them, and the others… Medusa wouldn’t be thrilled to see herself in a mirror! I told him Maris saw the one of me in the café and said I looked like the Masque of the Red Death!

He laughed and said, “But don’t you love that story? All those dumb people trying to party their way through the end of the world? Death has a sense of humor. He didn’t just come in and bust up their soiree; He dressed up in a costume like them and walked in with a drink in His hand!”

I was not interested in Edgar Allan Poe and asked him point-blank when he was coming to Vienna again. He said he didn’t know and wanted to think about it some more, the shit! I was dying, Rose! I was throwing myself at his feet, and he had to think about it some more. Talk about a smack in the face!

So fade out on that and fade in on Minnie and me sitting out on the front step, taking in the first sun of the day, when he arrived. My eyes were closed and my hands were wrapped around a hot mug of coffee. The best part of the morning. Then I felt her tense against my leg. I slowly opened my eyes when I heard the sound of a car drive up nearby and a door click open. A taxi stood at the bottom of the hill and someone was bent into the back door pulling a duffel bag off the seat. When he had it out, he turned and waved at me. Oh shit, oh shit, there he issssss! I didn’t have makeup on, hadn’t brushed my teeth, and had had garlic soup with dinner last night… Great, huh? Perfect timing. But that’s what he looked like! Everything about his face came back in a second, and I didn’t know whether to stay where I was or go down to greet him. I was calm; not one quiver or tingle of worry. He was finally here. I guess I’d been ready all along.

I stood up and started down the path, Minnie running ahead of me. While she stood at the gate, waiting and wiggling to get out, Leland closed the door of the taxi, which took off. He tried to pull the bag onto his shoulder but stumbled and let it fall heavily to the ground. I was close enough to see him lick his lips.

I kind of joked and asked if it was such a heavy bag. I opened the gate and Minnie launched herself onto him.

He said it was just a little tricky and I asked whether I could help. He said no but that he’d done something to his side. I looked and saw he was bleeding! He smiled and said that was the problem. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Right where the roll touched his side was a large patch of dark red. I asked him what happened and snatched the bag away.

Absolutely calmly, as if he were describing breakfast, he said he’d been hit by shrapnel and that he’d have a nice scar if he was lucky. Macho idiot. I told him to come in the house, for God’s sake. He said I couldn’t carry his bag because it was too heavy. Can you imagine, saying that while bleeding through his shirt?

The bag was heavy but I got it up to the house and put it down at the front door. When I asked if he should go to the hospital to have the wound checked, he said no, it wasn’t serious, just messy. I said that sounded a little too fucking heroic.

Once we were inside, I asked if he was hungry, and as I started for the kitchen, he touched my arm. “Was it all right to come here? I know I should have called first—”

“Of course it’s all right! Now sit down and take it easy. I’ll make you something.” But he followed me to the kitchen and sat at the table. Minnie kept right up with him and lowered herself onto his foot. I asked whether he’d like some bacon and eggs; he loved the idea. I said, Fine, now tell what happened to you.

He’d been riding in a UN convoy when some bastards strafed it. I said that hadn’t been on the news, and he laughed. A lot of stuff isn’t on the news, he said, and that’s one of the first things you learn as a journalist. They say they’re telling people the news, but usually it’s cleaned up and defanged, no matter how gritty it looks. People say they want to know the truth, and think they’re interested in seeing death and bodies, but show the reality, and they’re horrified.

After I digested that, I asked what really was going on in Yugoslavia. He said everybody wants to be free of everybody else these days. Fifty years ago, you had wars because one country wanted to own another. Today it’s because parts of countries want to be free of other parts. The Croatians from the Serbs, Czechs from the Slovaks, every part of what used to be Russia.

While I was cooking, I listened with my back turned. When I glanced over my shoulder to check on him, he was resting his head on his fists and seemed to be speaking to the far wall. I wanted to ask lots of things but knew he needed to talk about what mattered to him, so I kept quiet.

Minnie was lying next to him and he asked her name. I told him and said if she gets to be too much, give her a shove. She thinks everybody loves her as much as she loves them.

He nodded. “You know what’s funny? When I got hit and they were patching me up, I couldn’t think of where to go. I mean, I have my apartment in London and there are people I could stay with, but still. It’s no big deal—it’s a flesh wound, but it frightened me. When I was most scared, I realized I wanted to come to Vienna. I wanted to see you. After we talked last time, I was sure I wouldn’t do that, but here I am. I hope I’m not intruding, breaking your peace… If I am, just say so.”

“Your eggs are ready. You’re not intruding on a thing. Notice how busy I was when you arrived. Here, eat.” How else could I have said it, Rose? I’ve never been so happy in my life to see a man? That would have gone over big!