He eats just like me: hasn’t swallowed a mouthful of food before the next is going in. I told him that and he said it was a habit from being in dangerous places—you eat when you can and as fast as you can. I told him he could slow down because it wasn’t dangerous here. He stopped and, pointing his fork at me, said, “Wanna bet?” My heart vaulted into my throat and there was this big silence, but then I got up the nerve to ask why he had come.

“Because I still need to write my life in what remains of this moment.” That was what he said, exactly that.

The line stung and thrilled me at the same time. What a strange, compelling thing to say! I understood it at first, then didn’t. I wanted to ask him to say it again but instantly knew I shouldn’t, because when he looked at me after saying it, his look said, “Understand me.” I didn’t, but never would have told him that.

Thank God Minnie broke the tension by biting her ass and chewing at it furiously. We both watched, smiling, and I was glad for the distraction.

He went back to his food, and when he was finished he stood up slowly and asked if I knew of a good hotel nearby. I said, “Don’t be ridiculous, stay in my guest room; there’s a separate bathroom, clean towels.” But he wouldn’t do it. The Gasthaus down the road has a couple of rooms above it, so I called and found the rooms were available and reserved one. I didn’t know whether I was happy or sad that he’d refused. My mind was a sewing basket full of different-colored, tangled emotions. He was wounded, I wanted to talk to him, get to know him better. But his staying with me would mean a whole bunch of other things, and we both knew it.

Now, was I attracted to him? No, he’s not my physical type. At first glance I thought he looked like an old college fraternity brother. Nice face, very animated when he spoke, but not one that would stop you dead if you saw him on the street. He looked like someone’s likable brother, if that makes sense. So no, it wasn’t that. You know I think about sex a lot, particularly when I haven’t been with someone for a while. Leland made me feel that he was listening carefully to every word. He seemed a good person to confide in, but not someone you’d jump on and drag into the bedroom.

We brought his bag out to the car and I drove him to the Gasthaus. On the way, he said he was very tired and was going to sleep for a few hours. After that he’d be fine again; could he call? I invited him for dinner and offered to pick him up. He said dinner was great, but he’d walk over, because it would be a joy to go somewhere on foot without having to worry about being shot at along the way.

The rest of the morning I cleaned and planned. I pored over my cookbooks and came up with something delicious but easy to prepare. It needed the freshest ingredients, so I drove back to the Naschmarkt in Vienna for the things I needed. Passing his hotel, I smiled and said a quiet “Hello there.” And when I got to the market I kept thinking about the time I’d met him there and what had followed.

Because I knew he’d been there and was so near now, the city itself took on another kind of pleasant weight and feel. You know what I mean? When he felt better I would show him the places I liked. We’d go there and there. I wondered how long he’d stay.

“Because I still need to write my life in what remains of this moment.” Jeez, what a line!

The ride home was one of those small, wonderful half hours you later think back on and cherish. There were fresh strawberries in the bags, leeks and fresh Hungarian paprika for the soup, vegetables big enough to hold in two hands. I thought about how I’d spread them out on the white kitchen table and prepare them as best I knew how. I’d made the meal before and it was always good. A long afternoon in the kitchen ordering and anticipating. Use the good china and beautiful Czech crystal glasses. Was there enough wine? Should I buy a cake for dessert?

Standing in the kitchen again all ready to begin, I almost didn’t want to start, because every step would lead me closer to completion and his arrival. In comparison to this day, how quiet my life had been recently; how peaceful yet faint. Weber once sent a postcard saying, “Live every day as if your hair is on fire.” For a long time, I thought I’d had enough of that fire, with all the years of California burning up my head. But now I knew by the excitement in my heart that the months in Vienna had been too much the other extreme; too quiet, removed, and monklike. The time had made me think too much about life and frankly scared me with the darkness that was there. Leland’s arrival was the best deterrent to biting into myself with my own poisons.

I’d only just begun to cook when the doorbell rang. He stood there, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I thought you were going to sleep!”

“I did a little, but it’s too nice outside to sleep. May I take Minnie for a walk?”

I suggested he take her up to the vineyards and she’d show him her favorite path. I stood at the door and watched them head out. She ran a way, then turned to see if he was following. He ran after her a few steps and I worried that he might hurt his side. Oh, God, Rose, I was so happy watching them. So happy and excited!

The rest of the day was great too. The meal didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped, but he devoured it and complimented every dish. The conversation filled me much more than the meal did. You think you’ve led a zippy life till you meet someone like Leland; after hearing his life story, you feel as if you’ve spent all your days in a mouse hole.

He dropped out of college at nineteen when he realized the only thing he wanted to do was take pictures. Went to New York and worked as an assistant to Ovo, the fashion photographer, but the glitzy scene disgusted him. He quit and went on vacation to what was then Rhodesia. Their revolution began about five minutes after he arrived, so he was stuck in the country with little to do but take photographs of what was going on. That’s how he got started in photo journalism, and since then, it sounds as if he’s been in every ugly and dangerous place on earth. I asked if he was ever scared. He said all the time, but fear made the experiences richer and more satisfying. For fun, I started naming odd places, and he’d either been to most of them, or his plane had touched down in their airport on the way to somewhere even closer to the end of the world. He rode in a camel caravan with Mauretanian slave traders, saw a ghost hovering outside a Buddhist monastery in Nepal, was in Beijing when the Chinese army cracked down on the students. Stories on top of stories. He’s been in remote jungles and seen animals named the bongo and the armor-plated pangolin…

What do you ask someone who’s done all this? I wanted to know if he’d come to any conclusions. He said, “You know those strange spiderwebs you run into when you’re walking down a major street sometimes? What are they doing there? How’d the spiders manage to stretch their strings all the way from there to there without breaking them? How did the webs survive all this time without someone walking through them?”

I asked what he meant by that but he shrugged, got up, and said he had to go to the bathroom. He didn’t come back for a long time and I got worried. I went to the doorway and called to see if he was all right. No answer. I walked to the bathroom and saw that the door was open and the light was off. Where was he? I scooted around the first floor of the house looking for him, sure he was collapsed on a floor or leaning against a wall with his eyes closed, barely able to stand. I scolded myself for not remembering that he was wounded and that talking had probably tired him out terribly. There was a decent hospital in Klosterneuburg and I could have him there in ten minutes if necessary. But where was he?