Slowly the locomotive came around the last curve and moved toward us. When it was closer I could see all these heads sticking out the windows, lots of hands waving, faces beginning to take shape as the train loomed larger. The crowd on the platform drove forward, some of them waving back, others talking excitedly and pointing as if they’d already seen the person they’d come for. The engine gave two short hoots and came hissing into the station, brakes squealing.

If I’d been shocked at the turnout at the station, that was nothing compared with what arrived. Long before the train stopped, passengers were leaping, dropping, pouring out of the cars. If you’d just arrived, you’d have thought there was a fire on the train and these poor people were trying to escape. But no, they were only getting off. There were businessmen in suits, women in high heels, peasants, farmers with dirt all over their clothes, women in babushkas with babies strapped on like backpacks…

Window after window passed me, and the faces still on board were another show of every emotion possible. Flat-out, hand-waving joy; one whole compartment was holding hands and dancing; hysterics—Happy? Sad? Who could tell?—crying. The last thing I saw go by was a young woman slapping a man so hard that his head hit the window with a big thump. All passed in seconds. One picture after another, a living mural of humanity.

When the train finally stopped, people spilled out in a riot of shouts, gestures, flying colors. In an instant I was engulfed by at least a thousand people. Workers wearing Red Cross armbands and speaking different languages at the top of their voices tried to organize them, make some order out of the chaos, but it was nearly impossible. These people had been through months of war, praying for a way out of it and a chance to live another day. Then suddenly they were all cramped into a train with nothing to do but think about what they’d lost, what little they had left, what they’d do now so far from what could never be home again.

I looked for him from face to face, around heads, bundles… but everything was all right up in my face; everything was too much for me to be able to see clearly and make out one man in that great explosion of people. Panicking, I pushed forward into even more. No luck. There were so many eyes and smiles, arms, words, packages, children… I pushed harder and was pushed right back.

This didn’t work, and the crush scared the shit out of me. Maybe if I returned to the gate, I’d find him there. He knew me and knew I’d come for him. But how could we find each other? I turned around and bulled my way back. At the exit I stood on tiptoe to look for him in a mob that never stopped or thinned, so many of those people looking lost and scared and totally alone. God, it broke my heart.

At last, after about three lifetimes, things did get calm and only small groups were still on the platform, most of them sitting forlornly on their bags, talking among themselves or to the Red Cross workers. But no Leland. Had he missed the train? Had something happened to him before he left Sarajevo?

But then there—oh, God, oh, God—way down at the front of the train, walking slowly, carrying that big red knapsack over his shoulder and waving when he saw me… Oh, Rose, I started running. But then immediately I dropped my purse, and everything spilled across the whole ground. I bent and scooped as fast as I could, looking up constantly to check that he was still coming. I finished, zipped up the bag, and tried to run. Then my left leg buckled and I wobbled, but straightened out and was off. He was much closer now and was smiling. He was smiling at me! At me! At me! Ten feet away he dropped his bag and, throwing his arms out, shouted my name so loudly that it owned the whole station: Arrrrlennn Everybody looked at him and then at me and started smiling. One little boy screamed it out too, and their voices hung together for a few seconds, and it was the most wonderful sound.

By the time he stopped, I was hugging him as hard as I could. We stayed there so long. And then he said, “I want to go to Italy. I want to go with you. Will you go with me?”

I looked at Wyatt and thought of him for a moment as Finky Linky, the vibrant, funny man who’d made a million kids laugh and think. More than anything in the world, I wanted him to be Finky Linky now—full of magic and solutions, capable of flicking a wrist and saving both of us from what was already happening. His eyes met mine but fell away quickly, as if he were guilty of some crime. He was only a man, a sick man who had come to my house because he was as scared and confused as I was about what had happened. I sighed and worked up as much of a smile as I could find.

Before the conversation began, I’d put things on the table. I wanted to look at them as I spoke so that I’d remember everything. The brown leather dog leash, the blue baseball cap, and of course the photograph. Where would my story be without that? I’d brought it to the table along with the other things, but turned it face down so that he couldn’t see what was there until I was ready. “Wyatt, do you remember the first time I saw you at the Hilton? The day you arrived in Vienna with your friend?”

“Yes. It was such a surprise to see you.”

“That was the happiest time of my entire life. Forget the career, the fame, and all the rest. Right then was it. I’ve thought about it so much since, and even with everything that’s happened, that was the best. My heart was full of absolute pure joy. I’ve never been more exactly where I wanted to be. With a man who was compelling and marvelous. I totally believed in him and what was possible between us, even with his sickness hanging over us like a black radiation cloud. Still! We were going to Italy because he wanted to be with me. Finally. When I saw you I wasn’t surprised at all. It was just another great thing. Hey, there’s Wyatt Leonard, isn’t that nice? Know what else? Know how sometimes when you’re having a great time, you can’t help wondering when it’s going to end? When’s the bad going to come back? That never happened. For, I don’t know, two weeks, I was utterly fulfilled and satisfied. There was nothing more I wanted from life. And I didn’t wonder whether I was worthy or when it was going to end, or why this wonderful thing was happening to me. It just was and I flowed with it and thanked God twenty times a day.”

“God?” Wyatt snorted and said the word archly.

I looked my friend in the eye. “Yes. You want me to say there is no God after what’s happened, but I won’t. I don’t understand any of it, but I do believe that if there’s one of them, then there’s got to be the other.”

“Strayhorn says there is only Life and Death.”

“But Phil’s not a very reliable source, is he?” I tried to keep my voice steady but it cracked at the end of the sentence.

“Tell me the whole thing, Arlen. I want to hear it all. I have to.”

“I know, I’m getting there. But I’ve got to tell this my way, or else I’ll get confused. So, we met you at the hotel and then took the bus to the airport. We would’ve taken my car, but Leland said we shouldn’t because he had no idea when we’d be back, and parking might end up costing a fortune. Such a zip of electricity went up my back when I heard that! He didn’t know when we’d get back. Everything was up in the air, everything up for grabs. Neither of us had any plans beyond each other, and we were pushing everything else away. People talk about just picking up and going, but they never do it. Too dangerous, too much at stake. But the hell with dangerous! We were going to try, so don’t take the car to the airport ‘cause we don’t know when we’ll be back. Moments like that make you want to shout and throw your arms in the air. And there were so many moments those days when I’d really gasp at the intensity of something, or a chill would freeze me with excitement and anticipation.