He dressed, hugged her, and stepped outside. Widely separated streetlights cast circles of blue light; hedges and trees were dark green in the shadows. He was only forty minutes from home and he wanted to walk in the cool air. Alison was going to make up for lost time. She was in love with him and linking fast. He didn't want to hurt her. "Complications," he told Batman, on duty at his post on the lanai. "Nothing we can't handle." But he wasn't so sure. 9 The following Saturday, Joe was on Alison's couch again. Her need to be coupled was stronger than his need to be alone. She must have known that a future together was unlikely, but she didn't care. She was in love. Joe couldn't bring himself to disappoint her. Besides, he enjoyed her company and the small mole below her left ear and her smell which reminded him of a field after rain. They began eating dinner together every other night, but Joe continued to go home afterwards, often in the early hours of the morning. It was a compromise. He wanted to wake up in his own bed, stick to his habits, take his notebook to a coffee shop and keep at his writing. The weeks sped by as he wrote a longer story based on Mike, the cat burglar. It was not successful. When he strayed from the facts as he remembered them, he felt false and uncertain. He had the uneasy feeling that he didn't know what he was doing. One afternoon toward the end of August, he and Alison rode the Nuuanu bus to the end of the line and walked to the bamboo grove that Mo had shown him. They stood on the bridge and listened to the rhythmic hypnotic knocking. "It's so romantic, Joe." Alison leaned against him. "Yes." She said, "You know I've got to go home." "Mmm." "My flight is Wednesday." He sighed. "So soon?" "Are you going to stay in Honolulu, Joe?" He sensed the proposal behind the question. It was tempting to follow her, to merge lives, to be a normal husband and give up his frustrating search for something he didn't understand. He spoke slowly. The words formed themselves. "For the time being," he said. "This damn story I'm writing isn't any good." "You mustn't give up." She looked at him seriously, a hint of tear in each eye. "I can't," he said. "I think it's who I am." He meant: I'm not going to come with you and be your man. "Oh, Joe." Her tears came and she put her arms around him. They held each other as the bamboo played. "Won't you be lonely?" "Yes." He squeezed her. "I'll miss you." On Wednesday, a version of _Aloha Oe_ poured down from invisible airport speakers. Joe placed a pikake and ginger lei around Alison's neck. "I love that song," he said, pulling away. "Even Muzak can't ruin it. Did you know it was written by Queen Liliuokalani? Can you imagine any of our politicians leaving anything as good?" "Joe, will you come see me in Wisconsin? You'd like it. Madison is very cultural." Alison was going to try until the end. He hesitated.