In the morning, he put on jeans and his best aloha shirt, walked to the pier next to the hotel, and boarded the Victoria Clipper. The San Juan Islands are a three hour trip from Seattle, north out of Puget Sound, across the Strait of Juan De Fuca, and nearly to Vancouver Island in Canada. The catamaran hummed along while passengers sunned themselves, took pictures, and moved about the cabins. The captain announced the islands as Washington's "banana belt," free of the rain shadow cast by the Olympic Mountains. Friday Harbor is sheltered by low pine covered ridges. Joe walked up Spring Street and checked in at the Friday Harbor Inn where Kate had made reservations. The house she had rented was in Eagle Cove, a few miles from town. He went down toward the ferry to look for a cab and was hailed from across the street. It was Max. "Yo, Max!" They decided to have an ale in a brew pub on the corner. They sat by a window looking out on the sidewalk. "Here's to Kate," Joe said, raising his glass. "Kate." Max was cheerful. "Is your mom here?" "She's supposed to show up later," Max said. "Good deal," Joe said, "haven't seen her for a couple of years." He wasn't that anxious to see Ingrid, but in Max's presence he lapsed into old habits. The years might have been weeks, and he might have been just away on a business trip. "Wait til you see what I bought," Max said. He handed Joe a photograph of a farm at the base of a mountain. "It's near Londonderry, in Vermont. Eight acres at the far corner of this farm." He pointed with his finger. "Just at the end of this highest field, a piece that runs up the hill. One of my friends from school owns the farm. My father came up from Boston and liked it; he gave me the down payment. I made a tent platform and moved out there last month." "It's going to get cold," Joe said. "I'll move into an apartment or a room for the winter. There's a town road that ends at the farm. I have a right of way from there." "Can you get in with the truck?" "Yep. It will take a while to get anything built, but it's a start. And then--look at this." He handed Joe another picture. At the top of a clearing, a long log projected out from under a ledge. It was supported by two shorter logs lashed together in an X. Standing upright on the end of the log was a prehistoric figure with straight arms and large rocks for hands. The hands extended out and below its feet. "Stone Man," Max said proudly. "It looks like a balancing toy," Joe said. "A balancing giant." "Yep. He's come down out of the mountains to see what man has done." Joe looked closely. Stone Man was made of small diameter logs and had a strong narrow head. "How did you fasten the head? Is that a rock?" "It's a piece of slate. I split the end of the log, stuck his head part way down the split, and lashed it--like a tomahawk." "Something else, Max! Giacometti goes to Indonesia."