She tried to look as she thought she ought to feel. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “Look, I’ve got a problem.” “Hmmm?” His eyes were watching something else off the screen. His manner said clearly: _I already told you, you don’t have a problem._ “It’s just--well, is there any reason--” It sounded so _silly_, when you came to ask it. “--reason I shouldn’t take a trip to the Moon?” “How far--” he’d started to ask before she finished. His eyes swivelled back sharply. “Well!” It was the first time she’d ever heard him laugh out loud. “Well!” he said again, satisfied, “I thought I knew _all_ the questions by now! Offhand, let’s see--I can’t see any reason not to, in the shape you’re in. When did you plan to go?” “I’m not sure--two or three weeks? A month, maybe?” He nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll check up, but I don’t see why not. Stop in for a checkup before you go.” “Thanks. I will. I’m sorry if I interrupted you--” “Nonsense. It was a pleasure, believe me. I think that’s the first _new_ question anyone’s asked me in fifteen years.” She switched off and sat there a minute, her eyes at last off the window, her whole self composed for the first time in days. He found her half-asleep in the sun at the edge of the pool, her orange swimsuit with the tigerish black stripes a splash of color on pale green tiles. She lifted her head and squinted at him from some faraway place inside herself. “Hi, handsome,” she said. “Hello, babe.” He dropped into a chair, looking down at her. She was okay now. She started lifting herself up from the tiles, backbone first, as if someone had tied a rope around her torso, and was pulling her up. He watched, fascinated; incredible, what she could do with herself! “How’s the water?” he asked lazily. “Good.” It looked good too. He went inside for his trunks, and she called after him to switch the player on. “There’s a tape on already,” she said. “That new one you got.” The soft beat of African drums was beginning when he came back out. Lisa sprawled in the grass past the pool, and with each beat, she raised herself higher, till as the tempo grew furious and swelled into crashing crescendos she was moving swiftly in a whirling ecstasy of liquid orange flame and streaked black shadow. It was a long time since she had danced for him this way, he realized abruptly. She danced by herself, or unselfconsciously in front of him, all the time; but this was a performance--planned, staged, presented for his pleasure. He sat back and let the poetry of her pervade all his senses. When the dance was done, she fell in a huddled heap at his feet, the fingers of one hand outstretched to almost-grasp his toes. She lay so still that he hardly dared breathe, while the memory of sound died. Then she opened one eye, half-raised her head, grinned, and winked at him. “Swim?” she said. “You’re on.”