ell lit and cheerful. A tall woman with dark hair
and hammered silver earrings was browsing in a corner. She wore a
caramel colored T-shirt that showed a black elongated figure above the
name "Caffe Ladro." Her shoulders were wide; the cotton draped
comfortably around high flat breasts and fell a distance to her hips.
She appeared to be in her forties. Joe hoped that she didn't have blue
eyes.

Two types of women got to Joe immediately. One was black Irish, blue
eyed. He looked into those eyes, something slipped, and he was calling
for fire, night, and Vikings to ax. The other was blonde with
translucent skin, full breasted and silent. The blondes were anima
projections. When he was 24, he'd had a disastrous affair and
afterwards discovered the explanation in a book by Jung. A man loses
touch with his female side and then sees an unlucky woman who resembles
the inner image of his lost self. POW, he is on her, has to have her.
Irrational trembling, dry throat, pounding heart, out of control-it's
an anima projection. Women do it too, of course, the other way around.

"Yes?" the woman asked. She had brown eyes.

"Oh, God," Joe said. "Excuse me. I was thinking about anima
projection."

"Psychology's in there." She pointed to another room. "This is
cooking."

"Ah, yes, well . . . " Joe turned away. The floor was slick with banana
peels. He made it around the corner and took a breath. Too old for
this, he said to himself.

He drifted through several rooms and found _Economics in One Lesson_ by
Hazlitt, a book he'd heard about for years. He was interested in the
economy because his small savings were mostly in the stock market. He
picked up a copy of _Trader Vic -- Methods of a Wall Street Master_ by
Victor Sperandeo. By the time he chose a tape of slack key guitar by
Cyril Pahinui, Gabby's son, it was dark. On his way out, he averted his
eyes from the cooking section, but he needn't have; the woman was gone.

The Edgewater Hotel bar has floor to ceiling windows on the water. Joe
ate a sandwich and watched huge ferries slide through the night,
brilliant against the black water. They made the Portland, Maine
ferries look like life boats. Joe went to bed early, slept fitfully,
and spent the next day walking, reading, and exercising. His back
wasn't what it was--too many years in front of a computer monitor. If
he kept at the yoga exercises, it didn't bother him, but a real day's
work would be the end. For a long time he