-O . . . Good beer, the Krauts." They flew off bumps
and jolted around curves for five or six miles. Conversation was
impossible. They passed a golf course, rolling and open before a dark
wall of mountain, then climbed a hill by three gas stations.
"Woodstock!" the driver shouted, stopping at a narrow triangular green.

"Thanks for the ride."

The sound of the MG diminished in the distance as Patrick looked around
at trees, a neatly painted white church, and a row of stores. He walked
in the direction that the MG had gone until he reached a field about a
mile from the green. He turned back and stopped at a house that had a
large porch and a sign announcing "ROOMS."

An older woman answered his ring. Her hair was white, elaborately piled
above her head.

"I'd like to rent a room--if you have any vacancies."

"Hmmph." She was shorter than Patrick but seemed to be looking down at
him. "This is a quiet house."

"Yes, ma'am."

"No smoking."

"Yes, ma'am."

She opened the door and showed him a corner room with a matching bed
and bureau and a small rocking chair. "Bathroom down the hall." He paid
for a week and signed the guest register. "O'Shaunessy?"

"Yes."

She handed him two keys. "I lock the front door after dark." Patrick
nodded and retreated to the room. He unpacked his clothes and a
paperback copy of The Origin of Species which he placed on the bedside
table. He lay on the bed a few minutes adjusting to his new home, then
left, closing the door silently behind him.

In town, he decided to try the Cafe Espresso. He walked down wide stone
steps, crossed a patio, and entered an open door. Two people at the end
of a small bar leaned towards each other, laughing and talking in
lowered tones. At the other end of the room, a young man was practicing
on an upright piano.

Patrick sat at a window table and waited until a tall woman emerged
from the kitchen. She wore bead necklaces, a tight gray jersey, and a
wrap around red and orange Indian print skirt. A thick blonde braid
hung to her waist. Patrick ordered rice and vegetables and watched her
hips move to a gentle repeating melody from the piano. The player
varied the tempo and the emphasis, working further into the piece,
exploring its edges without losing its rhythmic heart.

A man in his thirties with a round face and curly hair came in and sat
at the next table. He placed black and white stones on a Go board,
studying each move.

"That is Go, isn't i