t forward laughing. Their bodies and
clothes were used and tired, but their faces were innocent, flooded
with relief; the night was over.

Most of the subjects were conventional; it was the detail and the light
on them that was interesting. They were all black and white but one--a
close-up of bamboo stalks and leaves. "What do you think?" Mo asked
from behind him.

"I like it." Joe turned partially. "How come it's the only one in
color?"

"I have problems with color," Mo said. "It's always off. But in this
case, there are really only two colors, bamboo and that tender green.
They're both off in the same way, so the relationship works. And the
color is so much of the story . . . " Wendell Sasaki called her over to
confer with the well-dressed couple.

Joe stood in front of the picture of the young hookers, if that's what
they were. Looking at them seemed more helpful than talking to anyone.
Mo worked the crowd. After a time, Joe thanked the owner, waved at Mo,
and left. All artists love light, he thought, walking up Ward Avenue.
Mo was no exception.

The next day, he called. "Mo? Nice show."

"Thanks."

"You have won the Joe Burke award--excellence in photography."

"Why, never did I dream," she said in a Southern drawl.

"Lunch!"

"Joe, honey . . . " She dropped the drawl. "I'm busy today, let's see .
. . How about Tuesday? I want to check something out on the windward
side. We could eat over there."

"Good deal."

On Tuesday, she picked him up by the sandbox on the lower level of the
shopping center. As they drove toward the pali, Joe said, "I'm
sentimental about that sandbox. Kate used to play there." He was
surprised to see pain flicker on Mo's face. "What's the matter?"

"I had a child, once. He died--when he was two--from a condition my
husband forgot to tell me ran in his family. His nerves didn't work."

"How awful."

"I don't think about it much," Mo said. They were silent for a few
minutes. "So, what have you been doing?"

"Losing money. I got completely involved in the market. I made a major
mistake, but I learned a lot."

"I'll show you where I took the bamboo picture," she said, turning onto
the old pali road. She turned again and stopped by a weathered concrete
bridge. They got out and walked to the other end of the bridge where a
tall grove had grown from the bank below. Mo put her elbows on the side
wall of the bridge, and leaned out, midway up the grove. Joe leaned out
beside her.