This evening Deborah is feeling better, though very low in spirit. Tomorrow we will have to leave the hotel. She does not know where she can go. Then she asked if there has been a letter for her. I said I would ask and pretended to go to the desk, but only went to the garden and waited a few minutes. I went back and told her no, but perhaps tomorrow morning. She asked me whether she can stay with me a few days longer. Tomorrow, she says, we can return to Colombo, and she will cable to her father for money. As soon as the money arrives, she will repay me. Also in Colombo she will see a doctor.

All this is very good, but how will we leave the hotel with no money to pay the bill? Throughout the night, unable to sleep, I asked myself what to do. Finally I decided our only quick solution will be Tom coming to pay the bill. Then in the morning I pretended that the letter had just arrived and gave it to Deborah. Now she too was afraid of what might be written, and told me to go outside while she opened and read it.

Fifteen minutes later I returned — to find her in tears. In her hand was a postcard which had been inside the envelope. So much could not have been written in such a small space, but she was still reading it. So many emotions passed through me. First, happiness that he had said evil things, did not love her any more, must make her cry. Second, anger that he would hurt a so good person as Her Ladyship, even in his anger and despair. Third, fear that if he didn't come at once, it would be very bad at noontime when we must pay the hotel bill and leave.

"What does he say?" I asked Deborah.

"It's from John Hoskins." She handed me the card. Indeed, the signature at the bottom was in the name of that poet (only three centuries dead), and the message was in the form of a poem. "Read it aloud."

I sat down on the bed. Her face, still wet with tears, looked eager to hear the words. I read:

Then she took back the card and read the next lines.

Only so moved was she by the next words that she almost could not read, finally handing me the card, then taking it back again.

(Now the tears were streaming again from her eyes.)

"There I embrace and kiss her,
And so enjoy her, and none miss her."

Now the sheet was up over her head and she was a little white hill shaking in sobs. Then from under the sheet again the last lines of the poem, read with many halts:

"Do you think Tom will come here?" I asked her.

"Yes."

I had the same spooky feeling. An hour later, indeed, a telegram arrived from Colombo. Tom was at a hotel, would come if she would allow him to. There was no working phone in the room, so I went to the desk and telephoned him to come that morning before noon. I told him Deborah had been ill, but was recovering. He said he would leave immediately by taxi.

"I'll tell him I had 'female troubles,' " Deborah said. "Then he won't ask questions."

Also then he would not need to sleep with her, a good idea for both.

Two hours to wait. Flaminio was very sad; his dream was already ending and his alternatives not clear. He could not ask Tom for money like any beggar, for he still had his pride and self-respect. He did not have money even for leaving this island, but he would not ask.

Then I for the tenth time again looked through my bags to see if the English had left me anything that I could sell in Colombo, but there was nothing except clothes and books. I was most relieved that my uniform was intact, the gold watch and chain had not been discovered. Also they had left the tape recording. I thought how much this tape was worth to Tom, how much he might pay the destitute Conningsfield to have it.

Now Deborah was wanting to get up and dress herself and pack her bags. While doing this, she found that her camera and other small things were missing. I told her about the robbery, that all my money had been lost. She was at first horrified, then said everything would be all right because Tom was coming. He would have money and she would repay him later. Would Flaminio please go out a few minutes while she dressed?

I went downstairs to the lobby and was sitting there reading a newspaper when Tom arrived. He would now know everything. What was Chickie's illness? Were we actually sharing a room? I explained quickly about the money stolen from Deborah in Colombo and why we had come here together like brother and sister, she being in such despair. Had we checked out? No.

Then he went to the desk — I had not even suggested that he pay — and took from his wallet several hundred rupee notes. Receiving the stamped receipt, he put it into his back pocket. "Okay. Where's Chickie?"

I told him how to find the room, then waited until he and Deborah appeared before going to fetch my own bags. She was looking still very pale, but happy to be leaving. We three would go back to Colombo in Tom's taxi. And then? I did not yet want to think.

But before leaving, Deborah would eat something. She was very hungry. I was feeling too low in spirits to join them at the table, and went instead walking on the beach. Some boys were throwing stones into the water, making them first bounce several times on the surface. I tried it with one stone, but no success.

"Take a flat one," Deborah's black friend told me.

So I went looking for a flat stone, thinking that on an island there must be many such. And thinking of the island, I thought again of my exile. How endless it seemed. Had N bounced stones on the water by Elba? Had he ever felt so alone and without prospects as Conningsfield on Ceylon?

Through the windows I could see Deborah and Tom sitting at a table, not even looking outside, their backs toward the beach. Bitterly I thought: Americans always have enough money to go away. Then I remembered the tape, small and flat, such a fine shape. I took it from my bag in the lobby and spun it out over the water. It never bounced, only against all expectation tripped and disappeared into the sea. Most comical.

They were now busy making plans, were off to London on the first plane. Deborah could not stand being one minute longer in Asia.

Would they afterwards return to the United States?

Two wry faces, like monkeys. They looked at each other. No. Deborah never again. Tom perhaps would go later in the year, just to visit his family.

Then why London?

They felt like being a while in a place like London, especially as Tom knew no European languages. Then they would hear my plans, but I did not know them myself. (Can the lowest and slimiest creature on earth make plans?) Deborah advised me to write the story of my life and adventures, that it would give me something to do and would be interesting to read. "You might even make some money that way," she told me.

I was glad to be in the front seat, not facing them. There were no clouds at all in the sky, though that afternoon it would rain. We entered Colombo, not a pretty city in many parts. In a few minutes we would separate, perhaps forever. So fast the car was going, the minutes too were going fast. No way to speak privately to Her Ladyship, to tell her what was in my soul. Such pain. I think I have never known such pain. But nothing to be done. Would she give me her address? She said she had no "permanent address," only that of her father. I could write to her in care of him.

Then she gave me an address with many numbers, like the address of a soldier or prisoner in jail. "You write there and I'll eventually get it," she promised me. She did not ask me what was my address at home, only saying that, when I wrote, to tell her where to reply.

"Where do you want to get off?" asked Tom.

I did not want to get off, but I told him the next corner would be convenient. It was not, however, a part of the city that I recognized.

The car stopped and I got out, taking my bags from the back. Then we were all on the sidewalk shaking hands. Under his calm and correct exterior Conningsfield was very sad, like a little child. He watched the car begin to go away down the street. Then it stopped. Almighty God! Then Deborah was walking back toward me. A dizziness like a great light filled me as she came nearer. I felt her against my chest, against my cheek, so I removed my dark spectacles.

"Flaminio," she was saying, "I want to thank you so much for...." She stood back to look at me, into my eyes. "You know, I never...." Her grey eyes so clear, in spite of the tears, her tears, mine. I felt such profound emotion, you understand, I think never before in my life had someone looked so at me. Would she therefore stay, forget Tom and stay with me?

"Goodbye, Flaminio."

Then she was running to the taxi, waved once with the hand and disappeared inside. A moment later the car was gone.