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.I’d come in with the fish, about enough for the chowder—I never seemed to have particularly good or bad luck—and get that under way on the now-hot stove, which would feel lovely after I had been out in the windy cold of the late afternoon.The bacon, onions, and spices would spit merrily away on the bottom of the pot while I gutted, filleted, and chopped the fish; I’d give it a stir and add the potatoes and the cans of crushed tomato and creamed corn, then finally the fish itself and enough beer to make it soup.About the time I had it simmering, and felt like sitting down to read for a while, Paula would get up, carefully mark her place in her book, and punch the bread dough down.We’d sit and read companionably for half an hour, and then she’d knead the bread dough and set it out in loaves; half an hour later, when the chowder had been cooking for a good hour and it was definitely getting to be evening, she’d slip the loaves into the box oven of the woodstove, and then get out the wine.We’d both have a glass while the bread was baking and toward the end of that we’d pull the chowder off the stove and season it.Somehow or other all that was ever left over was bread for the next day.Since the fire had been going good and hot all that time, the chimney tank water would be warm, and after doing the dishes, we’d use about half of it to run a hot tub, where we’d get a little drunk and silly, with some jazz record or other from the 1930s playing on the old record player in the place.After a while we’d start kissing, leading up to making love.The bathwater would get drained into the toilet reserve, and we’d towel off, go to bed, and fall asleep at once.The next morning we would do it all again.Every so often we might, during a long walk, or while doing dishes, or even lying for a moment holding each other in the dark, have a little talk about how strangely alike all the days were, but it was never particularly serious; we could always recall just enough difference not to be alarmed.Then one day I remembered to ask Jeff, as he was having the second half of his second sandwich, whether he’d like to stay for a glass of wine.“That’s a very odd idea.I’ll be lucky to make it back to town by dinnertime as it is.I have to ride most of the morning to get out here, and then there’s always some mail to pick up on the road back in.”“Which way is town?” I asked.“This is going to sound stupid but I’m afraid I don’t remember.”“Oh, well,” he said, “I’m not sure I do, either.It’s sort of as if the bicycle does.Just watch the way I go when I leave—and go the other way if you have to go into town, because the way I come out in the morning is much shorter than the way I go back in the afternoon.”“I see.Well, then, imagine you’re leaving right now; which way do you turn onto the road?”“Are you facing me or following me?”“Following, I suppose.”“Then the opposite way from the way I turn if you’re facing me.”“Are you sure you haven’t already been at that wine?”Conversation lapsed, and once again, as always, he said it was time for him to go.Paula came back out of the kitchen with three glasses of wine and said, “Can’t you just have one for us? It’ll warm you up for the long ride, won’t take but a minute, and you can’t get drunk on one glass of wine.”He shrugged, laughed, and agreed.He and I went out on the porch to drink our wine, accepting a mock salute from Paula’s raised glass on the way.I was delighted to see that we were getting some sun; for the first time I could remember I was seeing the long line of sand hills to the west of us, and I could tell that it was the west.I wondered why I had such vivid images of the sun setting over the sea, but perhaps I had seen that somewhere else, on some other coast at some other time.I stretched, sipped the wine, thought of something that I couldn’t manage to make myself speak, and said, “I have a thought.”“That must be what the company pays you for,” Jeff said.“All the company ever sends you is the mail and groceries, and all that ever leaves is mail.So it has to be your thoughts they pay you for.”“I—” I scratched my head.“I’m not really aware of getting paid.”“Well, then, maybe the ideas are what the company doesn’t pay you for.Anyway it seems to be your work, whether you’re getting paid for it or not.” He put a strange emphasis on “work” that I didn’t catch the significance of.“Guess that’s true.But I don’t think most people have all that much trouble identifying what their work is.In fact that seems to be one of the few things that people tend to agree on.” I finished my wine and set it down on the railing.Jeff was nowhere to be seen.I ran out onto the road and looked for him, both ways, but there was no one there.After a long moment of puzzlement, I went back into the house to tell Paula.On my way through the door, Jeff brushed by me.“See you later,” he said.Intent on telling Paula, I just said, “Sure, tomorrow,” and had walked right on into the kitchen before I realized; when I did, I said, “I think I just saw Jeff leave the house twice.”Paula’s grin was full of mischief
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