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Show 134 whose source he had already forgotten, imposing lines that separated objects he could not account for, brushing shadows he did not see into contours he had meant to keep flat. A wedge of grey, for the comb and brush, had gone into an opening behind the glossy lump that had been the nursing mother before he remembered he had already left them spread mercator-likeat the point where the paisely broke over the edge of the chair. He noticed that indiscriminate shapes all tended, because he didn't know what else to do with them, to turn into flat pink or blue stones like the ones in the basket. Even the dark blotches, faintly rectangular, between frets on the lute came to resemble stones floating out of a murky background and becoming footprints that lost their hard edges as they picked up more of the green paisley they had walked across when it was wet. He had succeeded in covering his entire canvas and had lost track of where everything was in the pencilled version, and he couldn't remember if had meant for that to happen. * * * * * * His stomach was burning by the time he went to pick up Yvonne, and he had fixed on a cold silence as the best way to punish her. Instead of going into the women's gym and waiting in the lobby he sat outside on a bench under a eucalyptus and a few minutes later watched her come out and stand uncertainly on the steps, looking around her. She slowly descended two more steps and bent to look across the tennis courts at the narrow road that led down from the distant lot he always parked in. She set her basket down and pulled back a sleeve to examine her watch. She stared into the distance between the men's gym and the grassy slope, as if trying to remember if there were something different about today that she had forgotten. A man came down the steps behind her and she turned and said |