The man was rather flustered and hurriedly threw something behind the sofa—because José had just opened the door and walked in. Standing up straight and blushing a little, he said, “Welcome, welcome. My name is Lee. My wife’s name is Grace. The institute director told me your names.”
José saw it. It was a miniature dog with short reddish-brown hair. He didn’t know why it was so dirty; it was covered with spots of black grease. It was lying on the ground, panting, its eyes almost shut.
“It used to sleep in bed with us, but it hasn’t wanted to do that recently. It’s so dirty and sick now. It doesn’t want to eat anything. Don’t make a fuss over it. If you do, it’ll give us trouble when you leave.”
Lee invited José and Nancy to come inside and sit down, lest they disturb the dog. The furniture in the apartment was the same as theirs, except for a black quilt and white pillows on the large bed: the combination looked oppressive. It seemed natural for the three of them to go over to the window and look out.
José was astonished because he saw a scene that was completely different from the one outside his window. It was a small garden with palms, banyans, and coconut trees, as well as some other unusual plants. An old man bustled about in the garden. José wondered why he hadn’t seen this garden from his window, for their window faced the same direction. And how could these southern plants grow so well in the north? All at once, Nancy’s impression of these two neighbors changed. She grew excited and kept asking Lee the names of these plants. She kept tut-tutting as she marveled at them. José said, “Why can’t I see this garden from our window?” He had no sooner spoken than Nancy reproached him, “You’re talking nonsense again, José. That isn’t good.” When José stuck to his question, Nancy angrily stamped her feet and went home alone. Lee looked at José sympathetically and sighed. “You’re a straight talker. Look at the gardener again. You’ll see that in fact you know him.” José looked carefully and said he didn’t recognize him. Lee said, “Then stop staring at him. He’ll get angry. The old geezer is from a southern plantation. Now he stays in this garden and never leaves it. He lives in his memories.” Lee drew the drapes. Noticing that they were a dark blue just like the ones in their previous home, José wondered if their neighbors came from the same place they had. Because he hadn’t opened the skylight, the room looked gloomy, but this oppressive atmosphere felt familiar to José. And this skinny man—had he seen him before? He asked José to sit on the only chair, while he himself began talking. As he talked, the large white flower on his chest swayed.
“Young José, my wife and I came to this Design Institute more than a year ago. Here, we can’t see our future. Of course, we didn’t come here to find our future. We just wanted to find an atmosphere, an atmosphere that could constantly inspire us. And in this, we were right to come here. People living in Pebble Town always feel a covert motivating force. Your wife, for example: I believe she already feels it. She’s very sensitive. You’re a man, and men generally lag behind in this. Let me ask: can you endure a life in which you can’t see the future?”
“Probably. I don’t know. I’m confused. What’s wrong with your dog?”
“It isn’t sick!” Lee stood still. In the shadows, his eyes flashed with light. “That’s the problem. Nothing’s wrong with the little animal, but it wants to die.”
Sensing a cold breeze in the room, José shrank back into the chair. Lee noticed this slight movement. The drapes were drawn very tight, and the skylight was also closed. Where was the wind coming from? As José was speculating about this, Lee had quietly gone to bed and covered himself with the quilt. Set off by the snow-white pillow, his long, thin face looked a little dirty. He said he had to lie down because he wasn’t feeling well; he had heart problems. He asked José not to be offended. “Now we’re one family,” Lee added. José stood up and walked lightly to the front room to look at the puppy. He squatted down and stretched out a hand to pet it. But it stopped him with a slight moan. Lee’s despairing voice reached him from the other room, “José, when will the fog lift?” When José looked up, he saw that Grace had come back and was standing there looking woeful. Beside her was a grocery basket. In addition to some vegetables, there were a few things wrapped in pink paper—probably medicine for the dog.
“Mr. José, have you seen the garden?” Grace said, looking at him solemnly.
“Yes. So beautiful—”
He was thinking about other ways he could describe the fairyland, but Grace interrupted him.
“The garden isn’t there to be admired. It’s enough to know that such a place exists right under your nose.”
José wondered how she could reproach him just as Nancy did. Women—ah, it was so hard to figure out how their minds worked. He thought of Lee lying in bed, and he suspected that Lee had been ground down by her. With such a serious heart disease, he didn’t know what kind of work he could do. Today wasn’t a day off, yet they were staying home. They were like people taking extended sick-leave.
Grace dumped the dog medicine into a small ceramic bowl and dissolved it in water from a thermos bottle. She placed it in front of the animal, which opened its eyes right away and stood up. It thrust its head into the bowl and lapped up all the off-white medicine in a few gulps. Grace called out to it softly: “Xiumei, Xiumei . . .” The puppy held its head high, seemingly in good spirits. José thought it was about to start running, but it barked—depressed—once, and then lay down again and closed its eyes. Its ears drooped. “Xiumei, Xiumei—” Grace called patiently. It didn’t respond.
“What’s this medicine for?” José asked curiously.
“What do you think?” Grace ridiculed him.
José caught what she had left unspoken and felt uncomfortable. In front of this woman wearing a white flower on her chest, he felt as naked as the day he was born. Mumbling vaguely “I have to go home,” he went out the door. In the corridor, he straightened his back and took a deep breath. A large white moth flew in from the window on the east side. His heart constricted, and he hid his face in his hands as he rushed home. The moment he got there, he bolted the door behind him. Nancy smiled.
“You’ve already let it in. It came in before you did. This is the season when white moths lay their eggs.”
Pointing with a feather duster at the moth on the wall, she asked, “What should we do?”
What else? Of course they had to kill it, or throw it outside. José despised moths most of all; whenever he saw one, he got goose bumps. But he knew that Nancy would never kill little creatures. Sure enough, she walked over lightly, and wrapped the fat moth up in a newspaper and escorted it out of the room. When she did things like this, Nancy was earnest and agile, with a feminine charm. After washing her hands, she came back. She sat down and told José something strange: she had found her long-lost diary. It had been in the back pocket of the old suitcase. She had written it as a young girl; she had recorded a long dream about escaping from some great danger. At this point, she waved the old brown notebook in her hand. José wished she would talk about the dream, but instead she told the story of the diary.
This diary had apparently been lost quite a few times, and then had reappeared in their home. “Who would touch this