She arrived at the end of another season of rain.  She wrote by letter to say that she only intended to stay for a week or so at most.  It was not until the beginning of the next rainy season that she left.

            
            I picked her up by jeep on a day when the clouds had just broken and the hills were sparkling green.  She wore a short blue dress; she walked down the steps of the plane with one bag and her hat in her hand.  The wind caught her dress and I could see the top of her thighs.

            
            “Only a bag,” I asked.  I helped her into the jeep.

            
            “I won’t be staying long.”

            
            The engine started, the jeep rolled along.

            
            “How’s home?”

            
            “Well!  It’s not your home anymore, is it?”  She spoke calmly with a sharp smile.

            
            “How is it anyway?”

            
            “Rotten.”

            
            “How it is rotten, Patty?”

            
            “Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know.”

            
            “I suppose not.”

            
            She was quiet, letting herself drift onto the surrounding plains, trees, and hills as if she’d only just noticed they were there.

            
            “You’re better for it, really.  I think so.”

            
            “What’s the matter?”

            
            “It’s all coming to an end.”

            
            “What is?”

            
            “Home,” she said, looking back at me.

            
            “I’m sure you’re just a bit dramatic. St—

            
            “No, Teddy.  I’m being serious.  They’ve conquered the world.  They’ve done all they can do for civilization and now all they can do is sit around and drink tea or brandy and go mad.”

            
            “Yes, I suppose it’s been too long since I was away,” I said and lied and kept driving.

           

            
            She stayed at the clinic in a separate room Mabutu, the head nurse, had arranged.  Sometimes she would watch our work.  She had brought a small camera with her and took photographs of the patients who would let her.  We had lunch with the people out under a big tree which provided shade.  The children climbed high up and threw food down on Patty.  She threw it back, laughed, and climbed the tree to fight them.

            
            Dinner was between her and me and sometimes Mabutu but he remained quiet while Patty went on about home and the affairs of people I had once known and she still did.  She talked often of the men she had seen and why nothing had gone about the way she wanted it to.  Since we were young, Patty had not been afraid to tell me anything.  I had always wanted her and I tried more than once to have her.  I wanted her enough to give anyone or anything up for her and it was hard to listen to her speak those nights, but I did.        

            
            Mabutu understood all this.  I knew because when she spoke he would look at me and not her.  He remained quiet all the time.

 

            
            After a little more than a week, a young man named Alfred came to the clinic.  Sometimes he drove medical supplies, sometimes he drove people from one part of the country to the other.  He made his living by driving and upon meeting Patty, he offered to drive her to the White Seas.  It was a hotel, not the kind where one stays for a night or two, but where the travelers of the world lived when they were not exploring the countryside or indulging in their safaris.

            
            “You ought to see it all, madam.  There’s no point in seeing Africa if you spend your whole time cramped up in a damn hospital.”

            
            “Pardon me, Teddy,” he continued, “but she ought to see it all and you know it.”

            
            He turned to Patty.  “Has Teddy shown you the mountain falls?”

            
            “No,” she said.

            
            “They’re magnificent, aren’t they, Teddy?”

            
            “Yes.  Quite beautiful.”

            
            “Madam, let me take you to the White Seas.  I will introduce you to all sorts of people.  They’re all so wonderful and born for adventure.  Shall we?”

            
            It took her a matter of minutes to gather her things.  She kissed me goodbye and waved to Mabutu.  She was off.

            
            I did not see her again until I received word that a Frenchman had taken ill and the presence of an experienced field doctor was needed at the White Seas.

 

            
            She sat on the veranda, much like they all did at the White Seas, in the late afternoon, her feet cooling in a nearby fountain, her hands wrapped around a drink with ice.

            
            She saw me and rejoiced, bounded and embraced me with a warm laugh and expressions of love.

            
            “Oh, dear, what a surprise.”

            
            “Is it?”

            
            “I thought you would never leave the clinic.”

            
            “It was an emergency.”

            
            “An emergency?”

            
            “The Frenchman.”

            
            “Oh, yes.  I’ve heard he’s very sick.”

            
            “Yes, he is.”

            
            “Will he be alright?”  She sat down, replaced her feet in the water and the glass in her hand.

            
            “No.  I don’t think so.”  I sat across from her.

            
            “What’s the matter with him?”

            
            “He’s got the Weeja.”

            
            “Teddy, you know I don’t know a hell of a thing about these things.”

            
            “It’s a worm.  It crawled in his ear and laid eggs in his brain.”

            
            “Oh dear…”

            
            She was quiet for a moment.

            
            “What will happen to the poor man?”

            
            “He’s lost his mind.  He hasn’t very long to live.”

            
            “Can’t anything be one to help him?”

            
            “Nothing.”

            
            “That’s horrid.”

            
            “Yes, it is.”

            
            “How does such a thing happen?  This wee thing?”

            
            “Weeja.”

            
            “Horrid thing.”

            
            “He must have slept on the floor.”

            
            “Is that all?”

            
            “Yes.”

            
            “Oh, dear.”

            
            A waiter came.  She ordered another of the same.  I asked for water.

            
            “I’m going away, you know?”  She said with the new drink in her hand.

            
            “Home?”

            
            “No.  I wouldn’t think of it.”

            
            She waited patiently to go on.

            
            “Where are you going, Patty?”

            
            “A little excursion.”

            
            “It’s a good time of year.”

            
            “Yes, yes, I know.  Have you met Taylor Hawkins?”

            
            “No.”

            
            “They call him the cowboy of Zambia.”

            
            “Yes, I’ve heard of him.  Haven’t had the pleasure I guess.”

            
            She smiled and there were secrets in her lips, hidden behind her tanned cheeks and in the crevices of her snowy teeth.

            
            “I suppose he’s leading this excursion.”

            
            “Yes.  It was his idea.  A real adventure.  He’s had it on the mind a long time, you know?  I’m really just tagging along.”

            
            “I’m glad for you.”

            
            “He’s not like the others, Teddy.”

            
            “I didn’t know.”

            
            “You know what he says?”

            
            “No.”

            
            “The West is dead, Teddy.  He told me that.  The West is dead and that’s why he came here.  He calls Africa the new frontier.”

            
            “Oh?”

            
            “I think he’s right, Teddy.  I think he’s very right.  You see, it’s everywhere, not just back home.  Taylor says we finally reached civilization and realized there was nothing there.  Do you see it, Teddy?”

            
            “I don’t know.”

            
            “He’s very right, you know?  And he’s not like the others.  Not at all.  Do you know he always carries a book in his pocket?”

            
            “No.”

            
            “In his back pocket.  A book with no cover.”

            
            “What book is it?”

            
            “I don’t know the name.  He says it’s an adventure book written about people like him and me.  Isn’t that odd?  He’s wonderful, Teddy.  You ought to meet him.”

            
            “Yes.  Perhaps I will one of these days.”

            
            “Are you staying long?”

            
            “No.  I have to return to the clinic.”

            
            “What about the Frenchman?”

            
            “There’s nothing I can do for him.”

            
            “What will be done with him?”

            
            “I think they’ll take him back.”

            
            “To France?”

            
            “Yes.”

            
            “It’s awful and horrid.”

            
            “Yes, it is.”

            
            An hour later, I was on my way back to the clinic.  When I arrived, I asked Mabutu to cover the sick for the rest of the day.  I told him I was tired.  I went into my room and remained there for the rest of the day and night, very awake.

 

            
            I saw Patty once more before she left Zambia.  The rainy season hung from the sky over the hills around us and waited to begin its long stay.  I had somehow made my way to the White Seas again and from that veranda I watched the coming rain, next to the woman I had agreed to marry.

            
            She had big thighs and hips and a way of getting mad that could stir the mildest man to war.  I had somehow grown accustom to those things and decided that she might not be a bad person to try to live with.  She was an American, a nurse.  Her name was Elizabeth and I called her Beth.

            
            We finished our iced teas when Patty sat with her cowboy at a nearby table.  They passed through several drinks and she led the conversation in many directions and he spoke very little.  When he did, the words came out quite slow, as if each of them had been studied and checked before being allowed to leave his tongue.

            
            He was tall and blonde and his face looked cut from stone.  His weathered hat sat atop his head and a coverless book, as Patty had said, peaked out of his back pocket.

            
            It was not for a long time that Patty saw me across the way.  She was browner and her hair longer and she looked better than she ever had as she rushed across the clay tiles to kiss me softly on the cheek.

            
            I introduced her to Beth.  For some reason, I had never told Beth about Patty and she shook her hand like she was any other person and sat right back down to watch the rain coming. 

            
            “Oh, Teddy, it’s always a nice surprise, isn’t it, running into you and all?”

            
            “It’s quite a coincidence.  How was your adventure?”

            
            “The most splendid time of my life, really.”

            
            “I’m glad.”

            
            “That’s Taylor over there.”

            
            “Yes, I saw him.  Will he join us?”

            
            “Oh, we’re awfully tired, Teddy.  But you’ll be here for dinner, won’t you?  The two of you?”

            
            “I believe so.”

            
            “Wonderful.  I hope you’ll sit with us.”

            
            “I’m sure we will.”

            
            “I must drag Taylor off to our room now, Teddy.  We’re awfully tired.”

            
            When she had gone, Beth turned to me and placed her hand on mine.

            
            “You talk to her differently,” she said.

            
            “How’s that?”

            
            “I’d say you don’t like her much.  And you don’t do a good job hiding it.”

            
            “Really?”

            
            “It was kind of funny to hear,” she said.

            
            I knew then that she should never know Patty.

 

            
            There was a man at dinner, an Austrian.  He said he was a count.  He ate his dinner, barely opening his mouth, watched the others, one by one, around the large table.  What was left of his gray hair, he greased, combed back, and held with a gold clasp.  He wore a blue coat with medals and he did not speak until everyone was done eating.

            
            “Sir, you are a doctor.”

            
            “Yes, I am.”

            
            “You are famous in Europe,” he went on.

            
            “I don’t think I am.”

            
            “You are.  I assure you.  I have heard many a physician speak of your work.”

            
            “Well, I guess I’m lucky.”

            
            “They examined the Frenchman,” he said.  “Not one of them agrees with you.  They say you’re nothing but a story teller.  You are a witch doctor.  That is what they tell me.”

            
            “I’m sure they’re very right,” I said, and Beth smiled.  She liked to see me in trouble.

            
            “Do you find it difficult?”  He waited for my response and I was convinced that he would wait forever without taking a single breath.

            
            “What’s that?”

            
            “It must be weary watching them all drop like flies, one after the other.”

            
            “They don’t all die,” I said.

            
            “Yes.  Most of them do.  It must be very difficult.”

            
            “I don’t think of it that way.”

            
            “Compelling.”

            
            He lit a cigar and turned his attention to Patty who sat next to an empty chair.

            
            “Where is your cowboy, my dear?”

            
            She seemed startled to find his glare on her.

            
            “He’s not feeling quiet well.”

            
            “Oh?”

            
            “He stayed in his room for some rest.  He may be along anytime.”

            
            “I’m quite disappointed by his absence,” the Count said.

            
            She fell silent, looking away from him.

            
            “Where is he from?  This cowboy of yours.”

            
            “I believe he said Arkansas, or is it Missouri,” a drunk Englishman remarked in a slurred outburst.

            
            “He’s from no place,” she said, “He’s been everywhere really.”

            
            “Compelling.”

            
            She nodded.

            
            “Has he told you about his time in Bretagne?”  The Count asked.

            
            “Bretagne?”

            
            “Yes.  His time in Bretagne, in the war.”

            
            “He did not fight in the war.”

            
            “In the war, in Bretagne, from the Spring of 1942 to the Winter of 1943.”

            
            “There were no Americans in Europe in ‘42,” the drunk Englishman interjected, “You’ve got the wrong man, chap.”

            
            “Yes, you have,” Patty said.

            
            The Count smiled.  He looked her over.

            
            “What’s your name, my dear?”

            
            “Patty.”

            
            “Patty, there are some men who find it impossible to accept themselves.”

            
            “I don’t know what you mean and I’m rather bored with all this.”  She pushed back her chair and began to leave.

            
            “I saw your man, Patty.  Earlier today, around noon, I think it was.  Yes.  It was.  He’s changed certainly.  I would not expect a more forgetful man to remember him.”

            
            “I was a colonel, Patty,” he went on, “in the war against the world.  I occupied a small town in the French territory of Bretagne for a short while before the German government decided my abilities could be used best elsewhere.”

            
            “There was a young man, maybe seventeen at the time.  He had enlisted in one of these mountain towns you all love so much for their skiing and dark beer.  Do you know the kind I speak of?”

            
            She did not answer.

            
            “I remember his hair.  It was like the color of a beach along the coast of Greece and there was always a lock of it fallen across his left eye.  He was my driver for a short time.  He was not a very good driver, but he managed for a while and I liked him.  Do you know what his name was?”

            
            It was all quiet.

            
            “Frederick,” he said.

            
            “I don’t see—

            
            “You must, Patty.  I do not take you for a fool.  Freddy was a shy boy.  His chair is empty and I’m afraid it may be on account of me.”

            
            He smiled again.  Patty rose silently and went away.  The one Englishman ordered another drink and Beth asked me if I was tired enough to return to our room.  I told her that I was.

 

            
            In the morning, I went to see Patty to tell her I was leaving with Beth and did not know when I would see her again.

            
            The manager of the hotel, an African man, told me where I could find her room.

            
            I rapped on the door and called her name.  There was no response.  I tried the handle before leaving and the door opened.

            
            She lay on the bed, quite asleep and alone.  The covers were twisted and rumpled.  It was hard to look at them.  I stood by her side and noticed the night table and the coverless book that rested on it.

            
            I took the book and fanned its pages.  The words were all German.  I put it back and I decided I would not wake her.