At night I saw the rats— hard to concentrate on them as the with small angels spelled them off in relief. Small angelic girls with pouty girl faces and the curly golden hair and the straightup wings attached to their backs. My wife had been gone for over ten years and the loneliness didn't come after her departure; no, not until two years ago. We did not get along, and our last years together were a mess, but the mind has the ability to dispel bad memories. Often when I thought of her recently it was Easter. We were on the Marina Green, and my daughter had a Japanese kite high in the sky. My wife was in a pale lemon dress and a floppy white hat and had a white parasol. She had legs that were show-stoppers— even made old men turn around ---and we walked hand in hand, and the girl held my other hand, and as we ate my wife's leg brushed mine and it was intentional. I lit her cigarettes for her, and the girl blew out the matches and we were together like a communion. Often she lapsed into silence and her eyes sparkled and we knew, she knew, I knew, I loved her, and I knew that she knew, and whatever was in my face and the pressure of my hand on hers told her we were one and the church ceremony that had united us made us one and our daughter was a replica of our love and our passion. And after we ate in the Basque restaurant we danced to the accordion player, and he played La Paloma over and over, and the girl sucked on a rootbeer with a straw, and the glow in her face responded to our movements ... La Paloma over and over again.