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hour. Brilliant! And someone had the wit to sign you up for language psychology so that you could come up with that , Leo dear.
    Three minutes later
    Re:
    Do you know what you want?
    Thirty seconds later
    Re:
    Yes.
    Forty seconds later
    Re:
    What?
    Fifty seconds later
    Re:
    You. (For a coffee.) ((As you can see, even I have mastered the art of the parenthesis.))
    Thirty seconds later
    Re:
    Why?
    One minute later
    Re:
    Because I’m doing the same thing as you, although it seems you can only admit it to yourself, open parenthesis, and me, close parenthesis, when you’re drunk.
    Forty seconds later
    Re:
    And what would that be?
    Thirty seconds later
    Re:
    Being interested in you.
    Forty seconds later
    Re:
    Yes, dear Emmi. No but, no full stop, no parentheses. Just a plain and uncomplex “yes.” Correct, well spotted. I am interested in you.
    One minute later
    Re:
    Splendid, Leo dear. In that case I think all requirements for a second visit to the coffeehouse have been fulfilled. Three o’clock?
    Twenty seconds later
    Re:
    Yes. Open parenthesis. Exclamation mark. Exclamation mark. Close parenthesis. Three o’clock.

CHAPTER SIX

    Around midnight
    Subject: You
    Dear Leo,
    This time I’ll do the thanking (first). Thank you for this afternoon. Thank you for allowing me to peep through the narrow chinks into your closets full of feelings. What I saw has convinced me that you’re the same person who writes to me. I recognized you, Leo. I recognized you again. You’re the same person. You’re one and the same. You’re real. I like you very much! Sleep well.
    Twenty minutes later
    Re:
    Dear Emmi,
    There’s a particular point on the palm of my left hand, roughly in the middle, where the life line is crossed by deep creases and turns down toward the artery. I look at it, but I can’t see it. I stare at it but I can’t pin it down. I can only feel it. I can feel it when I close my eyes too. A point. It’s such a strong feeling that it makes me dizzy. When I concentrate on it, I sense it extending through my body as far as my toes. It tingles, it tickles, it warms me, it churns my insides. It boosts my circulation, it governs my pulse, it determines the speed of my heartbeat. And in my head it intoxicates me like a drug, expanding my consciousness, broadening my horizons. A point. I could laugh with joy, because it makes me feel so good. I could weep tears of happiness, happiness at possessing it and being seized and filled by it to the very tips of my fingers.
    Dear Emmi, in a certain café this afternoon—it must have been at around four o’clock—something happened on my left palm where this point is. My hand was reaching for a glass of water. The lissom fingers of another, softer hand came toward it; they tried to stop, tried to get out of the way, tried to avoid the collision. They almost succeeded. Almost. For a millisecond the soft tip of a finger breezing past rested on the palm of my hand as it reached for the glass. There was a delicate contact. I have stored it away. Nobody can take it from me. I can feel you. I recognize you. I recognize you again. You’re the same person. You’re one and the same. You are my point. Sleep well.
    Ten minutes later
    Re:
    Leo!!! That was so lovely! Where do you learn stuff like that? Now I need a whisky. Don’t let me bother you. Feel free to go to bed. And don’t forget your point. I recommend you close your fist around it, to keep it safe.
    Fifty minutes later
    Subject: Three whiskies and me
    Dear Leo,
    We stayed up a while and talked about you, the physical you. (“We” being me and three small whiskies.) It occurred to the first whisky and myself that when you’re in my presence you’re at pains to keep your words, gestures, and expressions in check. The first whisky, who knew me quite well, said you didn’t need to do this. (Unfortunately that one’s long gone.) The second whisky,