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deck, taking photographs in the sun.
    Lev’s eye was held by these people. He envied them their ease and their summer shorts and the way the voices of the tour guides echoed out across the wavelets, naming the buildings in three or four different languages, so that those on the boats would never feel confused or lost. Lev noted, too, that this journey of theirs was finite— upriver a few miles, past the giant white wheel turning slowly on its too-fragile stem, then back to where they’d started from—whereas his own journey in England had barely begun; it was infinite, with no known ending or destination, and yet already, as the moments passed, confusion and worry were sending pains to his head.
    At Lev’s back, joggers kept passing, and the scuff and squeak of their sneakers, their rapid breathing, were like a reproach to Lev, who stood without moving, bathing his teeth in cola, devoid of any plan, while these runners had purpose and strength and a tenacious little goal of self-improvement.
    Lev finished the cola and lit a cigarette. He was sure his “self” needed improving, too. For a long time now, he’d been moody, melancholy, and short-tempered. Even with Maya. For days on end, he’d sat on Ina’s porch without moving, or lain in an old gray hammock, smoking and staring at the sky. Many times he’d refused to play with his daughter or help her with her reading, left everything to Ina. And this was unfair, he knew. Ina kept the family alive with her jewelry making. She also cooked their meals and cleaned the house and hoed the vegetable patch and fed the animals—while Lev lay and looked at clouds. It was more than unfair; it was lamentable. But at last he’d been able to tell his mother he was going to make amends. By learning English and then by migrating to England, he was going to save them. Two years from now, he would be a man-of-the-world. He would own an expensive watch. He would put Ina and Maya aboard a tourist boat and show them the famous buildings. They would have no need of a tourist guide because he, Lev, would know the names of everything in London by heart . . .
    Reproaching himself for his laziness, his thoughtlessness toward Ina, Lev walked in the direction of a riverside stall selling souvenirs and cards. The stall was shaded by the pillars of a tall bridge, and Lev felt suddenly cold as he moved out of the sunlight. He stared at the flags, toys, models, mugs, and linen towels, wondering what to buy for his mother. The stall holder watched him lazily from his corner in the shadows. Lev knew that Ina would like the towels—the linen felt thick and hard-wearing—but the price on them was £5.99, so he moved away.
    Slowly, he turned the rack of postcards, and scenes from life in London revolved obediently in front of him. Then he saw the thing he knew he would have to buy: it was a greeting card in the shape of Princess Diana’s head. On her face was her famous heartbreaking smile, and in her blond hair nestled a diamond tiara, and the blue of her eyes was startling and sad.
    Buying the Diana card exhausted Lev. As he slouched back into the sunshine, he felt spent, lame, at the end of what he could endure that day. He had to find a bed somewhere and lie down.
    He made a decision and he knew it was reckless, but he felt incapable of doing anything else: he hailed a taxi. He was almost surprised when it stopped for him. The cabbie was small and old, with stringy gray hair. He waited patiently for Lev to speak.
    “Bee-and-bee, please,” said Lev.
    “Eh?” said the cabbie.
    “Please,” said Lev. “I am very tired. May you take to bee-and-bee.”
    The cabbie scratched his head, dislodging the few ancient strands of hair that lay over his scalp. “Nothing I know of round here. Only reliable ones I know are in Earls Court. That okay for you?”
    “Sorry?” said Lev.
    “Earls Court,” said the cabbie loudly. “Off the Earls Court Road. All right?”
    “Right,” said Lev. “Take,