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larger than they had ever seen. And every few moments a star would slide diagonally through the black sky, like a maple leaf drifting from the branch or the way lovers rearrange themselves with gentle movements while they sleep. “It’s a shower of Leonids,” he said softly. She rested her head on his shoulder. Dimly they could see activity down by the lake shore: bodies being brought to land. Some people were wailing; another voice shouted for more stretchers and blankets. The couple went back to bed and lost themselves in each other again. This time she could feel one of his fingers moving inside her, besides his penis; it fluttered her crosswise to the movement in and out of his penis; and quicker. It reminded her of the shooting stars across the sky, and it created whirls and vortices like the stormy lake. Clearly the storm was not over, because a streak of white lightning flashed vertically to the lake; they saw it from the corners of their eyes, bisecting the black window space, and the curtains billowed. “That was fierce,” he whispered; and so she took care to stroke him more gently, with the very tip of her fingernail. At the same time one of his fingers was in her anus, hurting her, but she wanted to be hurt more.
    On the lake, there were a few lights where rescue boats were still searching for bodies. The rescuers were themselves recovering from the rumble of thunder that had crashed round their heads just before, rather than after, the lightning stroke that had turned night into day. The wind rose again, and they made haste to row ashore, because there was no hope of finding any more bodies that night. The hotel was alive with excited or demented people; the glass doors kept banging, as more and more bodies were brought in. The flood water in the billiard room, which was inthe basement, had risen almost to the level of the pockets, but the army major waded unperturbed round the table, intent on finishing his break. He had taken the last red, and all the colours to pink. It was a difficult straight pot, the whole length of the table, but he struck it cleanly and it slammed into the top pocket. As the water rose to his hips he sipped his beer and chalked his cue. The black nestled against a cushion but he gave the white ball spin to try to make the black cleave to the cushion. It was a beautiful stroke and the black thudded into a watery grave. The major had been playing against himself for the duration of the break, because his opponent, a priest, had rushed out to give the last rites to the dying. With a grim smile of self-congratulation the major hung up his cue and swam out of the billiard room. In a high room the lovers were asleep, despite the blustery wind shaking the windowpane; and as they slept they kept their hands resting on each other, as if scared that somehow they would vanish in the night. A black cat crouched, frightened out of its wits, on the pitching and tossing branch of a fir tree, opposite their balcony. It tensed to jump, but sensed it was too far.
    Not for two days did anyone find out that the cat was stranded in the tree. The young lovers heard a scraping noise outside their window and got out of bed to see what was happening. They saw an army major climbing a long ladder, which was bending and creaking under his weight. From behind gently blowing curtains they watched the difficult rescue operation. The cat arched her back and spat at the man, and clawed him when he stretched out his hand. The soldier let out an obscene word, which made the young woman blush because she was not used to such language. Eventually the major backed down the ladder, the cat clinging round his neck.
    As soon as the young woman had seen the scarlet stigmataspring to the major’s hand she felt the noisome fall of a blood clot through her own body, and told her lover the bad news. It surprised and pleased her that he was not upset. There was a problem, though. She had no luggage whatever. She had left her