immediately. I then ordered two more pots of wine and more relishes. We did not use to stand on ceremony, but now each insisted that the other should do the honor of ordering. Finally we ordered four dishes from the menu recited by the waiter, without knowing who ordered which—spiced beans, cold meat, more fried bean curd, and smoked fish.
"I realized the futility of it all as soon as I returned," he said, half smiling, one hand holding the cigarette and the other touching the wine cup. "When I was a boy I used to watch flies or bees at rest. When something disturbed them, they would fly away, but after circling around a few times they would return to the same spot. I thought they were very funny and pitiable then. I did not foresee that I too would be flying back to the same place after describing a small circle. And I did not expect that you would be back here too. Couldn't you fly farther than this?"
"I don't know," I said, also half smiling. "But why did you fly back here?"
"Also because of very inconsequential things," he said, emptying his cup and puffing at his cigarette, his eyes somewhat larger for the stimulant. "Yes, very inconsequential. But we can talk about them."
The waiter brought our orders, which filled the table, and the room seemed more lively with the tobacco smoke and the hot vapor from the fried bean curd. The snow was falling more thickly outside.
"Maybe you know," he continued, "that I had a little brother, who died when he was three and was buried here. I have forgotten what he looked like, but my mother tells me he was a very lovable child and got along splendidly with me. Even now she weeps when she talks about him. This last spring a cousin of mine wrote that water was beginning to
