When he left the room I had a chance to inspect the map on the far wall of the dining room. It was an enoimous map of some configuration of continents that no longer pertain, like Gondwanaland and Laurasia. Even at a distance it seemed peculiar to me--soft and seemingly raised. When I got close, I realized that the entire map was made of the bodies of a kind of large tropical moth mounted on beige cork, overlapping like feathers. On each milk-colored wing was a faint maroon stain, as if someone had taken a cigarette and gently singed a design--the shape of the massive continent on the map seen from across the room.

As I was admiring the pattern and detail of the thing, I became aware that the water was getting higher in the dining room. There was no longer any point in trying to save the expensive table linen or the parchment name cards. I sloshed out to the foyer as the electricity started to flutter. I could hear my host's voice in another part of the house, and just before the hall blacked out completely, I saw that I was wading alongside several thin, fluted candles and the corks from the wine bottles, which had been left on the table to breathe.

The suitcases were arbitrarily arranged, although their distinct rigid shapes in such quantity produced a regimented, obelisk appearance in the vast courtyard. The tall, sheer buildings that framed the courtyard began to look like giant cement valises as a result.

Despite the fact that the sun was full and hot, not a single shadow could be seen on the flagstones. Apparently, the sunlight streamed down through everything unchecked.

When I reached the far end of the plaza, the smell of fresh pies was thick in the air. This normally pleasant aroma sbuck me as vaguely repulsive, perhaps because in the midst of the penetrating heat I could not imagine how a pie would have a chance to cool.

I awoke, and it was evening in a house in the islands, Tahiti, Rarotonga, Samoa. With a tin roof to listen to the rain and the large cool porch with propped-up shutters and brightly patterned pareus that blow in the breeze, I could see and hear women in the adjacent room. They didn't seem to be aware of me. They were busy hacking up lemons, feeding them to an emaciated, immodest dog. My other hand was floating in a jar on the little table beside the bed. It faintly smelled of hibiscus.

When I looked out the open window I saw a powerful, shaggy rooster disappearing around the corner of the house by the light of a kerosene lamp. Then a small boy climbed out of what looked like a fishing weir and pursued the rooster into the dark frangipani. I started to cry, very very softly, for no reason at all.