"He was a very odd saint. He was not martyred by pagans because he believed in Christ, but by wicked Christians because he loved painting too much. As you may know, in the eighth and ninth centuries the Greek Orthodox Church fell prey to a rigorous asceticism intolerant of all worldly joys. Even paintings and statues were considered objects of impious pleasure. The emperor Theophilus ordered thousands of beautiful paintings destroyed and prohibited my cherished Lazarus from painting. But Lazarus knew that his paintings glorified God, and he refused to yield. Theophilus threw him into prison, had him tortured, demanded that Lazarus give up painting, but God was merciful and gave him the strength to bear cruel ordeals."

"That's a beautiful story," said the trumpeter politely.

"A magnificent one. But surely it was not to look at

my paintings that you came here to see me."

Just then there was a knock at the door, and a waiter came in with a large tray. He set it on the table and laid out breakfast for the two men.

Bertlef asked the trumpeter to sit down at the table and said: "This breakfast is not remarkable enough to keep us from continuing our conversation. Tell me, what is on your mind?"

And so, as he chewed, the trumpeter told of his misfortune, prompting Bertlef at various points of the story to come up with penetrating questions.

2

He wanted above all to know why Klima had not answered the nurse's two postcards, why he had not taken her telephone calls, and why he had never made a single friendly gesture that might have prolonged their night of love with a quiet, calming echo.

Klima acknowledged that his behavior had been neither gracious nor sensible. But, so he said, it was all too much for him. He had a horror of any further contact with the young woman.

"Any fool can seduce a woman," Bertlef said with annoyance. "But one must also know how to break it off; that is the sign of a mature man."