Slow-dancing along in a happy languor, humming a bee-hymn, amber bangles clanking about his wrists, amber and gold hoops swinging from his earlobes, he rounded a tall broom bush-and stopped, startled, as he saw a very young child sitting on the landing, watching a strange little beast that looked like a cross between a cat and a monkey; it was jumping at famma birds hunting snails in the gravel at the waterline.

“Ulloa, honey,” he said. “Where did you come from?”

She stared at him through a webbing of silky black hair, startled and afraid; she had big eyes, odd eyes, gem-colored, the right was blue, the left green.

“It’s all right,” Reyna, said, his voice soft, soothing, making a song of the words. “It’s all right, my honey. I won’t hurt you.’

‘ He took a step toward her.

The child whimpered, rolled onto her hands and knees and scooted away from him, heading for the end of the landing and the wide brown River beyond.

As Reyna swore under his breath, dropped the basket and ran desperately down the bank, a gray streak whipped past him, circled the child, and chittered in her face. As she slowed, startled, he dived and caught the hem of her lacy shift.

Shaken, but keeping a firm hold on the cloth in spite of the baby’s howls and struggles, he sat up. “Hush, little honey,” he murmured, “Hush, sweeting. No no, Reyna won’t hurt you Look here, your little friend isn’t afraid of me.” He held out his free hand and let the beast sniff at it.

The cat-monkey wriggled with pleasure, pushed its head against Reyna’s palm and produced a loud soothing hum, then it sat on its haunches and stared at him with round intelligent eyes; it was a strange creature with its flattened little face like a miniature baby and small black hands folded over a silky white ruff.