As he ate, he felt his earlier sense of contentment return, drawing a satisfaction from his stomach that seemed otherwise to elude him. When he finished his meal he took out his new pipe and began smoking. He did not, however, enjoy the pipe as he had before and was about to extinguish it when the proprietor’s boy came over to the table with a small pouch.

“My father said to offer this to you. It’s hard to get decent tobacco in the city now.”

When Caleum filled his pipe with the proprietor’s offering he could scarcely believe the difference between the new tobacco and the smoke he had purchased earlier, even though it had cost him dearly. He had thought when he first tried it that it was simply a vile custom, but this new tobacco made clear to him the pleasure of the habit. He luxuriated in the rich aroma of smoke and ordered another cordial, for the boy came round to check on him with an attentiveness he had not observed anywhere else. He thought then there was nothing unavailable to a man in that town and delighted in the satisfactions of the table.

After finishing the cordial and pipe, he went upstairs, well contented with both himself and the city and beginning to feel rejuvenated. When he lay down that night he fell directly asleep and enjoyed a deep restful slumber.

The next morning he rose early and went down to the dining room, where instead of porridge, which had been his usual breakfast for as long as he could remember, he had a plate of eggs with bacon and sausage, thinking he might as well enjoy himself fully while he was able, such leisure being unavailable to him ever before, and it coming after such sacrifice. When he finished his meal, he asked at the front desk where he might find a good tailor, as his clothes were in a state such as he could no longer bear.

The proprietor was quick with a suggestion and pointed out the way to get there from the hotel. As he walked up Broadway through all the bustle of the business day, Caleum felt as if he were on holiday instead of merely performing much-needed chores, and this in turn livened his mood. When he arrived at the tailor he chose the fabrics he liked best, then instructed the man to make him four complete suits of clothes and ten good shirts, as he was unlikely ever to be in the city again.

When the tailor asked whether he would also require a new greatcoat, Caleum thought it over for a very long time before answering in the affirmative. His old coat was much worn, and it had besides been a coat meant for war, not civilized life, and he was now again a gentleman of peace. He paid out his gold and asked where he might find a good barber.

“The best Negro barber in the city is said to be John Paige, up by the Collect,” the tailor answered promptly, writing down the address. Caleum thanked him and left.

It was still before midday when he reached the street again. He thought about hiring a coach but decided on walking, as he had grown quite used to his crutches, so much so that he had begun to move about on his three legs as well as other men on two. He went up Broadway lightly, until he came to Chambers Street, where the bare trees lining the road allowed the sunshine to fall unimpeded across the wide sidewalk. It was a bright if brisk day, and the warm light felt good to his skin as he turned east toward his destination.

He was immediately overcome by an unbearable stench, though, and saw that he had entered a precinct of tanneries. The odor of animal skins and lye strangled the air, as dirty reddish water ran over the sidewalk and into the gutters. Here and there, he could see large clay vats filled with different-colored dyes, all very rich, and skins stretched out for drying. Bits of hair, or wool tumbled down the street, which he was careful to step around, not wanting to trick his balance.

When he finally passed those stinking streets he was in a small lane filled with breweries. He was reminded then of the serving girl who had brought him his lunch the day before. Perhaps he would eat there again, he thought, looking down to check the address of the barber on a slip of paper the tailor had given him. When at last he found the place he also found himself weary, having walked farther than he had reckoned on its being, and searched out a place to sit down. All the clients inside the little shop were Negroes such as himself, but of every caste of life, from the African who spoke but little English to the stern faces that seemed to him more Dutch than Negro. Still, he was comfortable, as he was in a good mood in general, and reclined amiably in his seat.

When he finally sat in the barber’s chair, he requested a full shave and haircut. The barber was a tall dark man who looked gruff, but when he began working he was very ginger and methodical. It soothed Caleum to feel so well cared for, which he could not remember being since he was a boy, and the shave was the best he could remember. When it was done he looked as though he had shed five years off his age, and he left the chair feeling like his better self again. More than that: He felt he had shed a carapace that had grown up around him in place of his normal skin.

He set about then to find the pub from the day before. He walked back the way he came, past the breweries and through the tannery district, at which point he was too tired to continue and decided to hire a coach.

By the time he found the pub the lunch crowd had all left, and the room was nearly empty. The same waitress who had attended him before was working again, though, and when she came to show him to his table there was the same enticing openness about her.

“You’re a bit late, aren’t you?” she asked, as if their meeting had been previously arranged.

He did not answer, not knowing how one was supposed to deal with such directness. He wondered whether she would take offense if he were to give his own tongue such free rein. He had not made an advance toward a woman in that way since his marriage to Libbie, and then it was according to the rules of proper engagement, while here in this city he could not tell what rules governed the different interactions between the sexes.

“I see you’ve had a haircut?” she went on, not seeming to mind that her last question had gone unanswered.

“I did,” he answered, taking the same seat he had previously occupied.

“Well, it looks very smart,” she continued.

“Thank you,” he told her. “What do they call you?”

“Elissa,” she answered him. “And who might you be?”

“Caleum Merian.” He introduced himself with both his names, even though that did not seem always to be the custom of the island.

“Well, it is very nice to see you again, Mr. Merian,” she replied. “I think the chowder is good today.”

He simply nodded, allowing the woman to chose his meal for him. When she brought it around, she had the same smile as before, which prompted him to wonder again how she would respond if he made an advance. Emboldened by the fact that he had no reputation in that city, he decided he would do just that when she next came by the table.

“Would you care to meet me this weekend?” he asked, when he saw his opportunity.

“And just where is it you want me to meet you?”

“At Bowling Green,” he answered, trying to think of a place that would not seem too intimate.

“It’ll be freezing there,” she said. “But I’ll be at Mary Hamlet’s on Saturday, around eight, if you should happen by.” She smiled at him again.

“Where is that?” he asked.

“You’re not from here?” she teased him. “It’s over on Mulberry. Everyone knows it if you have any trouble.”

It wasn’t until he left that he realized the implication of what he had just done, and it occurred to him that he knew nothing about the woman. He worried he had made a bad decision and told himself he was not bound to go there, as she knew little about him and would never find him again if he chose not to go. As he remembered her smile, though, he knew he would venture to meet her. There was something about her he found exhilarating in a way he could not remember having encountered before, and he allowed himself to trust this instinct.