O+F | Page 5

is Japanese--Muni, his name is--I never met him."
The toast popped up. Oliver buttered it and laid on marmalade. He put
the toast and tea on a tray and carried it upstairs. His mattress was on
the floor next to a window set low in the wall, under the eaves. He lay
down, munched toast, and watched the snow falling and blowing.
When he turned his head, the window was like a skylight. Mother is
coming, he remembered. The image of his mother with her flamboyant
blonde hair was replaced immediately by that of Francesca--quiet,
natural, and no less forceful.
He finished the toast and held the mug of tea on his chest with both
hands. He could see Francesca's eyes in front of him. They were asking
something, and he was answering. Her question was more complicated
than he had thought at Becky's Diner. Were they the same? Was she
beautiful? Was he for real? He relaxed and aligned in her direction. The
answer was reassuring. "Yes," he said. He lifted his head and sipped tea.
"O.K.," he said.

2.
The sky was bright blue, the wind gusty out of the northwest. Oliver
squinted at the fresh snowbanks on his way to Becky's.
Sunglasses--should have worn sunglasses. He had oatmeal and a
blueberry muffin, drank coffee, and listened to the waitresses chatter
about their dates. Francesca did not come in, but her image remained
vivid. He waited, not so much for her as for something in his mood to
change, to see if it would change. It didn't. He continued to feel slightly
excited, as though he had something to look forward to. Francesca had
met him in a central place. Was it a place that they made, sheltered
between them? Or was it a place inside each of them that was similar,
more accessible in each other's company? Wherever it was, Oliver
knew that he wanted to go there again.
He walked home, shoveled out his Jeep, started it, and scraped the
windows, thinking that he'd see what George was up to. He could have
walked, but there wasn't much cat food left. He'd shop, maybe take a
drive.
George had a loft in a warehouse at the foot of Danforth Street. "Hey
there, Oliver" he said, opening the door. "Big day--Foundry
Goodbean!"

"I brought some bagels," Oliver said.
George rubbed his hands together. "Come see."
Near a brick wall, a thirty gallon grease drum stood on a sheet of
asbestos-like material. Two copper pipes made a right angle to its base.
One came from a propane tank in a corner; one was connected to an air
blower driven by an electric motor. "Ta da!" George said, lifting off a
thick top that had a hole in its center. Oliver looked down into the drum.
"I used a stovepipe for a form--cast refractory cement around it." The
drum was solid cement around the space where the stovepipe had been.
"Slick city," Oliver said.
George picked up a small object from a table. "The Flying Lady," he
said. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and swooped it
through the air. Oliver looked closely at a wax figure of a trapeze artist.
Her brown arms were held out; her back was arched.
"Wonder Woman."
"I've got to make the mold," George said, "burn out the investment."
"Investment?"
"Goopy stuff that packs around The Lady. Then I fire it in a kiln. The
wax burns and disappears, leaving a hard ceramic mold."
"Aha," Oliver said, "the lost wax process."
"Me and Cellini," George said. "Here, make something." He handed
Oliver a sheet of wax. "Not too big. I'll cast it with The Lady. There's
knives and stuff." He pointed at one end of the table. "And other kinds
of wax. Use what you want." He began to mix the investment.
Oliver laid the wax on the table. Without thinking, he cut out the shape
of a heart. He cut four short pieces from a length of spaghetti shaped
wax and made a square letter O. It looked stupid. "Can you bend this
stuff?"
"Heat it," George said. "There's an alcohol lamp."
Oliver warmed another piece of spaghetti wax and made an oval O. He
stuck it on the heart and added a plus sign and the letter, F. "A
valentine," he said.
George made a tree of wax, two inches high with a double trunk. He
stuck The Flying Lady on one trunk and the heart, upright, on the other.
Using more wax, he planted the tree in a circular rubber base. "Let me
have that flask." He pointed at a steel cylinder about six inches long.
He slipped the cylinder over the waxes and tightly into the rubber base.

"There." He poured creamy investment into the flask until the