My brother and I swam the Dniester, he beat me to its nether shore but I beat him back. Little lateen-rigged boatlets skittered buoyantly past us, manned by boys. I felt as good as I've felt in weeks. The sunlight crutched my flawy vision such that I could almost read the "Karadeniz Çayı" sign in Bender from where we lay on the east bank. My brother got a passing tsigane to back him on the tanbur as he sang (for my benefit, bless him!) that Canceaux song. Then there was rose spoon-sweet for all from a tidy treat-vendor who cleaned his little silver koutali in a cup of saltwater after each of our mouthings.