The Mah Jong Cafe was across the street from the Gulf. Even though it was late October, the sun was warm and the breeze sultry. The waves made little more than a lapping sound that was hard to hear through the passing traffic and the cries and laughter of some children playing in the sand.

The front of the restaurant was open air save for a six foot breakfront of louvered glass windows. All the slats were closed except at one table. A couple sat there. The husband was reading his paper and the wife was looking around.

Walter Benziger took off his cap to get more sun. Eileen Benziger tried to wheel her chair closer to the table.

A bird hopped on the ground next to them.

Eileen thought the bird was hungry but wary of getting closer. She whistled at it. She leaned forward and trilled with a sing-song sound through her lips. The bird fluttered away.

Mrs. Benziger sat back in her wheelchair and dropped her hands into her lap. She realized her mistake. She should have sung to him. Her voice soothed animals. She used to sing to her daughter all the time. Even common phrases.

"Aaww. Walter, the birdie is so hungry and I have nothing to give him," she said. She spoke to the back of her husband's paper. He did not respond. She looked for the bird.

The three remaining walls of the restaurant were covered with white trellises; growing up the trellises was salmon-colored bougainvillea. A warm breeze came and, as Walter held down his hair so it would not get mussed, a few of the bougainvillea leaves parted.

That bad bird had flown into the bougainvillea and was peeking out at Mrs. Benziger. She saw it right away and wagged her head from side to side.

"What 'cha doin' sweetheart?" she sang to the tune of "Good Morning Heartache." The bird continued to look at her and cock its head from side to side. It seemed to be listening to what she said. She tried to turn her chair around because her neck was getting stiff from twisting it so much, but her arthritic hands could not grasp the wheels. She tried several times and then put the idea out of her mind.

"Walter, I wish you'd pay some attention. This bird has rhythm."

Walter turned a page and cleared his throat.

"I wish I had something for it. When Rita gets here we'll have a good time looking at this bird." Mrs. Benziger spoke to her husband's newspaper. "Walter, go get some noodles."

The bird dove out to a table in the center of the room. It danced around in a circle. Mrs. Benziger thought it was showing off for her.

"Walter, this is a very smart bird. I wish Rita could see this! I'm afraid she'll miss it." Eileen turned her head and called to her husband, hoping that he would look, also. "Walter, for goodness sake! It's dancing."

She turned back to the bird and clapped her hands together silently, trying to keep in time with his movements. Then she sang him a lullaby:

Darlin' little fellow,
What are we to do?
Wind is comin' stronger now,
And the sky ain't blue.

"You get a hundred percent for your dance. I wish I had something to give you, sweetheart."

The bird glared at her and flew straight up and away.

Eileen tried to sit better in her chair, but she kept sliding down. To the back of her husband's newspaper, she snapped, "You're too slow, Walter. You live in a dream world. You never catch the action. The bird lost its patience with us."

From three o'clock on, the tables were covered with pink and white flowered tablecloths. Little metal clips were attached to the sides so the material would not blow in the wind. Mrs. Benziger tried to circle the outline of one of the flowers with her finger. It was a chrysanthemum. Then she picked up her menu and stared angrily at the paper facing her.