Circling around the ring of the reservoir, a man in a wool cap and long black coat approached. When he passed, he whispered, "Pax vobiscum." Beneath his coat, Barry thought he saw the brown skirt of Franciscan monk robes.
  "Let's get out of here," she said, picking up a torn newspaper, showing movie ads.
  Barry stared into an ad for a movie about dancing, the usual thing, the unlikeliest couple, the once-upon-a-time romance. If he stared, would he end up in a movie?
  Or if he stared at the figure of the monk would he find himself in his place, leaning on the railing, head bent towards the water?