29. The signs.

He lay on Nan's bed. She leaned against a wooden dresser. He was tired, but alert. She looked at him, spread out on top of the blanket, noticed how golden he was, particularly in the lamplight.

"I remember reading this thing, where the Buddha had all these distinguishing characteristics. There were like eighty of them."

"That got embellished with legend. There are some signs that I've had in every life."

"Like what?"

"The eyes, for one thing." She looked into them: a clear, sparkling, dark blue. "The texts say 'nila'--which means 'blue,' but could also be 'black.' I've had both."

"Yeah, hard to imagine anyone running around in India with blue eyes."

"Not really. Depends on where in India you are, and when."

"Huh. I've never been there."

"You'd like it. You always have."

For the first time she looked a little afraid. He continued.

"Other signs are the scent--mostly the absence of one, but there's a trace of something sweet. I've always had this too."

She approached him cautiously. He offered his forearm to her. It was like the careful dance of two animals. She sniffed his wrist. "A bit like sandalwood."

He withdrew. "I haven't applied anything. I just smell like that."

"What are the other signs?" she asked.

He removed one of his shoes--canvas sneakers--and the sock beneath it. He raised up his foot so she could see the sole. On his heel was a perfectly round marking, resembling a flower. "There's one on the other foot, too."

She examined it minutely, concluding that it wasn't a tattoo.