Mata sighed. Toan objective observer her brown Eurasian beauty was more captivating in thoughtful serenity than when she was animated or smiling. She had the timeless loveliness of the girls the Chinese artists paint and carve--passion highlighted and stopped in place. That younger girl in Indonesia, Mata thought, had been beautiful. As charming as Mata herself, to be fair--but beyond that, betweenthem there was a world's difference. Mata knew what a man wanted between dawn and suk and darkness and light, the younger woman was just learning life.

1968.