The whale briefly strands itself on land— opening its mouth, I hear the laughter of the sea, of a holy man down in the fish caverns. There are nuns in primitive bathing costumes doing calisthenics in the beach sand— up in the green castle, in the dungeon’s hallway of shadows, the ghost of my father is warning me against something… I think he’s in league with the sweating nuns. They want me to exercise beyond the amusing pulleys of superior oblique. And to drink less wine. Jumping-jack Sprat says You can kiss my ass, his fat wife and I have run off to Reno with her sick cat.