The two pigeons huddled with grim determination, their heads sunk deeply upon their plumed bosoms, fluffed up like the collars of fur coats, as they sheltered in the déco niches of the O’Donnell memorial. The central panel of the sandstone monument, a defunct fountain, showed a weblike tracery of rays, like the interior of an oculus, or a section of globe unfurled and flattened so that the spokelike interstices of latitude and longitude formed quadrilateral lozenges of darkness emanating from an egyptized semicircle of sun. The girl turned away from the urnlike memorial, flanked with the fierce cherubim of griffins at its ‘handles’, and surveyed the circumambient approaches to O’Donnell Gardens once more. It was a desolate morning for the first day of summer, cold and dreary, with the threat of rain hanging persistently over the St Kilda foreshore, and the palms of the park creaked in the northwesterly wind. To her right, only Luna Park made a gelid effort at animation, the Great Scenic Railway surging and plunging like a wooden wave against the grey sky as it made its scalene circuit of the park’s perimeter.

A tall, bulky man, once physically powerful but now tending to fat, was approaching quickly along the path leading from the carpark in Shakespeare grove. The oncedark hair, closely cropped, that clung to his bullet head like a skullcap seemed now like iron filings which had magnetized around a pole. He wore jeans and Nikes and a rather greasylooking bomber jacket that was evidently not genuine leather. He took off the large sunglasses as he approached the small girl in the purplish wool sweater, black active pants and runners who was carrying the blue, clothbound book. The gold lettering on the cover, above and below her hand as it gripped the slim volume loosely to her side, bore three words: DILEMMAS and ERNEST DOWSON. She had long dark hair which fell in loose, lustrous coils that were held back from her face by a black velvet turbanstyle headband.

—Ciao, nipote! the big man hailed her as he approached.

—Ciao, zio. The girl spoke Italian with a French accent. She raised herself on tiptoes to receive and exchange the European greeting as they kissed each other on both cheeks.

—Benvenuto a Melbourne! the man said, beaming and making an expansive gesture which took in Luna Park. How are you finding the place?

—Cold! the girl exclaimed. They told me it would be summer en Australie. She nodded to the east, behind the tepid frenzy of Luna Park. Your St Kilda Beach looks like Brittany.

A gravelly chuckle issued from the big man as he resheathed his eyes.

—You’ll be right, love. In Australia we have a saying: ‘If you don’t like the weather in Melbourne, just wait a while.’

—Ah oui.

He put a hand casually on her elbow and indicated the memorial beside them with a jerk of his head.

—Let’s get away from that thing. You never know who’s lurking around. While we’re at it, parliamo Italiano.

—Va bene.

They sat down on the bench overlooking the memorial, the big man halfturned towards the small girl, his right elbow resting on the wooden seatback.

—Allora, che notizie hai da Parigi? he asked in a low, affectless tone.

The girl replied in the same low, dispassionate fashion, as if she were delivering a report.

—Tuo zio manda i suoi saluti. Il tuo regalo è stato ben accolto. Mio padre era molto soddisfatto della spedizione.

—Bene.

—Mi ha chiesto di portati qualcosa in cambio, she said, and produced a small black box with a hinged lid, like a jewel case. Opening it, she revealed a small enamel dreidel, handpainted, of blue and gold set snugly in plush royalblue velvet. The tip of the dreidel was composed of an old European cut diamond of significant size, and the tailed bracket of the letter nun, which lay uppermost, had been inset with smaller diamonds that glittered in the weak grey sunlight.

The girl took the dreidel out of its case and set it spinning on the blue cloth cover of her book, which was resting in her lap, using her forearm as a kind of rampart to keep the precious object from falling to the ground. All the Hebrew letters on its four sides were composed of diamonds, and in the few seconds that she let it spin, they chased each other in a dazzling carousel that mirrored the revolutions of pleasure cycling behind the wall of the amusement park before them. She stopped the dreidel smartly with her hand. The letter gimel lay uppermost. She handed the dreidel to the big man.

—Con i complimenti della nostra famiglia, she said.

—Grazie, nipote.

He raised his sunglasses to examine the objet de vertu carefully, turning the shimmering facets in his hand to catch the weak light overhead.

—Che magnifico! he breathed. Il Signor sarà contento con questo.

The girl handed the man the case without looking at him. He fitted the dreidel into its snug depression and snapped the case shut, slipping it into the inner breast pocket of his jacket.

—E tu? he asked. Possiamo fare qualcosa per aiutarti?

—Adesso, no. Ho accettato un lavoro ad Armadale. Lavoro in un caffè europeo nella Kings Arcade.

—Buono. Avremo un po’ di lavoro per te a breve, the big man said. He got up to go, grinning down at the small girl. Don’t call us; we’ll call you. In the meantime, enjoy Melbourne. Get yourself a boyfriend, make some amiche. Go to Luna Park. Relax and enjoy yourself.

The girl rose also.

—D’accord. She looked over at the two pigeons still huddling stolidly in the niches of the memorial and shook her head. Guardi questi poveri uccellini…

The big man halfturned to look behind him, shrugged and snorted slightly.

—They’re Melbourne birds, he said. They wouldn’t hang around here if they didn’t know how to wait awhile. He gave the small girl a quick European peck on the cheek. Ciao, nipote. Send my regards to uncle.

She nodded.

—Ciao, zio. It was nice to meet you.

The big man retraced his rapid steps along the path leading to Shakespeare grove, while the girl made her way towards Acland street.

A movement in the depths of one of the niches where one of the two pigeons was huddling disturbed it, causing it, and its companion, to hurriedly vacate their shelter, taking off with a clatter of wings.