As I listen to Pakistani music I love most dearly, I stare at the Motovun cockroach—sorry, the Motovun bug—on my livingroom wall (“The Motovun Bug,” June 24, 2011). The bug I hate most fervently. It brings out my deepest disgust. By and by, the singing by Ali Khan brothers takes me all the way to the foothills of the Himalayas (“How I Travel,” June 26, 2011). All of a sudden, the bug strikes me as just fine and even endearing. Another blessed creature of this world. And a creature so ancient that it cannot but be blessed in some way. Surprised by my conciliatory feelings, which appear to me quite unprecedented, I search my Residua for references to the painting and to the music. As it turns out, I started listening to the Pakistani brothers at about the same time I painted the cockroach—sorry, bug. The two pieces of writing are separated by two days only. Thus the unexpected conciliatory feelings, no doubt whatsoever.