Henri the painter is swarthy and morose, wearing a beret long after they are out of fashion, and smoking a calabash pipe, Henri is not French, not a painter, and not born with that name. He is a superb craftsman who, in his imagination, lives in Paris, absorbed in the latest artistic movements, and physically on a thirty-five-foot boat, which, being afraid of the water, he wants never to finish. He has married twice and had numerous live-in girlfriends, but all leave because of the tight quarters and lack of a toilet.