| I went home for a couple of hours, read my mail.
It contained a post card from Henry Himmler. He was in France, somehow. Of
all places. On the front was a photograph of an old lady with almost no
teeth left and an old man with almost no teeth or hair left. They were
both peeking out of the crack in a door, the man's head just above the
woman's. The woman had just hung a card around the doorknob. They were in
a hotel, I guess. The card looked like this:
So I had to telephone my librarian friend. He said it meant this: "If this room's a rockin' ...don't bother knockin'." Henry's message, written on the back of the postcard, went like this:
And he signed it like this:
"Sounds good," I said out loud, still on the telephone with my librarian friend. And then I thought, "You're right, Henry; who does know?" That's when my friend said something else. "I've got something else here that you should really probably read," he said. "What is it?" I asked. "Well, your little girlfriend came by about an hour ago and dropped off a tape for me to decipher. Decipher for you, of course. Well I did, and...why don't you come on over and read it for yourself." So I did. My librarian friend handed me a manuscript as soon as I got there. Without taking my coat off, I sat right down and read it. It looked like this: |
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