As I went out the following morning, weary and forlorn, I spied the fairest damsel, but when I came closer I recognized her as the drag queen I had spent the night in jail with.
'Professor Hubnoth,' he introduced himself, 'how do you do?', he inquired, while fluttering his false eye lashes.
'They let you out,' I remarked rather brilliantly.
'They had no reason to keep me in, after all I didn't kill a man back there. I understand that you did.'
We walked along the avenue of trees and came to a Portugal bar. We went in and drank white rum.
'What is your expertise,' I asked him.
'I am a classics professor, Latin, Greek and Hebrew. At present I am immersed in a desperately needed new translation of one of the finest plays ever written: Aeschylus' Oresteia.' The professor, was dressed this morning in a flowery frock that was a little too tight for his bulky anatomy and when he folded ever so elegantly one mighty leg over the other, I couldn't help noticing the professor needed a shave far more urgently than the Oresteia a new translation.
'Are you familiar with Aeschylus?', he asked sweetly.
'Absolutely,' I cried, as if relieved to have finally found a kindred spirit. 'I ask the gods some respite from the weariness,' from the first scene I quote.
The professor clapped his hands ecstatically, as if transported by joy. 'Marvelous! Though not a very good translation,' he added ominously. He raised a finger for more white rum and then turned back to me.
'Tell me,' he said in a confidential tone and leaning over the table, 'you seem weary. Does the memory of grief drip against your heart, when you sleep?'
'It sometimes feels as if I am trying to squeeze the accomplishments of many years into an hour-glass.'
'O dear, o dear, you bring forth tears to my eyes,' the professor sighed. He then picked up his glass and downed it.
'How is your Hebrew?', I whispered and continued to explain to professor Hubnoth that by the end of the week I had to present a plan of how Siegfried Schulz's tiny gang could hook up with the Mossad. 'A crazy idea, I know, but what can a poor soul do?'