Allen looks down at the black and white keys spread before him.
�I take your silence to mean �no�. Then I suggest you follow the course that has been carefully prescribed for you Allen. You have no other choice.�
Allan gets up from the piano, several keys jumbling in discord as he rises and exits the hotel room.
* * * * *
Meisinger and I sit on a bench near a little lake where several children are sailing homemade boats, a few none too successfully. We find ourselves wading in several times to perform heroic rescues to various doomed vessels and the opportunity to roll up our shirtsleeves and pants legs and cool off a bit is extremely welcome. After another round of splashing each other silly we sit back down on our bench and Meisinger procures one of his cigars from its leather case. Ever fascinated with the masculine ritual of cutting and lighting it, I watch his every move as I always do. Four perfect smoke rings follow into the stiff, heavy early-summer air.
�Meisinger, I still can�t figure out how you do that.� I say in as much awe as the first time I ever saw him accomplish the feat.
He smiles at me, humbly accepting my idolization. �Patrick, you must call me Deitrich from now on, I absolutely insist. You�re not a child anymore and that customary offering of respect is no longer necessary. I begin to protest but he holds up his hand to stop me. �Please?� he asks.
I nod my affirmation.
�Now there is no good way to explain the technical mechanics of how smoke rings are accomplished. I�m going to teach you the way my elder brother Peter taught me.� He says as he pulls his leather case and cigar cutter out of his pocket and hands me a cigar.
�Now you can forget about looking shocked at my letting you smoke with me. I happen to know for a fact that you and your brother have been smoking cigarettes for some time now and no, I have not said anything to your mother. It�s one of the few civilized masculine privileges left to us gentlemen and I for one intend to keep it that way.�
After teaching me how to cut it, light it and hold it properly the lesson begins in earnest.
�Now remember not to inhale Patrick. This is not one of those God-awful Gauloises you�ve been smoking. And remember there are only two acceptable ways to hold it. Again, I must remind you it is not a cigarette�� The coaching session goes on for some time and while towards the end, no casual observer can tell I have not been smoking cigars for years, not one single smoke ring has materialized on my end.
Our lesson is interrupted by more stranded boats and Deitrich shows me how to hold the cigar in my jaw to keep my hands free as we wade in yet again. More horseplay ensues to the point where we end up drenching each other much to the amusement of the children. Their parents attempt to look disapproving of our show but obviously envy us, as we were certainly much cooler than they. The silliness is abruptly cut short when during the course of a wrestle hold a sharp pain runs through my left hand with a faint snapping sound to accompany it. I shout suddenly as the pain travels up my arm at lightning speed.
�Patrick! I�m so sorry! Are you all right?�
I hold my hand and gently explore the range of movement with a sharp pang each time I spread for an octave. �It�s my thumb Deitrich.� I say (his name sounding so foreign coming from my own mouth.) �A slight sprain I think.� But the flaming pain shooting up my inner arm says otherwise. In an instant he is fifty yards away procuring shaved ice in a towel from a vendor. He is back at my side in less than a minute.
�Here, put this on your hand. Hurry.� He says wrapping the towel around my hand and pressing it close. �We can�t have it swelling up on you. If we have to cancel your debut because of my foolishness I shall never forgive myself. I can only imagine what Miss Lillian would have to say about that.� He looks just about on the verge of tears as he intently continues the pressure on my hand.
