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Hello, I Must Be Going
There was a quiet tapping at the door and when Steve Ralphs opened it there stood Henry Grossbock, five foot one inches tall, immaculately dressed, very pale and very perturbed.
“Henry!” Steve Ralphs cried.
“Why do you sound like that?” Henry Grossbock said. “What have I done? Why am I dressed like this? Where am I going?”
“Come in, come in, someone might see you!”
“Why does it matter if someone sees me?”
“Come in, for God’s sake, don’t stand there arguing.”
“All right, I’ll come in, I have things to talk about anyway. Stand aside. There. I’m in.”
Steve Ralphs backed off across the room and waved to a chair. “Sit.”
“I don’t feel welcome.” Henry sat. “You have any strong liquor around this place?”
“I was just thinking that.” Steve Ralphs jumped, ran into the kitchen, and a minute later returned with a tray, a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and some ice. His hands were trembling as he poured the liquor.
“You look shaky,” said Henry Grossbock. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you know, can’t you guess? Here.”
Henry took the glass. “
You sure poured me a lot.”
“You’re going to need it. Drink.”
They drank and Henry examined his coat front and his sleeves.
“You still haven’t told me where I am going,” he said, “or have I been there already? I don’t usually dress this way except for concerts. When I stand up there before an audience, well, one desires respect. This is very good scotch. Thanks. Well?”
He stared at Steve Ralphs with a steady and penetrating stare.
Steve Ralphs gulped half of his drink and put it down and shut his eyes. “Henry, you’ve already been to a far place and just come back, for God’s sake. And now you’ll have to return to that place.”
“What place, what place, stop the riddles!”
Steve Ralphs opened his eyes and said, “How did you get here? Did you take a bus, hire a taxi, or … walk from the graveyard?”
“Bus, taxi, walk? And what’s that about a graveyard?”
“Henry, drink the rest of your drink. Henry, you’ve been in that graveyard for years.”
“Don’t be silly. What would I be doing there? I never applied for any—” Henry stopped and slowly sank back in his chair. “You mean—?”
Steve Ralphs nodded. “Yes, Henry.”
“Dead? And in the graveyard? Dead and in the graveyard four years? Why didn’t someone tell me?”
“It’s hard to tell someone who’s dead that he is.”
“I see, I see.” Henry finished his drink and held the glass out for more. Steve Ralphs refilled.
“Dear, dear,” said Henry Grossbock, slowly. “My, my. So that’s why I haven’t felt up to snuff lately.”
