“There is the story of a young man during the time of the Russians coming to Prague.”

Oz pauses for a moment, as though he’s trying to recall the details.

“This young man was angry that his country had been invaded, so he picked up a piece of charcoal and found a wall. Here was his opportunity to write something that might stop the slaughter, something that might push back the tanks and change what was to happen.”

Doc, Sneezy, Bashful, Grumpy, Dopey, Sleepy . . .

“But because his task seemed so monumental, so impossible, he wrote nothing.”

Grumpy, Sneezy, Dopey, Doc, Sleepy, Bashful . . .

“But your uncle Leroy,” says Oz. “Look what he is able to do with a bucket of shit and a brush.”

Happy. I always forget Happy.

“When you look for him,” says Oz, “do you ever find yourself?”

I can see where Oz could be annoying.

“What about the game?”

“Game?”

“The Bees and the Bears.”

“Ah,” says Oz, and he taps the side of his head. “No, the game is dead. The trials, they were disappointing. Such a shame.”

I wasn’t sure that it was much of a game in the first place, but I don’t tell Oz this.

“A good idea,” says Oz. “But there is a fatal flaw.”

“Too complicated?”

“No. It is a simple game.” Oz shrugs and makes a sad gesture with his mouth. “But it seems no one wants to be a Bee. Everyone wants to be the Bear.”

I glance at the clock. I can see that Mimi is going to be late again.

“I will miss you, my friend.” Oz reaches over and pats my hand. “Such wonderful conversations. Cowboys and Indians. Robbers in the park. Lost relatives and injured enthusiasms. Did you know that many tourists who come to Prague attempt suicide?”

“Really?”

“Yes, a great many jump off the Charles Bridge.”

“Doesn’t look high enough.”

“Perhaps that is the point. Sometimes a failure is a success.” Oz extends his arms and holds his wrists out. “Which one?”

Somehow the conversation has taken a left turn when I wasn’t looking.

“Watch,” says Oz. “I wish to give you one of these watches.”

“I don’t want your watch.”

“You pick. A gift.”

“I still can’t take it.”

“Ah,” says Oz, “you are worried that you will pick the expensive one.”

“I don’t need a watch.”

“No one needs a watch.” Oz slips the watch with the emerald-green face off his wrist. “What we need is time.”

Oz sets the watch on top of the envelope. “So, we will not see each other tomorrow.”

“What will you do in Amsterdam?”

“What does anyone do in Amsterdam?” Oz pushes the chair back and stands up. “But what about you?”

“Me?”

“Will you finish that article? The one with the three parts?” Oz straightens his jacket. “Or have you run out of hope and happy endings?”